#i’ve been laughing at this as a coping mechanism

[ging-dong]

i’m in shock guys

[morphean42]

I tell and laugh at 9/11 jokes because the actions of the US Government after the disaster were horrific and we shouldn’t act like the only victims were those who died in the towers. You tell and laugh at 9/11 jokes because you have been brainwashed into thinking it’s just a big meme and doesn’t actually matter. We are not the same.

[sticky-sugar]

try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.” 

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly. 

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him. 

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober. 

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts. 

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen. 

fuck. 

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice. 

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth. 

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.” 

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you. 

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.” 

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else. 

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning. 

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again. 

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option. 

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know. 

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable. 

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions. 

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that. 

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again. 

your phone buzzes in your hand. 

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus. 

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that. 

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that? 

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!” 

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you. 

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“ 

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it. 

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last. 

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room. 

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to. 

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours. 

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them. 

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates. 

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you. 

he does, a week later.

— 

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly. 

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him. 

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed. 

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear. 

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention. 

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be. 

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair. 

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room. 

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants. 

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert. 

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body. 

you’re completely naked. 

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything. 

but it’s enough. 

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you. 

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight. 

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does? 

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face. 

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him. 

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight. 

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you. 

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat. 

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t. 

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you. 

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after. 

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t. 

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers. 

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt. 

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations. 

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance. 

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up. 

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore. 

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own. 

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck. 

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.” 

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him. 

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“ 

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that. 

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“ 

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you. 

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers. 

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.” 

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.” 

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes. 

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear. 

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him. 

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in. 

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done. 

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand. 

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“ 

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams. 

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you. 

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.” 

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling. 

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.” 

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.” 

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it. 

[callsigncrash]

Me and my future husband fr

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now

in which an impulsive voicemail leads to some secrets being spilled.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader. warnings/tags: angst (sorry i’m incapable of being nice lol) hurt/comfort tho!! lil bit of fluff too because i AM capable of being nice, alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism (i’m literally just a girl…) spencer and reader are broken up :( but they’re still sooo in love and it’s soo obvious so it’s fine!! (also it kind of gets fixed at the end-ish. you’ll see *evil smirk*) reader cries a lot (real) spencer is a cutie (as always) spencer and reader sleep together…no like literally, not in a funny business way, some swearing, no use of y/n!!! wc: 3k a/n: hihihi!! so this is my first fan fiction i’ve wrote and completed ever (gulp) it’s also my first time publishing one (gulp) my writing could definitely be better and so could my grammar tbh but i HOPE if you choose to read you’ll enjoy…feedback is always appreciated (plsplspls) also like requests?? if anyone’s into that—id love to write more but inspo is difficult sometimes. if there’s any spelling mistakes im sorry, eye am very tired!! it’s 5am *eye twitching* okay i’m going to sleep, gootbye IF U SAW ME EDITING THIS 5 TIMES NO U DIDNT (i’m bad at tumblr ok..)

“Hi. This is Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m not available right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

His tinny voice cut off to make way for the signature beep of the beginning of a voicemail recording.

You could hang up now—you should hang up now, save yourself some dignity and go drown your sorrows in alcohol like a normal person instead of calling your ex-boyfriend.

You should, but your mouth was opening before your finger could reach the hang-up button, and…and it was a losing battle from the moment you clicked on Spencer’s icon.

“Uh—hi, it’s…it’s me.” You huffed out a sad laugh.

“So, um, I…I tried calling, but you didn’t answer so…” The static buzz of silence hummed through your ear, just inches from where you held your phone with a shaky grip. “maybe you’re on a case or out with friends, or someone else—“ You let the implication hang in the air—the thought of Spencer potentially being in a relationship bringing a lump to your throat.

You swallowed it down.

“I just…I just had an unbelievably shitty day, Spence.” You sniffed, wiping the moisture that had escaped from your eye with your sweater sleeve. “I know you’ve never read A Series of Unfortunate Events but I think I’d give those kids a run for their money.” You tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob.

You inhaled shakily, trying to collect yourself and remember why on earth you thought it would be a good idea to call Spencer when you’d been broken up for months. Hell, you hadn’t heard from him at all since you had parted ways—except from the odd text about returning each others’ things. It was obvious he had moved on, and here you were, filling up his voicemail with blubbering messages and making references to adolescent books.

“God, sorry about this.” You breathed out a watery chuckle. “I just…didn’t want to be alone, I guess. But that’s-um-not your problem anymore, so I’m—I’m sorry. Have a nice night.” Your voice cracked and you hung up before you could start weeping down the line. You didn’t need to look even more pathetic.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, looking down at his contact photo through blurred vision. He was smiling—not the tight, closed lip smile he gave other people, but a full, bright smile that had his dimples showing. One of your hands was wrapped loosely around his neck and the other was holding your phone just far enough away to capture both of your smiles. Your head was rested on top of his shoulder, tilted just slightly to the left so your temple was brushing against his.

It felt like looking at a vintage photograph—you knew those people and their happiness existed at some point in time, but it wasn’t tangible; you couldn’t verify it was real.

When you were with Spencer, you never doubted how real it was. All you had to was look at him across the room and he’d flash you a smile identical to the one in that photo and you’d just…know.

It felt like forever ago now that you’d been on the receiving end of that grin and it killed you. So much so that before you could consider the repercussions, you were trudging through to your kitchen and grabbing the bottle of whiskey that sat unopened in your cabinet. It had been a present—from Rossi, actually. When Spencer had first introduced you to the team, the older man had given it to you as something of a welcome gift. Of course, he couldn’t have known you weren’t much of a drinker, and since you wanted to make a good impression (and because you were sure it had cost more than all the alcohol you had consumed in your life combined) you accepted it—deciding to save it for a rainy day.

You think this qualified.

You grabbed the bottle, a glass, and padded back through to your living room, slumping onto your couch. You filled your glass up a little less than halfway before gulping it down, enjoying the burn in your throat—it was better than the constant thickness.

You poured yourself another glass before turning on the TV. You weren’t sure what was playing—it didn’t really matter anyway, your vision was already being obscured by tears again.

You thought the pounding was in your head at first—serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Only, it wasn’t, because moments later the pounding subsided and instead, your apartment door was opening, casting your pitch-black living room in a yellow glow which temporarily blinded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mind hazy—again, serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Someone was calling your name, but there was too much sensory input for you to make out who.

You certainly hoped it wasn’t a paramedic—maybe your neighbour had heard you sobbing for the last four hours and decided you needed a wellness check. Then there were hands on your face, and that had you flicking your eyes open, because you recognised those hands—impossibly soft, with a callus on his trigger finger being the only thing to mar them. Spencer.

“Spencer?” You slurred.

He sighed in exasperation (or relief) and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone, I thought…” He trailed off, worry evident in his voice.

You sat up then, trying to compose yourself even though the room was spinning. Fucking whiskey. You rubbed your eyes haphazardly, blinking until you could finally see.

You should’ve stayed bleary-eyed. Because nothing could prepare you for the way your breath hitched when you finally saw him. After months of not seeing each other, Spencer was here, sitting on your couch, and he was looking at you like you were something fragile, and—God, you needed another drink. You turned away from him, reaching for the neck of the bottle as you spoke.

“I’m fine.���

Before you could lift it up, Spencer gently pried your hand away from the bottle with his own, and then slid it across the coffee table with his other.

“You’re drunk. No more of that, please.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but he left no room to argue. You probably would’ve objected anyway, if it weren’t for the way he kept his hand clasped around yours, rubbing soothing circles into your pulse point almost absentmindedly.

You glanced up to him—to stop yourself from staring at your hand in his and how natural it felt, more than anything—but that proved to be a mistake too, because he looked just as beautiful as thirty seconds prior and it felt just as natural for him to be sitting next to you on your sofa, but it wasn’t natural anymore.

“How did you get in?”

“My key.”

“Oh.”

Right. The key that he still had because you refused to meet up with him to let him return it. He tried for weeks to contact you, but you ignored him, because getting the key back meant things were finally over. You supposed he could return it now—maybe that’s why he came in the first place.

“Why did you come?” You asked, your voice impossibly small.

“You called.” He replied—as though he was talking about something as simple as the weather. You call and I come.

You searched in his eyes for any sign of a lie, but of course, there was none. He was being completely genuine—as always. You were the awful ex-girlfriend who left concerning voicemails on his phone and had him travelling to your apartment in the middle of the night only for him to look completely okay with the situation—like there was nothing he’d rather be doing than making sure you were safe.

You couldn’t help the way tears sprung to your eyes or your lip began to tremble as you lolled your head back onto the couch, pulling your gaze away from his.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You liked to consider yourself to be a strong person. You had been through things in your life that were objectively worse than your breakup with Spencer, but something about the gentleness of his tone and the way he had let one of his many (past) petnames for you slip had your throat tightening and you ducked your head into your one hand—the other still seized by Spencer’s—to try and muffle a sob.

“Hey,” He trailed his hand that was wrapped around yours up your arm, all the way to your shoulder blade before lightly guiding you towards him. You don’t have enough energy in you to fight his magnetic pull, so you shuffle over until you can bury your head into his shirt. You inhale his scent; vanilla, neroli, and so him it makes you ache.

Stopping your tears is futile—you’d know, they’d barely ceased all night—so you just let them fall, seeping into Spencer’s tie as he rubs one hand softly up and down your back, the other cradling the crown of your head.

His breathing is quiet and slow—the exact opposite of yours—and you try to imitate it—forcing air into your lungs. When your sobbing has turned to shaky breathing and the occasional sniffle, he speaks up.

“Do you want to talk?”

Talk about what? About what had happened today—what had led you to calling him? Talk about how for the last few months, he had been the only person you had wanted to call?

“No.” You hated how pitiful you sounded.

“Okay.”

Spencer didn’t say anything else for a minute—your synchronised breathing being the only thing to stop the room from falling into dead silence.

“You need to rehydrate.” He murmured, smoothing down your hair.

You hummed into him, in no hurry to unwrap yourself from his body. You probably wouldn’t get to be this close to him again, after all.

He moved both of his hands to your biceps, pulling you back slightly so you could look at him. He knitted his brows together in a silent plea which had you rolling your eyes petulantly, your lashes still damp from tears.

“Fine.” You peeled yourself off of him, pushing yourself into a standing position. Horrible mistake. You were still incredibly drunk, turns out, and everything was spinning a little bit and come to think of it, you were also nauseous and—

“Careful, lovely.” Spencer placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, keeping you upright.

and—actually, you were fine now.

He stood too, moving his hand just slightly over to your waist so he could guide you to the kitchen. When he knew you could stand upright—even if you were relying mostly on the counter behind you—he grabbed a glass from your cabinet, moving around effortlessly to pour you some water. The sight was so domestic you almost wanted to cry again. Maybe in some alternate timeline, where you and him could’ve worked, this would be an every day thing—minus the drunk sobbing part, of course.

He handed you the glass of water, watching as you took a few sips. He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head slowly.

“Whole thing, please.”

You let out an exasperated (affectionate) sigh and gulped the rest of it down, setting it on the counter behind you.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

You smirked, trailing your gaze down his body. He was still in his work clothes which, at the very least, meant he wasn’t on a date before he came here. He always changed before dates—well, for you, anyway. You wondered if he had been on any dates since the breakup—you certainly hadn’t. It had been long enough now that it wouldn’t be weird for you to start seeing other people—but you didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you’d ever want to, to be completely honest.

The more you thought about it, the more the whole thing seemed stupid. You didn’t want anyone else, you wanted Spencer. You had tried to get over him but if tonight was any indication—it clearly wasn’t working. You can’t even remember why you broke up in the first place—it all seemed so insignificant now. No amount of pain you had ever experienced in your relationship had come close to that of living without him.

You met his eyes once more and it was like he could see the question brewing. He tried to stop you, calling your name in a quiet warning, but you ignored him.

“Why did we break up?”

He frowned, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with his tongue in that maddening way he did.

“I—you know why—“

“No, but I don’t! I know things were difficult sometimes but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It worked—we worked.” Your eyes were stinging again.

Spencer pressed his index and middle finger into his eye, furrowing his brows.

“I know, I know we worked, angel—but you were sad all the time, remember? I was gone so often and it wasn’t good for you.” His true emotions were indecipherable but his tone was soft, and you wished you could be as calm about this as him. Did he just not care as much as you did?

“But It’s—It’s worse now—“ You choked out, tears falling freely now. “I was sad when you were gone, but you always came back—you don’t come back anymore.”

Spencer removed his hand from his face, flexing it at his side like he was uncertain what to do with himself before taking a stride towards you. He brought a hand to your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes delicately—like you were made of porcelain.

“Listen, sweetheart—alcohol affects your ability to regulate your emotions and I know right now it might feel worse but that doesn’t mean it always—“

“Spencer, stop! It’s not the fucking alcohol, I miss you! I miss you all of the time! Even—even when I’m having a good day—I still want you—and especially when I—when I have a bad day—“ You choked out through heaving breaths.

“Breathe.” He urges, cupping your cheek. And you’re so, so angry, and sad, and tired that you have no choice but to shut up and listen to him. When you’ve adequately calmed down, he moves his hand to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think we should talk about this tonight but I—“ You open your mouth to protest.

“I promise we can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober—if you still want to.”

Your lip trembles of its own volition and you frown.

“Of course I want to.”

“Okay,”

“Okay.”

He gives your eyes a final wipe before he’s—rather unexpectedly—pulling you into a hug. You all but melt into him, your head finding its home in his sternum and your arms wrapping around his middle. He tilts his head down, kissing the top of your head—and you’re certain you can’t let this go again. You will chain him down before Spencer leaves this apartment again.

Everything is wordless from there—mostly because you’re so, so exhausted that even talking seems like too difficult a task. Spencer helps you find something more comfortable to change into and you pull out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of plaid pyjama pants you had kept here for him. I guess your keeping them ‘just in case you needed them in the future’ had come in handy, after all.

As you washed your face, Spencer snuck through to the kitchen, refilling your water and grabbing two aspirin in a not-so-subtle attempt to help the inevitable hangover you were going to have in the morning.

You caught him placing them on your bedside table and mock gasped.

“Trying to drug me in my sleep so you can make a run for it in the night?”

He grinned lazily—exhaustion creeping up on him as well.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled, flopping yourself onto your bed rather ungraciously. Spencer looked at you like you were something fascinating before biting his lip, clearly deep in thought.

“What?” You let out a self-effacing little chuckle.

“I was just…wondering…if you’d like me to sleep on the couch?”

You probably should’ve been more careful in your facial expressions considering you were still broken up but your thoughts about that offer were obvious.

“No, stay.” Stay in your bed, in your apartment—stay anywhere that was close to you.

Maybe you were coming on a little too strong.

“Unless you want to, I mean—“

“No, no—I’ll stay.” Forever, preferably.

He walked around to the other side of your bed—as he had done so many times before—and sat down, pulling the covers over his legs. You mirrored his movements before flicking your bedside lamp out, turning to face him.

You were a little thankful you were so out of it, because this had the potential to be very awkward otherwise. Spencer shuffled down so that he was at eye level with you, turning to face you as well.

You just stared for a moment, committing him to memory. The moonlight had a way of highlighting all the high points of his face, and the twinkle in his eyes, and—God, you were so glad the moon existed and that Spencer was in your bed that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Spencer laughed along with you, even though he had no idea what was so funny.

“Nothing. You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

“Scared you’ll be gone when I wake up—like I made it all up.”

Spencer’s smile faded then, and he looked at you with something that seemed so much like the one thing you had been willing yourself to stop doing the whole time that you’d been broken up, that it almost took your breath away.

“I won’t. I promised, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So there’s nothing to worry about. Now get some sleep, lovely.”

You smiled, feeling Spencer’s hand inching towards yours. He intertwined them and gave yours a squeeze.

“Just in case you make a run for it in the night.”

You chuckled, your eyelids fluttering shut. Yeah, you could make it work.

part two!

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: you had to go on a business trip. optimus doesn't take it too well

cw: obsessed!optimus, hardcore pinning, angst, i wanted to practice writing dialogues and it shows lmao

word count: 1800

an: i want you guys to know that i am reading EVERY reblog and comment from you swirling my hair and kicking my legs like a schoolgirl

you are so real for that anon

When you, out of your own free will, expressed the desire to join him on patrol, Optimus was overjoyed. You rarely got the chance to be together, just the two of you, always consumed by work or saving the world. And although Optimus wouldn’t dare ask you outright to accompany him on patrols (because the last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable), he deeply longed to spend more time with you alone. He knew he was feeding only his own illusions, fueling the machinery of madness, but by this point, he couldn’t stop. Not when you sat comfortably on his seat, gazing at the views outside the window, visibly content with your outing together.

He wanted so badly for this to be your everyday reality. Maybe then he could finally find some relief from his fixation, maybe you would even save him.

"Hey," you started, and his entire attention focused on you. "Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while."

Oh.

Did your feelings match his? Did you feel affection for him as well? Had you noticed his suffering? Or maybe you wanted to reject him, once and for all, to make him understand that his passion was an illusion, that no matter how much he wanted it, the two of you could never be together — too incompatible, too different. That he had developed this coping mechanism, exhausted by the war.

But before Optimus could spiral further, you crushed his hopes.

"The company I work for is sending me on a business trip," you sighed, clearly dissatisfied with the news. "It’s supposed to take two weeks, but you never really know with these trips, especially since they’re sending me across the continent."

"I understand," he replied, his tone not betraying the turmoil within. "What does this business trip involve?"

"Oh, shoot, sorry! I should have explained that right away," you laughed casually as if you hadn’t just delivered news that shattered his spark. "Business trip is assigned by an employer for training sessions, conferences, exhibitions, and other boring stuff. Kind of like a mission, but without explosions, action, or danger."

It was good to hear that you’d be safe, though you would truly be safest only at the base, under his watchful optics.

Pessimistic, ugly thoughts churned in his processor. Of all the things he expected to hear from you, this wasn’t one of them. Suddenly, he feared being alone, feared his own dreams. Because he knew you wouldn’t be there to comfort him after a nightmare, and nothing else could bring him peace.

"I am sorry to hear we will not see each other for two weeks," he said, "but I am confident you will do exceptionally well on this assignment. You are dependable, unyielding. You can handle anything."

"Oh, thank you," you answered, a bit flustered. You hadn’t expected a compliment. "It just makes me sad to leave Jasper. I don’t say it often enough, but I have a wonderful time with all of you. With you."

"Likewise, [Name]. When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow after work, I’ll say goodbye to everyone else."

So soon. Too soon. He’d hoped you wouldn’t leave until next week, to at least give him time to mentally prepare for the separation, but you denied him that luxury. Not that any amount of time would have prepared him for this.

Slowly, subtly enough that you wouldn’t notice the change, he reduced his speed, prolonging your shared drive.

"I’m not sure I’ll have time to write," you warned. "Unfortunately, they’ve given me a really tight schedule. But! If I can, I’ll write to the kids. Oh, and expect some souvenirs — I’ll bring something back for you all."

"You do not need to spend your valuable time searching for trinkets. But if you insist, I will cherish anything you bring me."

"Aw, don’t worry—it’ll be no trouble." You waved your hand dismissively. "You do so much for me, for the kids, for the whole Earth without asking for anything in return. You deserve something nice."

"I do not protect your planet for glory or offerings."

"I know, I know. That’s very noble. And amazing. So many years, sticking firmly to your values."

He eagerly soaked up your praise, allowing himself, if only for a brief moment, to forget the world around him, to forget his duties, unfulfilled promises, fallen brothers and sisters. He’d never describe himself as 'amazing', nor did he believe the praise his own kind gave him about his greatness. But for you, he could believe it. If only for a moment, a few seconds, so that you’d leave on your mission thinking warmly of your time together and of him.

"Thank you, [Name]. Please know that I value your words tremendously."

"Oh," you blushed, "that’s nice to hear."

Embarrassed, you quickly changed the subject, unaware that Optimus was watching you closely, curious about your reaction. For now, he pushed thoughts of your departure to the back of his processor, wanting to fully enjoy your presence. You recommended songs from the country genre, one of his favorite discoveries on Earth, which he promised to listen to later. He knew well that this would lead to more daydreaming, imagining a future that would never be. Because no matter how hard he tried, his tomorrow would not be entwined with yours. His desires would forever remain mere fantasies born out of desperation, longing, and sorrow.

A week had passed since you left. In the lives of the Autobots, not much had changed because of your absence; they went on with their chaotic schedule. The kids, however, missed you. No more evenings spent helping them with their homework, working on your reports, playing games, or simply chatting. The worst part was that no one really knew what was going on with you. You rarely messaged, didn’t have time to talk, and when you did, it was just to say, "I’m alive, it’s boring, I’ll message you on Thursday." Life continued, despite how much Miko wished she could play games with you instead of doing her homework.

Everyone managed to adapt to your absence.

With one exception.

At first glance, it seemed like Optimus, the bot with whom you shared the closest bond, hadn’t been affected by such a drastic change. Nothing in his behavior indicated any longing. He didn’t express his opinion on the matter, didn’t ask, didn’t demand. As always, he buried his feelings deep within, playing the role of a diligent leader, hiding from everyone the nightmares running through his processor, now even more intense because of your absence.

He was withering, quietly and alone.

Until now, he had been content simply watching you. He had established a routine, unhealthy as it was, that kept him going. He knew that most of the time when he returned from patrol or a mission, you would be at the base. Even if you came every other or every third day, Optimus knew that eventually, you would show up. It gave him a sense of stability amidst the chaos surrounding him. But now? Maybe two weeks wasn’t a big challenge for you, but he was done after one.

Now, he wanted to be more than a passive observer. He craved physical contact, to hold you close, to feel your heartbeat against his metal. He wanted to know you were alive, to feel your pulse under his digit, to listen to its rhythm, to understand how your chest moved against his metal. He wanted to feel, taste, touch, enter.

He kept glancing at the spot on the couch where you usually sat with your laptop on your lap or spent time with the kids as if hoping that if he looked just one more time, you would materialize there. That everything would return to normal, that he wouldn’t suffer so much, that you would give him the daily dose of antidote he needed to function without plunging deeper into despair. But no matter how many times he looked, you weren’t there, and wouldn’t be for another week.

At some point, however, someone noticed their leader’s miserable mood.

"I can’t quite figure out what kind of bond you have with that woman," Ratchet said, pausing his work to look at Optimus. Before his friend could answer, he continued, "But she’ll be back soon. And whatever she’s doing, she’ll do it well. She’s tough."

"Thank you, old friend. I have no doubt in her abilities. But I would feel better if she were stationed closer to the base in case of a Decepticon attack."

"Mm-hmm," the medic scoffed. "Sure, that’s all it’s about."

Optimus had no response to that. He wasn’t surprised that Ratchet noticed his infatuation, but he would prefer that his friend not delve into the details of their relationship. At least, not yet. Not while Optimus himself was a wreck.

"Hey, hey! [Name] messaged!" Miko yelled.

The Autobot leader immediately approached the platform, finally abandoning his conversation with Ratchet, aware that it would only spark more suspicions. But he didn’t care anymore, not in such an important moment.

He stood directly behind Miko, with Bumblebee and Bulkhead beside him, equally curious to know what you had been up to over the past week.

"She sent photos, too! Look!"

Miko turned to show the messages to the others but paused when she noticed Optimus’s helm close to her.

“Whoa,” she whispered, surprised that out of all the bots, he was the one standing the closest. She swallowed, but her confidence quickly returned.

Holding her phone firmly, she displayed a close-up selfie of you. You were smiling, though the bags under your eyes betrayed that you were sleep-deprived, probably exhausted.

Optimus felt the accumulated stress, pain, and longing of the past week slowly dissipate. Everything was fine with you. You were alive, pushing forward with a smile on your face, happy to simply exist. Admiring your photo didn’t compare to seeing you in person, but it let him vent a little easier, granting him a brief respite from worry, gnawing at him from within. It was enough. For now. For a moment.

“She sends her regards to everyone,” Miko went on, “Oh, and she also asked Ratchet to take a break and mentioned she already bought a gift for Optimus and can’t wait to come back. Hey, I want a present, too!”

Optimus couldn't be certain if another week apart wouldn’t inflict even more damage on his processor and spark, or if longing would eventually consume him entirely. But he knew he was already lost, that you held sway over every aspect of his life. He was wrapped around your finger, tethered by a leash you didn’t even realize existed. And he didn’t mind one bit.

[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | part three

when it seems like a return to normalcy is impossible, you decide that something has to give, but will it bend or will it break?

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst content warnings: fear of drowning, therapy, mommy and daddy issues, sigmund freud, nightmares and ptsd, sleep deprivation, takes place during 15x4 "saturday" (max does not exist in this au), stalkers, yelling, police, domestic disturbance, broken dishes, severe self image issues, crying, implies that jj is sometimes not the greatest friend, marriage and marriage counseling, mentions the death of grace lynch, the chameleon arc, reader and spencer are both broken people sry. things get resolved (or do they?) word count: 5.13k a/n: i'm trying to come to terms with the fact that people will not like how this part goes, but i do think it's important to remember that this is not where it ends. it's probably easy to guess what episode I'm rewriting next. lol. let me know your thoughts and feelings because i am dying to know.

“Are you glad to be back at work?” Your therapist asked you, writing down your personal information on the form on her clipboard before she met your stare.

Chewing impatiently on the inside of your lip, you glanced over to the clock that was hung above the door, dooming you to another forty-five minutes with Dr. Harmon. “Yes, I love desk duty,” you told her, flashing a fake smile in her direction.

The older woman looked at you doubtfully, and you silently begged for her to sign your return to duty forms. “I thought we spoke about using sarcasm as a coping mechanism,” she responded in a way that made you feel chastised.

You raised your eyebrows at her, gray hair neatly combed into a tight bun, you had spent more time with your therapist for the past two months than you had any of your family – the rest of your time was spent retraining your body, usually within the limitations of your doctor’s orders. “And I thought we talked about there being worse coping mechanisms that I could be using,” you countered, leaning back in her chair.

She shrugged helplessly, “Well, I’m not sure about signing your release forms. You could be a liability in the field.”

Eyes widening, you tilted your head to the side, “No, no, no, I’ve grown a new appreciation for the desk workers in the BAU. I even stopped laughing when people refer to Agent Anderson as Grunt Anderson,” you informed her, nodding as if that would help convince her of your honesty.

Checking off a box on your form, she set the clipboard on her side table, just out of your view. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Harmon leaned forward and folded her hands over her knee, “Have you spoken to your sister since the last time I saw you?”

You leaned your head back, staring at the tiles of the ceiling as any hope of returning to the field left your body.

One of your very first dates with Spencer had been at the Academy’s shooting range, you had a lucky spot there, it was where you had aced your qualification as a cadet, and it was pure luck that it had been available when you arrived.

As your paper target was brought forward, you slipped off your headphones and set your weapon down, studying the results as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

“Hey,” Spencer said from behind you, casually leaning against the wall behind you.

You jumped slightly as the sound of his voice took you away from your anxiety, “Hey,” you echoed, holstering your weapon as you sent your target back for someone to change it out.

“I thought you were going to come to the BAU after therapy,” he explained, arms crossed in front of his chest in his charcoal suit, camouflaging himself with the steely gray of the shooting range.

Pursing your lips, you made sure you had your phone in your pocket before grabbing your bag, “I wanted to get some practice in before my requalification test.”

He looked surprised for a moment, “Did your therapist sign your return to duty?”

“No,” you muttered, knowing that you wouldn’t be eligible to take your firearms requalification until after you had been cleared by a psychiatrist.

Any surprise quickly left his face, “What did she say, then?”

You rolled your eyes, “She told me that it’s possible that my strained relationship with my parents is negatively affecting my performance in my sessions. Then she threw a Freud biography at my head.”

“Did you talk to her about the nightmares?” He asked, following you as you checked out of the shooting range, waving to a gaggle of cadets as they noticed the BAU agents in their general vicinity.

Faltering as you opened the door, you flung the glass door open and trudged out of it, “I have it under control,” you lied through your teeth, continuing your way to the elevator.

The tapping of Spencer’s shoes signified that he was following you, holding his hand over the sensor while you stepped in and using his knuckle to press the parking garage button, “You were up all night last night,” he retorted, “She could help you develop a coping mechanism that works for you so that you can get some rest, angel.”

You were getting tired of those words, “Well, maybe we’ll reach a breakthrough next week. You never know.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being so unamenable,” he accused.

Shaking your head as you stepped out of the elevator, you hoisted your bag back over your shoulder, “Is unamenable genius-speak for pain in the ass?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” he retorted, swiping the keys out of your hands before unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat. You had been cleared to drive weeks ago, but Spencer still insisted on driving you.

You groaned, “My recent brush with death has made it difficult for me to let bygones be bygones.”

Pulling out of the parking spot, he carefully placed both of his hands on the steering wheel, “And here I thought we were actually going to move on with our lives.”

“No one holds a grudge like a youngest child,” you informed him, leaning your head against the window and wishing you had driven separately.

Being at home wasn’t much better than being at Quantico. You quickly changed and settled yourself on the couch while Spencer sat across from you, legs crossed in the wingback chair as he finished filling in a crossword book that you had started that morning.

You watched the clock tick, the diffused orange light of the sunset beamed through the curtains, and you felt yourself settle. Stiff joints and aching muscles unwound on the supple leather of the couch, and as you let your eyes fall shut, you felt the breeze of someone walking by before Spencer stopped in front of you.

Gently, he draped a knit blanket over you, tucking you in before crouching and dropping a gentle kiss to your temple.

Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now.

I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.

It’s okay. I’ve got you.

“Honey, wake up.”

You startled awake on the couch, wadding up the blanket in your fists as your eyes adjusted to the dim environment of the apartment. The sun had set, dipping below the skyline as you stared ahead.

Concerned brown eyes bore into you as you caught your breath, Spencer reached over and flicked on the table lamp next to you, “You’re alright,” he cooed, gently enough to make you want to cry. “It was just a bad dream,” he told you, cupping your cheek and studying your expression.

Nodding absently, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, the familiar knit blanket falling in a puddle around your waist. “I was in the parking garage again,” you preemptively answered his next question. You were usually in the parking garage, sometimes you were on the beach, and once you had been fully underwater.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

You shook your head and ignored the defeated look on Spencer’s face, instead burying your face in your hands and taking a few deep breaths.

He waited for a moment before speaking again, reaching out and adjusting the bunched-up fabric of your t-shirt, “Are you hungry? I made soup.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, afraid it would start growling at the mention of food.

As you watched Spencer get up and walk over to the kitchen, you let yourself feel like everything was alright for the slightest moment. You wanted your apartment to be your safe space where there were no serial killers or sisters or hospitals, but there was a classified file on the kitchen table, photos of you and your sister littered the walls, and there was an entire drawer in the home office dedicated to your hospital stay.

Melding into the couch cushions, you ignored the stiffness in your side, the scars that marred your skin were healed over, but the memory would stick with you for a lifetime. It felt like a phantom pain, irritating your skin whenever you thought too much about it, or whenever your therapist asked you about Grace Lynch.

It didn’t bring you a lot of comfort to know that she was dead, murdered by her own father after conning her ex-girlfriend into giving her money. Everett Lynch was the threat now, and you were stuck on the bench.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your cheek on your knee as Spencer ladled soup into a bowl and presented it to you, complete with a few ice cubes to cool it down. He waltzed back into the kitchen to clean up when his phone rang.

You ignored his conversation while you stirred the ice cubes around in your bowl, the soft clinking of them mesmerizing your tired brain. You ate while he spoke on the phone, mentioning something about a case. Pushing any thoughts of serial killers away, you just ate your soup.

Sipping at the broth, you grew curious about what was going on over the phone, but you tried to mind your business, scooping at the last noodles in the bowl before setting it down on the coffee table.

“Who was that?” You asked, eyes following Spencer as he walked back over to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket as he sat next to you on the couch.

He paused for a moment, and you immediately regretted asking, “Uh, it was JJ.”

You supposed it had to mean something that he elected to tell you the truth instead of lying to you, but you were no longer feeling optimistic, “Ah.”

“Don’t start,” he said immediately.

You turned to him, raising your eyebrows curiously and pushing yourself into the corner of the couch – away from him, “Start what, Spencer?”

Spencer put his hands up, “Picking a fight with me over JJ’s feelings. JJ, Tara, Luke, and Penelope are working on a stalker case, it’s nothing that we need to worry about.”

“I’m not going to pick a fight with you, I already told you that I forgive you,” you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He groaned in frustration, “You can say it all you want, but you haven’t. You haven’t forgiven me.”

As he usually was, Spencer was right, you hadn’t forgiven him for lying to you about what had happened between him and JJ. You wanted to. You wanted to find it in yourself to be the bigger person and just tell him it was fine. All you wanted was to move on, but you were crashing into roadblock after roadblock. “Are you going to work that case?”

“No, it’s a classic stalking case, they’ll make it without me,” he said, turning on the couch to face you.

You swallowed thickly, “You can go if you’d rather be there,” you reassured him, wondering if he’d be happier at work than at home with you. Someone needed to make a decision, someone needed to decide whether or not the two of you were going to keep going or if you were going to call it off. You didn’t want it to be you, you were afraid of which option you might choose.

Spencer frowned, “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not,” you answered.

“Yes, yes you are,” he challenged, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

Shaking your head, you threw your hands up in surrender, “You don’t have to go. You can stay here. You live here. Who the fuck am I to tell you to leave?”

“And now you’re escalating the situation,” he observed, straightening up and watching you carefully.

You didn’t consider yourself an angry person. The two of you didn’t fight often, but as you considered your options, you wondered if it could help. Maybe you could replicate the feeling of a good cry. Maybe all you need is a good fight. Just talk it out – loudly. “I’m not escalating anything. I’m not starting anything. In case you haven’t noticed, this has been going on for months.”

He had noticed, he could probably give you an exact date and time to point out when everything fell apart. Was it inside the pawn shop? Was it in the courtyard outside of Rossi’s wedding? “I thought we had made some real progress at the hospital,” he challenged.

Getting up from the couch, you took a deep breath and tossed the blanket over the back, “You cannot seriously think that. You’re too smart to believe that, Spencer. The idea that we fixed everything while I was hopped up on Xanax and painkillers. It’s… it’s…” you stumbled over your words for a moment. It’s crazy. You wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t do that to him. Spencer had spent his whole life having that word thrown at his mother, and he spent adulthood fearing he’d have a schizophrenic break. “It’s outlandish,” you finally finished.

Spencer looked up at you from the couch, “Is it outlandish to think that the history we have together would help mend our relationship?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know, Spencer, let’s take a look at your history with my sister,” you snapped.

“Oh, come on,” he protested.

“No,” you commanded, “Sit down and shut up. I’ve spent months waiting for you to get it, but apparently, I need to spell it out for you.”

To your surprise, he listened, watching you in silence as you took a deep breath, picked up your soup bowl, and brought it into the kitchen. Your heartbeat pounded like thunder in your ears.

Standing in front of him, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “I want you to empathize with me.” You calculated every word you said, “We’ve known each other for nine years. We’ve been together for seven, and I- I had the rug pulled out from under me. God, you went on a date with my sister. You took her to a football game as a hater of organized sports. My beautiful, prom queen, soccer star, gem of the family older sister.”

“It wasn’t a date, Penelope went with us,” Spencer added patiently.

You peered down at him, “When you asked her to go with you, did you do it with the intention that you would be taking her on a date?”

His shoulders slackened, “Yeah,” he answered softly.

“And you know that she loves you. If you went to her right now and told her you wanted to be with her, that there’s a chance she’d consider it. She’d at least have to think about it,” you told him, confidence dissipating as your hands started to tremble and you silently begged yourself not to cry.

Spencer watched you suspiciously, “What gave you the impression that I want to be with her instead of you?”

You faltered, just for a moment, “Why wouldn’t you want to be with her?” You asked exasperatedly, letting your arms fall limply at your sides.

Pinching his eyebrows together, your boyfriend looked at you like you had grown a third eye, “She’s married? Her kids are my godchildren?”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you cursed yourself as tears stung your eyes, “Are those seriously the only reasons you can think of?” With all the brain power you knew he had, you couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, “Putting aside the fact that I’d be destroying a marriage, not because it doesn’t matter, but because being with your sister isn’t even something I’d consider. This might not have occurred to you, but I have absolutely no interest in being with someone other than you!”

You huffed, “Please, she’s beautiful and athletic and older and you’ve known her for fifteen years!” You shouted over your shoulder, making your way back to the kitchen. There wasn’t anything you needed from in there, you just needed to keep moving.

“But she’s not you!” He yelled from the couch, finally getting up and following you to the kitchen.

Spinning around on your heel, you threw your arms in the air, “God, I know!” You swung your arms down, accidentally sending the bowl you had set on the counter down to the floor, breaking on impact. “Shit,” you muttered, immediately dropping to a crouch and starting to pick up the ceramic shards.

“Hey, wait, let me get it,” Spencer insisted, grabbing a kitchen towel from the drawer before laying it on the floor. He carefully picked up the larger shards, waving your hands away.

You clenched your hands and glared at him with bleary eyes, “Why? Why am I not allowed to clean up the mess that I made?”

Spencer sighed, “You’re crying. I don’t want you to get hurt because you can’t see well,” he told you, prompting you to sit back on the tile and watch him continue to pick up.

You crisscrossed your legs and watched him, “I’m sorry for yelling,” you whispered, so quietly that you weren’t even sure he had heard you.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Spencer gathered up the kitchen towel and set it on the counter, setting his hands on the counter and taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he echoed your sentiments. He moved to the hall closet to get out the broom, interrupted by a knock on the door.

Confused, you poked your head over the counter and watched as Spencer opened the front door.

“Good evening, officer,” he greeted, casting a sidelong glance over at you.

Fuck.

You scrambled to your feet, careful not to step on any pieces of the bowl that remained on the floor and wiping beneath your eyes as you made your way to the door, peeking around the corner to find two DC Metro officers. “Agent Jareau?” One of the officers said curiously.

“Hi,” you waved timidly, looking between the two of them with your tail between your legs.

He looked surprised at the revelation of who lived here, recognizing you from a case you had consulted on months ago. “We were called here on a report of a domestic disturbance, your neighbor in said she heard ‘a lot of yelling before there was a crash and then everything went quiet’.”

The summation of events did nothing to slow your racing heart, “We had uh… we were having a disagreement, and I knocked over a bowl. It was an accident,” you reassured the officer, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hand as a sign of good faith.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You nodded in confirmation, “I’m really sorry about any inconvenience, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

The DC Metro officers studied Spencer suspiciously, and you protectively moved in front of him. They were trained to see the worst-case scenario, but there was nothing happening here, “Well then, just uh… try to keep it down, I suppose.”

The two of you waved as they walked away, once the door was closed, you turned to face Spencer, “Are you alright?”

He looked a little pale, “I’m alright,” he nodded, gathering himself before going back to the hall closet. “That was weird,” he added.

Spencer’s interaction with police officers was limited to work with the bureau and his time in prison. He never had to explain an underage drunk person in the car or run when a party got too rowdy, but he wasn’t concerned with the confrontation, he was concerned that, for a moment, before you got there, those officers saw Spencer as a violent person. You stayed put, watching him sweep up the last of the bowl and take care of the sharp pieces with a keen eye.

“I’d never hurt you,” Spencer said softly, unnecessarily explaining to you.

You nodded, “I know. You’re not like that, baby. You’re not a violent person.” In fact, you had only seen Spencer aggressively violent one time in your life, and that was when his mother’s life was on the line. Stepping over to him, you lifted yourself so that you were sitting on the kitchen counter, meeting his eyes.

“She is not you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “I am well aware,” you offered.

He took a deep breath, “JJ would never ask me to recite Henry James to her or offer to go to the planetarium with me even after we spent all day on a case or sit through one of my lectures just to hear me talk about something I’m passionate about,” he began. "I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation about something I’m passionate about with your sister. Not one where she didn’t interrupt me or pawn me off on somebody else,” he told you, disconnecting one of your hands to wipe new tears from your cheeks.

“I- I’m not…” you breathed, overwhelmed as he sang your praises.

“I know you compare yourself to her,” he cut you off, “it’s normal for you to compare yourself to your older sister. I just didn’t know how lowly you thought of yourself until all of this was dug up.”

Frowning, you cocked your head to the side, “I do not compare myself to her,” you remarked.

He hummed in response, “It wasn’t up for debate. I’m not interested in your sister. I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone except for you. I am sorry that I never told you about the football game, but by the time you joined the team, six years had passed, and I didn’t think it was pertinent to tell you that your sister had rejected me. That is entirely on me, and I can’t change it. I can, however, spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

Your breathing hitched, and the ghost of a potential proposal once again floated through the air, it made your heart ache. “One of these days you’re going to have to actually ask me to marry you,” you whispered, not sure how much longer you’d be able to sit and wait while he neglected to act upon his words.

“What do you want right now?” Spencer asked, studying your facial expression.

You have spent three months being mad at him, and you had to believe it all came down to tonight. Neither of you could keep going with things the way they were. “I’m not sure,” you answered.

Patiently, Spencer inquired, “Do you want to break up?”

If you told him you hadn’t thought about it, you’d be lying. It broke your heart to think about ending things with him, to think that six years together didn’t mean something to the both of you. Spencer had never given any inclination that he was interested in anyone else, so maybe he should’ve told you about the football game, but you shouldn't have let your insecurities block any attempt at reconciliation. “No,” you responded truthfully.

He had tried, too. The one-sided conversations he had with floral bouquets, taking time off of work to help you while you recovered, and he had even limited his contact with your sister. “Do you want to go to couple’s therapy?”

You had heard through the grapevine that your sister was trying marriage counseling with Will, something about working on their communication skills. With that in mind, you nodded, “We can try it out.”

“Do you know what you want?” He asked, settling a hand on your thigh.

Through the sheer curtains, you looked outside, “I want to go,” you informed him, hopping off of the kitchen counter and to your shared bedroom, pulling on a pair of socks.

Confused, Spencer followed you around the apartment, “Wait. Where are we going?”

“I’m going,” you said simply.

He looked surprised at this, “It’s the middle of the night in the twenty-second largest city in the country, you’re not going out alone.”

You paused for a moment at his concern, watching the defeated look on his face morph into one of relief when you responded, “Then put your shoes on,” you encouraged.

As you waited by the door, mindful to not walk through the apartment with your shoes on, he stopped in your bedroom for a moment before coming back out and slipping his sneakers on. “Where are we going?”

Grabbing your keys off of the hook, you opened the door and held it for Spencer as he followed your lead. “You know at the start of Moby Dick when Ishmael says when he finds himself growing grim about the mouth and wanting to knock people’s hats off, he takes to the sea?”

He nods, taking the keys from your hand and locking the door behind him, glancing briefly at your neighbor’s door before handing your keys back to you, “I’m familiar,” he confirmed.

“Well, I’m feeling rather grim about the mouth,” you told him assuredly, slipping your keys into your pockets and slowly making your way down the hold staircase of your apartment building, listening for Spencer’s footsteps right behind you.

Even with your back turned, you knew his expression would be one of confusion, “So, you want to take to the sea?”

You quickly shook your head, the very last place you wanted to be was near a body of water in the middle of the night, “Not particularly, but maybe the park and some fresh air would do me some good.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he confirmed, stepping around you to hold the front door open so that you could walk outside, the cool night air stinging your face as you did.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at the night sky, the stars hidden through the city’s light pollution.

Upon reaching the park, which was just a small green space down the street from your apartment, Spencer led you to a cement bench, the two of you sitting down and sitting in silence. You welcomed the cold air filling your lungs, watching the fountain from a distance and admiring the way the headlights of a few passing cars reflected off of the water.

He kept a hand on your back, gently moving his hand up and down your spine as the two of you reveled in the startling nighttime peace. “I haven’t been fair to you,” you murmured nervously, looking over at him.

“None of this has been fair to anyone,” he reminded you.

You sighed, “JJ confessed her feelings, not the other way around, and I- I shouldn’t have held that against you for so long.” The admission came to you easily, holding your breath as you waited for him to agree.

Spencer’s silence worried you, but then he finally responded, “I probably would have done the same thing, but I don’t think it’s right for me to speculate how I would or wouldn’t have acted in your shoes.”

“I just… she’s always been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect agent, and I’m… I’m just me,” you said helplessly, staring ahead at the fountain.

He took a deep breath, “You’re perfect to me.”

“Stop,” you chastised halfheartedly.

Chuckling, he placed his hand over yours, “I mean it. Sometimes perfection is about the final concoction and not about getting all of the steps right. You don’t need the perfect journey, and, to me, nothing proves that more than you.”

You hummed, “You’re sweet.”

 “For what it’s worth, I think, given the opportunity, you could be a perfect wife,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee, getting your head to snap to the side.

Jumping up from the bench, you smacked your hand over your mouth at the small black box that he had set on the stone surface. “What are you… what?” You asked breathlessly, looking behind you in the way people usually did when they were surprised, waiting to see if you were being pranked.

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” he reached down and snapped the box open, showing you the glimmering ring inside. “It can just be a promise because I am promising you right now, this is it for me. You are the only person I can see myself with, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Gaping at him, you looked between him and the ring before closing your mouth, “That sounds an awful lot like an engagement ring,” you told him, out of breath.

He nodded, “That’s because I want it to be.”

“Okay,” you answered.

“What?”

You giggled, he evidently hadn’t expected that answer, “Yes, Spencer.”

He stood up, tackling you in an embrace, “Thank goodness.” He said, relaxing into you as you returned his hug.

Over the past few months, you had been almost afraid of him asking you, worried that it would feel like an excuse. A band-aid over a bullet hole. But as you held each other tightly, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of right. This was where you were always meant to be. “Will you put it on me?”

He nodded slowly, sniffling as he pulled away from you, the warmth of his body leaving you as he nimbly took your left hand, slipping the ring on your fourth finger. The metal felt foreign on your skin, but you welcomed it nonetheless. “That has been sitting in my sock drawer for a year,” he admitted, placing both of his hands on your waist and meeting your eyes.

You beamed up at him, at both the revelation that he bought you a ring well before any of the trials and tribulations of the last few months and that he hid the ring in the one place you never touched – the seemingly bottomless abyss of unmated socks that Spencer called his sock drawer. “Thank you,” you breathed.

Spencer leaned his head down, hovering his lips just above your own, “For what, love?”

Blinking small tears out of your eyes, you answered, “For not giving up on us.”

He smiled, “Never,” he whispered before dropping his lips to yours, the intimacy of something as small as a kiss enough to bring butterflies to your stomach. “Do you want to go home? Or are you still feeling grim about the mouth?”

“Let’s go home, Spence,” you told him, pressing one last kiss to his lips before the two of you began the trek home, hand in hand.

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[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (02) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 11.9k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii really touched with all the love for this story! I don’t know about you but this hits harder with all the boys away and we’re missing them so badly. But we’ve got this! 💕 But thank you thank you for all the messages (sorry I can’t get to each one!) and the interest and excitement. Hope you enjoy this one ☺️

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

Despite hoping that he wouldn’t, Jungkook, in fact, pushes you further away on his second day on the job. 

To his defense, it was partly your fault. You smiled at him last night - perhaps due to your delicious dinner that you didn’t even know was from him - and it disarmed him. 

The words you uttered after just flew over his head and he just nodded, too out of it to confirm what you’d said. It probably had something to do about you not coming to his penthouse, because it’s Tuesday morning and you’re still not here. He’d expected that like yesterday, you'd prepare his breakfast, and after all that transpired, debrief after yesterday’s meetings and discuss the next steps. That was his routine with Lucas, and for all the things that you seemed to know and do right - from his room design, the doneness of his eggs, and his coffee - this was a miss. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be assisting me from the start of the day?” Jungkook says over the phone, his tone sounding annoyed. “I’ve been waiting for you since 6:30.”

Your heart drops at his words, the memory from last night of him agreeing to you sticking to the same schedule you had with Hoseok suddenly feeling like some made up scenario. You remember telling Jungkook that you go straight to the office the rest of the week; you’d only go to Hoseok’s house on Mondays to prepare his clothes and brief him because he’s able to manage from Tuesday onwards. Your new boss, for some reason, perhaps misheard your question. And now you’re the one in trouble. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you bring yourself to say, your voice in a panic because regardless of who’s in the wrong, making him wait is not a good start to his day nor yours, and especially not to your already rocky relationship. “I can get a cab then head to you.”

“So you want me to wait for you some more?” He chides, his dry laugh making you want to throw your phone just so you won’t hear his voice anymore. “Just stay wherever you are, but I want the meeting minutes from yesterday ready when I get there since you’re not here to go over them with me.”

Jungkook hangs up and your head thumping on your desk is immediate. It’s barely the start of the day and you already want to go back home and probably never come back. 

You left the office at 9 last night, knowing you were too exhausted to continue working on the annotated documents, and then got soaked in the rain on your way home. You planned on coming to work early - given that your boss didn’t require you to go to his penthouse, a claim you stand by - so you can continue, but now he wants the meeting minutes in an hour, and that isn’t usually due until three days later. 

Neglecting the sandwich you planned on eating for breakfast, you work on your notes from the first meeting and then move on to the next. Every footstep you hear makes you anxious, and you breathe a sigh of relief every time you find out it’s not him. Every minute counts and you’re thankful for each one. Until, of course, you run out of it. 

“Send them to me now and meet me in my office,” his voice echoes through the hallway that leads to his room. 

Jungkook walks straight past you and doesn’t even give you a look.

“Yes, sir,” you squeak, quickly sending the email then scurrying to where he is. 

You find him seated on his chair, his leg crossed over the other one as he goes through the notes on his iPad, his furrowed eyebrows making you sweat in worry. He doesn’t seem pleased. But from what you’ve witnessed so far, you doubt there’s much that pleases him.

He encircles words and scribbles on the sides, mumbling “incomplete,” “what does this mean,” and “this is not what I said.”

Jungkook sets the device on his desk and groans. He turns to you with a hard glare, and you clearly see just how displeased he is. Not that you have any defense - it’s your job to do what he asked in a manner that’s up to his standards - but you already felt discouraged in the morning, and your meal skipping caused you to lose focus in the afternoon, resulting in your less than satisfactory documentation of the meeting.

“Ms. Cho, do you know the value of these documents? And why I require them to be comprehensive and done on time?”

“Uh, ye-yes, sir,” you drag out.

“Why?”

It’s too early for this, you think to yourself. Clearly you know why they’re important; you’re just too tired to articulate the reasons to him. But you try, as the words form in your head. You’re about to say them when he stands from his chair and walks towards his desk, leans on the edge and then intently looks at you, as if he’s judging even the way you’re breathing or standing. And you’d probably fail, given how your body seems to cower in his presence. 

“Because decisions are made through them,” he says, drowning out your thoughts with his stern voice. “I attend numerous meetings everyday. Decision points can be buried in the discussions unless they’re documented properly. And even when they are, they’re not actioned upon immediately unless I have access to them and unless they’ve been processed and verified. I don’t leave those conference rooms and forget about what took place. They stay in my head, that’s why I ask you to write them down, and that’s why I require you to meet me first thing in the morning so that I can process them with you, and let those points guide me for the rest of the week.”

His glare continues, so does his voice getting louder. “My job isn’t just to sit around and listen to people. I make decisions. And it’s your job to make sure I have all the correct information to make them.”

“I… I understand, sir. And I… I apologize for the oversight,” you stutter, still unable to look at him. “But about this morning, uh… you, uh last night, I—”

“Was there an explicit statement from me about not having you come in the morning?”

“No, sir.”

He lets the silence draw out, perhaps to let your own words sink in. He does have a point. You stand by your claim that you’d asked, and he nodded, but you should also know that such gestures aren’t clear responses, and that’s on you to make sure that you’re both on the same page. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say with conviction. “I made an assumption when I should have clarified. And even then, it’s your first week as Vice President. I should be assisting you in all the ways I can.”

Jungkook watches your form, hands clasped together with your nails sinking into your skin. Your head is bowed down, unable or unwilling to look at him this whole time. He knows he’s at fault, too, but he’d never admit it; he’s not exactly the type to do that. 

You stand there in submission and a part of him wants to apologize, but that’s not the type of weakness he wants to show, not when he needs to establish authority and more importantly, distance.

“I require Lucas to still come every morning because that’s the only time we can debrief about the previous day’s activities,” he says, making his voice calmer now. “We go through the minutes, clarify things, finalize them, and then disseminate so that people don’t forget. Teams collaborate effectively when there’s accountability and when timelines are adhered to. It’s my job to make sure they comply. And that means it’s your job, too. I don’t have to remind you of your roles now do I, Ms. Cho?”

“No, sir,” you respond, finding the strength in you to finally look at him, his hardened stare still unnerving you. 

He uncrosses his arms and walks back to his seat. “My cousin and I work very differently from each other. It’s on you to adjust.” 

“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in acknowledgment. “I’ll be at your apartment at 6:30 every morning and I’ll do better with my documentation and preparation of all the files.”

Jungkook just hums then proceeds to work on something on his desktop, which you take as your cue to leave. You bow again and excuse yourself, but his voice stops you as you open the door.

“Push back this morning’s meeting to 9:00,” he says. “And make sure you have something to eat. I can’t have you be unfocused again like yesterday.”

You survive the rest of Tuesday. You eat snacks rather than proper meals, and you find that that helps you more with time and focus. The meetings for that day are less intense, but with you still figuring out exactly how Jungkook wants the documents prepared, you stay up after hours and work on them for the next day, with you constantly going over the recording to make sure that you documented everything correctly. 

You arrive at his penthouse at 6:30 every morning during the week. You make his breakfast while he takes a shower, which is really whatever’s in his fridge or pantry. He doesn’t seem to mind what you prepare for him, and you’re glad that he doesn’t find any more severe reasons to dislike you. There’s still the occasional correction of your minutes, but you chalk it up to him just being too particular. There are terms he uses that you’re not familiar with; he’s an architect by training after all.

Perhaps it’s why he’s as specific and detail-oriented as he is, and more visual than anything. Hoseok is a perfectionist like him, but the older man has everything organized in his head and then executes them, whereas Jungkook needs them all laid out before him. Whether it’s about a policy, a process, and especially a design, he makes sure they’re drawn out, and the way they all just make sense to him is immediate. 

You suppose that’s what he’s used to. Plans need representation beyond words; he doesn’t seem to be the type to use much of them, in fact, unless he’s correcting you. But that’s what you’ve noticed. At some points during the meeting, he’d draw something on his iPad and send it to you; you both discuss it the next morning, with you finding the words for it for proper documentation. 

But his mind doesn’t seem to stop, as you catch him on the way to work sometimes doodling some design on this leather notebook that he carries with him everywhere. Whether it’s the Arts Center or something else, you’re not sure, but you know that any moment he pulls it out, he’d spend a good amount of time on it before getting out of the car.

He remains distant and disengaged as you expect him to be. Unlike Hoseok who asks you how your evening went or how the trip to his house was, Jungkook doesn’t talk about anything that doesn’t concern work. And so when he isn’t talking about it, there’s just silence - whether in the car, in the elevator, or the walk to his room. There’s none of the laughter or the questions about how you’re coping with all your tasks, and there’s definitely nothing about his life that he shares. Not that you thought he would, but the difference with your old boss is striking, as you think of the times when Hoseok happily talked about the salsa studio he was at with A-yeong over the weekend or the movie they watched together the night before.

The comparisons remain in your head throughout the week. You try to focus on your responsibilities but you realize that you haven’t properly moved on from the culture and environment that you used to enjoy when Hoseok was still leading the team, and that has affected your work in obvious ways, and especially your approach to it. 

There’s anxiety with every task that Jungkook asks of you, even if they’re things you’ve done so many times in your three years as the VP’s assistant. You find yourself constantly clarifying his instructions, prompting him to question your ability to take them. You feel like he’ll be displeased regardless of what your output is, yet you still end up spending too much time going over files that you forget to eat or clock out too late. You don’t get proper sleep either, nervous about what the next day will bring. You second-guess yourself constantly, and all the confidence you built in all your time here doesn’t seem to have as strong of a foundation as you thought. 

So when you make another mistake the following Tuesday, whatever belief in yourself that you have left dissipates. 

“Ms. Cho, where is the folder?” Jungkook asks, his gaze hardening the longer you look at him without a word. 

You’re currently at a restaurant, given that your boss has a meeting with Mr. Hu, the owner of the company that produces quality materials that Jungkook wants for the Arts Center. This was scheduled just yesterday, which is also when he’d asked you to put together the rough draft plans and design that he worked on last weekend. The project is in its early stages but the plans are clear to Jungkook and he wants to secure this deal early on, especially with Mr. Hu leaving the country for a few weeks. 

You finalized this last night and left it on your desk along with the portfolios that Yoongi and the support team have been taking from your shelf. Given the week you’ve had - lack of sleep and frustration more than anything - you rushed to get ready and mistakenly took a portfolio and not the folder meant for this meeting.

“I… I’m so sorry, sir, but I seem to have taken the wrong files,” you stutter, eyes on the ground as you clutch the portfolio for support. “They… they were on my desk along with others and I left them in the office.”

There’s a long pause before Jungkook speaks, the irritation clear in his voice.

“Do you at least have a soft copy?”

“It’s on a USB, sir,” you reply, nervously raising your head. “I left it as well.”

You try your hardest not to look at him, even if it seems like he wants you to, just so you can see the burning way he does it. Because you feel him huffing, you can see how he’s clenching his fists as he controls what he’s feeling, which is definitely anger towards your stupid mistake. 

Jungkook clears his throat before turning back to the man seated across from him, his voice apologetic as he explains that you weren’t able to bring it. 

“Ah, what a shame,” Mr. Hu says, judgingly glancing at you. “I was really looking forward to seeing your plans, Jungkook. I could’ve advised my people to check on the materials you want this early.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jungkook says. “Perhaps I can email them over to you?”

“Oh don’t bother, I’ll be chasing the Italian sun for the next three weeks,” the older man chuckles. “I’ll see you when I get back. By then, I hope you and your assistant have sorted things out and could give me actual information about what you want.”

“We will, I assure you,” Jungkook says, before saying goodbye to him.

He walks past you and you follow, with no words said as you both wait for the car and enter. 

You can hear him panting, and you know enough that's due to an extreme emotion he can’t express. He won’t look at or say anything to you, and that feels more terrifying. 

His phone rings, and not only does the person on the other line talk about what just happened, you happen to hear it, too.

“Hey, I heard what happened with the big boss,” the man says. “Did you really go to the meeting unprepared?”

“It wasn’t me, but yeah, what a mess,” Jungkook huffs, his head leaning back on the chair, his eyes closed as he calms himself down. “What did he say? Is he angry?”

“Nah. You’re a Jeon; he can’t be. He was just a bit annoyed because he was supposed to have a meeting with another client but he chose to see you.”

“Fuck. What an embarrassment,” Jungkook groans.

“Well, he does have high praises for your father.”

“And this is his first time working with me. My dad’s gonna hear about it and give me shit for it.”

“Just another normal day at the office, right?” The man laughs. “So, was it your assistant that screwed up?”

Jungkook hums his yes, knowing you’re two seats away from him, although he’s unsure if you can hear their conversation. For your sake, he hopes you can’t.

“See? This is why you should’ve taken Lucas! That guy was always two steps ahead of you.”

“That’s what I said, but when are my requests ever granted? Never. Another normal day at the office, huh?”

“If she’s pretty, maybe you can forgive them and just suffer through her incompetence,” the man laughs again. “I mean, she’s got to have some redeeming quality somehow. If she doesn’t, that just sucks for you.”

“You really enjoy making fun of my misfortunes, huh?” Jungkook huffs.

“Just sometimes. Not used to you not having your way, that’s all.”

“Well, nothing is going my way, that's for sure. But whatever, I’ll figure it out. Make sure Mr. Hu holds out for me, okay? I need you to help me this time.”

“Hey, I may laugh at your misfortunes but I always have your back,” the man says. “Good luck, VP. I’ll see you soon.”

Jungkook drops the call and you feel him glance at you but you remain stiff on your seat, unwilling to move nor look anywhere else that isn’t your lap. You’re glad that he decides to close his eyes for the rest of the ride, though, so you take your chance to shift towards the window and watch the buildings fly by, willing your tears not to fall.

You hold out until you arrive at the building. That is, until Jungkook heads straight to his room and asks you to follow. 

“Own up to your mistake and look at me,” he says, his voice seeping with disdain. 

You lift your head and meet his eyes, his gaze piercing right through you and you’re unable to move, to speak. But you try - a futile attempt, really - at appealing to the compassionate side of him, if it even exists. 

“I’m so, so sorry Mr. Jeon,” you plead for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to forget the folder. It’s been a tough week and—”

“A tough week?” he mocks, his voice getting louder now. “As if you’re the only one who’s had one? I come here and find myself doing your job. I spent the weekend drafting the designs because I need that deal early only for you to screw it up! My father’s been on to me about this project and I need everything done right but I can’t seem to because my assistant, who’s supposed to be assisting me, can’t even get the most basic things done. All you had to do was bring the folder. You didn’t even have a contingency plan of having a soft copy. Were you not trained for this role?” 

You visibly shake but Jungkook doesn’t let up.

“Answer me.”

“I… I was, Mr. Jeon,” you tremble. “I know I’m not the smartest but I work hard and I—”

“You work hard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In what?”

“In preparing your files and organizing everything for you and…” you try. 

A month ago, you’d be saying these things and more with so much conviction.  But all it took was one Jeon Jungkook to break you down and make you doubt every single skill you’ve developed and been praised for the past few years.

“And I can criticize each of those tasks in just this one week you’ve been my assistant.”

“I… I just needed guidance, sir, because it’s a new—”

“I need guidance. I need assisting,” he sneers. “My father wanted me to keep you because you apparently know how things are supposed to be done but you’re asking for guidance from me?”

There’s silence on your end and you’ve never felt as small as you do right now. The way Mrs. Byun abused her power over you and humiliated you during your first years here continues to be unmatched, but being treated this way by a man whose family you respect somehow hurts you more. 

You want to give up now. You’ll lose everything if you decide to just quit but it’s not like there’s much left of you to go by anyway, given the week that you’ve had. But if there’s anything your mother taught you is that the lowest you can go is when you don’t fight for yourself, so you gather what little dignity you have left and look him in the eyes. 

“You do things very differently from Mr. Jung like you said, and I admire your thoroughness,” you start, trying your hardest to calm the tone of your voice. “You’re adjusting to your new role with a new team and a new assistant that you didn’t choose but somehow you have to trust and that’s unnerving if you’re used to being in control of everything. With all due respect, however, perhaps if you let the people around you adjust as well, we would all find a way to work together effectively and respectfully. A little bit of compassion wouldn’t hurt, and it goes a long way.”

At his silence, you continue, digging your nails deeper into your skin to help you remain stable.

“I apologize for all the mistakes this past week. I know it has been unpleasant for you as well. I’ll do better, that I can promise. But if the way I work is not something that is up to your standard, then there’s only one thing to do. Me quitting would put you in a worse light; you can fire me if you think it is best,” you bravely state. “I can deal with the consequences.”

Jungkook continues to just look at you, unable to say anything this time. Perhaps he isn’t used to someone speaking to him like this. Maybe he’s finding the right words to hit you back and break you even more. The tiniest part of you wants to think you’ve softened him up a bit; hopefully he’ll be less angry at you the next time.

“Is there anything you need me to work on, Mr. Jeon?”

“No,” he answers. “Just hold off all calls for me for the next hour. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon.” 

You bow and head out the door. 

Jungkook watches you leave, and the farther you become, the more he wishes you’d stay.

He’s unsure why. Perhaps it’s the way you spoke to him, similar to the way you did the first time you met over a week ago - with conviction and grace despite you putting him in his place. Maybe it’s him, trying to find the words to apologize without seeming weak, or to encourage you without being comfortable. The tiniest part of him just wants you around; he doesn’t know what it is about you but he finds himself feeling intense emotions because of you - frustration, fear, and an overwhelming feeling of sadness and regret. 

He returns to his seat and glances through the window, the angle of his chair allowing him to see you outside, although he’s unsure if you’re able to see him. Either way, it’s not like you’ve ever looked his way anyway, so he feels a little safe doing this now. 

You’re seated and turned away from the desk, with your fingers pressing over both your ears, as if you’re blocking out the sounds of the room; perhaps you’re blocking out his voice that’s probably still echoing in your head. He’d seen you do this last week, too, after you failed to show up at his penthouse in the morning. He thinks it’s your way of dealing with stress, a quiet one, in contrast to boxing like what he prefers to do. It’s the only time he’d ever allow himself to express anything, after all, other than getting mad at you apparently. 

You finally turn around, but it’s not long after when Do-hyun arrives and takes your place, leaving him to wonder where you’re off to. He focuses on his work like he meant to do, opting to read and send emails while he calms himself down. His eyes always turn to your desk, though, and when he sees that he’s halfway done but you’re still not back, he decides to head out.

“Mr. Jeon,” Do-hyun stands up and greets him. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Where’s Ms. Cho?”

“She had to go to the washroom so she asked me to cover for her first,” she responds. “But, uh… She’s been gone for half an hour. I… I’m not sure what she’s up to but I can—.”

It’s at that moment when you return, and the way that both Do-hyun and Jungkook look at you that you know they can tell. You can’t exactly cry for 20 minutes and then expect to ease the swelling of your eyes for the next 10. But you act like nothing’s amiss, so you dismiss the younger woman and turn to Jungkook.

“Was there something that you needed from me, Mr. Jeon?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Just, uh…” he stutters now, taken aback by the casual way you speak to him despite your glassy eyes. “I’m meeting the CEO and President tomorrow to discuss the Arts Center. Put the initial plans in presentation format and send it to me first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, returning to your seat and not sparing him another glance. 

You work on the presentation in between the other things you need to finish. You draft memos and letters for Jungkook’s approval, and it’s half past 4 when you enter his room to have them signed. 

“I’m heading out at 5 for dinner,” he says as he signs the documents. “I’ve added points on the shared file for the presentation. Make sure to include those.”

“I will, sir.”

There’s a brief moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d offer an apology.

He wishes you’d say that you’re okay.

You want to tell him that the Arts Center already sounds amazing; you hope it turns out the way he imagines.

He wants to tell you that he won’t fire you, that despite how he’s been, he doesn’t want you to go anywhere.

But the moment passes and then it’s gone. You bow once more and then head out the door. 

He leaves at exactly 5, merely nodding at you as he leaves. 

Jungkook sees you again that evening, four hours later as he drives home after having dinner with Seokjin and Taehyung, the brothers he’d grown up with. The office is on the way, and it’s near the bus stop where he spots you, trying to catch a cab that someone always gets to before you do. 

The rain has started to pour, and his anxiety builds; he was never fond of it, given the memory it holds. But it’s you in your thin coat that suspends that for a while. You’re clearly shivering, unable to get a ride, and getting wet from the downpour. You cross the street, seemingly just submitting to the weather, and you disappear amongst the crowd of people just trying to get home. 

He checks his phone as he gets a message and sees the email you sent 20 minutes ago - the presentation he’d asked you to submit in the morning. This is you, making up for today, he guesses. He’s why you’re braving the rain. If he’s being honest, he’s why you’re suffering at all, and he can’t help the way his heart stings at the thought. 

The convenience store is bright and dry unlike the streets outside, and that’s why there’s a substantial amount of people seeking shelter from the downpour that came out of nowhere. 

You welcome the rain. It served as a distraction when you were growing up and your mother’s ex-partner would yell nonstop. You’d hide in your room and cover your ears like your mother taught you to do. When she was able, she’d stay with you and cover your ears with her own hands and tell you that it’s gonna be okay, that even if you can’t stop the scary sounds, you can drown them out enough that they’ll stop bothering you. 

You didn’t think you’d ever do so again but you’ve done that twice in one week, and all it took was one Jeon Jungkook to lecture you about what your job entails. He didn’t yell, but his voice was still piercing, firm and low as if he reserves that intensity for instances of pure frustration. 

That kind of thing takes a lot out of someone. It’s different when a boss is out to abuse their power and take advantage of you. Mrs. Byun made you do her work so she could spend her lunches out and then take credit for outputs without acknowledging you. She sucked up to the directors to overcompensate for not knowing how to answer their questions. And then she had the guts to embarrass you and call you out in front of the team for not being able to do your primary tasks, which was only because you were doing hers. It took a while but her incompetence caught up to her and her departure felt like freedom. But the experience with her was constricting, suffocating, humiliating. It was dehumanizing, too, as you went home to an empty apartment every night, feeling less and less of yourself.

But the way Jungkook treats you hits differently. You’ve survived the worst and ended up in a good spot under Hoseok’s leadership where you built your confidence. During those years, you felt capable, like you were trusted; you felt that your hard work earned you respect. 

Now, you feel all that crumbling. You feel exposed, bare; as if you’re realizing you’re not that good after all. How you’ve been isn’t like you. You’re meticulous, analytical; you’ve sat in so many meetings as an observer and know how things work, how the directors think, and the kinds of outputs expected from you. But recently, you find yourself just lost, questioning everything all the time, and so incapable.

You let yourself feel the burden weigh you down as you eat a small cup of noodles and call it dinner. You walk down the aisles and pick out your favorite snacks, first eating the roasted almonds as you head out the door. 

The rain has let up, with but a drizzle left this late evening. You catch the bus and munch on pepero and chocopie this time. You’re in your neighborhood by the time you tear open the frosted mini donuts. You’ve been mindlessly eating the whole time, but once you get off your stop, you start walking towards the community center. The public library is closed but something about sitting outside the door gives you comfort, just like it used to when you were growing up.

Your mom couldn’t really afford daycare. She’d spend her lunch break picking you up from school then dropping you off at a library where her friend worked; that nice woman always looked after you until your mom came back to pick you up. Some days when she wanted to take you away from the mess that was her partner, she’d take you there, too. 

You read mostly picture books and colored on your coloring book and played with your paper dolls. Even as you grew up, you didn't really read; you just liked that the library was quiet, comfortable, that it made you feel safe. 

Your phone beeps and you see a photo that your mother has just sent of her dry living room floor. 

[From: Mom] it isn’t leaking anymore! 

You smile, imagining her sigh of relief and the way she’s probably humming about the house. You decide to call her; another bit of comfort would definitely help.

“Hi, darling,” she answers after the first ring. “Min-woo went to the hardware store when he arrived in the afternoon so he could fix the roof. What a relief.”

“That’s great, mom,” you reply, wishing you were back home with her. “You can have a good sleep tonight, then.”

“I will. What about you?”

“I hope so.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“Hmm, yeah,” you hum. 

“And where are you now?”

“Outside the library,” you say. 

There’s silence that comes after, a way in which you both say things without words sometimes. Your mom is good at that, and even if you can’t see her, you know there’s love in her eyes. And even if she can’t see you, she knows there’s sadness in yours. 

“So, work has been tough lately, am I right?”

Even without any confirmation, she already knows. She probably knew when you said that everything was fine after she asked how things were going during your visit over the weekend. She probably picked up the faintness of your smile and the way you fell asleep on her lap while you both watched TV and she combed your hair like she always did. 

“The new boss is quite hard on me,” you admit. “He expects too much, asks me to do too much… I’m trying but I keep making mistakes. I’m missing things I normally don’t. I’m not like this, mom. I… I’m better than this.”

“Oh, darling,” she sighs, wishing she’d hugged you a little tighter before you left. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Maybe you’re still adjusting. That’s valid, you know? It’s only been a week.”

“Yeah, but he acts like he’s the only one who needs to adjust and that I just magically know how to do things his way,” you groan. “It… it just makes me feel like I’m not good enough. That I… that I shouldn’t be here.”

“___, you didn’t suffer through your first few years there just so you would continue to doubt yourself,” she responds. “You deserve your role, regardless of what he thinks. You work hard and that means everything.”

“Not to him apparently. Even if I work hard, if it’s not up to his standards, it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t even do anything about it because he’s the CEO’s son.” 

“You can quit, you know?” She says after a beat of silence. “You don’t have to stay if it’s too much, and especially if it’s unfair. Just because you know you can handle it, doesn’t mean you should.”

The thought settles in your head. You did just tell Jungkook that you’d rather he fire you, which honestly terrifies you because much as he’s insufferable, you do need this job. Helping your mom over the weekend reminded you of that. From the health insurance to the salary, you don’t have to worry too much because you can finally repay her for all her hard work in raising you, in protecting you, in surviving for you. 

“I know,” you sigh. “Maybe I just let the tough first days get to me.”

“Whatever it is, you shouldn’t suffer. And you definitely shouldn’t suffer alone,” she advises. “I’m glad you came over during the weekend even if for unpleasant reasons. I got to hug you even if I didn’t know you needed it.”

“I always need it, mom,” you admit. “I don’t have to say it. It’s the only one I get anyway.”

“Well, it’s because it’s the only one you accept,” she points out. 

“True,” you laugh. “But I… I’ll do better. I’ll get my head straight tonight and treat tomorrow like my first day and you know, show him I’m capable.”

“That’s good. And you can come over again this weekend if you want. The storm should be gone by then. The girls want to go to the park. I know they’d love to hang out with you. If you don’t have plans of course.”

“You know I only ever have actual weekend plans when Jimin and Soomin visit me. But yes, I can take the trip on Saturday. If Jungkook wants me to do any work… screw him.”

Your mother laughs, only because she knows you don’t mean it. You know it, too. Regardless of how you think of your boss or your job, you know the value of your work, and you’re not one to sacrifice it for any reason. 

“Are you feeling better, darling?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “The rain’s stopped somehow. I needed to be here. And I… I needed to hear your voice.”

“Good. You know you can call whenever. I don’t have to summon you with photos of a roof or grilled makchang or something every time.”

“I know. And I will. I’ll see you soon.”

You drop the call and start walking back home. Talking with your mom is the strength you need to get through such a tough day. It doesn’t change your situation; maybe Jungkook will still be upset with you in the morning but you’ll handle it, just like you handled all the difficult times before. 

Your mother taught you something else - it was grace. You’d fight back if you need to, but you can always do it with gentleness; sometimes that works wonders, especially if you can’t afford to respond with rage. 

You’re quite nervous walking to Jungkook’s penthouse the next morning. 

Before he left last night, you were sporting glassy and swollen eyes, after all; it wouldn’t have taken much for him to know what you were up to by being away from your desk for half an hour. But you’d been too upset to think of what he would think about it, so you acted like it was nothing when you returned to your seat, took note of his instructions, and watched him walk out. No other words were spoken and quite frankly, you don’t know what either of you could have said after what transpired. It’s a new day, though, and like you told your mother, you’ll just focus on your work and try to get that old version of yourself back, the one you’d felt slipped away this past week.

You enter the front door - as he’d told you to just go in so you don’t disrupt his workout - and immediately hear the loud sounds of leather hitting leather. He seems to be aggressively punching the sandbag, with more evidence of it coming in the form of his deep and successive breaths that you can hear as you walk towards the kitchen. You stop on your tracks, though, as a pair of red laced underwear lays crumpled on the floor.

That definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning so it must’ve been from last night. You’re not one to judge; he did have a frustrating day that you caused and releasing all that stress in this way is understandable. You just wish he had the courtesy to clean up, knowing that his assistant would be coming but then again, you also don’t know if that’s too much to ask of him.

You don’t realize that you’ve been staring at the underwear until you hear him, his deep breaths in tandem with his steps. You walk towards the counter and set him a glass of water before he notices what’s got your attention, but he still does, as he stops at the spot where you were and lets out a grunt. 

From your periphery, you see him pick up the piece of lingerie then throw it in the trash. You turn to him and bow in greeting, and Jungkook merely nods, the slightest of head tilts to acknowledge your presence, seemingly avoiding your eyes, even as you ask what he prefers to eat this morning. You’d like to think that in the recesses of his bitter heart, there’s remorse over yesterday at least, if not over the past few days. But you’ll take it; his silence is better than anything at this moment. 

You follow him towards his bedroom, stopping briefly as you look around and make sure you’re not intruding. You’re unsure if the woman is still here, but he picks up on that.

“She’s gone,” he says, walking to his bathroom. “I never make them stay.”

It’s a part of his life that you’ve only heard of. The gossip that Do-hyun hears from the washrooms in the office may be true, considering his weeknight bang and the left-behind underwear on the kitchen floor. He still had some energy based on his morning workout though, and you don’t know why the thought of him fucking someone and then boxing in the morning is making you feel hot all over. 

You snap yourself out of it, knowing it’s inappropriate and definitely not what you should be worrying about. He’s a stressed, obviously attractive, and rich bachelor; you’re not surprised he’d have women at his beck-and-call and be nonchalant about it.

You walk inside his closet and choose the shoes and accessories he’ll wear today before heading back to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. He walks in 30 minutes later, and you approach him to fix his collar and his tie like you always do, now getting used to his natural scent with hints of jasmine and bergamot. Your eyes focus on the silk necktie, hoping you’re able to control your nervous breathing being this close to him. 

He may still be annoyed at you and you may be invading his space, and the realization makes you step away quickly, taking his plate from the counter and placing it on the dining table. You open your iPad and go through the presentation he asked you to do, surprised that he’s already added a few things.

“Is the presentation final, Mr. Jeon?” You ask. “I see you’ve already looked through it.”

“Sort of,” he responds. “I woke up at 5 and reviewed it before my workout. Let’s go over them now.”

He looks through his iPad as he eats, going over each slide with you as if he’s practicing. The more he speaks, the more you envision the Arts Center and how he wants it done. The way he puts together the ideas into a coherent design is impressive. You almost see it as he does, and much as you thoroughly dislike him right now, for the sake of all the good things that this center will do for people, you really want him to succeed. 

You remind him of a few more things before he finishes his meal, and it’s not long after when you’re in the car, the silence thickening the tension between the two of you once more. This continues until you reach the office, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the distance between the both of you now. 

While you do feel better, the anxiety remains. You don’t want to mess up. And as you enter his room to give him papers to sign and you see him going through his presentation while the leather notebook he was drawing on earlier lays open on the desk, you find yourself also just not wanting to disappoint him. He clearly works hard and despite his treatment of you, you want things to work out for him. 

It’s an hour later when you’re both walking towards the elevator to head to the conference room on the CEO’s floor. It’s just Jungkook with his father and cousin today where he’ll present the initial plans for their comments and their verbal endorsement of the draft budget. 

It’s a massive project that’s working within strict timelines and Jungkook is adamant on getting this ready by mid-next year. You can tell how much he wants to deliver this well - the board of directors would be his next audience and a boost of confidence would be much needed. 

You make him a cup of coffee the way he likes and sit next to him. The distance allows you to keep your eyes away from him; with the pressure he’s under, you don’t exactly want to be close to where you can easily trigger him. 

CEO Jeon and Hoseok arrive, greeting you with their bright smiles, a reprieve from the stoic looks and tight-lipped and furrowed brows you get from Jungkook everyday.

“Hi, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “A week has passed, huh? How has it been?”

“Challenging,” you say honestly, “but still good. I’m learning new things, Mr. Jeon.”

“That’s good,” he smiles, glancing at his son whose eyes are focused on his laptop. The elder seems unconvinced by your half smile but he nods, turning back to you. “By the way, I heard on the news that the typhoon hit your hometown pretty badly. How’s your mother and her family? Mr. Ri mentioned that there was an incident over the weekend. Is everything okay?”

You’re used to CEO Jeon asking things like this prior to meetings. He believes it’s a way to release certain feelings and not keep them hidden, and while you don’t really want to talk about it right now, you appreciate the concern. 

“She, uh. A large tree fell over our house last Saturday,” you say, to the surprise of both CEO and President. “I had to travel in the morning to help my mom. A portion of the roof was damaged and she had to call a company to fix it. Min-woo and the girls were away and mom didn’t want to deal with the workers since she was alone so I had to stay over the weekend.”

“That’s unfortunate,” the elder Jeon laments. “How is your house now? And your mom?”

“The roof is sealed. But she slipped on some debris and had to be assisted; she was being stubborn about it. She’s okay, though.”

“Ah, it must’ve been a tough few days. And for you, too,” Hoseok says. “I mean, given all the work and then having to be there for her. I’m sorry, ___.  But I’m glad she’s doing better. Tell her I send my regards, okay?”

“I will, thank you.”

Jungkook tries not to look affected as the older men ask you more details about what happened that he, of course, didn’t know about. There’s that guilt over how he treated you yesterday, learning now what you had to do over the weekend. You don’t seem the type to blame any oversight or mistake on something like that, but he would know that the tiredness and preoccupation could definitely affect things. Even more, he’d implied that you don’t work hard and that you’re being a burden to him, which is far from the truth. 

The conversation ends and he’s unable to look at you, as he stands from his seat to begin his presentation. Everything is set up, including a pointer and a marker and a glass of warm water on his side. He proceeds, presenting his design, the materials, the budget, and the timeline. 

You take note of all his answers to the questions and the ideas he comes up with on the spot, with him repeating things and stating how he wants certain points written down. You’re immersed in your own task, feeling like you’ve found your rhythm because you’ve done this so many times but the fear got ahead of you. This morning, it’s as if you’re in your element again, and there’s relief that fills you this time.  

The meeting is moved to a restaurant after the third hour. There’s an event that the CEO suggests that Jungkook’s team organize as a way to build linkages with the arts and culture networks, making sure that the younger Jeon becomes known in those fields as well. 

You have to go by memory as you listen and eat your meal, but the distance from Jungkook remains. You merely nod at his words and avoid looking at him unless you need to. It’s your way of getting over last night, you think. You still have his look of frustration etched in your mind and it’s still a bit fresh; you’d need at least another day before you can look at him normally again. You hope that other than Jungkook himself, no one notices. 

But you suppose you’ve underestimated Hoseok’s ability to pick up on your behavior; it’s one of his strengths as a leader, after all. He’s always been good at reading people, a skill that Jungkook clearly didn’t develop. 

“Hey.”

“Mr. Jung,” you greet, a wave of nostalgia hitting you because his smile is one you used to see everyday, regardless of how stressed he was. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, not really. It’s just been over a week but I’m still getting used to the bigger office and the new secretary but I just wanted to check in,” Hoseok says. “You and Jungkook have been very busy, I rarely catch either of you.”

“Well, he wanted to get all the introductions out of the way so he can focus on the Arts Center,” you reply. “There’s a lot happening with that one so he’s in meetings and calls all the time.”

“Ah, of course. It’s a good design and I’m sure it’ll boost the local arts scene. He got inspired during his travels in the Southeast Asia sites and has been talking about it for years. It’s good he has the freedom to work on this now.”

You merely nod, not having much to say about your boss’ passion project that’s just made him angry and frustrated. Quite frankly, you don’t know how he is when he isn’t working on such high-pressure matters, but you can already tell he isn’t someone you’d want to be around in any other context. 

“But how about you? Are you getting enough rest? All these meetings and then traveling home on the weekend is tiring, ___. I hope you’re looking out for your health.”

“I am,” you try to assure him. “I can handle it.”

You smile before shifting your eyes to your desktop screen, not wanting to look at him any longer because a second more and you’d probably burst into tears. Experiencing Hoseok’s kindness for these few minutes has just reminded you of what you constantly miss - that feeling of safety and care, of someone looking out for you and not holding you back. 

“I’m glad you are,” he smiles again, holding your gaze when you glance at him, and Hoseok hopes that in this short moment of calm, he’s able to give comfort that he just knows you need. “Anyway, I just wanted to drop by. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“I’ll see you, Hoseok.” And as if you knew why he came over in the first place, you add, “and thank you.”

Jungkook sighs in frustration as he watches your fading smile before returning to type away on your desktop. He was about to call you to ask for a project portfolio on the shelf but stopped once he saw you talking to his cousin. You seemed a tad bit lighter than usual; Jungkook could only assume it’s your natural state, even if all he’s seen of you is that of perpetual worry and stress. 

He thinks to himself that a part of that is because of him. Maybe a big part, he admits. He wouldn’t have known about your town in Daegu or that your mother resides there and that you had to go home over the weekend, hence, your oversight yesterday. He’s at least decent enough to acknowledge that he shouldn’t have been so harsh on you in the first place. He’s just not used to things not going his way; he wonders now what the people under him suffered through to make sure of that.

Not wanting to disturb you, he decides to get the portfolio himself, so he exits his room and leans on your desk, his eyebrows scrunched as he reads through the spine labels of the folders. He doesn’t notice you stand up and attempt to ask what he needs but he does find it, reaching over on the third shelf for it. 

“I could’ve gotten that for you,” you huff.

Jungkook spots a small pout as you utter the words, disarming him a little.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he mumbles, willing his mind to go back to what he was thinking about before you said something, which is the other project he wants to look at. 

But you pick up on his words. “Seongbuk, 2021,” you repeat. 

You look up and know exactly where the portfolio for that project is. You drag your stool with your foot and walk up the steps, carefully pulling out the folder and underestimating just how heavy it is. But before it can slip out of your fingers, Jungkook gets a hold of it, his right hand gripping the spine while his left palm supports your back. 

You stiffen when you realize just how close he is to you then step down the stool, somehow nervous to look at him.

“I, uh, sorry. You were about to fall.”

You stiffen again because he didn’t just apologize, did he? Your eyes are glued to the ground and you don’t see Jungkook’s surprised look.

Because he did just that. What felt more alarming than his apology was that it had been a reflex for him to have his hand behind you, his heart leaping a bit because you really were close to falling. An injured version of you isn’t something he wants to deal with, and he convinces himself that it’s because it would look absolutely terrible for his assistant to get hurt on the job, and especially in his presence. 

“Is that all you need, Mr. Jeon?”

“Uh, yes,” he responds. “Be, uh, be careful.”

He takes both folders and heads back to his room, his face buried in the pages as you sneak a glance at him from the window.

“So, how’s the second week as VP going?” Hoseok asks his cousin from across the table of their favorite Japanese restaurant during their Friday lunch. “Worse than the first?”

Jungkook, not keen on answering truthfully, merely shrugs. 

“Well, I can bet you though that ___ is definitely having it worse than last week.”

“Did she say anything? About me specifically?” Jungkook asks, his curious eyes telling Hoseok that it’s more of concern than anger. 

“Of course not. She’s there to protect you, Kook, not tell on you. Is there something to say? About you specifically?”

Jungkook knows how well his cousin can read people, especially him. They’d grown up together after all, and had gotten close because the older man always stayed next to him, knowing how shy little Jungkook used to be. So he narrates what happened - that he’d gotten angry, that he was being too strict, that he wasn’t leaving you room for adjustment. He’d of course excluded his own oversight and need to establish distance and authority, chalking it up to not having the familiarity and conveniences he’d been used to back in Singapore. 

“I feel like working with father even closer now, it’s like I’m under a microscope,” Jungkook continues. “I don’t wanna mess up. I just don’t wanna give him a reason to criticize or question me.”

“Well, if he learns about how it’s been with ___, he’ll do exactly those things,” Hoseok responds. “He cares about his people, you know? I’m sure that’s the one thing he wants you to do right.”

“Can’t say I’d know. It’s not like he’s any more compassionate than I am. We’re talking about a man who yells at the managers who can’t get things done right.”

“They were abusing their power, that’s why,” Hoseok explains. “And I’m not here to defend the man - I’ve been on the receiving end of his anger twice and saw how he’d push people to their near breaking point a few times but he’s not a terrible person. I’ve seen him be understanding and caring to his staff way more; you just haven’t been around that much.”

“It’s not what I saw growing up.”

“Well, we remember what we want, and forget the parts that don’t make sense to us.”

Jungkook stays silent as he munches on his steak.

“He wants to get closer to you, you know?” Hoseok continues. “He hopes that with you being around, he can mentor you, learn from you. All those years that you were home, you felt so far away from him, farther away than Jeong-sik who wasn’t even here, and he doesn’t know why.”

“He can’t expect to be a rich, ambitious businessman and be close to his son,” Jungkook huffs. “All he ever cared about when I was growing up was work. Sure, he had rare good moments, but we all know it was to compensate for always being too busy. He pressured me to do well at school then missed awarding ceremonies. He scheduled some family time then left me and my brother in some cabin in the woods by ourselves. He wants to work with me here then disallows my requests. What does he want from me?”

“Your time, I suppose. Maybe your understanding, too.”

“Did he give those to me when I was younger? He had so many chances these past 30 years and he wants those now?”

“People are complicated, Kook. Sometimes they lose sight of what’s important, of what’s in front of them… doesn’t mean they’re bad people,” Hoseok says. “And it doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a second chance. I mean, don’t we all want that? Don’t we all grow out of our bad habits and just yearn for something good?”

“Not everyone does that.”

“Maybe not, but your father has. And he just wants another chance. And whether or not it was her fault, I’m sure ___ wants that, too.”

“Did you really ask me to treat you to lunch only to advocate for the people I don’t really care much about?” Jungkook laughs bitterly. 

“No,” Hoseok chuckles. “I really wanted to try it here. But also, uncle took me out to drinks before you arrived and was all honest with me, which was a little weird but I guess he thought he could get some perspective from you through me. And ___ was my assistant and I think highly of her. It’s upsetting how things started for you both. I guess I just feel kind of caught in the middle between you and the people you actually care about. So yes, I deserve this free lunch.”

Jungkook doesn’t correct his cousin, more for the fact that Hoseok really does get caught in the middle - always has, even between him and his older brother whom Jungkook never really got along with; it definitely isn’t because he acknowledges that he cares about you. There’s no reason for him to feel that; you’re just his assistant, after all. 

Being beautiful and capable and hardworking doesn’t have anything to do with being cared about. 

“I… I admit being too hard on ___. I get that she’s good and stuff but maybe that fits with your leadership style more,” Jungkook tries to reason. “Maybe she just thrives in a team where she’s led by someone like you, someone who’s good with people and who’s process-oriented and I don’t know, someone who isn’t as tough or meticulous like me.”

“I’m sorry, Kook, but you sound stupid. You clearly don’t know anything about her. She’s experienced all the lows - the disrespect from the men, the abuse of power from the women, all the long hours and ridiculous deadlines, the loudest of yells and the craziest demands,” Hoseok exclaims. “She’s been here for just eight years but it feels more. Sometimes I don’t know why she stayed but I’m glad she did, selfishly, and that’s because she helped me so much. Are you… are you giving her reasons to leave so you can have Lucas with you?”

“No,” Jungkook dismisses the thought, although he does admit it entered his mind before he even started. “I’m just… not used to her. And the mishaps didn’t help. I just wanna be able to do my job and do it right.”

“And you will, if you just loosen up a bit and give her a chance to show you that she can help you. It’s just that I’m not seeing that same joy and energy in her eyes and her smile,” Hoseok explains. “I was thinking last Wednesday that maybe it was because of her mom but during the meeting this morning, it was the same. I’d hate to think that’s because of you. Because if it is and she’s thinking of resigning, I won’t stop her. I might even suggest it to her. “

The thought of you being gone causes a lump in Jungkook’s throat. It’s selfish, really, because despite how he treats you, he still wants you here. It’s just as silly, and stupid, and something he doesn’t have a clear reason for. But other than his cousin not trusting that he could treat you fairly, it’s the possibility that you might just quit yourself, something you seem to be capable and willing to do. And that voluntary departure is something he doesn’t want to deal with. Once you leave, you’ll just be gone; he won’t have a reason to seek you. 

“I’ll do better,” Jungkook finally says. “I’ll stop being such a pain in the ass and be… kinder, I guess.”

“She’ll probably see right through you if you fake it,” Hoseok laughs. “Just be fair. Trust me, that’s what she’d want, too. Correct her if you need to, but do it constructively. And please, try to smile every once in a while. It won’t hurt you. Nor would it ruin whatever tough guy image you have.”

Jungkook playfully rolls his eyes but he lets out a chuckle. His cousin won’t ever let go of the fact that 18-year old Jungkook had his first tattoo because he wanted to look tough. 

“I still have to establish authority, Hoseok. I can’t do it like you do.”

“Well, you’re missing out. Smiling always makes you feel a hundred times better.”

“She’ll probably see right through me if I fake it,” Jungkook repeats his cousin’s words almost mockingly. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows I’m not… cheerful. It’s like, how I’m compared to you.”

The two start walking back and Hoseok takes a jab at the younger man. “Actually, I heard that I’m the handsome one, too, and the stable guy, the family man, the man you’d take home to meet your parents…”

Jungkook laughs along. He agrees, and while it was not Hoseok’s intention at all, it does make Jungkook wonder even hours later - given all the things that characterize him, which are nothing like the older man’s - who would want him? Who would even take a chance on him? Who would even think it’s worth it to be with him?

Chaerin did, and then he self-sabotaged and lost her. Maybe the women he meets at clubs and takes home, but then all they want is a good time anyway, just like him. Maybe it’s someone he’s never met, but he also doesn't know how to be someone that someone else would love. 

Maybe there isn’t any. And maybe that isn’t so bad. Perhaps he’d have to start getting used to that fact; it’s easier than realizing he’s not meant to be with someone after all. 

He pauses the thought and decides that’s for the weekend version of him to lament over. This Friday afternoon, he’s focused on firming up the project details with the design and logistics teams. He’d just finished his meeting with them, with you barely looking his way just like you’ve done throughout the week - which he can’t fault you for because he was doing the same - and he’s back in his room to coordinate with other units. 

You, on the other hand, seem to be fixated on the quarterly reports that you’ll be handing over to him. It’s past 5 and he knows you’ll be staying up late again, given that he’d ordered you at the start of the week to finish the reviews by Friday. He’s given you too much to do, and after everything he’s done, letting you off early is a way for him to apologize without actually apologizing. 

He picks up the phone and calls you.

“How many reports do you have left to review?” He asks.

“Three more, Mr. Jeon,” you answer. “I’ll finish them tonight, please just give me another hour and a half.”

“Are you going home to see your mother tomorrow?” 

“Uh, yes, sir. I leave in the morning,” you say, curious at the question that you never thought he’d ask.

“You should clock out now, then.”

“Oh, but the reports, sir. I—”

“It’s okay,” he says, surprising you. “I’ll be busy with Arts Center details this weekend so I won’t have time to sign off on the reports anyway so you can continue them on Monday.”

You’re too shocked to speak that it doesn’t register that you’re indeed not saying anything.

“Ms. Cho?” Jungkook repeats your name.

“Oh, uh, yes, as long as it’s okay, Mr. Jeon.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“That’s, uh, thank you,” you mumble, turning on your roller chair to retrieve your bag and start packing, only to look up and see through the window that Jungkook can see you right now, smiling like a giddy child. There’s this movie that’ll show on your favorite local channel and you’re glad that you’ll be able to catch it tonight. 

You’re unsure what Jungkook’s eaten to be dismissing you this early. Maybe it was the lunch he had with Hoseok earlier; maybe it was the older man knocking some sense into him. You don’t have the energy to think about it, given that you now also have time to cook yourself proper dinner and enjoy eating it while watching and curling under your comfy blanket on your tiny couch, just like how you used to enjoy your Fridays. 

You’ll deal with the unreviewed reports and Jungkook returning to his normal, grumpy self on Monday. Tonight is all about you, and the weekend version of you is about being with your mother, her partner, and your stepsisters. There’s nothing like being with the people who make you feel safe; you’ll deal with the stress when a new week rolls by.

Jungkook watches you excitedly leave your desk. He can’t imagine the relief you’re feeling of being relieved this early and then spending your Friday evening the way you want, however that is. He lets himself wonder for a bit how you would spend time by yourself. Yoongi did say your friends aren’t in Seoul and your family obviously isn’t.

But then again, maybe you do have a partner, and maybe that’s why you looked as happy as you did. He’s not quite sure what to do with the slight distress at the thought, but with the absurdity of the amount of times he thinks about you, he decides it shouldn’t matter anyway. 

He has his own plans, too, like watching sports over bottles of beer that night, and then playing video games the next day before going to a bar with Seokjin and Taehyung. 

That Sunday, he works all morning then works out in the afternoon. In the evening, he decides to meet his friends again. 

Entering the club, he spots the table where they are - Seokjin has his arm around a woman and his lips glued to her ear; he pulls her closer as she laughs at his words. Taehyung has one next to him, too; they’re engaged in some serious conversation, it seems, given how passionately they’re talking to each other. That is, until his hand slides inside her dress; maybe it wasn’t that deep. 

Jungkook doesn’t know how his friends can converse with the women they find in these places. Given, Seokjin tends to stick to the same one for months and Taehyung is just naturally flirty and friendly so maybe it’s not that hard. 

For Jungkook, it’s just not something he’s able to fully or even properly do. What does he say? He’d brag about his work and his lifestyle if he was the type, but he isn’t, and there’s nothing else about him that he’d like to share. He’s always straightforward when it comes to these things. He’s picky; he does have a type, after all, but he always knows what they want and so do they. 

So when he spots a woman by the bar - the one who’d bought him a drink last night - he just smirks as she takes her shot and bites her lips when she catches him looking. 

“Hey, I finally caught you sober,” she giggles in his ears after she meets him halfway. 

“And I finally caught you without a man next to you,” he whispers. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, he was just my plaything last night,” she responds. “I could be yours.”

Jungkook chuckles, enjoying her bluntness. He takes her hand and waves at his friends; they already know he’s taking off and they won’t hear from him for the rest of the night. 

It’s the way most of his evenings go anyway, whether he’s here or in Singapore or elsewhere, really. 

Jungkook likes the thrill, he likes the shallow intimacy he gets from the feelings of ecstasy and carnal desire. He likes that he doesn’t have to share anything about himself apart from his name so they could scream it, likes that there’s nothing about the other person to uncover, and that there’s nothing about himself he has to be honest about. He likes that he’ll remember the pleasure until the next day but nothing else - not her breathing, not her gentle touches on his chest, not her soft whispers of his name. 

There’s nothing much about her he’ll care for other than that she had a good time. And there’s nothing about tonight he’ll regret, except not making sure that she left his apartment like he always asks them to do.

Because it’s Monday morning, and there’s that woman wearing his coat and nothing else. 

And then there’s you, dressed in your skirt and blouse in his living room, with a look of shock on your pretty face. 

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[slytherinzz]

Breaking point

Summary: Two years after the turmoil of her fifth year at Hogwarts, MC returns for her seventh year, haunted by past trauma and the ghosts of broken friendships. Reconnecting with Ominis and Sebastian, her once closest friends, is no easy feat. As she drowns her pain in reckless parties, endless boys and destructive behavior, both boys watch helplessly, knowing she’s spiraling. When a night takes a dark turn, they intervene, and MC is forced to face the pain she’s been hiding. But Sebastian, with his own regrets, is determined to help her heal—and to prove that he’s not letting her go.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x F!reader (fluff at the end/protective Seb)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol abuse and slutshaming. Characters aged up to 7th year!

a/n: is this fandom still alive? Maybe I'm to late to the party ;) But I'm really enjoying myself haha. Plan to do more in the future: preparing some prompts and headcanons en requests are open. Give me a follow for more.

It had been two years since their fateful fifth year, and though the dust had settled, the wounds had not. Life at Hogwarts carried on, but for MC, every hallway, every classroom, and every face served as a reminder of what she had endured. She returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year, her path winding her back to the two people who had once been her closest friends: Ominis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow.

It wasn’t immediate, this reconnection. Time had a way of healing and, at the same time, pushing people apart. Their sixth year had been quiet—MC had needed space to deal with everything, to step back from the chaos that had consumed her life. But now, in their final year, they had found each other again, tentatively rebuilding their friendship.

And yet, something was different.

Sebastian had never stopped loving her. That much was obvious to Ominis, even if Sebastian refused to admit it outright. The way his eyes softened when she entered the room, the protective edge in his tone whenever someone so much as teased her—it was clear to anyone paying attention. But MC, though she cared deeply for him, was terrified of letting herself feel the same.

She couldn’t.

If she allowed herself to feel for Sebastian, she risked everything. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if it ruined their fragile friendship? She couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. Not again. And so, she buried her feelings and found other ways to cope.

At first, it had been small things. A few late nights at parties, a glass of Firewhisky here and there. But as the year wore on, her coping mechanisms became destructive. She was at every party, taking shot after shot until the world blurred around her. She laughed too loudly, danced too wildly, and left with boys who didn’t know her name and didn’t care to.

It wasn’t long before Ominis and Sebastian noticed.

“She’s not herself,” Ominis said one night, pacing the floor of their shared dormitory. “She’s drinking too much. She is searching for validation in other people arms. She’s… reckless.”

Sebastian sat on his bed, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t need Ominis to tell him what he already knew.

“I’ve seen her,” he muttered. “I’ve seen her, throw herself to others, going way behond her own limits, Ominis. She doesn’t even look like herself anymore.”

Ominis stopped pacing, his expression grim. “She’s hurting, Sebastian. She’s been hurting for years, and we didn’t help. She needed us, and we weren’t there. After everything she has done for us”

Sebastian flinched at the words. He couldn’t deny it. In their fifth year, he had hurt her—his obsession with saving Anne, the lies, the dark magic. He had driven a wedge between them, and the guilt of it still weighed heavily on him.

“But what do we do now?” Sebastian asked, his voice low. “She won’t listen to us. She doesn’t even look at me anymore.”

Ominis sighed. “We keep an eye on her. We make sure she’s safe, even if she doesn’t want us to. And when the time is right, we talk to her. Really talk to her.”

The Slytherin common room was packed, the air thick with the smell of Firewhisky and the sound of laughter. It was one of the biggest parties of the year, and MC was right in the center of it.

She looked radiant, her cheeks flushed, her laughter ringing out above the noise. But to Sebastian and Ominis, who watched from the corner of the room, there was a sadness in her eyes that no one else seemed to notice.

“She’s already drunk,” Ominis said quietly, his gaze fixed on her as she stumbled slightly, leaning on a nearby table for support.

Sebastian’s fists clenched. “I’m not letting her leave with anyone tonight.”

They continued to watch as she floated from group to group, her laughter louder, her movements more erratic. And then Weasley approached her.

It started innocently enough. Garreth poured her another drink, cracking jokes that made her laugh. But as the night wore on, his intentions became clearer. He moved closer to her, his hand brushing against her arm, then her waist. MC, too drunk to notice—or too drunk to care—didn’t push him away.

Sebastian’s blood boiled.

“She’s too far gone for this,” he growled, stepping forward, but Ominis grabbed his arm.

“Not yet. Let’s see if she pushes him off.”

But she didn’t. Garreth led her to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crowd. She swayed on her feet, barely able to keep her balance, but Garreth steadied her.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was rough, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her against him. MC stiffened, her hands pressing weakly against his chest, but she was too drunk to fight back. His hands began to wander, slipping down to her thighs, and that was when Sebastian snapped.

“Get your hands off her!”

He was across the room in seconds, shoving Garreth away with a force that sent him stumbling. Garreth glared, his face red with anger and embarrassment.

“She wanted it” Garreth spat, but Sebastian didn’t let him finish.

“She’s drunk,” Sebastian snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “She couldn’t consent even if she did want it. You’re pathetic.”

Ominis stepped in, his hand on Sebastian’s arm. “Enough. Let’s get her out of here.”

MC was barely coherent, her head lolling against Sebastian’s chest as he scooped her into his arms.

The Room of Requirement was quiet, the chaos of the party far behind them. Sebastian laid MC gently on a plush sofa, pulling a blanket over her as Ominis conjured a glass of water.

“She’s going to hate us for this,” Ominis said softly.

“I don’t care,” Sebastian replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not letting her destroy herself.”

They stayed by her side through the night, refusing to leave her alone. When she finally stirred, the early morning light filtering through the room, she groaned softly, her head pounding.

“Where… where am I?” she mumbled.

“The Room of Requirement,” Sebastian said, his voice gentle. “You drank too much. We brought you here.”

She sat up slowly, her eyes darting between the two boys. “Did I… did something happen?”

Sebastian hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Garreth crossed a line. We stopped him.”

Her face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop,” Ominis said firmly. “You don’t need to apologize to us. But you do need to stop doing this to yourself.”

Sebastian knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Why, MC? Why are you doing this? Drinking, partying… pushing us away?”

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to feel anymore. I can’t… I can’t risk losing you. Either of you. If I let myself feel anything, it’ll destroy me.”

“You’re not going to lose us,” he said again, his voice steadier this time. “But you have to stop hurting yourself. You have to let someone in, MC.”

Her lips quivered, and she shook her head. “I can’t. What if I mess it up? What if I ruin everything? You don’t understand, Sebastian. You… you mean everything to me. You both do. If I lose you, I don’t know how to keep going.”

Sebastian felt his heart crack open. Every word she spoke was another piece of armor he hadn’t realized he’d been wearing, falling away. “And you think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She blinked at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You… what?”

“I love you,” he said, firmer now. “I’ve been in love with you since Fifth Year. And seeing you like this—seeing you with Garreth, seeing you destroy yourself—it’s killing me. I can’t stand it anymore, MC. I can’t.”

Her breath hitched, her hands tightening around his as though he might disappear if she let go. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think I deserved you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Not after everything I did. Not after how much I hurt you back then.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sebastian,” she said, her voice trembling. “You were trying to save Anne. You were trying to save your family. I could never hate you for that.”

Sebastian let out a shaky laugh, his forehead falling to hers. “And I could never hate you for what you’ve done this year. But you have to stop punishing yourself. You’re not alone. You never were.”

The words hit her like a tidal wave. For years, she had carried the weight of her guilt, her grief, her fear—alone. And now, here was Sebastian, promising to share it with her. To stay by her side no matter what.

She let out a choked sob and pulled him into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, over and over again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he murmured, his arms wrapping tightly around her. “Just let me be here for you. Please.”

For the first time in years, she let herself believe that she wasn’t alone.

When the three of them returned to the Great Hall the next morning, the whispers began almost immediately.

“Look at her. The hero of Hogwarts, brought home by her two protectors again.”

“Bet she’s gone through half the boys in Slytherin by now.”

“She’ll probably ditch Sebastian and take Ominis next. What’s another name on the list?”

MC’s face burned as the whispers reached her ears. She felt every judgmental gaze, every smirk. It was suffocating. She tried to retreat into herself, but Sebastian caught her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said quietly. “They don’t know you.”

But the words lingered.

Over the next week, the rumors only grew worse. Despite the clear shift in MC’s behavior—she avoided parties, stopped behaving recklessly, and spent most of her time with Sebastian and Ominis—the whispers followed her wherever she went. And it didn’t take long for people to start turning their attention to Sebastian.

“She’s just using him. He’s the next notch on her wand.”

“Poor Sebastian. He’s in over his head with her.”

It boiled under his skin, every cruel word igniting his frustration. But he knew MC was the one who was truly suffering.

“You don’t believe them, do you?” he asked her one night as they sat by the fire in the Room of Requirement.

“No,” she said quietly, but her voice betrayed her doubt. “But it’s hard not to. After everything I’ve done… maybe they’re right.”

Sebastian cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “They are not right. You’re more than their stupid gossip, MC. You’re more than your mistakes.” He leaned closer, his voice softening. “You’re mine.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting as his words settled over her.

“I mean it,” he continued. “I don’t care what they say. I don’t care what they think. You’re mine, and I’m not letting anyone take you away from me.”

The breaking point came a week later during a Potions class. Garreth Weasley had taken to making sly comments under his breath whenever MC or Sebastian walked by. Most of the time, Sebastian ignored him, but today, something snapped.

“Well, well,” Garreth said, loud enough for the whole class to hear. “Looks like Sallow finally got his turn. Tell me, MC, how does he compare to the others?”

The room fell silent.

Sebastian shot out of his seat, his wand already drawn. “Take that back,” he snarled, his voice deadly calm.

Garreth smirked. “What? I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Take. It. Back.”

“Sebastian!” MC’s voice cut through the tension, pulling him back. He turned to her, his face twisted in anger and pain.

“Let them say what they want,” she said softly, her hand brushing against his. “They don’t matter. You do.”

For a moment, the room was frozen. And then, without hesitation, Sebastian cupped her face and kissed her.

It wasn’t a soft, tentative kiss. It was fierce and full of fire, a declaration for everyone in the room to see. When he pulled away, he turned back to Garreth, his hand still on MC’s cheek.

“She’s not some name on a list,” he said coldly. “She’s mine. And if I hear you—or anyone else—talk about her like that again, you’ll regret it.”

The class erupted into murmurs as the professor returned, breaking the moment. But the damage was done. The rumors didn’t stop entirely, but they shifted.

In the days that followed, MC felt something she hadn’t felt in years: peace. Sebastian was by her side at every turn, his presence a constant reminder that she wasn’t alone anymore.

They spent their days together in quiet moments—reading by the fire, sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest for walks, or simply sitting in the Great Hall, their fingers brushing under the table.

And when the whispers started up again, Sebastian was quick to silence them with a sharp glare or a cutting remark. Ominis, ever loyal, had even taken to redirecting conversations when he overheard anything cruel.

For the first time in years, MC felt like she could breathe again.

One evening, as they sat together in the Room of Requirement, Sebastian turned to her, his expression serious.

“Promise me something,” he said.

“Anything,” she replied.

“Promise me you won’t shut me out again. No matter how bad things get, no matter how scared you are, you come to me. Always.”

She smiled, her eyes shining with tears. “I promise.”

And when she kissed him this time, it wasn’t about proving anything to anyone. It was just for them.

For once, she was finally home.

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

I just got out of my psychology class and I kept having thoughts about Leon and how his mind works. Here’s a psychoanalysis on Leon bc I truly do like how his brain works:

TW: mentions of mental illnesses, substances, substance abuse, suicide. (Guys- I am not a medical psychologist or a medical psychiatrist. This is strictly based on my psychology class, take this with a grain of salt.)

Leon suffers from Combat and Violence Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). This type of PTSD (because there’s subcategories) is most often common in veterans and in men.

More often than not, one can tell when someone’s suffering PTSD (flat voice, substance abuse, inability to sleep, change in personality, etc.)

Leon in RE2/RE2R didn’t necessarily show signs of PTSD until after the events took place. Leon was too busy trying to survive that his brain shut off the emotions he was feeling “in the heat of the moment.” He was scared but it was his survival instinct that allowed him (or the player) to move forward. Hence why I think he also suffered from Depression and Acute Stress Disorder (ASD).

ASD is commonly found in patients with PTSD, ASD is kind of like the first stage after a traumatic event took place. PTSD victims often find themselves having frequent panic attacks. I think it would be safe to assume that Leon in RE2/RE2R had several panic attacks during or after Raccoon City. I don’t think he’d go to therapy/psychiatrist/psychologist because in RE4R he stated that he immediately got called to the White House after he survived RC. And this is where I think it got worse.

RE4 and RE4R both portray very distinct Leon characters. One is more “fine” than the other in short words. Leon in RE4og doesn’t necessarily show signs of having mental issues but maybe he’s just good at masking them. Leon in RE4og often finds himself being very witty or very lean back. He’s less serious but I think it’s a coping mechanism. Up to that point in his life, he’s been in very serious situations that I think this is his way of gaining some of that control he lost when the virus first started. His brain is fighting battles of being in control or letting others control him. In this case- the situation is controlling him. He wants to have that sense of individuality and most of the time this is a coping mechanism. To gain back some of the things he’s lost in the process.

In RE4R, however (and I’m going to be very bold with this one), we don’t know much about how he feels. He is flat and his demeanor is distant to an extent. I’ve noticed a few changes to him from when he first started the game to where the player made it halfway. In the beginning of the game (when he’s with the two Spanish cops) he’s similar to RE4og- sarcastic and a little unserious. Which can be guessed as his normal personality. He doesn’t really show how much he’s actually been through with those two strangers. He’s got better things to worry about- he neglects his own issues. When he tries to find Ashley and he sees the zombies again- his PTSD gets triggered and it makes him be able to pull the trigger (aside from the player lol) There are few types of reactions when PTSD gets triggered and I think Leon’s reaction is a bit depressing.

When Leon sees these zombies again, his brain automatically jumps back to the memories of Raccoon City and almost immediately finds himself back in his former self’s shoes. But he doesn’t have time to linger, he forces those thoughts away and keeps going. I don’t think he wants to have time to think about what just happened because he’s often trying to keep his brain occupied “sorry, must’ve slipped” or any other phrase he says makes me believe that he’s just trying to make himself laugh (because believe it or not, laughter really does help with mental issues) or he’s trying to make the situation seem lighter. Or maybe he’s in denial, his brain hasn’t processed that the same thing that happened in RC is happening all over again. And when you’re in denial, you are repressed. Sigmund Freud said that repression is when someone turns something (trauma, thoughts, events, feelings) away. They deliberately choose to cast their thoughts and feelings aside. Leon bottles his emotions, it’s his defense mechanism. He doesn’t smoke (as mentioned in the game) nor does he drink (there’s a Reddit post that perfectly summed it up for me) He knows substances aren’t good for you and the fact that he’s against them makes me believe that he has other ways of dealing with PTSD such as exercise. I’m not saying this just because Leon looks very built, I want to think that maybe half the reason he works out isn’t just for his job. I think it also because it helps him mentally.

Mobility, sleep, and nutrition are the most important things to keep yourself mentally and physically healthy.

I’ll get on to RE6 because in that game, he pulled a 180 imo. RE6 Leon is more empathetic. He cares about the people that could’ve survived. He suffers from survivor’s guilt. After RE4/RE4R, Leon probably became more aware of his struggles and has tried to deal with them. He’s become more human, he’s allowed himself to feel human. He’s still the same serious guy with the flat effect but he’s becoming more open about his thoughts and feelings. I think the game is trying to hint at us that MAYBE he’s getting better. (Guys this is a stretch okay. RE6 is lowkey messy)

Now on to the films (I’ve done the liberty of researching a ‘order’ of when these may have taken place and not by the release date order so you guys won’t get confused):

ID Leon: He’s very compassionate in this one. He has a sense of self righteousness but I know why. He wants to make up for the losses of the people he’s seen die. He wants to fight against the corporation and wants to end the spread (submarine scene when he talks about RC) He wants to make up for what he couldn’t save. (Hence why he didn’t give Claire the chip- he wanted to protect her because he cares for her)

Degeneration Leon: Protection can only go a long way. Leon is more… assertive in his objectives, if you will. He’s back in his RE4 days in other words (any of the two games tbh, this Leon is complex) Leon wants to keep fighting for his cause. Not only is he forced to be a soldier for the government but he also has found a drive. All his pent up PTSD and trauma has shifted into something else. If no one could’ve been the hero then HE’LL be the hero himself, does that make sense?

Damnation Leon: Haha Russia go brr (sorry) Again, he’s become more chill. When he’s with JD, he’s funny but still cautious (bc let’s be honest, JD could’ve still shot his ass) nothing much to comment, I think he’s been consistent since Degeneration.

Vendetta Leon: NOW WE GETTING JUICY. This man- this Leon is the epitome of what a relapse does to you. Leon is seen drinking away his problems. He’s relapsed back into the mentality where his brain is finally processing everything. He’s even tried to attempt suicide- that’s how bad he got. His PTSD, his ASD, depression (bc you can’t tell me he didn’t have depression) it all came back to him and it made him feel shitty. He lost his power over himself, he no longer feels useful. He feels empty and broken. That’s sh he drowns himself in his own sorrows. Because he’s learned that if you drink until you pass out, you don’t dream. He doesn’t sleep- no. He’d rather black out because when you’re in an unconscious state, you don’t dream at all. You’re simply just lying there on the floor with your eyes closed. And that’s the feeling Leon wants to feel. He wants to forget everything for one minute and just calm down. And alcohol does that to you, that’s why people with PTSD become addicted to substances.

DI Leon: homeboy somehow got better (I’ve yet to watch DI lol) but from what I’ve seen, he’s definitely back to his “normal” self. He probably learned that maybe living life is the best thing. That if his attempt would’ve succeeded, then he wouldn’t have been able to live to his fullest. Regret makes people do a lot of things and I think Leon matured and learned.

[msmk11]

Don’t Care Less

therapist!Remus Lupin x gn!reader

Word count: 1k

CW: really not much; angst ig since reader is crying and upset but mainly just hurt/comfort

Summary: Your therapist, Remus, cares about you more than he should.

A/n: Hey all! Here’s a cutie little Remus fic for you. Idk what inspired me to write this but I can always use a little Remus comfort in my life :) I hope you can too!

No decent person liked to see others in distress, Remus Lupin included. But he could handle it. That’s why he was a therapist. Because he had thick enough skin to handle seeing people in pain, he decided to use it to actually help others. This had been true all of his life- until now. And you were the cause.

You- one of his newest clients and maybe also his prettiest. Scratch that, you were not only his prettiest client, but also the prettiest person he’d ever seen. With your big, soft eyes, enticing lips, and crooked smile, you had consumed all of Remus’ thoughts. His little crush on you, however, had made it very hard for him to do his job. Especially when you were crying.

Remus didn’t just dislike seeing you in distress, he hated it. It took everything in his power to not just swoop you up into his arms, brush your tears away, and kiss you silly until you’d forgotten all your problems. Alas, you were his client and he valued both his job and your trust. So as you sat across from him, tears streaming down your face and head in your hands, he was using all his restraint.

You’d been sobbing for about five minutes straight now, and it hadn’t lessened up.

Remus shifted forward in his seat and handed you the tissue box as a sort of peace offering. You weakly took one and blew your nose, trying to quiet your sobs.

“I’m, s-sorry,” you hiccuped, “once I started crying I just couldn’t stop.”

The brunette smiled warmly at you, “what have I said about apologizing? This is a sorry free zone.”

You gave him a faint, teary smile, and he was pretty sure his heart broke on the spot.

“Sor-“ You caught yourself before apologizing and had the decency to look sheepish.

Remus stood and went to get you a cup of water from the water jug in the corner. You accepted it with shaking hands and greedily gulped it down.

When you finished, you crumpled the cup and looked at him across the table, “I guess I didn’t realize how much I had pent up inside me. When something shitty happens, I guess I just push it down and move on. Because if I let every problem get to me, I’d fall apart. I’d never be able to put myself back together.”

“It’s your coping mechanism,” he said, understanding in his eyes, “which I’m glad you have, but it also can’t be your go to all the time. Holding it in isn’t healthy.”

Your bottom lip quivered a little, “I know. God, I know. It’s just a hard habit to break. When I’ve been doing it all my life, I don’t know any other way.”

Remus let out the smallest of laughs, “trust me, I know what you mean. Even to this day, I’m a chronic represser. It certainly feels easier to just ignore the problem. But it never really solves anything. And then it comes back ten times worse the next time.”

“Well, how do I stop it? How did you stop?”

Remus took a small sip of his tea and then looked at you honestly, “I haven’t fully stopped doing it, but I’ve gotten better. I’ve found people in my life who can hold me accountable. Who call me out when they see me trying to bottle up my feelings. I’ve found someone I can trust to talk to. Can you think of someone?”

You seem deep in thought over his question and the little furrow that formed in your brows made him swoon.

“Well, I, uh,” you paused nervously and Remus nodded at you to continue, “you. I guess. You’re the only person in my life that I feel like I can truly trust.”

“Though I guess I pay for your trust so I’m not sure that counts all that much,” you added with a slightly bitter scoff.

Remus’ heart both warmed at your confession that you trusted him the most, and also ached. You were right, of course. You did just pay him to be here. But how could he tell you that he actually cared so much more? That he cared about you after hours, out of the office, at all times of the day.

“Of course it counts,” he choked out, “sure, you pay me to be here, but I also want to. I’m a therapist because I care about people and about helping them. I care about helping you.”

And then, ever so quietly, he said, “maybe even a little more than I should.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his gaze and you were shocked by its sincerity. You think you might’ve shuddered a little and so you gripped your arms, pretending it was just cold, though you’d never felt warmer.

He stood and slowly moved around the table towards you, “I know it’s unprofessional, but I care about every little thing about you. When you smile I feel happier. When you cry I want to hurt whoever hurt you. Every time you tell me a little tidbit of information about your life, I soak it up, committing it to memory like my life depends on it. And I’ve tried to care less. I really have. But I can’t help it.”

“Please don’t,” you responded quietly. So quietly, he almost missed it.

“Don’t what?” He asked with bated breath.

“Care less.”

Remus was sure his heart stopped.

“Please,” you nearly pleaded, and then Remus was at your side. He drew your hands into his.

“I don’t think I ever can.”

You looked at him with these hopeful, begging eyes and he couldn’t resist you anymore. He pulled you close to him and placed the tenderest of kisses to your forehead. You nearly melted under his touch.

“What about your job?” You murmured into his chest.

He pulled away a little and looked into your eyes seriously, “we’ll find you someone else to see. And they won’t be better than me, but that’ll be okay, cause I’ll still be there. I’ll just be more than the ‘professional help’- as someone who doesn’t just care about you, but cares for you.”

“I, I’d like that very much, Remus.”

And his name sounded so good rolling off your lips for the first time, he had to restrain himself, yet again, from kissing you silly.

[prying-pandora666]

The Real Reason Azula Smirked When Zuko Was Burned is…

A lot of ink has been spilled over why Azula smirked when Ozai burned and scarred Zuko.

Some argue whether Iroh’s flashback was reliable. Let’s assume for the sake of argument—as uncertain as it is in canon—that it happened exactly as Iroh remembers and describes it.

How could an 11 year old child smirk while her brother is burned and brutalized in front of everyone?

There are many conflicting arguments.

Argument 1 - She’s a monster.

Some say she is a sadist or a psychopath and it’s as simple as that. She just enjoys watching her brother suffer.

But this doesn’t track with what we come to learn about her later, and is outright contradicted by materials that actually give us insight into her POV such as the comics and novelizations, as well as writer interviews.

The novelizations which were written contemporaneously (and thus aren’t a retcon) show us an Azula who cares about Zuko, even though she’s competitive with him and jealous that mom favored him. She thinks Zuko is weak and brings misery upon himself and she is willing to turn on him to protect herself. Yet she still wants to help him get stronger and take his place as Prince. She still wants his love. She takes the risk to lie on his behalf at Ba Sing Se for him. She didn’t suspect Aang had survived until later.

The comics take this further, showing that in Azula’s ideal world, Zuko was never banished or burned at all. He is happy and loves her and isn’t abused or scarred.

Even the head writer who designed both Zuko and Azula’s arcs claimed she loved Zuko more than anyone except their father.

So then what is it?

Argument 2 - It’s A Coping Mechanism

Some point to “Identification with the Aggressor”, a well documented psychological coping mechanism in which victims of trauma—especially children who are especially malleable and vulnerable—will mirror their abuser and conform to their ideals in an attempt to stay in their good graces and be spared. This isn’t always a conscious decision either, it’s often done subconsciously, which only confounds this further.

I’ve written more about this and how it pertains to Azula here.

However, outside the the knowledge that this is common in abused children and Azula’s behaviors meet the criteria, we don’t have any direct confirmation that this is the case.

Argument 3 - She Is Brainwashed

Others point out that every adult in the room is complicit in this act if not outright enjoying it in the cases of Ozai and Zhao.

Azula is a small child that’s been brainwashed from birth to believe this is right. After all, Ozai is their unquestionable despotic leader as well as her only remaining parental figure. Why would she question? How would she even know this is wrong if she’s been taught this is right by everyone surrounding her?

Does she even understand the full impact of what is happening here or does she think this is Zuko getting his comeuppance for being “weak and lazy”, with no concept that he’s actually being scarred for life and is soon to be banished? After all, not even jolly Uncle Iroh is objecting or moving a finger to stop this. He only looks away.

This is supported by the fact that Iroh laughed about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground even as he was killing them. Zuko and Azula both laugh at this joke and Ursa doesn’t chastise them. She only smiles. Clearly this kind of violence is normalized in the Fire Nation.

We also know Azula attended the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, which in the Kyoshi novels we are told is quite violent and that it wasn’t uncommon for adults to encourage students to duel on Agni Kais. Students sometimes died. So there is reason to suspect this is a product of her culture.

Argument 4 - She is Faking It

“Azula always lies” they say. She is shown to be an excellent liar, but more importantly that she represses her vulnerabilities and feelings.

This is shown when Toph tries to sense Azula’s lies only for Azula to completely repress any reactions and prove Toph can’t determine when Azula is being truthful.

The Beach gives us a more sympathetic example, showing us an Azula who empathizes with her brother and tries to cheer him up when he’s sitting by their old family beach house in depression. She calls him to join them at the shore, and then proceeds to walk all her friends and Zuko through their traumas with surprising gentility.

When it’s her turn however? She dismisses her own trauma with a flippant joke. Masking the moment she starts to feel emotional about it.

It’s even shown when Zuko makes Ty Lee cry by calling her a circus freak. Initially Azula laughs, but when she realizes it’s upset Ty Lee, Azula’s face changes to one of remorse and sadness. However, the moment Ty Lee turns to look at Azula, Azula quickly hides this expression and masks it with a look of indignant petulance.

Azula does indeed seem to fake negative reactions to hide her vulnerabilities.

Argument 5 - It’s a combination of 2-4

Perhaps there is some truth to all of what we have seen in arguments 2-4. Azula is clearly brainwashed and does identify with her abuser to the point of being inappropriately enmeshed with him and suffering total ego fragmentation when he discards her. She does repress her emotions until she finally unravels. She was also quite young when this show happened and it’s possible she didn’t know just how serious it was all going to be.

But consider this…

Still that isn’t enough for detractors, who claim that even given her environment and the circumstances, it’s still too sadistic and cruel for her to grin here. That she should’ve shown some outward sign of disruption.

If you are or ever were one of these detractors, let me ask you this.

Did you feel any sympathy when Azula fell apart, uncomforted by her newly granted power, arguing against her own conscience in the form of her estranged mother, telling her that her methods are wrong? When Azula replied “what choice do I have?” did you feel any remorse for this child who had been exploited for her skill and groomed into living weapon by her power-hungry father, with no regard for her psychosocial development or emotional wellbeing to the point she cannot even relate to kids her own age normally? Did her desperation to use fear and control to keep others close because she knows no other reliable way, because such skills are taught and she’s only ever learned manipulation and coercing and fear, showing us exactly what Ozai uses to control her just as used violence and estrangement against Zuko, move you?

When she laid broken and sobbing and screaming at the end after Zuko and Katara “put her in her place” as Zuko put it, did you feel any pain in your gut?

Or did you cheer?

Were you glad to for her to get her comeuppance?

Did you feel justice was served and Zuko triumphed that day?

That he was right, he could “take her” by exploiting how “off” she was aka her mental illness and spiral into psychosis?

Because if you did, then you know exactly why a person would smirk while watching someone who needs help get brutalized.

If narrative framing can persuade you to believe that an unloved, mentally ill, abused and exploited child soldier being brought to sobbing, screaming, chained up, broken tears… is the RIGHTEOUS result! Imagine what a lifetime of propaganda from birth and programming from your own father with no one to show you another way would do to you.

Why did Azula smirk while Ozai burned Zuko?

You already know the answer.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Never Have I Ever (Part 4) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Civilian Contractor! Reader (Callsign: Dove)

Length: 3.9k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Female Reader with a Callsign and Family, but no Physical Description or Name; Not Necessarily Healthy Decisions/Coping Mechanisms; Slow Burn; Coworkers to Friends to Lovers; Oblivious Idiots; Excessive Pining; Jealousy; Adult Situations

Summary: Phoenix takes Dove out for a girls' day. Jake proceeds to lose his shit.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Master List

“You’re not doing anything with Dove today?” Coyote asked Jake as they jogged their normal route. 

“No, she said that Phoenix was taking her out.” 

“What’re they doing?” 

“I don’t know. Dove didn’t say,” Jake stated, shrugging his shoulders. 

~~~~~

# 44 - Gotten a Pedicure

“So, what are we doing next?” Dove asked Phoenix.

They sat side by side at a nail salon, getting a pedicure together. And Dove, even though salons usually gave her anxiety, was enjoying herself. It helped to have Phoenix with her. 

“I thought we’d start small and work our way up,” Phoenix replied, turning to Dove. 

“Like what?”

“We’ll just have a girls day. Do stuff that you wouldn’t do if Hangman was with you,” Phoenix stated, causing Dove to nod. “Maybe stuff that you’ve wanted to do for a while, but just never got around to doing.” 

“I can think of a few things.” 

~~~~~

# 45 - Bought Fishnet Stockings

“I don’t know what I’ll wear these with,” Dove admitted as she picked out a pair of fishnet stockings from the rack. “But I’ve always wanted a pair.” 

“And that’s why we’re doing this,” Phoenix stated, steering Dove towards the cashier. 

~~~~~

# 46 - Gone Wedding Dress Shopping 

“Nat, I feel bad,” Dove whispered to Phoenix as they looked through the racks of dresses. “There’s actual brides here.” 

“So what? Just pick some dresses. You’re not hurting anyone.”

As Dove continued to browse through the dresses, a consultant approached them. She greeted them kindly and Dove tried to not sweat when she was confronted with the fact that she was not engaged and she was here with a fake engagement ring and a made up fiance. 

“So, you’re the bride to be?” the consultant asked Dove, who smiled sheepishly.

“Yes, I am.” 

“When’s your wedding?”

“Next summer,” Dove stated noncommittally. 

“Oh, so you have time. Tell me what you’re looking for.” 

Dove listed off some details that she had considered for her actual wedding dress. With those details in mind, the consultant led Dove and Phoenix around the store, picking out some dresses and asking Dove about her fake wedding. Phoenix was calm beside her but Dove was not similarly relaxed. 

“So, tell me about your groom,” the consultant stated, causing Dove to sweat some more. “Do you have any pictures of the two of you?” 

“Uh, yeah, of course, I do,” Dove laughed nervously. 

Shooting Phoenix a look, Dove pulled out her phone. The photo of her and Jake from when they were stuck up on the ferris wheel together the night before popped up first and Dove showed it to the consultant to get it over with. 

“Oh, you two are adorable together.” 

“Thank you.” 

“What’s his name?”

“Jake,” Dove answered honestly. Because it was Jake in the photo.

“And how’d you two meet?” 

“We work together.” 

“And how long have you been together for?” 

“Eight months,” Dove lied easily. 

Dove had been at her position at NAS North Island for eight months. It had been eight months since she had been assigned to the Dagger Squad. 

“I know it seems rushed, but—” Dove started to over-explain. 

“—When you know, you know,” the consultant assured Dove, smiling kindly. She lifted up the wedding dresses that they had already picked out. “I’ll go put these in a dressing room. Come back after you’ve done your last look through.” 

“Thank you.” 

The consultant walked away, leaving Dove and Phoenix alone for a moment. Dove could feel Phoenix’s gaze on her, but didn’t meet her stare. 

“Freudian slip?” Phoenix suggested to Dove. 

“Shut up.” 

~~~~~

# 47 - Gone into a Lingerie Store

“I already hate this and we’re only in the parking lot,” Dove sighed, staring up at the store.

“Why?”

“Because the women who work in these stores are the most judgmental, aggressive, and condescending salespeople on the planet,” Dove huffed, turning to Phoenix with an annoyed expression. “Why do you think I stay away from these places?”

“If they act that way, we’re going to tell them to mind their business. Now, come on.” 

Dove sighed, but got out of the car anyway. She followed Phoenix into the store and was relieved to find that it was not overrun with judgy salespeople. Then again it was midday on a weekday and there appeared to only be two salespeople in the entire store. 

“You’ll be fine,” Phoenix repeated, before dragging Dove deeper into the store.

~~~~~

Jake sat around with the other Daggers—minus Phoenix—for a lazy afternoon, floating around ideas for that night. Jake, bored with the conversation already, pulled out his phone and looked at Dove’s list for any updates. 

Pedicure . . . fishnets . . . wedding dress . . . lingerie?

Quickly setting his phone back down, Jake turned back to the conversation, trying and failing at looking casual. And to not let his mind wander too far. 

~~~~~

# 48 - Bought Lingerie

“Buy for yourself, not for anyone else. Buy something that makes you feel good.” 

“I’m just looking for something that I can actually get into at this point,” Dove replied, grimacing as she picked up another set. “I mean, what is the point of all of these ribbons? I feel like I’m going to trip and slam my head into the wall trying to get into this thing.” 

“Just find something that works for you. Don’t worry about all of this extra crap.”

Dove looked through what felt like half a store’s worth of options before she settled on a simpler set. Nothing too crazy, but the lace pattern was appealing and it was surprisingly soft. And the look of the bra alone made her feel confident about herself. 

If only she had something or someone to wear it for.

~~~~~

# 49  - Gone to an Adult Shop

“Come on, it’s no big deal,” Phoenix stated, pulling Dove into the store. “You already bought lingerie. This is just another step in that process.” 

Dove winced when she saw some of the items that were up on the wall. She turned back to Phoenix, practically clutching her metaphorical pearls.

“Where the hell is that supposed to go?” Dove glanced down at her pelvis before turning back to Phoenix with a slightly terrified expression. “I don’t have space for that! No one has space for that. Where the hell are your organs supposed to go?” 

“We’re not going for anything crazy,” Phoenix stated reassuringly. “Just trying to introduce you to some stuff to, uh, help you out a little.” 

~~~~~

# 50 - Bought an Adult Toy

“This one has plenty of different settings, so you can play around with it and see what works for you and what doesn’t,” the attendant explained, causing Dove to nod. “Everyone is different, so there’s no shame in finding what works for you.” 

“Thank you.” 

“See that wasn’t so bad,” Phoenix stated, walking with Dove after she picked up a box.  

“No, it actually wasn’t.” 

Dove was about to turn for the register when she caught sight of some handcuffs. The dainty, fluffy pink fur didn’t spark any interest in her. But when she found a more industrial pair, Dove couldn’t help but pick up a pair to inspect. She completely missed the look on Phoenix’s face at her choice. 

“Well, I guess it’s on sale,” Dove reasoned to herself. 

After a few more moments of quiet deliberation, Dove shrugged her shoulders and walked towards the counter with the handcuffs in hand. Phoenix stood there for a moment, still shocked at Dove’s choice. 

“It’s always the quiet ones.” 

After Dove paid for her items, they made their way back out to the car. Looking down at what she had already purchased that day, Dove quietly had a discussion with herself before turning back to Phoenix. 

“I have an idea. For what to do next.” 

“Of course. What is it?”

~~~~~

# 51 - Gotten a Tattoo

Phoenix pulled her phone out as Dove laid on her side, talking casually with the tattoo artist. When she saw that Jake was calling her, Phoenix excused herself from Dove’s side. Walking out to the parking lot, Phoenix answered the call.

“Yes?” 

“What the hell are you doing, Trace!?” 

“Start over, Bagman,” Phoenix warned him. 

“You’re making her get a tattoo?” Jake rephrased, though the tension was clear in his tone.

“I didn’t make her get a tattoo. This was her idea.” 

“You think that I believe you?” 

“I don’t care what you believe. It’s the truth. She said that she’s floated the idea of getting one for a while and she decided to finally do it.” 

“And you let her?” 

“She is an adult. She can make her own choices about her own body. And no one has the right to tell her that she can’t,” Phoenix warned him. “Including you, Bagman.” 

“What if she regrets it?” 

“She can get it lasered off. And we all know that Dove doesn’t do anything without going through the consequences a thousand times.” Glancing back at the tattoo parlor, Phoenix added, “And when she tells you about it—and this goes for all of you idiots—you’re going to tell her that it’s great. Got it?” 

Dove stepped out into the light as Phoenix wrapped up her phone call. Phoenix spotted her and hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye.

“How do you feel?” 

“It stings,” Dove admitted honestly, pulling her shorts down a little to show Phoenix the bandage, “but I feel . . . I don’t know how to describe it. Just . . . free.” 

“You are,” Phoenix stated, smiling proudly. “You’re in charge of your life. No one else.” 

“Yeah, I am,” Dove agreed, nodding with a wide smile. 

~~~~~

# 52 - Sang Karaoke in Front of Strangers

“And girls! They wanna have fu-un! Oh, girls just wanna have—that’s all the really wa-ah-an-ah-an-ah-ant! Some fu-uh-uh-uh-un! When the working day is done, oh girls, they wanna have fun!” 

Phoenix and Dove shared a laugh as the song finished up. The bar where they were standing was pretty much empty, but the one bartender on duty clapped for them. Dove laughed and waved to them as she hopped off the small stage.

~~~~~

# 53 - Sunbathed Topless

“I need to get softer beach towels,” Dove commented, causing Phoenix to pick her head up and look over at her. 

“Are you planning on doing this more often?” 

The two of them were out in Penny’s backyard to sunbathe in the afternoon. Dove shrugged her shoulders as she laid on her stomach, calm and relaxed. 

“Maybe. If I find safe spots to do it.” 

~~~~~

# 54 - Dyed Your Hair

Putting a trash bag over Dove’s torso just in case, Phoenix started lightly spraying the dye onto her hair. Dove closed her eyes and just let Phoenix work, and missed Phoenix’s concerned look as she finished up the spray. 

“Alright, how does that look? I think I’ll open the window.” 

Dove stood up from the tub and walked over to the mirror to stare at her new reflection and instantly grimaced. The red hair color was fairly bright. It wasn’t quite a fire engine red, nor was it orange, it was some other odd reddish color that Dove was going to immediately wash out of her hair. 

“Well, that’s off the list. Forever.” 

~~~~~

# 55 - Drank Pickle Juice

“Do you normally do this?” Dove asked Phoenix, sitting at her kitchen table with an old towel wrapped around her freshly washed hair. 

The spray on hair dye had come out easily, but she was going to have to scrub her shower later. Phoenix placed a glass in front of her and Dove picked it up to inspect it. Taking a small sip, Dove wrinkled her nose and slowly set it back down. 

“I think I’ve had enough of the food challenges,” Dove admitted, slowly opening her eyes. 

“You’ll have to tell everyone else that. They want to go to a new bar tonight,” Phoenix stated, showing Dove her texts with Bob. 

“A cowboy bar?” Dove read, looking up at Phoenix. “They finally let Jake have his way?” 

“Apparently.” 

~~~~~

# 56 - Ridden a Mechanical Bull

Jake and Coyote walked into the cowboy bar together and started their search for the other Daggers, who had all apparently arrived before them. 

“Found ‘em,” Coyote stated, nudging Jake in the side. 

Jake turned his head and recognized the woman climbing up on the back of the mechanical bull. And even if he didn’t, the fact that Phoenix, Bob, and Rooster were standing around the area and cheering her on would have cleared it up.

Dove focused on the task at hand, locking her legs around the bull and prepared to move her body in time with the bull. Jake and Javy made their way over to the area as the mechanical bull started to move. 

“Yeah, Dove!” Phoenix cheered for her.

“She can really move her hips well,” Rooster commented, staring down Jake as he spoke. “Don’t you agree, Hangman?” 

Jake glared straight into Bradley’s soul before turning back to Dove. She managed to hold on for longer than anyone expected, but with a quiet giggle, Dove dropped onto the mat. Rolling onto her knees, Dove crawled to get off the mat. 

Jake offered her a hand and she took it without hesitation. Hopping down from the mat, she moved to pull her boots on again as Bob climbed up onto the mat to go next. Dove stood up slowly, offering him a smile that seemed to make time slow around them.

“Long time no see,” Dove stated teasingly. “Did you miss me?” 

“Well, my day was a lot less entertaining without you in it,” Jake commented, causing Dove to raise an eyebrow. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You make life . . . interesting,” Jake replied, missing the side eye that Coyote and Rooster shared behind him. 

“Interesting?” Dove repeated, causing Jake to wince. Laughing, she nudged him again. “I’m just teasing, Jake. Lighten up. Relax. Have a drink.” 

She walked past him, practically serene, and over to where Phoenix was standing, cheering on Bob, who was still hanging on. Coyote wrapped an arm around Jake’s shoulder and Jake promptly ignored his shit-eating grin.

“You know, of all the words you could have used to describe her, you chose ‘interesting’?” 

“Shut up, Javy.” 

“To think I took advice from you. No wonder I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

~~~~~

# 57 - Given a Fake Name

Dove stood at the bar with Phoenix, waiting to order another drink. The other Daggers were waiting at their table, which they could see from the bar. Folding her arms on the bar, Dove glanced to her right as a man took the spot next to her.

“Have you been waiting a while?” he asked, causing Dove and Phoenix to turn to him. 

“Yeah, but they’re clearly understaffed, so we don’t mind,” Dove returned politely. 

“Have you been here before?” the man continued. 

“No, it was recommended by one of our friends,” Dove explained calmly. She shared a look with Phoenix, who subtly shrugged her shoulders. 

“And what do you think about it so far?” 

“The mechanical bull is a unique touch.”  

“Have you been on it yet?” the man asked, leaning on the bar with a smile. 

“Yeah, earlier.” 

“How’d you do?” 

“I think they said nine seconds.” 

“That’s amazing for your first time up on one.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m Jared,” he introduced, offering his hand for her to shake. 

Dove quickly came up with a fake name and introduced herself back to him. Shaking his hand in return, she turned back to the bartender. She and Phoenix shared a side glance before Jared asked her another question. 

~~~~~

# 58 - Been Bought a Drink

Jake glared at the back of Jared’s head, watching the interaction between Dove and the stranger intently. It was a bar and Jared was a random man who walked up to Dove and Phoenix. Jake had every right to be concerned, he reasoned to himself. 

“I’m going up there,” Jake stated gruffly.

“Did he do something?” Payback asked, turning around to look at the bar. 

“He’s loitering.” 

“It looks like they’re just talking. Dove doesn’t even look anxious.” 

“No, he’s bad news,” Jake insisted. 

“Because he’s doing something wrong or because he’s flirting with Dove?” Coyote questioned, turning to his best friend. “Would you react the same way if he was showing more of an interest in Phoenix?” 

“I’m going up there,” Jake insisted, ignoring Javy’s question. 

Meanwhile, at the bar, Dove and Jared had finally waved over the bartender. Dove ordered her drink, but before she could hand over her card, Jared offered to put it on his tab. And even though Dove insisted that she could pay for her own drinks, Jared insisted. 

“My treat. And besides, it’s your first time here. I have to make sure that you have a good time, so you’ll come back again.” 

“Thank you,” Dove replied quietly, quickly moving into unfamiliar territory. 

While they waited for their drinks to be made, Jared continued to ask Dove perfectly normal surface level questions. Dove was analytical by nature and Jared didn’t seem to ask her anything that was a blatant red flag. But she was still cautious. The bartender handed over their drinks before Dove turned back to Jared. 

“Thank you for the drink, but we really should get back to our friends,” Dove stated politely, offering Jared a small smile. 

“Before you go,” Jared stated, causing Dove to pause, “do you think that I could get your number? Or maybe, at least, a dance?”

“Um,” Dove began, trying to find the right words. 

“She has a boyfriend,” Phoenix interjected, causing Jared’s face to fall. 

“Oh.” 

“Sorry, I was trying to tell you before you bought the drink,” Dove replied, half-lying, half-telling the truth. She did tell him that she wanted to pay for her own drink. 

“Do you guys need help?” Jake asked, appearing from the crowd. 

Phoenix rolled her eyes at the subtle territorial display—or not so subtle, depending on who you asked—that Jake put on. Jared, quickly assessing the fact that Jake was built enough to kick his ass if he really wanted to—and Jake looked like he wanted to—slipped away, leaving Dove and Phoenix at the bar with Jake. 

“Are you alright?” Jake asked Dove, who nodded in return.

“Yeah, he seemed harmless. We’re fine.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“I’m fine, Jake.” 

“I’ll take a tequila shot,” Phoenix told the bartender, who nodded and moved to pour one for her. 

~~~~~

# 59 - Danced with Someone at a Bar

“I love this song!” Phoenix yelled, getting to her feet. 

The Dagger Squad had settled around their table, enjoying their drinks and catching up, but Phoenix was itching to move. Phoenix reached over and grabbed Bob’s arm, practically pulling him straight out of his seat. 

“Let’s go dance!”

Jake watched Phoenix drag Bob off her before turning to look at Dove, who was already staring back at him. Turning so that his whole body was facing her, Jake leaned in closer to her so that he didn’t need to scream over the music.

“Do you want to dance too?” 

“Do you want me to make your night more interesting?” Dove quipped back, though she looked unsure of herself. “You know that I have two left feet, Jake.” 

“I’ll lead.” 

“If I fall on my face—” 

“—I won’t let you fall,” Jake promised, causing Dove to pause as her cheeks warmed.

“Alright.” 

Jake and Dove left the Dagger table and walked out onto the crowded dance floor. Dove reached out and kept a tight hold on Jake’s hand, worried about losing him in the swarm. Jake managed to find a space for them before turning back to Dove. She released his hand and smiled anxiously.

“Just follow me,” Jake called over the music. 

Dove nodded and just sort of swayed to the music. The crowd shifted around them and pushed them closer together. Jake put his hands on Dove’s waist to keep her steady on her feet. And Dove, either subconsciously or consciously leaned against him too, letting Jake wrap an arm around her. 

They swayed together to the music as Jake reached for Dove’s hand. Twirling her around gently, Jake wasn’t aware that he was giving her the most genuinely joyful smile and that his eyes never once deviated from her. 

From the way that her nose crinkled as she laughed to the soft look in her eye as she turned back around, he was entirely and completely captivated by her. 

Dove spun around again and laughed as she leaned against Jake, still a bit clumsy. Jake wrapped an arm around her waist, not just to steady her this time. But to unabashedly keep her close to him. And Dove didn’t push away from him.

From across the room, Coyote, Rooster, and Payback sat together, all quietly watching the interaction between Jake and Dove. Coyote appeared tired, not from the night or the alcohol. But from watching Hangman and Dove continue to tiptoe around each other. 

“Have we tried just pushing their heads together yet?” Payback asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“I’m really considering it,” Coyote replied, shaking his head.

“I can flirt with Dove some more,” Rooster offered, causing Payback and Coyote to turn to him. 

“I’m honestly worried he’ll rip your head off at this point,” Coyote stated, turning to Rooster. “He turns almost feral.” 

“I know. But I’m really enjoying pissing him off.”

~~~~~

# 60 - Shown Someone Else Your Tattoo

Standing outside the bar beside Jake’s truck, Dove turned around. She had to unbutton her jean shorts to do it, but she pulled the waistband of her shorts and her underwear down a little to show Jake her tattoo. She had placed a protective clear patch over it for her shower and just decided to wear it to the bar as well. 

“It’s not very large, but I’ve wanted it for a while,” she explained, causing Jake to nod. 

“What made you pick that one?” 

“I was always drawing stars when I was anxious when I was in college,” Dove admitted, glancing back at her tattoo. “And this was just a group of them.”  

“It looks good,” Jake complimented Dove, causing her to smile. 

“Thank you. I’m really glad that I got it, actually.” 

“It suits you.” 

Pulling her shorts up and buttoning them once again, Dove turned around to face Jake. She leaned back against his truck, folding her hands behind her back.

“Are you excited for the team trip?” 

“I guess.” 

“You’re the one who voted for the lake house,” Dove reminded him.

“I just didn’t want to go to Vegas.” Shifting his weight on his feet, Jake met Dove’s gaze once again. “But I was thinking . . .” 

“Yeah?” Dove asked softly.

“Did you want to leave maybe two days before everyone else? There’s a few more things I think that we can knock off the list if we do.” 

“Just the two of us?” 

“I mean . . . yeah.” 

“I’m just teasing you, Jake,” Dove mused, pushing off of his truck. “Just tell me when I need to be ready to leave, and I’ll be ready.” Offering him a soft smile and letting her touch on his arm linger, Dove added, “Goodnight, Jake.” 

“Night, Dove.” 

Jake turned and watched Dove walk over to her car. He stood there until Dove got into her car and drove home, trying to keep his mind focused. But that was becoming more and more difficult around Dove these days.

[unoriginalfellow567]

Herbs n’ stuff

Getting high with Leon Kennedy after saving the President’s daughter

Leon Kennedy x genderneutral!reader

Crack fic

Dividers from: @cafekitsune

Idrk what this is, I didn’t have any inspo for a long time, but I wanted to write something with Leon. And, I thought of the meme of him making a joint, and this came about to be. I think it’s be one of my longest works yet (I apologise in advance for any possible erroneous spelling). Enjoy!

The meme:

The rain pattered against the grimy windows, thunder and lighting striking at arbitrary times, the pair a stark contrast against the soothing effects the rain had on yours, Leon and Ashley’s nerves after the events, the horrors, that had transpired just a few hours ago.

Leon and you were pretty bored, and extremely fatigued. You felt jealousy crawl its way out of the pit of your stomach and nearly escape your mouth through the means of pathetic whining at the sight of Ashely sleeping on one of the villagers’ bed, Leon’s leather jacket (which, quite frankly, you wanted one like it) splayed out under her in a poor attempt of protecting her from the filthy sheets.

You spun on your chair to face Leon, who was sat on the opposite side of the wooden table stationed near the window. “She’s out cold,” you stated the obvious, staring into his weary eyes, dark bags drooping. “Poor girl’s been through hell and back, she deserves some rest.” He replied, softy tapping his fingers on the table’s surface. “How’s your rib?” He asks, referring to the injury you had attained while fighting Saddler’s mutated form. “It’s.. still there, I think. So, that’s something,” you replied, shrugging slightly. “Don’t worry, Hunnigan said a chopper will get here soon,” he assured with a small smile, trying to alleviate the situation. “I’ll live.” Is your reply.

“Hey, you got any more of those green herbs?” You ask Leon, hopeful. “It won’t do anything for broken bones, y’know,” he stated. “That’s not an answer, ‘y’know’,” You mocked, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I do have some left. Here,” he yielded, retrieving a variety of herbs from his attache case, rolling them up in a piece of paper and handing the combination to you. “Thanks.” You reply, not long before getting out a lighter from one of the pockets of your cargo pants, and lighting the rudimentary joint up.

“The hell are you doing?” Leon asks, seeing you inhale the smoke, then blow it out. “Look, different people have different coping mechanisms. This is the best I’ve got at the moment, take it or leave it,” You say, raising your eyebrows invitingly and holding the joint out to him.

He looked at the drug, then back at you, then at then back at the joint in you hand, and reluctantly accepted it. “Ok..” were his words before he took a drag of the reefer. “Weren’t you not a smoker?” You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “People change.” He shut you down quickly.

It was amusing, really, two of the U.S.’s most elite agents, smoking healing herbs, high off their asses in a crumbling shed in the middle of a forest right in the Spanish ass-crack of nowhere, saying whatever came to their minds, lamenting about how ‘relationships are a waste of time, man’, as you had re-iterated several times, each more sober than the last, whilst simultaneously laughing (as little and quietly as you could, considering your broken rib and Ashley respite) at his stories of rejection.

‘No use calling yourself a one lady type of guy if there aren’t any women interested in you’, as he had quoted.

It had been a nice change of pace, seeing Leon in a more mellow state. His snark combined with the misanthropic attitude, which seemingly never faltered, cracked, allowing out a more vulnerable, exposed Leon. A more.. human Leon.

You couldn’t remember where you first heard the corny-ass saying, ‘laughter is the best medicine’, but this moment solidified it. Or maybe it was the green herb, mixed with some other leaves of which colours you couldn’t remember. Probably, both.

“And then she went to the bathroom and jumped outta the fucking window! And left me to pay for her meal! The nerve,” his words were bitter, yet you could see the amusement of the anecdote in his bloodshot eyes.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had went on a date. It was somewhat surprising that Leon had time to indulge in the romantic aspects of life, considering your own schedule working as an agent, but maybe he just manages his time better than you do. Who knows.

“Hey, times are tough, man,” You shrugged, taking another drag of the badly-rolled up joint, and slowly blowing out the fumes. “How long did Hunnigan say it was gonna take for a chopper to get here?” You asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. “It should be here in,” Leon took a look at his watch, squinting like he had some sort of visual impairment, then he looked up at you again, “15 minutes or so. Going by the storm outside, I’d triple that.” He replied nonchalantly. “I say 30 minutes, wanna bet?” You raise an eyebrow, staring him directly in his red eyes. “You sure you wanna? I’m right pretty much all the time,” he declared cockily, smirking. “Yeah, ‘right’ my ass, you’re just lucky as hell. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a pot of gold at home.” I rolled my eyes. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a cauldron.” He retorted, stumping out the joint you both were smoking by pressing it into the windowsill on his right.

“Devastating blow.” You deadpan, then return to the subject at hand. “10.. Hamiltons if I’m right, and vice-versa.” You established, and he nodded. There was a comforting silence which ensued, and you took the time to observe Ashley’s sleeping form, her features soft and peaceful. A contrast to the events that had transpired just a few hours prior.

“What do you think’ll happen to her? In the future, I mean,” you looked back at Leon. “Who knows?” He shrugged, “She’s got her whole life ahead of her. I remember when I was her age..” he replied, closing his eyes. “Okay, old man,” You joked, just an innocent jab, in your mind. “Raccoon City.. I was her age when I survived its horrors, back in 1998.” He revealed sombrely. “Shit, Leon, I didn’t mean to.. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” You apologised instantly. “It’s all right, let’s forget it. Better that way.” You nodded understandingly.

A while later, after the tension had dissipated a little, you received a transmission from Hunnigan. You smirked at Leon, then looked at his watch, anticipation brewing in your core at the thought of 10 dollars, and more importantly, proving him wrong.

“Hey Hunnigan,” you greeted sweetly, waiting for her announcement. “It’s good to hear your voice, Y/N, is everyone all right?” She asked, her voice fuzzy. “We’re all.. alive. Baby Eagle is safe, but I have a broken rib. As for Leon, he’s all good.” I replied. “The chopper has just landed, at the pick-up point. Hunnigan out.” She finalised the announcement, and you looked at Leon.

“30 or 45?” You asked, confidently. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “30.” He begrudgingly admitted. “Pay up,” You smiled victoriously, holding your hand out. “My wallet’s in my jacket,” he replied. “Okay then, we’ll settle this later.”

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 6: Healed wrong, “it’s not my blood”

So I tried something new with this, which is part of why it took so long (the other reasons just being that it’s a weekend and I’m busy). I’m not totally sure I like it, but it was an experiment *shrug*

(please tell me what you thought please—)

I also used the “unhealthy coping mechanisms” prompt, but only sorta.

Warnings: badly broken bones, violence, blood.

Ao3 link

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If I were less of an optimistic guy, I might say that I was in a bit of trouble, currently.

Or if I was less of a sarcastic guy, I’d say that I’m in pretty big trouble, but I am, and therefore it’s only a bit of trouble. Despite what my eyes are telling me and the kind of overwhelming pain in my leg.

But if there’s one thing I’ve gained from a solid five adventures, it’s the ability to ignore pain. Even when it’s sharp and overwhelming and my eyes are stinging and passing out would be pretty nice, I ignore it with the best of them.

And in addition, I’ve found that going through everything I’ve been through gives you a pretty good coping mechanism or three. I think mine’s sarcasm. Or grumpiness, depending on who you ask. Zelda would say grumpiness, and Ravio would probably say sarcasm, but the jury’s out on which one it actually is. My uncle would probably just laugh and say it’s hot cider.

But anyway. Back to the trouble.

Hi. I’m Link, the Hero of Legend, and I currently have a boulder twice the size of me sitting on my leg.

Now if you’re like me you’re probably wondering “Mr. Link, how on earth did this happen to you, since you’re the hero of Legend and all?”. And I’d tell you that “well you see, sometimes even the greatest of heroes can be real ding-dongs. Or not look where they’re going and trip.”

Or fall down a mountain while trying to escape an avalanche.

So yeah, it was a pretty crummy situation all in all. Especially since I couldn’t remember a lot of how it had happened. If the sticky feeling on the bag of my head was any mark, then I probably had something of a concussion, which would... explain some things.

It was pretty dark down here, even with the lantern I’d managed to grab and light. Breaking my leg in an avalanche was a new one for me, but really, you’ve broken one leg, you’ve broken them all. This would be the second time I’d snapped my left leg, and based on the huge chunk of rock resting on it currently, it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy to fix as the first time.

My breath puffed out of me in a cloud as I shifted around, trying to budge the rock, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. It was only getting colder as the sun set, and the reality of the situation was starting to sink in, making my stomach feel tight.

My bag had been thrown just far enough away that I couldn’t reach it, the clasp shining innocently in the light from the setting sun. A few items had fallen out, but apart from the lantern, there was nothing that would help much. I had no idea when the others would be along, since I was pretty sure I’d fallen a good halfway down the mountain. Thinking about it, it was actually kind of miraculous the only injuries I had were some scrapes and a severely crushed leg.

Well. And the cut on the back of my head that was making my hair damp with blood. But the leg hurt more.

A hiss escaped my teeth as I tried pushing at the rock again, but it was too heavy to budge, especially with the pain radiating through my body. I was trying not to think about it, but it was getting worse the longer I sat here.

And the blue potion that was just close enough for me to reach wasn’t going to be useful unless I could get the blasted rock off my leg.

I took in a few slow, steady breaths, calming down and bracing myself. I’d shove the rock as hard as I could this time, push through the pain, try and shift it enough that I could at least reach my bag.

This time I would make it. I could do it.

C’mon Link. It’s just a rock.

I counted down in my head, then shoved at the rock with all my might, a scream rising in my throat that I choked back. Pushing put way too much strain on every part of me that hurt, but despite the terrible angle and the fact that I was making absolutely zero progress, I kept pushing, the scream coming out as a pitiful whimper.

The rock didn’t move. My leg ached.

I pulled on the last bit of strength I had and shoved, and then you can probably guess what happened next.

One moment I was shoving, and the next, I was lying on my back, darkness fading from my vision. I’d blacked out.

The sun had finished setting while I was unconscious, and the stone was cold under my back, stars beginning to glitter above me. My lantern was still lighting up the immediate area at least, and I groaned, resting an aching arm over my face.

I was trapped.

I briefly raised my arm and glared at the boulder, ignoring the way the limb trembled. I hoped it was just the cold and not because I was losing too much blood.

“Stupid rock,” I croaked, glaring at the stone. The rock didn’t reply. Which was good. If it had, I’d be a lot more worried.

I gave it a shove, then let out a cry of pain, the movement making my leg and head both throb in sync. I fell to the ground with a hiss, and stared up at the sky, watching my breath puff into the cold air.

I wasn’t getting anywhere with this. If only I could reach my items, I could already think of five off the top of my head that I could use to free myself.

But no. All I had was a lantern and a potion I couldn’t use yet.

I looked over at it again, briefly debating it. The potion would try and fix anything that needed healing, even if it was broken and lying in a strange position. I didn’t know exactly what it would do to my leg if I drank it now, but... I didn't want to find out. That would be my last resort.

Something that wasn’t the wind made a noise nearby, and I stiffened, swiveling an ear. I didn’t use to be able to do that, but perks of briefly being a rabbit I guess.

The noise rang out again, and I groaned, recognizing the familiar growl of a monster. They could probably smell the blood all over my head, heard all my yelling.

I was a sitting duck.

The blue potion glinted innocently in the lantern light, and I swallowed, my mind whirling. The potion would heal my leg wrong, no doubt about that, but my head would heal over completely, and even if it healed wrong the pain in my leg would probably ease enough for me to get a good grip on the rock, or at least stretch far enough to grab my bag.

It wouldn’t be fun. In fact, it would probably end really badly.

But between that and getting mauled by something without so much as a knife to defend myself, I’d take the pain.

Believe it or not, I’d been faced with worse.

I grimaced, and grabbed the cold glass of the bottle, blue liquid sloshing as I tugged it over. My fingers were shaking enough that the cork was hard to remove, but I finally got it, and stared at the liquid, my stomach suddenly rolling.

Eyes glinted in the dark, focused on me, and I swallowed, bracing myself.

“Bottoms up,” I muttered.

Then I chugged half of it all in one go.

The effect was immediate on my head, the pain in my scalp gone almost instantly. The potion swept through and cleared the pained fog that had been clogging up my brain, and rushed through my body like a cool breeze, healing scrapes and bruises as it went. I braced myself as it slipped past my waist and down to my leg, and the cool feeling faltered, unsure of how to proceed.

Then it tore through the limb, trying to fix things.

The boulder firmly kept my leg at an odd angle, and I couldn’t help my gasp as my bones began healing in ways they shouldn’t, bending and crooked from the rocks. My vision whited at the edges as several somethings shifted, and it took me a second to realize the scream echoing off the rocks was mine.

Then the potion finished and I choked in a breath, tears running down my cheeks as I gasped for breath.

I could tell it was wrong, I could tell it was so wrong, but I knew I’d probably vomit if I thought about it too hard so I didn’t. Again, back to the ignoring thing. Instead I shakily pushed myself up, relieved that it didn’t hurt to do so as much as it had a few minutes ago, and pushed.

The boulder was still huge, and I was still in a lot of pain, but this time it shifted a little, just enough for me to stretch a little bit further, and snag the corner of my bag. I let out a cheer that was on the shaky side, then froze.

The eyes that had been watching me moved into the circle of lantern light, revealing the beast they belonged to. Dark scales and long talons met me, and I swallowed. Some kind of lizalfos, though I didn’t recognize it specifically.

Wings spread out from behind it as it hissed, and I quickly began rifling in my bag for the items I’d need. Aeralfos were even worse.

In one fluid motion I’d grabbed both the cane of Somaria and the cane of Byrna, and as the dark aeralfos lunged for my head, I twirled them simultaneously.

A protective whirlwind appeared around me, knocking the aeralfos backwards, and at the same time an orange block appeared under the boulder, throwing it off of my leg, finally.

I grinned in triumph even as my leg throbbed with a fiery feeling, and ignored the pain as I shifted myself to a sitting position. I switched the cane of Somaria out for my ice rod, and shot a few solid blasts at the lizalfos while it was still reeling.

A loud snarl came from its snout as it flared its wings, but before it could fly, I nailed it in the face with a huge blast of ice.

It screeched, and as the whirlwind around me faded, I quickly hammered it with more blasts, until its screeches faded and the cliffside was silent again.

I let out a sigh, shakily leaning against a part of the wall, and was so busy being relieved I didn't hear the second aeralfos until it was too late.

Talons ripped into my shoulders and I screamed as air rushed around me, the monster dragging me up into the sky before I could do a thing to stop it. We were already at a height too dangerous for me to be dropped, and I struggled against the aeralfos, mind whirling.

Was I seriously going to die right after finally getting free?

An idea clicked, and I snatched my hookshot out of my bag, aiming it at a particularly rocky spot on the mountainside. I shot it, and to my overwhelming relief the chain hit, pulling both me and the aeralfos towards the cliff at a rapid speed. I was ready for it though, and I grabbed at the cliffside with a cry, the aeralfos losing its grip on me at the force of the movement.

It howled, and I yelled as I pulled myself up onto the cliff, swallowing back bile as I caught sight of my grossly misshapen leg. I managed to claw my way up, and the aeralfos followed, still making a huge racket.

My hands shook as I yanked out my sword, and as the aeralfos slammed into me and knocked me on my back, I stabbed my blade into its neck.

The aeralfos let out a wracking gurgle, then fell on top of me, dead.

I dredged up the strength to shove it off of me, then collapsed backwards, breathing hard. My shoulders hurt, my leg hurt... most of me hurt actually, but the rest of the blue potion was still somewhere at the bottom of the mountain. And I really wasn't excited at the prospect of trying to climb down with a leg that currently had a few extra angles in it.

So I didn't. I just laid there, breathing hard, trying not to look at my leg and slowly working up the energy to move.

Lucky for me, I didn't end up having to.

"Vet! Hey, I found him!"

I blinked out of my doze at the shout, and heard bootsteps pound in my direction, a horrified gasp reaching my ears. Something poked my face, and then touched my leg—

I yelled and jerked forward, narrowly missing a collision with Warriors' head.

"Don't touch it!" I hissed, and the captain raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, Hyrule abruptly appearing beside him. He gasped as he looked at me, and I tried to send him a reassuring look. No idea if I succeeded. "It's not my blood. Well... most of it isn't."

"The blood isn't— Legend what did you do?" Hyrule asked in a horrified voice. Which was surprising, since Hyrule was usually pretty calm with injuries and the like. "You have— you have bone sticking out of your leg?!”

Oh. Yeah I could see why that would bother him.

More Links appeared behind Hyrule and Warriors, and I saw several faces pale, Twilight putting a hand to his mouth, Sky's face turning green as he quickly ducked away.

"Legend did you heal this? It's bent all wrong, what on earth..." Warriors said in that voice he always used when he was trying to keep his demeanor calm. It wasn’t working.

"It was stuck, I had to heal it, long story," I muttered tiredly, not having the energy for more.

"You know we're... we're going to have to break these again, right?" Hyrule said quietly, and I swallowed.

"Yeah. I knew going into it."

"Can you handle that now?" Warriors asked seriously, and I breathed out, trying to settle my flipping stomach. It needed to be done, the sooner the better.

It wasn’t going to be fun though.

“Yeah,” I said, and Warriors nodded, sympathy on his face.

He and Hyrule moved me further from the dead aeralfos and set me on a bedroll someone pulled out, Hyrule giving my hand a quick squeeze. Four came forward and tucked something soft under my head, and Time handed me one of his bracers to bite down on.

Twilight knelt by my head and took my hand, and I breathed in slowly as Warriors and Hyrule got into position.

“Ready Vet?” Warriors asked, and I swallowed.

Warriors and Hyrule would have to rebreak, set, and then heal multiple bones in my leg. It wouldn’t be fast, and it would get much worse before it got better.

But I wasn’t alone this time. Even if I was about to be put through unimaginable pain I wouldn’t be able to ignore... I couldn’t really think of anyone else I’d rather have doing it.

I closed my eyes, and tightened my grip on Twilight’s hand.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

[trustmeifyoudare]

okay but like how did they just let my behaviour slide

thinking back on my childhood just being like holy frig i’ve not been okay for a long time