#thank you SO much to the person who suggested this extension to me

[aurosoulart]

just did the word's shortest stream testing new CLOSED CAPTIONS ON TWITCH!!!!!! YEAAAA ACCESSIBILITY!!!!

there should now be a captions toggle on both PC and mobile in the lower right corner of the video! you can change the font size, line height, text position, and more - it's totally user-customizable :D

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

[dfortrafalgar]

would you be interested in a more Platonic type fic? Like being good friends with Robin?

alternatively if it has to be romantic: Law being forced on a disaster of a date only to meet a super helpful (comic) bookshop employee and she starts seeming cute when he finds out she has similar interests? (Boy probably went into cardiac arrest at first when someone caught him not being broody)

hope this isn’t too much!

and you’re doing awesome!

thank you so much for your request, anon!!!! im actually going to use both of your ideas, but i started with the Law one because that hit seriously close to home. ive been on some absolute TRAVESTIES of dates in the past, and i needed to write law suffering through a similar fate or i'd die!!!!! I hope you enjoy, and pretty soon I'll post your platonic Robin request as well! I love writing platonic stories just as much as romantic ones <3

An Out.

Law x Fem Reader

Law made the mistake of letting his friends talk him into a first date… and now he desperately needs an out. Fast.

Warnings: an absolute disaster of a first date for our wonderful nerdy man. modern au, implied college setting, some mild slight suggestive language but nothing more than that

Trafalgar Law tried in vain to recount the series of events that led up to this very moment.

There was the dusty apartment floor discussion about how the med-student hadn’t gotten laid yet, which was followed by a raunchy comment about a girl in someone’s class, it was revealed that this girl was single (‘and ready to mingle’), and her number was forcibly input into Law’s phone.

For the week that followed, he was inundated with flirty texts from this girl he had never met in person.  He was forced to send her a picture of himself, mostly to get her to stop blowing up his texts every hour, and that was the next mistake in the line-up of unfortunate events.

Turned out she had a thing for facial hair.

Then, instead of getting pestered with general flirty messages, it was general flirty messages that were ramped up to a nine.  ‘I’d rip your clothes off if you give me the opportunity,’ kind of nine.

Law knew he was a virgin, but at least he wasn’t this desperate, nor did he have any inclination to be.  If anything, the texts he received from this stranger were making him want sex even less.

And yet… he was still pushed into this.

A date around downtown with this girl.  She clung to his arm, tried to loop her fingers into his, and yet had absolutely no interest in anything he had to say.  At all.

First red flag: she mentioned her ex.  Three times.  In four minutes.  Everything was about what he did wrong to upset her, no self-awareness to be found.  Second red flag: the clinginess.  Law hated public affection, but any attempts to urge her to give him space resulted in a childish pout and her arms caged around his, almost pulling him to the ground.  Third red flag: she couldn’t give two shits about Law, in any sense of the word.  She wouldn’t stop talking about herself.  Her looks, her clothes, her favorite music, her favorite shows to binge watch, her distaste for the area of the city they were in, her distaste for the lunch Law had [regretfully] paid for, her distaste for the speckled jeans he decided to wear…

He could feel the premature wrinkles forming in between his eyebrows the longer the date went on.  He was starting to wonder if he’d have to throw out the shirt he was wearing later.  It already reeked of the too-strong, powdery-scented perfume she bathed herself in.

“Where do you wanna go?” she suddenly asked, still tugging on his arm.

“I kinda want to stop by the bookstore before we leave,” he suggested, his feet already carrying him, and by extension, her, along the sidewalk to a small bookshop that had just recently opened.

“The bookstore?  What kinda guy brings a girl to a bookstore on a first date?!” she demanded, showing off yet another childish pout.  It wasn’t a good look on her.

‘A guy who knows this girl’s not getting a second date,’ he wished he could say.  Instead, all the snarky remarks stayed locked inside his weary brain, bouncing around like a caged lion desperate to escape.

The girl didn’t make any motions to ditch him to his nerdy reprieve, and instead followed on his heels as he pulled open the bookshop’s door, the familiar, calming scent of new books, fresh paper, and ink filling his nose.

“It smells gross in here,” the girl huffed.

Aaaand there went Law’s fleeting moment of peace.  Out the window.  Down fifteen stories and splattered on the pavement.  He needed to violently restrain the eyeroll that begged to appear.  His ocular nerves ached to be a dick in the pettiest way possible.  He inwardly hoped that by dragging this girl to the most unassuming bookshop would encourage her to leave, call a friend or get a cab to take her back to her home, but alas, she stayed glued to Law’s side like a lost dog.

She followed behind him as he blindly perused shelves of new and pre-owned books, Law’s feet subconsciously guiding him to the back of the store where he knew the comic books would be located.

If anything would turn this girl off for good, it had to be his love for all things superhero.  His comic book collection would dry her up like a dessert in a drought.  Or at least, it fucking better.

His eyes lit up as he approached the expansive comic shelf, immediately spotting the latest print of Sora: Warrior of the Sea- Volume 10.  It had finally been officially localized, and he had been saving some of his spending money for this very moment.  He eagerly grabbed the book from the shelf, thumbing through the pages.

“How old even are you?” jeered the girl by his side.  “Comic books are, like, little kid shit.”

“I’m five years old,” barked Law, refusing to look toward her as he continued to analyze the pages of his favorite series.

To the average onlooker, they both probably looked like complete jackasses towards one another.  And while Law was at least brave enough to admit that his behavior was certainly petty, he felt like he was warranted a Get Out Of Jerk Free card for all the painful hours of suffering through this atomic catastrophe of a date had put him through.

“Whatever, I’m going to find a bathroom,” the girl finally groaned, releasing his arm and trudging through the aisles of books toward the checkout counter to ask an employee where the bathrooms were located.

Law watched her go out of his peripheral vision, refusing to exhale a sigh of profound relief until she was completely out of his line of sight.  With shoulders that finally relaxed, free from the overbearing tension, he turned his focus back to the comic in his hands, continuing to thumb through the colorful pages of artwork.  He flipped the book around to examine the price, smiling at how reasonable it was.  He filled his arms with a few other comics from a series he had been meaning to pick up, and retreated toward the cash registers to buy his books.  The sooner he got his treat for this ordeal, the sooner he could get out of here, call this girl a taxi home, and spend the rest of his life as a willingly single comic book mega-nerd.

But reality wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

Not when the girl sitting behind the register thumbing through another copy of Sora Volume 10 was an absolute bombshell.

When she looked up at Law, her eyes quickly went wide.  She placed the book under the register counter and eagerly leaned forward, her hands supporting her over the counter.  “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice laced with worry.

Law cocked an eyebrow, confused.  “Yeah, why?”

“That girl you’re with is making you miserable.  You walked through the door looking like you wanted someone to grant you a mercy killing,” she huffed.  Her eyes were clearly concerned.  “Are you dating her?”

Law felt his guard dropping without even realizing it the longer he was in the presence of this cashier.  “My friends set me up on a date with her, but I’m having the absolute worst time of my life.”

The new girl’s own eyebrows angled downward in concern.  “Do you want an out?”

“A what?”

“An out,” she repeated.  “An excuse to get her to leave you alone.”  Time was running out.  At any moment, she could leave the bathroom.

Law frantically looked back and forth between the cashier and the small, short hallway that led to the single restroom.  With pleading, golden eyes, he silently mumbled, “Yes, please.”

The cashier kept her eyes on the bathroom door as she began unloading Law’s hands, spreading his books out on the counter to make it look like she was busy ringing out his purchase.  Law watched with an analytical gaze as she fumbled with his items, clearly buying time until the bathroom door opened.

He didn’t have time to ask what she was plotting.

The second the door cracked open, the man’s shirt collar was violently clenched in the cashier’s hands as she pulled him over the counter, smushing her lips into his.  Law’s fingers flexed in thin air as he froze, brain completely fried as he was frozen in this sudden kiss.

His first kiss.

“What the fuck?!” the girl screeched, exiting the bathroom in a frenzy as she booked it toward the heated exchange happening over the cash register.

The new girl pulled herself away from Law’s face, but only enough where she could display her best rendition of a weary, tired war-torn wife waiting on a cliffside for her husband to return.  “Baby, please just take me back!  My life isn’t complete without you!”  Her voice was cracking as she fake-wailed, her grip on Law’s shirt never faltering, not even once.  The few customers who also occupied the store turned to stare at the commotion, frazzled and befuddled.  “Nothing in life is as good as it was with you!  I’m in shambles!  You were the best sex I’ve ever had!”

It took a few moments for Law to catch on to the ruse.  As soon as he put the puzzle pieces together in his mind, however, he was grabbing the wrists of the cashier and bringing his lips back to hers, closing his eyes and trailing his arms up to grasp her face.  Completely disregarding the fact that they were still separated by the heavy check-out counter between their torsos.

“You were dating someone?!” snapped the original girl.  “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Law pulled away from the cashier’s lips, his own skin immediately feeling fifteen degrees colder from the loss of her contact.  “I wasn’t.  Until now.”

The new girl put her arm around Law’s shoulders from across the check-out counter, her deft fingers caressing his skin through his shirt.  “I’m sorry, but I’m taking him back, I can’t stand to be without him any longer!  The sight of him with another woman…” she made a show of clenching her chest, “makes me sick!”  She was damn good at this, in a way that almost made Law concerned.  The fact that she was pulling all of this out of nowhere, and the fact that her first course of action was this drastic, made Law’s heart flutter in his chest.

“Ugh, whatever.  This place sucks ass anyway.  I’m going home.”  She finally shouldered her bag and marched out of the shop, her feet stomping across the hardwood floor until the sound of the front door slamming closed finally made the cashier release her arm from Law’s shoulders.

And once again, the man was feeling oddly cold without the contact.  He glanced at her as she started ringing up his items for real.  “You’re… a good actor,” he blurted.

The girl hid her face in her arm with shame, an awkward laugh bubbling from her throat.  “I’m so sorry, I was trying to think of what to do to help you but when the door opened I panicked.”  Her eyes were focused on her work.  “I’ve been on some absolutely awful dates myself, so I understand.  Sometimes I’ve wished I could have Prince Charming swoop me out of the movie theater where a guy made fun of me for my interests the entire run-time.”

His jaw went slack.  “Are you serious?”

“Deadass,” she replied, quick as a whip.  “Insisted on holding my hand the entire time.  I think he was convinced that I had taken him to see a horror movie because I wanted to act scared in front of him, but his hand was so clammy and sticky the whole time.  And not in the endearing ‘Aww he’s shy!’ kind of way.”

Law wished at that moment that he had more charisma.  He was sure one of his friends would be able to pull a witty, flirty quip from their asses like it was nothing, but Law’s personal dictionary of flattery was nonexistent as it was.  He balked while he listened to the cashier who just took his breath away lamenting about her own poor experiences with dating, and he was sure that her example in this moment was only one of many.  Instead of continuing the conversation, his mind blanked.  He stated, more like whispered, “That was my first kiss.”

The girl’s hands stopped scanning his books halfway through.  Her wide eyes darted up to Law’s, her jaw slack.  “It… It was?”

“Yeah.”

Her hands flew to cover her mouth, eyes wide with shock.  “Oh my god… oh my god, I’m so sorry!”  She dropped her head onto the counter, covering her despair with both of her arms now.  “First kisses are supposed to be special and I just took your’s away from you…”

Law shocked himself by smiling at the weary display in front of him.  “If it makes you feel any better, that was far better than the date I was on.  But I’m sure you already knew that.”

She picked her head up, a trembling hand grabbing one of his last books to scan.  Her eyes nervously darted back and forth as she silently worked, once in a while sucking her bottom lip in with her teeth before releasing the flesh.  She was clearly lost in an intense inner turmoil.

“It’s really alright,” Law muttered, now growing shy himself.  He was just now realizing the gravity of what had happened… and how truly adorable this girl was.

She tapped a few buttons on her cash register before finally making eye contact with him again.  “You are a pretty good kisser… you’re really sure you’ve never done that before?”

He affirmatively shook his head.  “Never.  I’ve never been… popular with the dating scene,” he muttered.  “Hence this awful set-up date.”

The cashier’s eyes went wide again momentarily.  “That’s kind of surprising to me… I would think someone like you would get any girl you wanted.”

Law backpedaled.  “What does that mean?”

She pulled his total up on the small screen that faced him.  She was turning away from him as if to hide her face, her entire expression teeming with a child-like embarrassment.  “Well, you’re crazy hot, for starters.  And you like Sora, clearly.”

Law felt a smirk emerge on his lips.  “Is Sora one of your only qualifiers for a decent partner?”  He began to rekindle some of the confidence he had lost throughout the day.  The longer he spent in this girl’s presence, the more he felt the tension in his body leaving.

She grinned, the stress in her shoulders from her own actions finally releasing.  “Only guys with fluffy black hair and golden eyes that read Sora, if you want my honest answer.”

Now this was flirting.  Law had to admit, he was pretty pleased with this sudden turn of events.  The atmosphere this girl radiated was immensely calming, allowing him to chip through his reinforced walls just enough to feel like a somewhat normal person.  He started to wonder if she could break through his barriers even more.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked, taking out his credit card and swiping it through the machine to finally cash out his order.

The girl excitedly revealed her name.  “And your’s?”

“Trafalgar Law,” he replied.  “I go to North Blue University for med school in the next town over.”

“No shit, so do I!  I’m getting a worker's license there,” she added, her expression shifting from one of moderate happiness to one of excitement.  “I doubt we’ve had any of the same classes, but we should hang out sometime!  Get coffee, maybe talk about Sora…”  Her voice trailed off, her eyes growing soft.  “Unless you’ve been completely turned off to dating after what you’ve clearly just been through.”

Law took a few moments to ponder over her words, watching as the receipts for his purchase slowly emerged from the thermal printer.  “I think I can make an exception this time.”

The smile that broke out on the girl’s face may as well have blinded him.  She was truly dazzling, even in her ratty-looking employee apron and an oversized T-shirt accounting for her work attire.

Law placed his new assortment of books into his own bag, the girl snatching his receipts from the printer and stashing one of the copies in the drawer below the counter.  When he looked back up, she was holding out his second receipt, folded in half.  She gave him a fond smile when he took it.

“I hope you’re able to relax later today, and enjoy your books!” she called, waving to Law as he exited the store.

Once outside again, the air felt clearer now that he was alone.  The day was still young, hardly a cloud in the sky and a pleasant breeze coasting through the city.  He looped his bag over his shoulder and opened the receipt, peering at what was written on the backside.

Call me for Sora… and for just me ;) <3 1125-354-9854

[wheeboo]

psycho | wen junhui

SYNOPSIS. in which a new patient is assigned for treatment under your care, and you begin to put the puzzles and pieces together to a past case that you thought to have ceased away from your mind. PAIRING. wen junhui x psychologist!reader (ft. nurse!seokmin) GENRE. dark au, mystery, angst, a tiny tiny subtle pinch of fluff, my very first attempt at a psychological thriller :> WARNINGS. LOTS of descriptions and talks about fire, cursing, mentions of death, a mention of cigarettes, descriptions of scars + burns, descriptions of injuries from glass, mention of blood, reader has a small habit of scratching at their arms, jun makes a suggestive comment if you take it that way WORD COUNT. 12.8k

notes: this is for the caratsland event and probably the most complex plot i've tried to execute so far jsdlkfdfsdf. thank you to @slytherinshua for reading this over for me and being my lil confidence boost 💕 feedback would be much appreciated!! pls remember this is all fictional and not at all an accurate depiction of a psychiatric facility!!

another note: also this turned out to be rlly dialogue heavy and jun asks too many damn questions in this istg lmao

PRESENT DAY: 2023

"Dr. L/N, you have a new patient assigned to you in room 610."

You don't glance up from your desk. Instead, you finish reviewing the case notes of your previous patient and nod in acknowledgment to the nurse standing in your doorway, a friendly young man named Lee Seokmin who was a recent hire, as you were told. As you hear the drop of a patient file in front of you, you lean back in your chair and finally get yourself to look up.

"Thank you, Seokmin," You tell him with a soft smile.

Seokmin grins, teeth all-flashy and cheerful. "You're welcome, doctor," before dismissing himself back out of your office.

You turn your attention to the patient file now resting on your desk. As you start to read through the notes, you see it only contains some basic information about the patient: name, age, and a brief overview of their medical and psychiatric history. It's a starting point, but you know that the real work begins when you meet the person behind the paperwork.

"Name, Moon Jun... male, age 27..." You quietly study the file to yourself. The file mentions a history of severe emotional trauma and burn scars due to a fire, which immediately catches your attention in more ways than one. It also mentions extensive facial scarring and a history of therapy that completely lacked significant progress. A part of it is a familiar story in your field𑁋it isn't uncommon for individuals to experience setbacks in their recovery.

But there's something about this patient's history that tugs oddly at your heartstrings.

As you rummage deeper into the file, you come across a brief note from a colleague who had previously assessed Moon Jun, mentioning he had been withdrawn and non-communicative during his stay, displaying anti-social behaviour, sometimes even having random bursts of aggression when approached. You take a mental note of all this in your head.

Closing the patient file, you rise from your chair and adjust the white coat draped around you, before leaving your office. You make your way through the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the psychiatric facility. The environment here is all-too familiar to you; you've spent years navigating these halls. With every door you pass, there hides a different story; a different struggle; a different battle.

Upon finally reaching the room, you hesitate outside the door for a moment. The anticipation and curiosity surrounding you mixes with a touch of uncertainty, almost like fear, as they often do when meeting a new patient. You've been doing this for nearly ten years, and the feeling isn't new.

Then as you come back to your senses, you lift a hand, give a gentle knock to the door, before entering the room. It's dimly lit inside, the curtains ominously drawn on the windows to conceal the sunlight peeking through. A figure sits at the edge of the bed, back turned to you, and the hood of his hoodie pulled low over his head worn over his patient gown.

"Moon... Jun?" You call out softly, trying not to startle him.

He doesn't respond immediately, shoulders tensing at the sound of your voice. After a moment of silence, he slowly turns his head to acknowledge your presence. Half of his face is obscured by a mask, leaving only his dark eyes visible.

"Doctor," he replies gravelly.

His gaze lingers on you as you take a seat in a chair that sat against the wall next to the bed, keeping a respectful distance from him. You've encountered many patients who have initially shown distrust or apprehension, but there's an intensity in the way he looks at you that sends something chilling on the surface of your skin, especially when it's the only part of his face that you can see.

You try to break the ice with a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Moon. My name is Dr. Y/N, and I'll be conducting our therapy sessions during your stay here. Please, make yourself as comfortable as you can."

He slowly nods, but his eyes never leave yours. The mask covering his face makes it difficult to read his expressions.

"Before we begin," You continue, clearing your throat. "I want you to know that this is a safe and confidential space. Our conversations are private, and I'm here to help you in any way I can𑁋to help you heal. You can share as much or as little as you're comfortable with."

You see the way his gloved hands clench together in his lap.

"I can't be healed," he mutters quietly, voice trembling as you sense the hopelessness in his tone. You've heard this phrase many times before during your career.

"I understand that you may feel that way right now," You reply, as soothingly as possible. "but I believe that with time and the right support, healing is possible for anyone. It's a journey, and I'm here to walk it with you. It's a process, and you don't have to go through it alone."

His gaze remains fixed on you, and the unsettling tension in the room lingers, almost palpable that you feel like there's an imaginary barrier between you and him that was enough for you to see this small part of him, while he can see all of you.

"Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself? How do you feel coming here today?" You ask, hoping to begin the process of establishing some sort of connection.

He uncomfortably shifts a bit on the bed.

"I never wanted to come here," he says flatly. "They say this is a place of healing, but I've seen enough doctors like you. They prod and poke, dig into your past, and in the end, nothing changes. They don't know what I've been through, what I've seen. The scars, everything, they don't heal."

The words that leave his mouth are bitter and sour, yet you could only get yourself to nod sympathetically.

"It's not uncommon for people to feel that way, especially if they haven't found the right support. I want you to know that my approach is different. I'm here to listen, not to prod or poke." You glance down at the file in your hand and flip it over so that you couldn't see any information about him. "You're in control of our sessions, Mr. Moon. We can go at whatever pace you'd like."

He finally seems intrigued by this, leaning in ever so slightly, eyes devoid of colour that seemed to bore straight into yours.

"Control?" he repeats, voice still carrying a hint of skepticism.

You nod once more. "Yes, control. You get to decide what you want to talk about, what you're comfortable sharing, and at what pace. If there are topics you'd like to avoid or take your time with, that's completely okay. We can work together to create a safe space for you."

He seems to be taking in your words. "And... what if I choose not to talk at all?"

You offer a reassuring smile. "Then that's the option we can settle with."

The minutes that tick by seem dreadingly slow, and there's a light that dances in his eyes from the singular light fixture hanging above that almost resembles that of a flame. It doesn't go away even if he blinks, and it draws you in. Just a tiny bit.

"However, is there anything specific you'd like to share with me today, Mr. Moon?" You ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Any thoughts or concerns you'd like to discuss?"

For a moment, it seems like he's about to speak, but then he shakes his head ever so slightly, his hooded gaze still locked onto yours.

"Very well then." You let out a very subtle, shaky breath. It felt almost relieving. Silence it is.

That's what most of the session has come to𑁋sitting in this peculiar silence, feeling his eyes burn a hole right through you. It isn't until the end of the hour that he calls out toward you just as you were about to his exit his room, and you turn back to face him.

"Can you heal me, doctor?" he asks quietly, almost begging in a way. It's unnerving.

All you do is give him a faint smile.

"I'll try my best, Mr. Moon."

FLASHBACK: 2013

"...All I could see were orange and red flames, and the smoke was hurting my eyes. I couldn't breathe𑁋just barely, but it hurt. It was painful. They were getting larger and larger and the screams louder and louder. Everything was gone."

"And what did you do while the fire kept growing?"

"I watched it all happen. I watched it all burn in front of me." The words had sent an eerie shiver up your spine, forcing the pen in your hands to stop mid-sentence. There was a singular pause that had come to follow, a harrowing silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, a subtle quiver in his voice that you barely caught. "There was nothing I could do."

You clicked your pen, its sound echoing in the tense silence. The room seemed to grow colder with each moment that passed.

"But it's all my fault, right?" he had asked, tone so innocent that it itches a part of your heart uncomfortably, but tugged in a way you felt determined to take root of the grief in his chest and rip it apart. And for a moment as you looked in his dark eyes, over his youthful features and guilt-ridden face, you felt that inkling feeling again. "I killed them. It's all my fault."

"None of this is your fault. Blaming yourself for something you couldn't control is a heavy burden to carry," You reassured him calmly, as gently as you could, knowing the power that your own words could cause for someone seemingly lost, troubled, and young. "You saved yourself. You're alive; you did what you could to survive, and you're here to heal. I'm here to help you heal, okay?"

Your reassurance was met with a fleeting smile, but it hadn't quite reach his eyes, yet his gaze peered directly into you as if searching for something in you𑁋you could only think it was hope. Hope that he wanted to heal just as much as you wanted to help him heal. It's your job. This was why you took this job in the first place.

You needed to save people, either from the demons in their minds or the traumas that haunted them. This boy had lost his entire family in a housefire, for God's sake. This was your duty.

"It's not my fault," he had said, and met your eyes, as if searching for approval. "It's not my fault."

"That's right, Hui." You offered him a faint, assuring smile. "It's not your fault."

PRESENT DAY: 2023

"Excuse me, Dr. L/N? Is it okay if I sit here?"

You glance up to see Seokmin holding up a tray of lunch food, returning you from your zoning thoughts. You shoot him a kind smile and a nod, motioning to the empty space across from you for him to have a seat. Usually, you frequently have lunch alone in the comfort of your office where you can tend to yourself in solitude, but today, you might as well welcome the company.

Seokmin sets his tray down and takes a seat, and for some minutes, there's a comfortable silence as you both begin to eat. He seems to notice the tired lines to your face, but he doesn't press on about it.

"Have you been settling in well?" You ask him suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Huh, me? Oh." He's a bit taken aback, cheeks flushed, and you give a soft chuckle. "You could say that. I wanted to try something new after working bedside for the longest time. I didn't think that psych would be a field I was interested in𑁋look where I am now, though."

"That's the thing about this field." You let out a sigh, giving a knowing smile. "It has a way of drawing you in, even if you didn't plan on it."

"It was definitely an experience when I was in nursing school," Seokmin comments eagerly. You felt as if you were talking to a close friend rather than another colleague, and it feels rather refreshing. "and doing ICU was already draining of itself."

You take a sip of your drink, nodding your head. "I can only imagine. It can be quite rigorous."

Seokmin lets his gaze wander over you curiously. "How long have you worked here, doctor?"

"Please, you can just call me Y/N. Unless we're working."

Seokmin smiles. "How long have you worked here then, Y/N?"

You pause for a moment. Thinking about the amount of years you've worked in this field hasn't been a particular thought to come up𑁋time just seems to fly by when it's the only job you've been dedicated to for most of your life.

"Hm, ten years now? I believe this month will mark my ten years here."

Seokmin's eyes visibly widen in awe before responding, "Wow, that's... You must have really seen a lot of things. I really envy you, doctor."

Your smile fades just a bit; it's barely noticeable, though you still hope that Seokmin doesn't see it. You can feel that feeling gnaw at your skin again, something inexplicable, like a sense of foreboding that seemed to be creaking open a door you believed to have firmly shut for good.

But you choose to push it aside, just like you always do, dismissing it perfectly with a mutter of a thank you. It's ironic, considering this is what you do𑁋normally you would tell patients to confront their past and face their fears, but when it comes to your own, you tend to bury them.

There's an itch that crawls up your arms, and you knead at it through your sleeves with your fingers.

Maybe you can get used to this company, though.

"Do you have any kids, doctor?"

The question comes after a click of your pen, and you glance up from the vitals sheet in your hand to see Moon Jun sitting criss-crossed on the bed, gloved hands sitting on his lap and pupils peering curiously over you.

"No, Mr. Moon," You reply, keeping your tone soft, somewhat nonchalant. "I don't have any children."

He tilts his head slightly, almost as if he's studying you like a specimen under a microscope. The mask on his face makes him appear even more enigmatic, his dark, even charming eyes the only feature you can discern.

"No family at all?" he asks. "No husband, wife, or children to go home to?"

"I live alone. My work keeps me quite occupied."

Some silence passes.

"Alone," he repeats, almost to himself, as if savouring the word in his mouth. "Don't you ever feel... lonely though?"

His question hangs in the air like a dark cloud. It's an oddly personal inquiry, but you decide to address it professionally. "Loneliness is a feeling that many people experience at different points in their lives. It's a normal human emotion, and it's something we can work through."

His gaze narrows, and his gloved fingers twitch in his lap. His mask conceals most of his facial expressions, but you can sense an intensity in his gaze.

"I've felt lonely my entire life, you know," he points out as you sit yourself down in the chair in front of him just like all your previous sessions. Despite the considerable space between you two, sometimes you swear you can feel him breathing right down your neck. "Even being in here too, it.... feels like a different kind of loneliness. A place where they put people who are broken. Like me."

"I can assure you that you are not broken, Mr. Moon," You tell him reassuringly. "How are you with meeting the other patients here? Are there any you have been interacting with since our last session?"

He leans back slightly, his gloved hands still resting on his lap, and his gaze seems to drift momentarily as if he's recalling something.

"I think... they are scared of me, to be honest," he answers, eyes crinkling just slightly as if there was a smile playing on his lips right below his mask. "But... perhaps they're all just lost, confused, and weak. They pretend to get better, but they're just putting on a show. It's a bit pathetic, don't you think?"

"It's not uncommon for people in this environment to have their guard up," You tell him. "Sometimes, it's just a reaction to the unfamiliar. Everyone here is dealing with their own battles, just as you are, Mr. Moon."

He chuckles lowly at that. It's the first time you've heard such a sound like that leave his mouth, like a dissonant note echoing in an otherwise quiet room. His masked face gives nothing away.

"Maybe it's because of this stupid mask on my face," he says, touching the mask with the tips of his fingers. "It makes me look like a criminal or a monster."

"The mask might be intimidating to some," You acknowledge, crossing your arms together. "but it doesn't define who you are."

His eyes narrow slightly, though there's that twinge of amusement as he crosses his arms together, mirroring your body language.

"You're not scared of me, right, doctor?"

You meet his steady gaze, his own searching yours from behind the mask. There's a moment of silence, something unspoken lingering in the air.

"No, Mr. Moon, I'm not scared of you," You respond, keeping yourself composed. "I'm here to understand you."

He leans back, that hint of amusement still present on his face.

"I think you would make a great parent, doctor."

The unexpected compliment catches you off-guard for a moment, making you briefly at a loss for words. There's a slight blush that crawls up your cheeks, and you clear your throat, trying to regain your composure.

"Thank you." You give an appreciative smile. "That's very kind of you to say."

You see that flickering flame in his pupils again. It's a fire that seems to burn brighter with each passing minute, and it leaves you both intrigued and uneasy.

FLASHBACK: 2013

"I told you not to call me that!" Hui exclaimed angrily in frustration, his face turning a shade of red as he glared at you. The sudden outburst had caught you off-guard, and for a moment, found yourself at a loss for words. His face contorted with volatile frustration, and his hands clenched into fists.

"I apologise," You said calmly, doing your best to defuse the situation. "I didn't mean to upset you. What would you like me to call you then?"

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. His shoulders slumped, and his expression softened slightly.

"Just call me by my nickname, okay?" he urged, voice a tad less sharp now, but it's still enough to pierce. "Hui is fine. I hate my name! It's ugly. I want to forget about it𑁋I want everyone to forget about it! That name doesn't exist anymore, got it?"

"Of course, I understand." You leaned back forward in your chair, slow and cautiously. "But I want you to tell me why you stole crayons from Chaewon earlier in the rec room."

Hui only scoffed in response. "It's not that big of a deal. I only took a few from her. She'll forget about it."

"You took something from someone else without permission, Hui," You explained matter-of-factly. "That's a violation of their personal space and boundaries."

Hui's focus darted around the room for a moment, lips pursed and fingers messing around with the frays of his hospital gown. Then his gaze hardened once more as he landed back on you. His silence was almost unsettling as it stretched between you, but you remained patient, waiting for him to offer an explanation.

"Fine, whatever," he muttered, finally relenting. "I wanted them for a project I'm working on, that's all."

"A project? What kind of project?"

"Back in group therapy... They wanted us to create something meaningful or something𑁋something that means a lot to us, and I needed the crayons for it. So I took them from her."

It took a couple of moments before you nodded, acknowledging his explanation. "I see, Hui. It's important to express yourself through art or projects, but it's also important to respect others' belongings. Try asking for what you need instead of taking it without permission, okay?"

Hui's response was a simple, noncommittal nod, eyes holding onto yours a moment too long.

"Now, the next time you're back in the rec room, please say sorry to Chaewon whenever you see her, okay?"

Again, all he did was nod begrudgingly, his expression showing a hint of reluctance.

"Good." You gave him a proud smile. "That's all for today. Tell me about your project next session, alright?"

You felt his eyes on you as you grabbed your case notes and stood up, before leaving him in his room. And even though you were out of his room, you swore you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you.

PRESENT DAY: 2023

You find Moon Jun sitting on the edge of the bed once entering inside of his room, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap. The mask obscures his face as usual, but his dark eyes lock onto yours the moment you walk inside. The dim lighting in the room casts long shadows on the walls, and you find yourself drawn into those shadows as you take a seat across from him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Moon," You greet warmly, taking your usual seat across from him. "How has your day been so far?"

He doesn't immediately respond. There's a hint of curiosity in his hooded eyes, but it's devoid of warmth. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you've learned to pay attention to the smallest details when dealing with patients over the years. It still sends a shiver down your spine.

"Just been like any other day in this place," he finally replies coolly.

You offer a polite smile and proceed with the session. "Is there anything specific you'd like to discuss for today's session, Mr. Moon?"

He thinks for a moment, tapping his gloved fingers lightly against his knee. The rhythmic sound seems to echo in the room.

"Are you interested in mythology, doctor?" he asks, and the question was certainly something you didn't expect him to ask. He continues, "I've always had an interest in it growing up, so I was wondering if you did too."

You chuckle quietly. "I wish I could say the same, but... I guess I found it intriguing at times."

"Surely you must have heard some stories though." He giggles at this, unclasping his hands together and propping himself right at the edge of the bed so that he's leaning forward, his masked face closer to yours. The dim light makes it hard to see his features clearly, and the shadows in the room seem to grow darker, more pronounced. "Are you familiar with the creature, the phoenix?"

You pause for a moment to think, before giving a slow, careful nod. "I've... definitely heard of it."

"The phoenix," he murmurs, voice a soft, hypnotic cadence. "It's a beautiful creature of rebirth and fire, isn't it?"

The mention of fire makes you shift slightly in your seat.

"Mr. Moon, I'm not entirely sure where you're𑁋"

You're interrupted as he leans even closer, his masked face now mere inches from yours, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intense and unsettling focus. The shadows play tricks on your vision, making it feel like the walls are closing in on you.

"I just find it fascinating," he continues. "The idea of burning away the old and rising from the ashes anew. It's like a fresh start, a chance to be reborn. Do you believe in second chances, doctor?"

You swallow the lump in your throat. His intense gaze, shrouded by the mask, seems to hold you almost captive and confined to the chair you sat on, and his words seem to echo in the confined space.

"I... I believe that everyone deserves a chance to heal and grow, Mr. Moon," You respond carefully, trying to regain your composure. "But it's also important to work through the past before embracing the future."

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering your words. The room remains eerily quiet, the shadows deepening around you.

"Do you believe people can truly change?" he asks, voice softer now, almost pleading.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question sitting right on your chest.

"I believe that change is possible, Mr. Moon," You reply gently, choosing your words with care. "People have the capacity to grow and evolve, and to make choices that lead to a more positive outlook. But this varies from person to person𑁋if they are willing to put in the effort to do so."

For a moment, the tension in the room seems to dissipate slightly. The shadows on the walls appear to retreat, and the dim light feels less suffocating.

"Doctor," he finally speaks, voice low despite only being the two of you in the room, like he's telling you a secret. "what if... those flames of the past have burned too brightly, leaving nothing but ashes behind?"

You furrow your brows. "I-I would say𑁋"

"It's what happened to me, doctor, don't you understand?" he snaps suddenly, standing up from the bed to step closer to you. "You can't possibly understand what it's like to fucking lose everything, to watch it all burn in front of your fucking eyes! This is why I did this𑁋I put my life into the phoenix. I burned what was left of me, and now I'm here, in this absolute hellhole."

"Mr. Moon, I need you to calm down, please𑁋"

There's a flash of anger that shoots through his eyes, the flame burning in his pupils brighter than before. The atmosphere grows tense in the snap of a finger, and you instinctively stand up to bring yourself in the direction of the door to the room, maintaining a safe distance, acutely aware of the limited space and the fact that you're alone with him. There's an emergency button within reach where you can call for help whenever needed.

You can't get yourself to respond, feeling frozen from the way you can feel your heart pounding anxiously in your chest from his close proximity. He takes a step back, his hands trembling slightly as he clenches and unclenches them. The room seems to regain a semblance of normalcy, but the tension still lingers in the air, and you still can't move.

You watch as he cowers back towards the bed, leaving you standing next to the door. You felt as if you've been holding your breath, like you were submerged underwater and your fight or flight instincts were kicking in.

"You won't give up on me, right, doctor?" he asks, and the way he says it so weakly, naively, makes your head spin. "You can trust me, right?"

You smooth out your white coat, placing yourself back down in the seat across from him anticipatingly.

"I... I trust you," You mutter meekly. "I won't give up on you."

The corner of his eyes crinkle again. He's smiling. You can see it through the mask.

"How lovely," he states sweetly. "We're on the right track, then."

"Y/N𑁋I mean Dr. L/N, are you okay?" Seokmin's voice comes up from behind as you walk yourself towards your office, feeling completely and utterly scatterbrained from the events of the past hour.

As Seokmin's voice reaches your ears, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. You turn to Seokmin and offer him a reassuring smile, though it doesn't quite reach your eyes, but seeing him in front of you already makes you feel a tad bit better.

"I'm fine, Seokmin, thank you." Your voice carries a hint of exhaustion and residual unease. "Just a challenging session, but I'm okay."

Seokmin just nods, but as you were about to turn around, he says, "If you... uh, ever need someone to talk to or anything, just know I'm here for you, okay? It can be tough, I've heard."

You smile gratefully at him, this time genuinely reaching your eyes. It feels like a breath of fresh air talking to him.

"Thank you," You tell him. "I might just have to take you up on that someday."

Seokmin scratches the back of his neck shyly and returns your smile with a warm one of his own. "Well, you know where to find me."

You stand still for a moment as Seokmin begins to dismiss himself away to resume his rounds, but just then, you feel a sudden idea pop up in your head.

"Seokmin, wait!" You exclaim after the man, who immediately turns around to the sound of your voice, peering at you worriedly. "Actually, there's something... Could you do me a favour?"

His eyes light up curiously. "Sure, what do you want me to do?"

You step up closer to him, looking around to ensure no one else was listening in.

"Can you help find me more information about the patient in 610?" You lean in, lowering your voice to a hushed tone. "I'd like to know more about his background, more than what's in his file right now, or just anything that might help me understand him better."

Seokmin raises a brow briefly but nods either way. "I'll see what I can do, Dr. L/N."

FLASHBACK: 2013

The rec room was buzzing with activity as you entered, giving a chance for patients to interact with others and engage in activities outside of their rooms. Laughter, conversation, and the occasional burst of youthful energy filled the air; it’s a striking comparison to the somber atmosphere of the individual therapy sessions you usually conducted.

As you glanced around to find Hui, you finally caught sight of the boy sitting alone at a table in the very corner of the room. He appeared seemingly engrossed on the piece of paper in front of him, an array of crayons sat on the table. His focus was so intense that he seemed completely oblivious to the world around him.

You approached Hui's table with a gentle smile. "Hui, how are you doing today?"

Hui looked up from his drawing, eyes meeting yours briefly. "I'm fine," he replied coldly. "Just drawing."

You glanced down at his artwork, which depicted a scene of fire and destruction. The flames consumed a house, while stick-figure people screamed in the windows, their tiny, distorted faces twisted in agony. The only colours there would be that of the orange and red gigantic flame that enveloped the jagged, blackened lines of the house.

"That's... quite a powerful drawing, Hui," You commented as you took a seat right next to him. "What made you choose this subject?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes not leaving his paper. "It's just what I felt like drawing."

"Is this supposed to represent what happened to your family?"

Hui only continued to mindlessly colour his drawing, his crayon moving across the paper with deliberate strokes.

"Maybe," he replied stoically. "I saw it all happen, but I couldn't do anything."

You studied Hui's face for a moment, but his expression remained blank, his focus entirely on the drawing. His mien was calm, almost eerily so, in comparison to the disturbing scene of destruction right below his fingertips.

"Can you tell me more about what you saw, Hui?" You asked him.

He glanced at you briefly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly that you couldn't be sure if you had imagined it.

"I already told you," he pressed. "I saw the fire, and I watched everything burn. It wasn't my fault that it happened."

You nodded, acknowledging his words, and continued to watch him work on the drawing.

"Did you ever feel sad about what happened, Hui?" You questioned.

Hui's face only remained impassive as he answered, "It won't change anything."

You could only think about all the trauma he must have endured𑁋from losing his family and being the sole survivor of such a ruinous event, to having to deal with all the emotions at once that it must feel almost numbing inside of him.

"Did anyone help you during or after the fire, Hui?" You prodded calmly.

He still didn't look up from his drawing. "Some firefighters came, and they put out the fire. But they couldn't save my family."

You felt that pang of sympathy for Hui as he mentioned the firefighters' futile attempts to save his family all while he was waiting right outside the house. It was clear that the traumatic experience had locked his emotions away behind a stoic, desensitized façade.

"I'm sorry to hear about your family, Hui," You said softly. "It's completely okay to feel sad or angry about what happened."

Hui's hand paused briefly in its colouring, but he didn't look up. You glanced down to the paper, noticing that he was drawing something in the corner, almost appearing like some sort of bird, like some sort of crow or cardinal.

"I don't feel much about it anymore. It's just the way things are."

Your eyes drift from his drawing, concern deepening, but you understood that emotional numbing was a common coping mechanism for trauma survivors. In a way, it's like a protective shell around oneself to prevent further pain. The emotional scars ran deep, and sometimes, it was easier for them to keep their feelings at bay rather than confront the overwhelming grief and sorrow that lurked beneath the surface.

That is what you attributed with Hui𑁋what you always had when he first came here. And you promised him patience and that it took time to fully heal.

"I'll leave you be now, okay?" You stood up from the seat, giving the young boy a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder.

Hui doesn't respond, still engrossed in his drawing. You took a step back, leaving him to his artwork, and decided to check on some of the other children in the room for the time being.

You swore you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away.

PRESENT DAY: 2023

Your eyes are practically lasering holes right through the manila folder of Moon Jun's file.

The file only houses the basics𑁋his medical history, therapy notes, and observations from the staff. But there's something missing, something you can't quite put your finger on. His background information is limited, and there are no records of any family members or relatives listed. It's as if he appeared out of nowhere.

A knock on your office door makes you jump, and you quickly open your eyes to see Seokmin standing there with a stack of papers in his hands, concern etched on his face.

"Sorry, did I startle you?" he asks, stepping inside your office.

You offer a tired smile. "A bit, but it's okay. Come in."

Seokmin walks further into your office, closing the door lightly behind him. He takes a moment to study your expression, clearly noticing the exhaustion and frustration on your face. You let out a sigh and lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples with your fingertips as Seokmin sits down right across from you.

"So, I tried to do some digging, as you asked." Seokmin places the stack of papers on the desk. "It wasn't easy to look into his medical history, but I think this might be important."

You straighten up in your chair, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you lean in to examine the stack of papers Seokmin has brought. However, what you expected is to see information regarding him, but instead, you see news reports.

"I... I don't know if any of these can be related, but I found a few unsolved cases of arson over the years. It might be the cause of his facial scarring," Seokmin explains. "I think one of them happened at an orphanage, another at an abandoned warehouse nearby, and another at a small church a few miles from here."

You carefully pick up one of the articles and start to read the details. The article mentions a fire at an orphanage several years ago that resulted in the tragic loss of lives. The incident remained unsolved, with no clear cause identified. Then you come across another article about the fire at the warehouse, and it, too, was a case that had perplexed investigators, leaving it unsolved.

"...and I also think there was one about a family from around... nine? Ten years ago? I didn't read all the details of it, but I believe only one survived𑁋"

That's when you feel your heart drop all the way down to the ground, into the ground at that point, eyes widening as the gasp that leaves your mouth cuts Seokmin off. You're already standing up, fingers trembling, as you frantically shuffle through the articles he had provided for you.

"Where can I find that one? Is it here?"

Your adamancy surprises Seokmin as he scrambles through the papers before taking one out and offering it to you. You take the article from his hands. The paper is slightly crumpled, and the ink is faded, but the headline is still clear: "Family Tragedy Claims Lives, Sole Survivor Emerges."

The only survivor was a teenage boy, whose name was redacted from the article for privacy.

But you know exactly who it is.

The article describes how he had been found by the firefighters, huddled on the lawn outside the burning house, his eyes blank with shock. Authorities had attempted to investigate, but the case quickly went cold due to lack of evidence. It also mentions that the boy had lost his entire family that night and was assumed to be too traumatised to provide any coherent information about the fire's cause, which later caused him to be sent to a psychiatric facility due to the trauma.

"Doctor, what is this?" Seokmin interrupts your thoughts as he brings up another paper from view.

You glance up from the article to meet Seokmin's gaze, the urgency in his eyes mirroring your own. He unfolds it carefully, and as your eyes scan the headline, your heart sinks further: "Tragic Fire Engulfs Local Psychiatric Facility."

As you read through it, you swear you feel the same flames dancing up the skin of your arms. This article reports a fire that occurred exactly ten years ago at the very psychiatric facility where both you and Seokmin currently work. You were there that night. It was only your first year as a psychologist at the facility, still learning the ropes of your profession. The memories you've long tried to suppress come flooding back.

The sound of alarms blaring, the acrid smell of smoke, the frantic efforts to evacuate patients, and the feeling of utter helplessness as the flames consumed parts of the facility. It had left scars on your soul, scars you thought you had buried deep over the years.

That boy was one of your first ever patients.

Your arms are itching again, and you can almost feel the searing heat from that night a decade ago.

"Y/N, are you... are you okay?" Seokmin asks. You can see the worry in his eyes, but you're not sure if you can answer his question.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as you try to find your voice. "Yeah, I just... Sorry, reading this article, and..."

That's when Seokmin gets it. "Were you..." His eyes lower down to where one of your hands is clawing anxiously at the sleeves of your arm, and he immediately takes away the article from view. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I didn't know you were..."

You manage a weak smile as you bring your arms back down to your side, hugging yourself instead. "It's alright. You didn't know."

Seokmin doesn't seem entirely convinced, for a moment feeling stuck on what to say. "Are you sure that you're up for this? We can always𑁋"

"Yes," You say boldly. "It'll be okay."

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be okay."

"You seem troubled today, doctor."

In the dimly lit room, Moon Jun's observation is shrewd as always, whose calculating eyes seem to analyse every twitch of your expression as you both sit in the room together, right across from each other, with him hovering over you while you felt feeling like a cowering mouse trapped in a cage.

You flash him a faint, grateful smile. "I appreciate your concern, but let's focus back on you now, shall we?"

"Uh-uh, doctor," he taunts, crossing his arms together and shaking his head dismissively. Even in the darkness of the room, you swear you see his lips curl into a smirk under that damn mask of his. "If I'm not mistaken, you said at the very beginning that I have control over what I want to talk about in our sessions. I realise I hardly know anything about you! Isn't that funny? I consider you a dear friend, you know. You're the only person in this place who even makes the effort to talk with me."

The weight of his words suspend like a dense fog. You can hear the faint hum of the ventilation system, see the way the lone light fixture in the room seems to flicker intermittently. It plays tricks on your perception, making his features appear to morph and shift, all while his eyes are practically dissecting you.

"Friendship... is built on trust," You reply cautiously. "But our sessions are designed for your benefit. My role here is to help you, not the other way around, and my personal life is not relevant for this."

He leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you can feel his intense focus like a physical weight. You're caught in the gravitational pull of his eyes, his relentless gaze that seems to strip away your defenses. "But, doctor, how can you truly help me if you don't open up a little?"

He tilts his head, the mask inches away from your face, his eyes boring into yours.

"We could be more than what we are right now, couldn't we, doctor?" he whispers, feeling his cold breath against your skin even through the mask, and you close your eyes. "I could make you feel things you've never felt before𑁋"

"Stop! Please!" You yell out unexpectedly, hearing nothing but the unsteadiness of your breaths and the echo of your own voice in the dim room. Your eyes snap back open; he's not hovering over you, and the disturbing scenario you had just experienced was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

Instead, Moon Jun is calmly seated away from you, watching you intently from the bed. There's a curious glint in his eyes, one that suggests he's found your reaction to be rather... entertaining.

"Doctor, you do seem to be quite troubled today," he remarks almost playfully, voice dripping with amusement that shoots goosebumps up your skin. "Seeing things, aren't we?"

You can't quite find the words to respond, and the sensation of his cold breath against your skin still lingers in your memory.

"You must think about me a lot, day and night possibly, if you imagine such things," he teases, and you feel the way his words crawl under your skin. "You probably wonder what lies behind this mask of mine, don't you? You're a special friend𑁋perhaps you deserve to see it."

You watch the way his gloved fingers toy with the edges of his mask, and for a moment, it seems like he's contemplating something. The room is so silent that you can hear your own heart pounding in your chest.

Then without warning, he reaches up and slowly starts to peel off the mask, revealing the face hidden beneath. Your breath catches in your throat as his visage is unveiled.

His face is tainted by a network of scars, the skin tissue looking raw and discoloured. The scars extend from his jawline up to his cheeks and forehead, giving his face an almost grotesque and nightmarish appearance. Some scars look like they were caused by something sharp, while others appear more like burns. There were also some that seemed almost... fresher than others. His lips, once hidden by the mask, are twisted into a smirk that sends shivers down your spine.

"You wanted to see, didn't you, doctor?" he asks, voice low and taunting. "You wanted to know what's behind this mask."

You can't tear your gaze away from his disfigured face, and you're overwhelmed by a mix of curiosity, horror, and a strange fascination.

"Are you surprised, doctor?" he continues, voice now tinged with mockery. "Do I look like a monster to you?"

You can't seem to respond just yet, eyes still peering over him as if trying to discern the features of his face. There's this wave of familiarity that seems to hit you, as if you've seen those certain details before. A nagging feeling tugs at the corners of your memory like a half-forgotten dream.

You squint, trying to connect the dots between the disfigured face before you and the dim recollection buried deep within your mind. The way the scars twist and curl, the faint traces of burn marks𑁋it's all so eerily and hauntingly familiar. You swear you've seen those eyes before. He watches your expression closely, as if he can read your thoughts, and those eyes that seem to follow your every move, your every thought𑁋

And then it hits you. It hits you like a freight train on the tracks that was beyond avoidable. It hits you like a tidal wave crashing against the shore of your conscience, leaving wreckage to be abandoned and forgotten forever in its wake. It hits you like a thunderstorm tearing apart a peaceful, sunny day.

"Hui...?" is all you manage to choke out.

Images from the past flash before your eyes𑁋Hui, the young boy you once knew, whose face was marked with troubled innocence and a haunting vulnerability that had drawn you to him in the first place. You had watched him grow, had nurtured the fragile trust he had placed in you. You recall your early sessions together, hearing all the painful details of the fire that had torn his life apart.

His smirk deepens, and his eyes gleam with an uncanny satisfaction.

"Hui died ten years ago, doctor," he says with a cold, haunting certainty. "He died in that same fire that set this place ablaze. I'm sure you remember that very well, don't you?"

The room seems to close in on you, and the memories of that fateful night come rushing back like a torrential downpour. The fire, the chaos, the screams. It had been a nightmarish scene, etched into your memory like the faint scars that plague your arms from that very night.

But before you could respond, you felt something vibrate in your pocket. It's the end of your session.

FLASHBACK: 2013

The fire alarm rang.

It was blaringly loud, completely jolting you out of your chair in the silence that carried through your office. Your heart raced as the panic had begun to sink in, the blood-red light of the alarm painted the muted colours of your office walls with a surreal, macabre-like glow, and the acrid scent of smoke was beginning to fill your lungs.

You reached for the door handle, but your trembling hands fumbled, and it wouldn't budge. You tried again and again, the cold sweat on your palms making it even more difficult to grip.

"Wh-What the hell?" You shakily muttered to yourself, before bringing your fists up to pound on the door. "Hello? Someone help me! I'm in here! Someone!"

The panic intensified as the fire alarm continued its relentless wail as you continued to pound on the door. Smoke started to seep in from the edges of your office door, and you could feel the heat of the flames approaching. You coughed, choking on the sharp fumes that stung your throat. It felt like the walls were closing in on you. Fuck, fuck, what do you do? How the hell was the fire spreading so fast?

You were trapped. You were going to die.

The windows! You remembered the windows. Desperation drove you to the large window on the wall. Instinctively, you grabbed a chair and used it to break it, the sound of shattering glass ringing in your ears, the shards grazing against your skin and the palm of your hands, making you let out a sharp gasp. Blood trickled from the cuts on your hands, and as you peered down to the ground below, you realised that you were too high above the ground for a safe jump.

The fire was only getting closer and closer.

As you hesitated by the shattered window, a muffled voice from the hallway reached your ears. "Is anyone in there? We're trying to get you out!"

Your eyes widened as you stumbled back to the door. "I'm in here! Please help!"

"Step back! We're breaking down the door!"

You stepped back from the window as much as you could and away from the smoke, feeling the flames inching closer. Your vision blurred as you fought to breathe, eyes stinging with tears from the dry air.

Moments later, a loud crash resounded through the room as the door burst open. A group of firefighters rushed in, their protective gear making them look like otherworldly figures emerging from the haze. They quickly located you, wrapped you in a fire-resistant blanket, and led you to safety.

Once you were outside, an emergency medical team checked you over for any injuries, plastered up your arms, and administered oxygen. You were shaken, bruised, and suffering from smoke inhalation, but you were alive. Somehow. In some way.

Then, you found your mind drifting back to Hui. Did he manage to get out safely? Where was he? Questions swirled in your mind as you watched the firefighters work tirelessly to contain the blaze. God, he must not be in the right state of mind after witnessing yet another fire himself.

"Excuse me..." You weakly called out to a paramedic, voice barely a whisper.

The paramedic turned to you, concern etched on their face beneath their protective gear. "Yes, are you okay?"

You swallowed hard, barely getting your words together. "I was in there... in the building. I have some patients... uh... Do you know if they made it out? I need to know if they're safe."

The paramedic exchanged a glance with another passing colleague, eyes hidden behind their mask, before returning back to you and shaking their head.

"We're still searching for survivors and dealing with the fire," they explained. "We can't give you any information right now. I'm truly sorry. I'll let them know to keep a lookout. Can you describe them for me?"

You described what your other patients and what Hui looked like as much as you could, and the emergency worker took down all the information before walking away to tend to others.

The silence that followed was suffocating, perhaps even more than what you endured inside the building, and you found it difficult to hold back tears of frustration from flowing down your face.

As the smoke gradually dissipated and the flames were brought under control, the once-deafening alarm was reduced to sporadic chirps and the occasional distant rumble of falling debris. The scene around you was one of destruction, merely charred remains of a place that was filled with hope and healing.

You glanced down at your trembling, injured hands and arms and see the cuts from the shattered window, yet the physical pain was nothing compared to the anguish in your heart, and the fear and guilt that gnawed at you. You lost patients whom you had sworn to protect, had sworn𑁋no, promised to heal.

It was only when the search and rescue teams began to wind down their efforts that you realised the search for Hui had come with no results. All of your other patients were safe, but him. There was no sign of him anywhere, as if he slipped off the face of the earth.

A firefighter approached you some time later, his face covered in soot appearing both exhausted and empathetic.

"I'm sorry," he spoke, voice heavy with regret and defeat. "We've searched every area we could access, but we haven't found anyone else. The fire was intense, and... I'm truly sorry."

His words hit you like a hammer blow, and you felt your heart sink even further. You had dedicated your life to saving others, and yet it seemed that you might have failed to save one.

"Thank... Thank you for trying," You mumbled to the firefighter, nodding in acknowledgement. "And thank you for risking your lives to save us."

PRESENT DAY: 2023

The clouds outside obscure any hints of sunlight, and the overcast sky casts a sad, grey hue over the world outside. The room feels dim and lonely despite the overhead lights. You try to ignore that particular gnawing feeling to your skin as you sit at your desk, waiting for your next session with Moon Jun to start. It'll happen anytime now𑁋perhaps the more you anticipate will make time go by slower.

However your thoughts are interrupted by the soft knock at your door, and you look up to see Seokmin standing there. He offers you a warm smile as you motion for him to come inside, and you swear you see small ray of sunshine break through the clouds outside at the corner of your eye.

"Hey, how're you holding up?" he asks. "I wanted to check up on you."

You tilt your head a bit giddily at the sight of him. "We just had lunch break together, Seokmin."

He rolls his eyes at this, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. "I know, I know, but I... Well, is there a rule here that says I can't see you twice in one day when we're not working?"

Your lips purse together thoughtfully. "I guess not."

"Good." He grins, but it's quick to fade once he takes another look at you. "so... how have you been?"

The soft concern in Seokmin's voice is almost like a comforting hug for your ragged nerves. Normally it's your duty to ask your patients those kinds of questions, not the other way around. You offer him a tired but appreciative smile as he settles into the chair across from your desk. It's a rare moment when the roles are reversed, even if it's just for one short minute.

"You look tired," Seokmin points out, and it makes you let out a chuckle, even though it's tinged with weariness.

"You have a good eye, Seokmin," You reply playfully, and he blushes at this. "Do you want to know what I've been dreaming about the past few weeks?

Seokmin thinks about it for a second, then his eyes widen slightly.

"Is it... the fire?" he queries, hoping there's that small chance he might be wrong.

Your steady gaze meets his.

"Yes," You admit casually. "It's always the fire."

Or specifically, it's the fire and the guilt that you weren't able to save anyone, and it had been eating away at you ever since that fateful day.

His face softens at this, then he feels himself hesitate for a brief moment, before slowly reaching out to place his hand over yours on the desk. His touch is warm and reassuring, and you can feel the genuine concern in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry you have to go through that, I wish there was a way I could... you know, stop you from reliving those kinds of things." His words make your lips twitch upwards, and he knows he's done something right. He finishes your smile with one of his own. "But... you're not alone in this. Just know I'm here."

"You've been helping me this entire time, Seokmin," You assure him. "If anything, I should be the one thanking you."

The weight of all the memories and unhealed scars left behind still cling to you like shadows. But in the presence of Seokmin, the burdens seem a little lighter, the darkness a bit less suffocating. The room seems a bit less lonely as you both sit there, just like all the days you eat lunch together where you seem to look forward to seeing him sit with you, and the sound of the clock ticking on the wall serves as a reminder that time keeps moving forward.

Before you know it, it's as if you've been struck by a gong that you could only hear, and you knew it was time to move forward with your session. You take your hand away from Seokmin as you stand up, and he follows suit.

"Y/N, wait, um..." Seokmin stops you before you could leave, and you turn back to him. "If something bad happens, or if you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out to me, even outside of work. I... want to make sure you're okay."

His words warm your heart, and you shoot him a thankful look.

"I know I can," You say, while opening the door to the outside of your office. "Thank you, Seokmin."

When you enter inside room 610, you spot Moon Jun sitting on the chair that you were supposed to sit in, his posture relaxed and arms crossed almost impatiently. He didn't wear the mask on his face, and he appeared confident, somewhat smug. It was the only other chair in the room. The other place for you to sit would be... the bed. This isn't how a typical therapy session begins.

"Doctor, I was just thinking about you!" he exclaims excitedly. "Please, go ahead and sit down on the bed. I thought it would be great to change things up a little. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

You hesitate for a moment, glancing between him and the bed. Maintaining your professionalism, you make your way to the bed and sit down, folding your hands in your lap. Something brushes against your leg for a moment, you look down to see a sheet of paper sitting next to you, and a plethora of crayons resting on top.

"Please bare with me for the mess, I was busy drawing before you came in," he tells you, voice almost cheery and... delighted?

As you sit on the bed, his demeanour only raises more questions than answers. He appears unusually relaxed, and his eagerness is disturbing. It's unlike him.

"Of course, that's fine with me," You tell him casually.

There's a grin that spreads across his scarred face, and it brings an uncomfortable twist to your stomach, but you don't let it show, though at this point you feel that he can sense your nervousness, your unease, knowing there's history between you two you thought to have burned away in the back of your mind.

Yet it had all come back just like his reemergence back into your life𑁋into something more sinister.

"He talks to me sometimes, even though he's perished in the flames," Jun begins, grabbing the paper right next to you. "You remember his drawings, right? Back in that big, bright room... where beneath all those smiles of the other patients was just... hopelessness."

Then he flips the paper over, and you find yourself peering at a drawing of flames, and the uncanny similarity to Hui's artwork all those years ago cannot be ignored. You see the same vivid depiction of flames, the swirling reds and oranges dancing on the page, and the black lines of its remains. But more than that, it's the emotions that these drawings evoke, the overwhelming sense of dread, and the traumatic memories that it unsheathes. He's the personification of the fire that scarred you all those years ago.

You feel a lump form in your throat. "Hui..."

"I-I am not Hui!" he wails out unexpectedly, voice shaking with anger. His hand grips the crayon so tightly that it snaps in his grasp, the colour streaking across the paper. "Hui is dead, remember? Burned by the flames?"

"If you're not Hui, then who are you?" You ask almost pleadingly.

His fingers toy with the broken crayon as he leans in closer, his disfigured face mere inches from yours. His gaze pierces through you like a knife, and in the dimly lit room, the shadows play tricks on his scarred face, making his disfigurement seem even more malformed.

"The phoenix, don't you remember, doctor?" He chuckles lowly. "It's a creature reborn from the ashes of its own destruction, risen from the flames just like me. Rebirth and fire, doctor! You haven't been paying attention, have you?"

You sense the panic seeping inside you, causing your heart to race. His words send shivers down your spine, and you realise that he's explaining with a belief that goes beyond mere delusion, beyond repair. The scars on his face are only a fraction of the damage done. He claims to have risen from the ashes, taking on a new identity, giving him this motive of... cleaning the world with fire.

Cleaning the world...

...with fire.

Ashes of its own destruction....

"You..." You slowly rise up from the bed, the room suddenly feeling too confining. The door seemed like it was miles away, and you find your breathing shaky and unsteady. "You were... you caused those fires, didn't you?"

His eyes fixate and narrow down on you as you stand up from the bed, and a sly smile spreads across his scarred face. His gaze is intense, and you feel like you're trapped. You recall the sessions you had with him years ago that you thought were leading him toward healing. But now, you face a man who has fully embraced a twisted ideology.

"I didn't cause those fires," he responds with eerie calmness. "I simply set things in motion."

"You𑁋You killed innocent people, you were the one... from ten years ago... You𑁋"

"They were all lost, meaningless, and I brought meaning to their lives. What's so hard to understand?" he deadpans.

"You killed your family," You state. "How can... how can you justify that?"

"Hui killed his family, I didn't," he claims, crumpling up the piece of paper in his hands. "Hui started all of this, I'm merely just a follower. He was misunderstood his entire life, and you promised him healing, which you didn't fulfill."

The room feels like it's boiling you alive, and you're stuck in an endless maze of his twisted delusions. There's a sense of helplessness as you try to reach through to the man behind the scars, the one who once sought your help, but you fear that he's too far gone.

"Jun, this isn't the answer. The… the phoenix is not real,” You plead, your voice trembling. "Hui was troubled, yes, but violence is not the path to understanding or redemption. It only leads to more pain and destruction."

His expression only hardens as he throws the crumpled up piece of paper on the floor, gloved hands forming fists at his side.

"You think you can help people by sitting in your comfy chair, listening to their problems, and scribbling notes on a fucking notepad." He scoffs annoyedly, leaning back in his chair. "You're just like all the others, doctor, so dumb and worthless. You never understood... You say that you do, but you don't."

And just as you were about to speak, you watch him pull something out of the pocket of his patient gown. You squint your eyes, and a gasp shudders out of you when you notice what's in his hands.

A lighter.

"You people are just so gullible, all while you're thinking you're helping," he mutters, flicking the lighter on. The tiny flame dances at the tip, casting bizarre shadows across his scarred face. "When in reality, you're laughing behind our backs with your stupid cigarettes and your fancy degrees. You wouldn't believe the things you can find in a place like this. It's amazing what people leave lying around."

There's an arrow that penetrates through your heart, an arrow of betrayal, helplessness. How can he think of you this way when you dedicated your entire time to helping him heal all those years ago? How can he, of all people, not see that your intentions were always to provide support and understanding?

You can feel the room heating up, not just from the small flame but from the growing tension. Jun's eyes are locked onto the flickering fire of the lighter, and his words are plagued with bitter resentment. You attempt to scurry to the door, but he blocks your way, nearly shoving the flame of the lighter in your face.

"Don't you see how beautiful this is, doctor?" he utters in a trance-like state, as if the flame was hypnotising him. The orange and yellow hues reflect onto his soulless eyes. He moves the lighter dangerously close to your face, and you can feel the searing heat radiating from the tiny inferno at the tip of your nose.

Your heart pounds like a beating drum, beads of sweat form on your forehead, and your breathing quickens as panic threatens to engulf you. But his gaze only remains possessed on the fire, as if he's being consumed by the very flames he holds in his hands.

"It's so beautiful how something so small can hold so much power," he murmurs, voice barely more than a whisper.

"This... This isn't the way to find meaning or healing," You respond, slowly backing away from him, trying to create some distance between the flame and yourself. "Fire and destruction only lead to more suffering, more pain. It's not the answer, Jun."

For a split second, something flickers in Jun's eyes, as if a fragment of his former self tries to break free from the shackles of his obsession. But it's a fleeting moment, quickly devoured by his fixation on the fire.

"There are... There are people who want to help you. Don't you remember all of our sessions together? All the... all the breakthroughs we had? You were making progress, Jun. You were on your way to healing." You bring your hand up as if in defense, watching him closely as he steps the tiniest inch closer to you. "I... I want to help you, I always have. I..."

He stares at you, and for a moment, it seems like your words might be getting through to him.

"Let me help you, Hui."

But just when you think your words may have struck a chord, his face contorts into a menacing grin and you can see the flame reflect onto his eyes. The last fragile thread of sanity that seemed to linger has snapped.

"You failed Hui that night, just like you failed me." He chuckles darkly. "You couldn't save us. Do you really think you can save everyone, doctor? Do you really think all the patients you've helped all these years are any better off now?"

Now, you found yourself speechless, a tight grip around your throat from his words.

He laughs coldly, waving the flame in front of your face once more. "You're so blind, doctor. You want to heal and save everyone, but you can't save me, and you can't save yourself. I can see it in your eyes."

He’s getting in your head, you know he is. He's trying to loosen your grip on whatever reality is𑁋attempting to unravel in your mind that you were, in some way, responsible for the events that had occurred over the years, forcing you to succumb to the guilt placed on your shoulders. You've never dealt with someone so deeply rooted to their own twisted reality. You can't reason with him.

It's impossible.

But you refuse to be the victim of your own past just like you had made yourself to be.

"Junhui," You call out urgently, and the use of his real name brings a harsh, foreign taste to your tongue. You notice the way he flinches slightly to it. "That person still exists inside you𑁋I-I know it does. Please, let that part of you come back. I'm here to listen, to understand, and to help. No matter what you believe."

The flame continues to sway at the end of the lighter, yet his face remains deformed into that unsettling grin, but your words seem to have given him a momentary pause.

"You think you can bring him back?" he hisses, bringing the flame away from your face, stretching his arm out toward the side. "He's dead, doctor. It's too late."

And with that, he tosses the lighter in the direction of the bed, and a cascade of flames quickly engulf the sheets, the crayons, the drawing, everything. Horror sets in as you watch the fire rapidly spreading, consuming the room, and overhead the fire alarm screams into action.

"Isn't it beautiful, doctor?" he guffaws as the flames devour the room, eyes wide with awe. "It's so perfect... So beautiful..."

Nothing but Jun's laughter fills the air as he watches the flames lick up the once-white walls with a maniacal fascination. The flames flicker and crackle loudly, casting shifting shadows on the walls of the room. You dart towards the door, but the intense heat and smoke make it nearly impossible to breathe or see, and you cover your mouth and nose with your hand. Coughing and vision disoriented, you stumble and hit the floor with a thud, weakly pounding your fists against the door.

"Someone help!" You shout desperately, the words barely escaping your mouth. "Someone help! I-I'm in here! Anyone, please!"

The room is suffocating you whole. You can hardly even see where Jun is amidst all the smoke, yet his laughter still rings in your ears, fogging away all your thoughts. You keep pounding on the door, voice hoarse from shouting, skin tingling with heat, but there's no response from the other side.

So this is how you're going to die, You think to yourself, leaning back against the wall like you were accepting your fate, and the thought makes you chuckle at the irony.

Time seems to stretch into eternity. But just when it feels like all hope is lost, the door bursts open, and a strong hand reaches in, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the room and into the chaotic corridor. In the corridor, the fresh air is quick to fill up your lungs. You gasp for breath, your heart racing, while the fire alarm continues to blare.

It's Seokmin who pulled you from the room, and you can hardly make out his face from your stinging, watery eyes. He wraps a protective arm around you as you both stumble away from the dangerous room, mixing with the rushing crowd of staff and patients all being guided outside to their safety.

"Y/N, are you okay?! Stay with me!" Seokmin continues to pull you through the corridor, shielding you from anything that you might run into.

You only manage a weak nod, still coughing from all the smoke. Your mind is racing, and you can hardly tell where you were going, but you trust Seokmin's guidance as he leads you further away from the scene of the fire. The sounds of sirens and shouting surround you, and the sight of the smoke floating out from the room you just escaped haunts your thoughts.

When the brightness of the outside hits your eyes, you catch your breath and fall out of Seokmin's grasp and down to the ground. Firefighters and police officers quickly brush past you and into the building as Seokmin pulls you up once more to lead you in the direction of the paramedics and ambulances.

"Here, sit down." Seokmin places you on the stair of the ambulance and helps you out of your white coat before wrapping a blanket around you. "Can we get some help over here?"

A paramedic approaches, checking you over and providing oxygen to help clear your lungs of all the smoke you inhaled. Your heart is still pounding in your chest as you sit there, trying to process what just happened.

Seokmin places himself right next to you, scanning over your features closely. You look over at him, and he gives you a reassuring smile, pushing away some disheveled strands of hair so he could properly see your face.

"You're going to be okay," he assures you, rubbing some comforting circles on your back. "Just take deep breaths and try to relax. They'll take you to the hospital to make sure you're alright."

You give him a nod, feeling a bit more security from him than the blanket draped over your shoulders right now. The two of you sit there for a few minutes, calmly watching the chaos begin to subside. It didn't look like the fire damaged much in terms of the outside of the building.

"I'm going to see if I could help around," Seokmin says, standing up. "Just stay here, okay? I'll be back before they take you to the hospital."

Just as he begins to walk away, you hesitate for a second, before calling out his name, "Hey, Seokmin?"

He turns back to you, a look of concern in his eyes. "Yes? Do you need something?"

You reach out your hand toward Seokmin, silently gesturing for him to come closer. He approaches, and without a word, you pull him into a tight hug. You feel him freeze in your grasp, before his arms fully encircle you in return, tightening the hug, and for a moment, the world around fades away as you hold onto each other. You can feel his heart beat a bit faster than normal against your chest, but you don't acknowledge it, and neither does he.

Eventually, you reluctantly pull away from the hug, but you don't let go of Seokmin's hand just yet.

"Thank you," You whisper. "for everything."

His gaze softens as he looks at you, before glancing away shyly. It makes you chuckle.

"No need to," he tells you. "I'm... I'm just happy you're safe."

The two of you stay like that for a moment, with you closing your eyes to steady your breathing while Seokmin continues to hold your hand, and you can feel the tension in your body slowly easing.

Seokmin's smile is warm, and he squeezes your hand gently. "I'll be back soon, okay? Just hang in there."

With that, he leaves your side to assist the emergency responders, leaving you seated on the ambulance's stairs, wrapped in a blanket. Your brows furrow together, trying to make sense of the situation and all the events that just transpired. The fear, the confusion, the mania that gripped the lost man back in that room𑁋it all swirls within your mind. The lingering scent of smoke fills your nose, and you swear and you can still feel the heat on your skin even though the air was cool outside.

As you sit there, lost in thought, suddenly feeling disconnected from the world around you, you find yourself questioning the nature of your profession and everything you ever believed about it. Could you have done something differently? Were there signs you missed that might have prevented this particular descent in delusion? Was he right, and you were blind this entire time? Not just for him, but for everyone you've helped?

Were you really this dumb and worthless?

Or perhaps was it impossible to save him this entire time...

...and he was too far gone?

That hefty burden of guilt, both for your inability to help him in the past and in the present, weighs heavily on your shoulders. What's for sure is that this will forever be an image tainted in your mind, scarred just like the man who brought destruction and chaos to your life today, and that particular day ten years ago.

You don't know how long you sat there until Seokmin returns, yet when he comes up to you, his face appears disturbed and... paranoid?

"They've got the fire under control. It didn't spread much farther than the room," he informs you, catching his breath. "It seems like nobody else was hurt."

"That's good to hear." Your eyes roam over his features, taking in the tense expression to his face. "Is... is everything okay? How about..."

He sits down beside you, expression still apprehensive. You can see the flicker of concern in his eyes, and the remnants of the chaos from moments ago are still evident in the way he holds himself. His gaze meets yours, and you notice a small shift in his demeanour, as if there's something he's struggling to express.

Seokmin darts his attention around, as if making sure no one was listening in, before taking a deep breath and leaning in.

"They... They said they didn't find his body in the room," he mutters, and it's so quiet you hardly make out what he says. "It's... It's like he escaped."

Your heart drops. A sinking feeling settles in your chest. Dread washes over you at his words.

"W-What?"

another another note: sorry if u expected some sort of romance w jun (which would kinda be weird for the story tbh), but feel free to imagine whatever u want w our dear seokmin. cgrats on making it to the end of the longest oneshot i’ve made so far on this blog 😍🫶

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @rubywonu @etherealyoungk

[nekovmancer]

Do not make a sound

word count: 6139 sorry not sorry warnings: nsfw, gn!reader (afab), not fully proofread so ye, language, porn with a small plot, d in p, fingering, (kind of) public sex, implied cheating and infidelity, gabriel and his messy genetics (but we’ll use it in a sexy way), MINORS DNI !!   based on this request + AO3 mirror

It’s needless to say Cole began it all, the motherfucker. 

Despite your name doing fine, thanks, he insisted that you’d need an alter ego after joining Blackwatch, and did he had an extensive list of suggestions. Before you knew it, everyone was referring to you as the Whisperer. Ha ha, thanks Cole. Though it was indeed a fit since you’re not very familiar with the faces of your new division, meaning you’d stay quiet and observant most of the time and avoid any kind of eye contact, not to mention physical touch, even if it was a simple handshake… eek. 

Damn. You missed Amari’s late night teas and Reinhardt’s thunderous laugh filling the silent spaces you’d leave. If it wasn’t for Cassidy himself, you could’ve been working with a bunch of cold stones without being able to point a single difference. 

Time. All you needed was a little time to adjust, to get to know them better… and so you let it go by, reassuring yourself it would do the job to ease your nerves, and make your shyness slowly drift away. Needless to say the cowboy was your first acquaintance, followed by Genji, and even Moira became toralable, despite her side glances still being enough to make a freezing cold descend your spine bones. Everyone was… fine. Except for your commander. 

You would never understand Gabriel Reyes even if you tried. You knew little of him, and never felt like wanting more information on his infamous persona, because you’re sure the man despised you, and that was reason enough for you to never stand close and just follow his orders blindly during missions. To be honest, just now you came to understand why people claimed Morrison was so much better as a leader; as Reyes bossed people around, Jack guided them. The difference was glaring.

Yeah, you’re pretty petty about the man yourself, being quieter than usual whenever he was around and feeling tense if he spoke directly to you. But hey! Who could blame you? His handsome face was something already, but it was totally wrecked from the way he frowned and his lips twitched, every single kind of disdain showing up without a second thought. He could be tolerable, but he wasn’t, so why would you be the one making efforts alone?

“Boss just needs to be laid, I’m telling ya,” that was the regular response you’d earn for Cole whenever you voiced him your complaints; no different this time. And a puff of smoke right to your face, which was becoming rather enjoyable, fuck it. You don’t even scold him anymore, just let the scent fill your lungs as if it was some wicked sort of soothing incense. It could be kind of hot… if it wasn’t for your annoying friend being the one to do it. 

“Isn’t he married or something?”

Cole shrugged, inhaling the heavy smoke of his cigar before lazily diverting his sight to you with a grin, one that was enough to state that nothing good would leave his lips. But with that you’re used to: Cole languidly saying whatever shit he got in his mind. Maybe the reason why you felt so comfortable around him, knowing he would be the last person to be judgmental, and the first to say something stupid that would certainly make you laugh.

“Have you ever been married, darlin’?” he knows the answer, and you still lower your head before motioning it to indicate a no. There was no shame in not being in a stable relationship, right? Right? Thank God it wasn’t a question on how long you haven’t been laid. “If Reyes fucks his wife once in three months you can name me the pope.”

Your mouth falls agape, a strangled breath of pure disbelief leaving it before your incredulous chuckle found its way out. “If he ever heard you saying this shit…” 

“Saying what?” you freeze in spot, turning around to meet your commander’s, the devil himself, stern gaze. Cole didn’t seem bothered, but your wide eyes were enough proof of your guilt. “Would the two knuckleheads cut off the useless chit chatting for once? We got work to do.”

“Sorry, boss,” Cole tapped his index finger on the cigar, leaving a trail of ashes behind him as the fire ceased, one last blow of smoke hitting your face. “Whisperer here is having a hard time with a jerk. I was just advising them to fuck the grumpiness out of the idiot.”

That said, you don’t find the courage to look up to check out the expression on Reyes’ face at the response, but you do hear Cole’s chuckle as he begins to leave, your feet hot on his trails before a firm hand grabs your shoulder, making you stiff.

You dare to stare at your commander with an innocence that doesn’t belong there, a single brow arching above your eye. “Yes, sir?” you hate the way your voice cracks when the sentence is almost done, and the warm feeling of his hand resting on your shoulder… with slightly more pressure than necessary. It burned you inside out, an indistinguishable feeling making itself home in your guts.

“Cole is not an example to follow. I know you lose your tongue around him, but remember this,” you could’ve sworn you saw the edges of his eyes softening a bit. But no, there it was: the veiled anger that always lurked around him, as a shadow in the commander’s back. It was dense, oppressive almost. That thing inside of you twirled, and you unconsciously moved a step far. His hand kept still nonetheless. “I’m your commander. If you ever have a problem with something, I should be the one to know. Not Cassidy: me. Understood?”

“Agreed,” your reply is dry, but you can feel your tongue tingling, a sharper response resting on its tip. You could let it go, simply as that, and maintain things easy as you always did, but why? Who the fuck was he to demand you told him shit when he was the problem? “I will let you know when I fuck the guy then.” 

────────────────────────────────────────────

Let’s just say biting back at your commander wasn’t the best of the ideas.

Cole had been out for weeks on a mission, barely having time to reply to your several texts. You’ve overheard his brief talks with Reyes in the commanding room, but aside from that… no news at all. And you’re sure that was your punishment for retorting Reyes. Not to mention your brand new training schedule, which left no time for you to meet your friends, or anyone else except the Blackwatch team.  

Fucker. 

You peek at him from your co-pilot seat, still a bit bitter for being the one summoned to the mission along Reyes alone. He had insisted Moira wouldn’t be necessary, since your targets wouldn’t be able to cause any damage if they were dead already. Plus, it was a weak security system to break through, and he’d need you just to have his back and make sure the path was clear; meaning he trusted your skills to get the job done.

Not that you’re happy about it anyways.

First of all, you’re not one to start conversations with anyone else but your friends, leaving the three hour flight trip in a dead silence that was becoming rather awkward. Second, the one person in Blackwatch that made you comfortable enough to chat was out of league, thanks to your jerk of a commander himself. That’s why your expression was worse than his, for the first time, and Gabriel seemed fucking smug about it; one side of his lips turning upwards in a crooked grin.

Oh, what a surprise! Your misery meant his bliss. Son of a…

“Keep that anger boiling for the guards,” is that a hint of humor to his tone? Maybe. Cole would’ve said something similar if he was with you, but the sentence wouldn’t be over before he tossed a single darlin’. “It will be more useless than directing it at your commander.”

“I’m not angry at you,” your reply came quiet, almost a whisper. But casting a side glance at him, it’s clear Reyes didn’t buy it. “It’s just…” drawing a deep breath, you try your best to steady your voice and don’t make things worse. You don’t need another week apart from your best friend. Oh, wait- have you just thought of Cole as your best friend? Nah, leave it for now, “you can be difficult sometimes, sir.” 

“Tell me about it,” Reyes scoffs. “I’ve never had a single conversation with you that wasn’t strictly monosyllabic, but Cole had a lot to say about the way I treat you. Funny, isn’t it?” 

Your whole body tenses at his words, and suddenly your stomach feels cold as if you're dead; you’re so perfectly still that maybe that was the case. Was his grumpiness actually resentment all this time? It’s not like you did it on purpose, but as much as you don’t know nothing about him, little did Reyes know about you; so your quiet manner may have been mistaken by antipathy. 

Worse, what did motherfucking Cole tell him? For someone who seemed so unbothered whenever you had plenty to say about the commander, that was indeed a surprise. You had a lot to say for yourself now, but the words got stuck in your throat, a lump that you can’t swallow, nor puke. 

“Listen, kid, it’s fine,” Reyes sighs, and you can tell by the harsh sound of it alone he’s terribly tired. Cole’s voice telling you he needs to be laid pop up in your head, and you shrink instantaneously. Damn intrusive thoughts. “You don’t need to fucking love me. Just do what you have to do and we’re cool.”

The urge to respond telling him you’re no kid and, fuck, you’re sorry for the misunderstandings hit you like a punch in the face. Your lips tremble, parting themselves enough for you to spit it out, even if it’s another goddamn whisper or whatever. But you’re still choking on what you’d like to say instead of pouring it out. 

You risk glancing at him again, and there are no shadows surrounding Reyes now. Bloody hell, he seems tired without the menacing aura. Up in the sky, the light found his face in a way that revealed something along the wrinkles of his expression, something you couldn’t read from your distance.

But that’s not of your concern, is it? 

You could’ve said anything, really anything, or maybe reached your hand a bit and patted his shoulder. Instead, you keep yourself straight, almost motionless until you’ve met the mission’s destination. And once there, it’s not like you’d have plenty of time to discuss your twisted kind of a relationship; if you could call it so.

Yet that doesn’t stop it from bugging you. Was it all a mistake? You search for that anger inside of you, the heat that once threatened to consume even your bones, but you don’t find it. There’s an empty space there now, one that echoes a tepid fever and still feels nothing but cold.

Reyes takes the lead, and also takes down a feel guards on his way forward. He doesn’t look back, not even once, and you found yourself wishing he did. What he would find, though? Not worth a peek. You’re sure the Blackwatch’s commander doesn’t need anything from you, let aside your pity, so you follow him as silent as a phantom, dealing with whatever is left.

He takes a subtle shift, disappearing from your sight in a blink. Standing a few steps behind, you put your back against the nearest wall and motions to follow, taking a few slow steps to make sure no menace remains on your backs… and that’s when a hand covers your mouth and pulls you to the shadows. 

After a few frenetic heartbeats, you’ve come to realize you’ve not been pulled to a dark corner, but you’re surrounded by darkness itself. A massive shadow takes hold of you, one hand keeping your mouth shut and the other gripping on your waist, so tight you can feel its fingers sinking in your skin over the cloth of your uniform. 

Your eyes could’ve popped out of your head at any minute by now, until a couple of errand guards pass by. If it wasn’t for the shadow, they would’ve spotted you and Gabriel in a minute, leaving you both outnumbered and… fuck. He couldn’t have simply disappeared when you blinked, right? And a living shadow out of nowhere wouldn’t be your savior, unless… 

Smelled like Moira’s doing. 

Your muscles still ache when you gradually begin to relax, and the shadows around you begin to collect their form, letting their grip loose. The hand covering your mouth was removed, but the other kept there, holding you impossibly close. You feel a solid frame pressed against your back, despite still cold enough to erupt a chill down your spine. Lips trembling once more, you let a question alone slip, so quiet it wouldn’t be heard if it wasn’t for the lack of space between you. “Commander?”

You thought you’d be afraid to hear the answer, but you’re longing for it. Each passing second marks a rise to the cadence of your heartbeat. One, two, three… “Do not make a sound,” it’s Reyes' voice, too close to your earshell for your heart to sooth with relief; its pace just gets more frenetic as his fingers move around your waist, as if they’re contouring your bones. Your body spasms, and his grip gets sharper. “I’ve said quiet, Whisperer.”

The shadows twist over you, a heavy mist that would dissolve around your fingertips if you tried to hold on it, and yet you could feel something substantial lurking behind, strong enough to keep you steady despite the slight trembling cursing through your bodies. Was it all Reyes? Everything? Shit, if you’ve bothered to get to know the man better, maybe it would have spared you from your heart kicking your ribs, leaving your breaths shallow and your heart racing as they’re now. 

He didn’t feel human now, but he was a human, right? 

You try to move, shifting your weight for one leg to the other, but even that smallest movement had him squishing you closer to his body; or whatever part of it that was still solid enough and not puffs of smoke that you could breathe in. The guards’ voices echoed further on the corridor, fragments of their conversation still audible for you both. A wrong turn and they’d find their colleagues unconscious bodies dropped on the floor, a single step even… and the mission would fail. 

Was it the reason you couldn’t think straight? The adrenaline was rushing through your veins, warming your skin as your heart lost its pace again. Or was it Gabriel’s hand resting on the curve of your hip? You try to collect your thoughts, closing your eyes for a moment, but the smoke invading your lungs had the scent of musk and… the muscles of your inner thighs trembled in response as you recognized it was Reyes’ scent, his fucking cologne or something. 

“They won’t spot us until it’s too late. Stay quiet and we’re safe,” Gabriel sounds like he’s trying to reassure you, unaware of the real cause of your reactions, but it doesn’t help at all. He’s still too close, and why? It’s not like you will be running to the idiots if he let go of you. But when you open your mouth to reply, it’s not a protest. Why, again?

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Are you scared then?” was it… no. You were always one to suppose things about him, and won’t assume yet another possibility fabricated by your brain is the absolute truth. Gabriel Reyes of all people wouldn’t be insecure about what you thought of him in… this state. He’s just keeping his tone down, to prevent you from being heard; to keep you safe. 

Regardless, you need some time before coming up with a reply. There was this strange feeling inside you, traveling down your stomach and inflicting more pain to your already sore muscles, tight with tension. But you wouldn’t name it fear. You were more scared for the sudden pull than of him, surrounding you in a cloud of massive shadows. Amazed wasn’t the word, still… Reyes groaned, and you shivered. “You’ve startled me, yes. But I am not scared of you.”

Another grunt, yet this echoed through his ribcage to yours. You could feel it, the shadows becoming dense once more and what could be his chest squeezed tight against your back as the feeling of his hands became fainter. You dared to look down to see nothing but darkness enclosing you, moving swiftly around your fists. With a gulp, your voice is heard again. “We should get going, sir. This is not…” right. That’s what you should’ve said. But you didn’t, ‘cause a minor part of you, growing bigger from each strangled breath you take, was enjoying it.

Now is Gabriel who takes his sweet time to come up with a reply. You’re aware of his ghostly presence a mere breath apart from you, so close you could let your mind wander a little… How long has it been since the guards passed by you? How long would it take for them to come back, if they ever did? What was he waiting for? But what he says next doesn't answer any of your questions. Instead, it brings up more. “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are, Whisperer?”

You swallow hard, feeling his form drift once more; nothing but a cold empty space left after. You notice just now you’re supporting your weight on him, almost dropping to the floor the second he swifts and leaves nothing for you to hold on. “Cole surely did,” his voice is everywhere, surrounding you in hisses that could cut through your skin. “I bet the boy didn’t mention I was the one to bring it up.”

Thankfully you feel a pair of solid hands taking hold of your wrists, ‘cause you felt on the verge of crumbling to your knees. Gabriel Reyes thought you’re beautiful and admitted it out loud for a reason you can’t point out nor predict, and right now you can’t think of anything else but it, the inconsistent feeling twisting inside your guts as his words echo in your mind. A turmoil begins, and you ask yourself if he perceives what he’s causing inside of you. 

You quiver, and Gabriel’s hands roam further, finding the way down your inner thighs. “All the fucking time I was the one who got my eyes on you, and the cowboy takes all the credits because he calls you darling?” no, you never thought of Cole that way, and you suspect he doesn’t see you as such either. Not that you’re willing to turn Gabriel down when the jealousy in his voice sounds deliciously sweet for you. If you tasted it on his tongue, maybe it would be honey flavored.

Fuck. To think of his lips when Reyes had his hands all over you, traveling up and down and making you whole body shiver in anticipation… sinful would be one definition, heavenly would be another. 

You’ve wronged him, yes. But you’re looking to make up to that, why not? Everyone makes mistakes.

After all, how could you ever figure out every time you’d eyed him from the corner, he was looking back when you turned around? Oh, just to think of it was glorious, as glorious as his hand running along your thighs, then up to linger on the waistband of your pants, enough for you to hold your breath before he drifted away. “For fuck’s sake, say something now.” 

The lump on your throat goes undone with that simple command. You’re always one to follow his orders without questioning, after all. “I don’t know what the fuck I should say. As far as I’m concerned, you hated me until… a few minutes ago?”

He grips the limp skin of your inner thighs, squeezing it so hard you see stars blurring your vision. Before your mouth can even open to echo your pain, Gabriel’s hand covers it again, taking the opportunity to bring you even closer. You feel something hard brushing against your lower back, and you know just right what body part of his it is.  “Do you want me to show you how much I hate you, Whisperer?”

You repeat the question to yourself, your lips following the words but not making a sound. Do you? He doesn’t even sound like himself. Worse, the shadows lurking behind you shaped the form of a ghost, haunting you into the verge of the abyss. A one time thing, a way with no return… gulping, of course the answer would sound pathetically broken when it left your lips. “Y-yes.”

Gabriel doesn’t need you to say it twice, less a touch of politeness to the sentence before he complies. Next thing you know is he’s all over you, pulling your body towards what it seems to be a small storage room, with space enough to fit you both between piles of boxes. Still, not enough space to leave a single breath in between. 

Light is scarce, making it impossible to see his features clearly even if you squint your eyes nearly shut. The contours of his frame, still, are very clear — and solid. They’re outlined faintly in the darkness, not a part of it anymore; a man, not a phantom. Your hands rest on his torso, testing the waters before delving in, and Gabriel’s fingers encircle one for your wrists, indulging it to travel further as he guides your path.

You cannot see Gabriel, but you can definitely feel him. The tension in his muscles is palpable, and you wonder how much of this is your fault. The bulge on his pants certainly is. You accidentally brush your thigh against it, and the grip on your wrist suddenly intensifies, earning a hiss in response. 

The teasing is right there, resting on the tip of your tongue… if it wasn’t occupied with Reyes’ now, you’ve vocalized it. And he does not taste sweet as he kisses you with an insatiable hunger. Your commander tastes fucking sour, consuming all your mouth with the flavor of his with each twist of his tongue, demanding for an equal response. 

Something lights up in that once void space on your chest, the very same anger from before rising its flames and burning everything that dares to stand on the way. The ardor devours you, extinguishing any reservations holding you back before you bring one of your hands to snake inside his pants. 

Gabriel’s length barely fits your palm as your hand motions a few strokes, his stone-hard cock responding to the warm contact with a twitch as your fingers describe a painfully slow pace up and down; taking measures of the damage there’s yet to come. Gabriel groans, a sound you take too long to take as the warning it was.

Still, your rhythm remains steady. Deliberately more confident as your other hand does the work of removing any garments restraining him, meaning no more pants confining his erection. It seems the goddamn world around you was holding its breath at this very moment, watching the point you’ve reached, one that meant no return. 

Your eyes finally search for Reyes’, but the scarce light barely shows a thing, making it impossible to see his blown pupils staring directly at you. But it’s the strangled breath leaving his lips in a snort that makes you aware of how naive you were; a little lamb who dared to linger too close to the wolf. And the hunger that crawls inside Gabriel can’t wait no longer to be satiated. 

You stumble over the boxes in the ground when he moves further and further, cornering you against a dusty shelf before you can blink. Too late to verbalize anything but a moan as it’s his time to toy with you, teeth grazing not so gently against the skin of your neck before his hand resumes its position, steadily resting on your hips and restraining your every move. 

You had your chance to get the upper hand, wasted and hopeless to recover. Your pants now find their way down, resting just above your knees. The bare feeling of the pooled cloth is enough for a chill to erupt, leaving goosebumps on its trail down your skin. The anticipation is effervescent, burning like a fever that can never be cured. Your thoughts are anything but cohesive now, a tangled mess of never finished phrases and assuming pictures of how it would end. 

But your body is too egoistic to care for logic or anything else but your pleasure: it wants him. You want him. Every small fiber of your being is building up with tension as Gabriel fucking Reyes presses his thumb against your clit, describing a small circle that earns a spasm from you; one that makes the shelf behind your back tremble. 

Your part open lips echo a moan that scratches your throat, reverberating in your ribcage. The sound is muffled, briefly terminated by your commander’s hands swiftly moving to cover your mouth, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your hips. “Keep it quiet,” he censors you, despite holding to a tone that you would consider quite loud itself. “I don’t want to kill anyone while I’m fucking you.”

Shit. Why does he have to sound so hot?

Maybe it’s because of his heavy breathing caressing your face, the tip of his cock smoothing your thigh and leaving a thin layer of precum on the skin, but… no. It’s his fingers, working you out in a hurry, as if you’d both explode if he didn’t devote himself to fuck you with his digits, pumping them inside of you without a care.

He didn’t bother to stretch you up, to care for any niceties but rubbing loose circles on your clit, not even a second kiss to your lips to be tasted. Gabriel was being crude, a sour flavor that should be spitted; yet you’re taking it, tasting it on your tongue as if he was the sweetest of honeys. And fuck, your moans are even more obscene when muffled by his hand. 

It’s hard to breathe, to not grind your hips against his palm when he delves too deep and his index finger hits a spot that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It reaches a point where you were physically there, but your mind is elsewhere, reaching a fucking nirvana or something, going numb with the pleasure consuming your thoughts. He’s destroying you and you absolutely adore it.

You don’t know what will be left when he’s done with you, and fuck you do not care. If you did give a shit about anything, you wouldn’t be fucking your married commander in a storage room during a mission. 

Speaking of which, you nibble your teeth against his wet palm, and it’s enough for Reyes to remove it. Your face is damp with sweat, and the heavy air fills your lungs in between parted gasps. “I can’t—” he doesn’t take the hint to stop fingering you. Instead, his pace fastens, leaving an unfinished sentence hanging in the air as you bite your lip to restrain yourself. Takes a while for you to remember how to speak, meanwhile avoiding a scream that would certainly give up your hiding spot. But the bastard is doing such a marvelous job finding your sensitive spots the words find their way out of your mouth unevenly, strangled phrases shifting from mutters to high pitched statements. “I don’t want to cum on your fingers.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” Gabriel’s response is sly, and you can hear the smile on his voice. A masochist to the bone, the fucker, who has been rubbing his dick against your thigh all this time, almost fucking the small gap between them when you whole body would tense and quiver from his touch. “Didn’t I say I would show you how much I hate you? That's just how.” 

To nominate every way in which Gabriel hated you: first, there’s his mouth, hovering just above the curve of your neck, pecking the skin ever so gently a chill runs down your spine. Second, his fingers are still thrusting inside of you without a rest, getting sloppy and sloppier as your wetness makes it hard for them to not slip and lose track among their thrusts. Your best evidence, of course, was his erection throbbing against your skin. 

And you want it inside of you so bad it’s a shame.

You can’t even get yourself to moan. They die in your chest before even getting the chance to be vocalized, sounding as hoarse groans or quiet whimpers. Fuck, a million times fuck. Tears flood your vision when the reaching point of tension is met with a violent tremble of your tights. 

The world around yourself dissolves as if Gabriel made everything into shadows, the mist of him crawling inside of you and still scratching from the outside; making everything turn into nothing, and filling once void spaces of coldness with a warmth erupting from your very core. 

It takes a single blink for the tears to fall down your lashes. You fumble through the nearest surface, feeling the wooden shelves and the dust covering them dirtying your fingers. Still, you can’t see anything: your mind is back to place after the bliss, but the darkness remains. Impenetrable, surrounding you, and now leaning for a kiss. 

He’s not desperate anymore. Gabriel’s kiss now tastes more as a triumph, guided by patience of someone who knows they’ve winned. What you don’t know yet, but as his tongue moves languidly against yours, there’s no room for anything else. He can take this one, it’s not like losing feels bad at all. 

Reyes cups your face with one hand, the affection of it enough for your body to crave for his violence once more. You don’t want his soft side, the light kisses and all that shit: forget about. A single rough tough of his is enough. 

The passions we burden ourselves with… you couldn't have been more careless choosing yours, legs already parted for him.

The tip of his cock brushes lightly against your sensitive folds, and you shiver hard enough for your teeth to collide mid-kiss. He doesn’t care, and neither do you. Your legs spread further, a silent invite that remains ignored while he busies himself with the teasing. “Reyes, really?” you breath out, exasperated as you part away from him, his tongue insisting to trace your lower lip while you state your frustration.

“If you wanted me to fuck you so bad you could’ve asked before,” he mutters in reply, and you can hear the grin in his tone again. “Right… you didn’t. Too busy gossiping with Cole about me to admit that you were the one who needed to get laid” you would’ve bitten back if Gabriel hadn’t chosen this precise moment to finally slide his cock inside of you, leaving little to no time for you to think of or at least try to swallow the moan erupting from your throat. The sound echoes through the walls, and Gabriel chuckles.

You didn’t care for an apology. If you were heard, it meant you had a few minutes before being spotted, and you intended to make the best out of it. Screw everything. What if your targets found you fucking your commander didn’t sound like a terrible possibility anymore, but a thrilling one.

Gosh, what did he make out of you?

Precisely, a mess. 

You groan, planting your feet on the ground and trying to remind your body on how to properly stand, but each smash of his hips against yours weakens your legs and has you almost slipping to the ground.

Fuck, he fills you so good. The length is not absurd, but damn he’s thick. At least his fingers did a great job at stretching you out so there’s no pain, just the overflowing feeling of being whole. The emptiness once aching to be filled is now gone, leaving space for something else to crawl under your skin.

Something feels utterly wrong, and controversially right at the same time. Gabriel is vicious, maybe that’s why. Despite the burn from your sore muscles, you don’t see yourself wanting him to be done any soon. Every ache is a distant echo in comparison with the higher volumes of your pleasure, whilst the afterglow is still lingering on your body, making every sparkle of sensation a burning fire. 

Gabriel’s breath is also hot against your face. His gasps for air are out of pace, getting deliciously worse whenever he stops after thrusting deep inside of you, nibbling on the skin of your chin and muttering nonsense to the curve of your neck.

You’ve never heard him like that, voice almost breaking within each syllab, struggling to finish a simple sentence. But the cursing… well, that you are familiar with.

“This fucking sweet cunt of yours,” Reyes would stop to grunt and catch his breath, the guttural reverberating through your body with an intensity that would make you quiver. “I’ll be filling you up sooner than I would like, damn you.”

“Can’t you quit the complaining not even when we’re fucking?” not you actually complaining, though. You’re so used to being around your commander when he’s tossing charge after charge that you’ve come to find it kind of hot, now that you’ve come to admit it.

“It could be worse. I could make you call me sir,” he sounds so damn smug replying, shit. If it wasn't for the dark room already, you’ve felt the urge to hide your face, swallow your pride and stay quiet. But it was so easy to retort when you can’t actually see him, nor expect his reaction. Gabriel is fucking you so good he could’ve say whatever comes up to his mind and you’d still be soaking wet for the man. 

“Fuck you, sir.”

“I’m busy fucking you already,” he smack his hips hard enough to earn a warm pain on your lower stomach, and you gasp, choking on whatever you’d say. “Tell me you’re not loving it.”

You can’t say shit in such a state despite your best efforts, which you think are better invested in keeping your feet to the ground and ease your struggle to stand when his thrusts flutter between intense and erratic. 

It’s overwhelming. Too much to take, but you do without a flinch. It was meant to be your anyways: his fleeting rage, the shallow breaths cursing out your name, a momentaneous passion that would burn until it consumed itself. The beginning of an end, starting now.

Gabriel’s body trembles on top of you, and all you can think of is holding on to him for dear life. Everything is still dark, but you close your eyes nonetheless and leave it for your body to fill the empty spaces; for him to bring oblivion upon you. 

That’s when everything else fades. You can still feel Gabriel inside of you, your walls clenching around his length and the impossible hardness of it. But there’s nothing else for you to hold onto: he’s gone again; a shadow. It touches your skin, a cold specter hovering above you; fucking you.

With a gasp, your eyes snapped open in astonishment and your body jolted forward into the dark, cold mist. Into Gabriel. Your voice calls his name, nothing but a forgotten plea, the echo of a memory losing itself in the void. You can’t get yourself to say nothing else, or think of anything but him while he cums inside of you.

You don’t know how long it takes for the afterglow to disperse, but you do know you can touch Gabriel again, hold him in your arms while his irregular breath is the only sound filling the silence.

What’s the best thing to say to your boss after he fucked you during a mission? You thought you had it figured out, but before you could say anything, Reyes’ voice cut through your thoughts. “You’ll have a hell of a story to tell Cole when we’re back.”

[scoobydoodean]

so i’ve always been annoyed by the belief that “sam and dean are toxically co-dependent, especially dean!” like it just baffles me once i remember all the times they’ve been apart without one of them being dead (and actually including post swan song to an extent), but i’ve never been able to properly articulate why i think dean at least isn’t really co-dependent on sam. like there’s a difference between being (co)dependent on somebody and dean’s parentification right? thanks!

I'll preface this by saying I am not a medical professional nor have I studied academic literature on codependency in great detail. That said, "codependency" is usually just a buzzword used colloquially to describe people who are obsessed with each other anyway. I address the colloquial use and how Sam is much more unhinged here. I'm guessing the colloquial use is really more what you mean, but if you're looking for something different or a little more specific than that, I can probably write or point you to some other things I've written if you give me something more specific to go on.

That said, there is something about the way fandom talks about "codependency" between Sam and Dean that bothers me, and I think by reading around about codependency today after I got this ask, and finding out that this term is controversial among mental health professionals as well... I finally figured out why.

I think to a lot of people, "codependent" has become synonymous with words like "needy" and "suffocating". However, the WebMD type articles I started with, suggest that the partner of the codependent party is the one whose needs seem to constantly overshadow and outweigh the needs of the codependent partner in the relationship. While the codependent partner can exhibit negative behaviors, the primary problem of the codependent party is that in being a caretaker, they can lose all sense of their identity and boundaries, and don't know who they are outside of being a caretaker for others. However, this is a more modern take on the term. Because these articles I started with mentioned academic controversy, I then found a few academic papers to skim, and this proved to be even more helpful in understanding why I... don't like this term very much.

First, the historical origins of it are... off-putting. The term "codependency" first emerged in academic literature in the 1940s to describe wives with alcoholic husbands who behave as "enablers" [1, 2]. I probably don't have to point out how different things were for women back then, and how rampantly sexist that context makes this first wave of literature sound, but it's discussed extensively in this article. Second, there is more stigma associated with the term partly because Alcoholics Anonymous (shocking /s) latched onto it starting in the 60s and 70s:

The influence of the AA culture in shaping the concept of codependency as an illness offered the idea that people who were close to the substance user were themselves suffering from an illness (O’Briean and Gaborit 1992). These people were viewed as enablers and coalcoholics (Cotton 1979). [ 1 ]

I... think I am probably not the only one who finds that utterly rancid to read (some academics writing on the subject certainly seem to):

According to Gus Napier, a noted family therapist, it is "ridiculous" to label codependency as a disease, because it is a culturally conditioned response of an overfunctioning person in relationship with an underfunctioning person (Meacham, 1990-1991). [2]

Some researchers who have pushed the term "codependency" as a diagnosis have actually suggested that literally anyone who is living with someone with an addiction should be called co-dependent by definition, regardless of any behavior they may exhibit, which tells you a lot about the lack of consensus and how meaningless the term can be [2]. The term (especially within the disease model where codependency itself is a from of addiction) has been criticized by many researchers for the misogyny through which the term originated, for unproductive negative labeling and pathologizing of people (especially women) dealing with incredibly difficult situations with their loved ones, for victim-blaming people (especially women stuck in abusive relationships) for the actions of their partners, for tangentially—negative stereotyping about people with serious addictions, and for conflating addiction with interpersonal problems, and in the extreme case—for suggesting separation from ones family is the solution to addiction and supporting someone with an addiction somehow always enables them [1, 2].

Since the original stream of literature related to addiction, codependency has rebranded and expanded into literature on family experiences with abuse and mental and physical illness. Which is where we get articles like this one I already linked. The codependent party is still a caretaker in these settings, caring for the needs of a loved one who is ill. Still, "codependency" is not an official medical diagnosis (i.e. not in the DSM-5). It's a term that has been used in academic literature by mental health professionals, when trying to describe a range of behaviors within dysfunctional families. These researchers do not agree on the term's meaning or on whether it even is or should be a diagnosis. Many are interested in it only from an interpersonal or personality perspective, which is also where we should stick.

Taking all of this into account though, I think the very first thing we have to ask ourselves is what exactly we get out of using the term "co-dependency" to describe Sam and/or Dean when the term doesn't even really have an agreed-upon meaning. Is the intention to write interesting character analysis, or is the intention to glorify or criticize using a term that has historically stigmatized understandable human reactions to troubled family situations? I think the goal has perhaps too often been the latter.

That said, I've already been referencing it, but I think this article does a good job of summarizing much of the literature, and then actually focusing on people who do choose, of their own accord, to identify with the term "codependent" because it is helpful for them in understanding their own lived experience and their patterns within relationships. I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to explore this as it relates to Sam and Dean with the right motivations. If you read the accounts of the respondents who choose to identify with the term, you'll see shades of Sam and Dean I think (I have written something pretty close to the chameleon-self about season 1 Dean, and I can apply that one to Sam too through his attempts to fit in at Stanford). When it comes to my experience with these characters however, I just don't find that I personally see any value in analyzing Sam and Dean through the word "codependent" given it's lack of agreed-upon meaning professionally and colloquially.

It seems to me that the term itself leads to more confusing conversations instead of less confusing ones because of the lack of clear definition, and the potential for negative stereotyping instead of actual edifying analysis is extremely off-putting to me. It just doesn't do anything for me personally. The issues to which it relates I think are interesting (especially parentification which is a term I do find useful), and I think criticisms leveled against the term are also useful to read in understanding ones own struggles with how fandom tends to frame Dean as a caretaker who they believe is actually somehow responsible for everyone else's decisions. But I think that perhaps I prefer words and concepts that are better defined than the muddiness of the term "codependent".

Lastly: Even if I'm not a particular fan of the term, the fact is that the actual show uses the term twice—in season 5 (shoutout to butch--dean's transcript search engine). Once in 5.11 "Sam, Interrupted" (to Dean):

DR. FULLER Well, to be frank, uh, the relationship that you have with your brother seems dangerously codependent. I think a little time apart will do you both good.

First, this dude doesn't really know what's going on and thinks Sam and Dean are having delusions. However, in season 5, Sam's experience with demon blood is repeatedly paralleled with drug or alcohol addiction, and Sam is someone for whom Dean has been made to feel responsible for most of his life. This episode addresses Dean's overly burdensome responsibilities in other ways and it's also come up in the past in 1.12, 2.09, 2.10, and 4.05. I prefer to discuss this theme with much more specific terms. In this case, I would say Dean has an "overactive sense of responsibility to others", originating first with his childhood experiences with parentification. Sam also has a tendency to try and make Dean shoulder responsibility for his decisions when they backfire, and does so multiple times related to the demon blood (4.04, 4.21, 5.05). Cas and Zachariah also both blame Dean for Sam breaking the last seal because he didn't stop him in time (5.01, 5.02) and Bobby criticizes how Dean responds to Sam's addiction (4.22).

And then again in 5.18 "Point of No Return", specifically when Zachariah (my favorite manipulative angel) tries to get Adam to be on his side by basically calling Sam and Dean creepy incestuous weirdos:

ZACHARIAH So you know you can’t trust them, right? You know Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other, right?

This one honestly to me is just Zachariah doing Zachariah things. I'll reach these episodes on my rewatch fairly soon though, so we'll see if I end up talking about it more then.

Bacon, I., McKay, E., Reynolds, F. et al. The Lived Experience of Codependency: an Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis. Int J Ment Health Addiction 18, 754–771 (2020). https://doi.org/10.1007/s11469-018-9983-8

Anderson, S. C. (1994). A Critical Analysis of the Concept of Codependency. Social Work, 39(6), 677–685. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23717128

[drunk-on-dk]

OVERSET | JEON WONWOO (M)

Pairing: ai!wonwoo x R&D!reader Genre: fluff, angst, smut Rating: 18+ (minors do NOT interact) w/c: ~9.4k

Synopsis: Increasingly becoming cognizant of the worlds surrounding him, W0NW00, an AI so carefully wired and generated with the purest intentions even has the potential to become jaded. How can such a consumeristic world be so cruel when all he once knew was the joys of 53V3NT33N? This new understanding makes him unfamiliar to fans; his creator sending him to you, a trusted developer of LEVEL 1 robots, in hopes that you can reverse the sudden changes in W0NW00’s conscious. Are you part of the system W0NW00 is learning to become adverse to? Or will your presence help remind him of the world he once only had knowledge of?

This is part of the Seventeen Sci-Fi Collab organized by the amazing @idyllic-ghost! Big thank you to Bee for being the genius behind this collab, all the world-building and work you've put into this is amazing. The sci-fi genre was something I had yet to attempt, and I found this enjoyable to write (thank you as well for being extremely patient as it took me awhile to feel comfortable enough with my edits to post this).

You can read all the fics here!!

18+ warnings under the cut!

warnings: reader & Wonwoo can be quite pessimistic; commentary on consumerism (?); reader is a bit systematic and lacks personality initially, they take their job very seriously; smut, unprotected sex (practice safe sex habits pls), was supposed to be suggestive but became a bit explicit.

a/n: I love the sci-fi genre, but writing my own sci-fi fic was a bit of a challenge for me. I had not meant to delay so much, but had been in a bit of an editing rut. I really hope you all enjoy this fic, as I am quite excited to expand more into sci-fi. Also major shoutout to @wonuwoe as I appreciate all the brainstorming and getting to meet you through this collab!!

★+ Prologue +★

"100 years ago it was thought that the Earth, as we know it, would disintegrate. That the sun would implode and leave everything in darkness. Miraculously, it didn't. Due to some external force, human scientists still haven't agreed upon what it exactly was, none of the planets in our former solar system were ever destroyed. The Earth, along with the other planets, were pushed away from each other, and ended up in different parts of the universe. Earth just happened to come to a solar system with alien life. At first, we were cautious, and people were prepared to fight. However, the aliens were welcoming of our planet. Those of us who didn't die from 'The Great Journey' or from trying to fight the aliens, were welcomed into the new solar system. Soon enough, we had integrated completely, and we received materials and assistance from our sister-planets in exchange for human labor. What humans knew of technology was very limited, but with the resources of the aliens we created artificial life forms. We named these robots Automaton, and they served as workers when humans couldn't. Eventually, there was no need for human labor at all. To pay back for the help the aliens gave us, we used Automatons. With the extensive development of these robots, we eventually managed to create artificial sentient life. These Automatons were human-like in looks and had human consciousness, but they could not bleed and were stronger than we ever could be. At the present time, there are even different levels of Automatons. Level 3 robots are the workers, level 2 robots are the caretakers, and level 1 robots are the celebrities. The Automaton music group 53V3NT33N (SEVENTEEN) is made up of 13 members, all very talented, and all representing two human states of mind."

★+ Under Diagnosis +★

W0NW00's previous developer had quit on him - more so had fled from the company, which was quite the gossip for many - unable to solve the sudden changes in consciousness that he was facing. Not even his lead cognitive researcher could understand this change in W0NW00. It all had become too much, the company put too much pressure on his previous developer, and him as well. Though he was a robot, he became increasingly aware of the demanding schedules and consumerism of it all.

What had made W0NW00 act this way? Why did his dominantly kind demeanor turn sour all of a sudden? Suddenly, his malicious side was portrayed more to fans, his unwavering kindness cracking beneath the spotlight. There was no explanation and it was not like any form of brute force could reset the drastic changes in his attitude.

At least to say, management really did not like this change in the automata. Even though there had been some oddities in other members of 53V3NT33N, W0NW00's recent behavior was starting to become quite troublesome in the eyes of the company, requiring his managers to pay extra close attention to what made the seemingly perfect idol tick. After all, his emotions were kindness and maliciousness. Fans of the group liked this duality, loved it even, as it made him an intense member.

However, W0NW00's cognitive system had been faring a little too much on the malicious side as of recently. His self-portrayal was turning bitter due to his sudden stand-offish nature. No one would understand why, it was hurting his relationship with the fans, and management feared it would harm his relationship with group members.

These changes have put W0NW00 in an increasingly tricky situation. Nights were no longer spent with other members, rather W0NW00 had been stationed in the research and development laboratory in the company building. Continuous tests were run on him, trying to understand his quickly developing violent thoughts. 

The first red flag was aggression towards other members, not physical aggression, but words of malice spoken to other members after schedules that went well. W0NW00 would always find a way to call out something he noticed wrong. Not that he meant to necessarily harm the members, but he couldn't help but nitpick at each and every flaw. 

5C0UP5 noticed it in the form of non-compliance and lack of care for the group's reputation. The leader couldn't wrap his head around this changing behavior either. W0NW00 had never been one to do anything unbeknownst to the group, but W0NW00 began to put the group at risk as he began to break the rules. He'd sneak out quickly after schedules in order to get extra charging hours, which would ultimately end up ruining rest and charging hours for the rest of the group. W0NW00's lack of care would peeve the rest of the automas off. 

Fans noticed it too, as W0NW00 wasn't responding as positively during events, which is when the company started becoming increasingly worried about the robot. Fans started questioning what had changed as well. 

Through this all, W0NW00 felt lost. He knew he was a robot, he knew what he was made for after all, but W0NW00 felt human, his conscience was human-like after all. Was this all that he was made for? Is he just a commodity? Then why does he feel this way about being consumed by others? Why can't he make any mistakes? Why can't he be his own entity? What would he be without 53V3NT33N? These are all things that began to drive W0NW00 deeper into his negative state. 

Management deemed it was time to take action, thus landing W0NW00 in the lab for further troubleshooting and ending up with you. 

★+ The First Encounter +★

W0NW00 remembers his first encounter with you all too well. You strolled into the office, glancing briefly at him with inquisitive eyes, and paying no further attention to where he was sitting at the examination table. After your brief fixation on him, your eyes remained focused on the clipboard grasped tightly in your right hand. You sat down with a sigh, clipboard clattering in the quiet room and making W0NW00 fully shift his attention towards you. His eyes which had once shimmered with kindness now had a dullness to them, a feature that his previous developer could not determine what had caused this change along with his negative state. 

You shimmied the mouse gently to awaken the bright LED screen. The clicking sound resounded across the room as you opened the software, humming in acknowledgment as the information regarding the robot illuminated before you. 

His previous developer's notes left you inquisitive as you skimmed them. This was a peculiar case. Typically it was easy for companies with R&D centers this powerful to reverse such effects on the cognitive state of the robots. 

"Good afternoon," You spoke gently, sounding polite yet W0NW00 could sense some firmness in your tone. "My name is Y/N, I am pleased to be assigned as your new developer. Can you please confirm your name for me?" You had a plethora of historical data and information that you could read on the screen in front of you, but it was protocol to ask. 

If one thing was to be known, it was that you always followed the expected protocols. 

That's why W0NW00's company hired you after all. 

"W0NW00," he spoke flatly, eyes focusing on the white, sterile walls ahead of him. It was the sort of room that would make anyone feel a bit unwelcome and cold. "Sixth member of 53V3NT33N." 

The fluorescent lighting made his vision go a bit blurry, he had always been a bit sensitive in this sense, and it's always been an uncertainty as to why his vision was affected more than other members. This was reflected in the data that was fed to your computer. W0NW00 watched curiously as you stood up, adjusting the brightness of the lighting in the room to be more accommodating per his negative reaction.

W0NW00 almost registered this as pure-hearted kindness, until he remembered that every thought, feeling, and reaction of his was collected as data through the damn diagnostic band that is wrapped around his arm each session. Regardless, this eased W0NW00 a bit, and he appreciated it nonetheless. 

You noted the improvement as he visibly relaxed, jotting something down on your clipboard before turning to face him. Your heart beat faster upon facing him straight on. 

It was hard to avoid the fact that the robot before you was essentially perfect, trying to not let your cold exterior soften as W0NW00's eyes shifted from the wall towards yours. He looked so kind even with his sharp, cat-like features. 

You approach him, wrapping the diagnostic band around his arm. This band is intended to connect to a small port on his arm, feeding all the information you need to your computer. He's cold, unnerved as you smooth the band over his arm, and confirm that it is connected. 

As noted, something seemed extremely off about the robot. The dullness in his soft eyes pulled on your heartstrings a bit too much for comfort. 

Personally, as a developer, you always tried your best to remain systematic in your actions. Everything had to be performed exactly per the defined process. You continually reminded yourself that your patients were robots, not humans. It was your only way to detach yourself from them, or else you knew you'd grow too fond of the autos you helped develop. It is too easy to do nowadays. 

Regardless of the tremor you felt within you, you proceeded with the diagnostic tests and questions. 

"Alright, W0NW00, now I'm going to run some tests. Please note I am not going to implement any changes in your system until these tests come back absolutely positive." 

"Noted," W0NW00 repeats blandly. "Can you please refer to me as just Wonwoo during these tests?"

You pause almost as if you're in thought, but you already know the answer. "I'm sorry, W0NW00, but that would be inappropriate of me. I have to refer to you by your designated name during these tests or else I can compromise the diagnostics." 

W0NW00 rolls his eyes in dissatisfaction, this doesn't go undetected by you. That was a new one. You'd never seen this much sass from a robot in a while, especially not a level 1 who was supposed to be perfectly charming. 

Turning back to your computer, you proceed with coding the tests for this session within the diagnostic system. 

"Our first test will be a data collection of your recent thoughts and actions, dating back to your most recent schedule. Can you recall anything that you'd like to share with me before I run this first test, W0NW00?"

"Hm," W0NW00 humors you, copying your trick from earlier as if to convince you he's thinking. You know better, especially since you can see this displayed directly in front of you on the screen. W0NW00 knows that too, but he's not going to make this easy for you. "Not necessarily." 

"Alright," you sigh, clicking the button to proceed with the first run of data. A copious amount of statistics are spat out on a separate sheet. This will be something for you to unpack later. You save this information, filing it away in W0NW00's collection for you to study after the remaining tests. 

"The next test will be to see if you have any reoccurring thoughts or actions. Are you willing to share any of those?" You pause, W0NW00 shakes his head to indicate he isn't willing to share any, so you continue with another data pull. 

You finish the session off with a couple of additional tests to further understand his cognitive state, tests that his previous developer hadn't been able to code and pull the statistics on. 

W0NW00 was relieved when you finally deemed the session complete. He felt drained, more than he ever had before - more than he ever felt after a long day of schedules. He couldn't wait to return to the dorm to charge. 

He watched as you downloaded the data from today's session to your electronic pad, the information transferring speedily and you ensured it was all there before putting the pad to sleep. 

W0NW00 noticed your systematic elegance as you took each step to save the data, file it away in an organized matter, and shut the computer down properly. Others had been a bit more careless, so W0NW00 almost appreciated your thoroughness. 

However, you were practically everything W0NW00 was growing distaste for. You were the system. You abided by it, you lived by it, and you would never understand him. He knew that damn well. You were about to know his thoughts about you as well. Part of him grew interested in the next session, just to see if it made you tick in any way. 

W0NW00 was stunned when you announced the diagnostic session was over, confirming the date of your next session, and leaving the room without another word. 

★+ New Day, Same Analysis +★

"Good Morning, W0NW00," you drone, still polite and as systematic as ever. W0NW00 didn't even bother to respond, sighing in resentment as you performed the same routine upon entry. He could predict your movements at this point after enduring multiple research sessions with you.

You stayed static, you portrayed no emotions during sessions, and it seemed as if you never would. It was beginning to drive W0NW00 a bit mad. W0NW00 was convinced he may be a bit more human than you, even if you were the one with a nervous system and heart pumping warm blood through your limbs. You might as well have the neural network of a robot at this point. 

It was a typical session. You'd enter in, bid W0NW00 "good morning" or "good afternoon" depending on the time of day, dim the lights, and turn on the LED computer screen. Your clipboard made the same jarring, clattering sound each time you set it down. 

You'd run the same damn tests. 

Ask the same damn questions. 

Collect the information on the same damn electronic pad. 

And you'd end the session with the same damn confirmation of the next. 

You seemed pleased with each session so far, but W0NW00 couldn't quite imagine you were able to gain much from these diagnostics. Maybe this session could be different if you'd just loosen up a bit. 

"Please," he sighs defeatedly, trying to soften your firm demeanor. "Please just refer to me as Wonwoo."

"I'm sorry, W0NW00," you'd start, but he'd cut you off before you could say another word. 

"But," he repeated the same words from each session when he'd ask this question. His words were bitter as he spoke. "But that would be inappropriate of me. I have to refer to you by your designated name during these tests or else I can compromise the diagnostics. Same old, same old, Y/N. You're so predictable." 

This stunned you a bit. You could see the switch before your eyes for once. He had asked for you to call him Wonwoo in such a kind, polite tone, yet when he realized you didn't bite the bait, he switched quickly on you. 

W0NW00 almost cried out, thinking he had cracked you for once, but this was reversed when you smiled, speedily writing something down on your clipboard as if this had satisfied you.

Which it did, you were excited to see the switch from his positive state to a negative state before you. This was exciting progress. You just needed a few more diagnostic tests to ensure there weren't any remaining outliers in the data that you could eliminate. 

W0NW00 could basically sense you bouncing in your seat, making his mood go sour for the remainder of the session. 

However, you threw W0NW00 off a bit this session, you had one new question. One that you declared you were able to establish from the other questions. 

"W0NW00," you hum, reading the question from your electronic pad, "what makes you so resistant to entertainment? I must question this, you're made to entertain after all?"

"What?" W0NW00 snarls, pulling the most visceral reaction from him yet. "I'm not resistant to entertainment. I'm not sure what you pulled from your data to get that understanding."

"Well, can you enlighten me? Or should I just run the test?" 

"Sure, I can enlighten you. Have you ever considered I feel the same way that you do? That I can have my own thoughts as you do?"

"Of course I do -"

"No," W0NW00 cuts you off. "I don't think you do, that is the thing. You run these tests on me like any other developer. Actually, you're a bit colder than most developers. But it's not just here. I can feel it everywhere else. I'm treated like a product. The whole group is treated like products. I know that's my duty, but I can't help but feel like there is more than being consumed. There is more to living, even if I am just an automation." 

You're aggressively typing this all into the computer, making sure you don't miss a single word as W0NW00 rambles on. This is the most W0NW00 has confided in you. Sure the tests pull valuable information regarding W0NW00's feelings, but this is more than the computer could ever tell you. Hearing W0NW00's organic stream of consciousness is extremely valuable to running your diagnostics. 

W0NW00 is quick to stop once he realizes he's pleasing you, ending his thoughts and returning his attention to the sterile wall ahead of him. "That is all." 

You try to hide your smile. He's being spiteful, you know he's realized that he has fed a bit too much information to you today, and he's stopping himself while he is at it. Regardless, you're pleased with today's session. 

You wrap up as usual. You collect all the data onto your electronic pad, file away the data, and turn off the computer. You're about to leave and confirm you're next session before W0NW00 stops you yet again.

"Save it," W0NW00 sighs. "I'm aware of when our next session is. You don't have to announce it each time. You're just like a broken record."

★+ OVERSET +★

"You don't understand it do you?" W0NW00 growls. Frustrated as another day passes with you as his developer. The same old routine is being performed over and over. You still don't understand his frustrations, at this point, anyone with a functioning brain should. He wasn't understanding why it wasn't clicking for you, you were clearly intelligent, but god damn, you were brainwashed by the system just like this company.

"What do you mean?" You question, intrigued by W0NW00's sudden outburst. He's more displeased than usual during your sessions. Whilst you've been able to collect a good amount of data from the previous sessions, you have slowly been seeing W0NW00 speak more and more. Today was clearly a day he was ready to speak. 

"That these sessions don't help."

You spin in your chair, turning to face the clearly perturbed robot. You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms and settling further into your seat. You raise a hand, a motion to indicate that he should continue, get whatever it is off his chest while he's at it. "What makes you say that?"

"Seriously?" He says incredulously, "You're part of the system. The system that I have grown to hate. I cannot live without having each and every emotion of mine prodded. I cannot live without worrying about how I impact others. I cannot have my own thoughts ever, and here you are trying to change and poke and prod at me."

You're computer is running data at a rapid speed, W0NW00's emotions translating through the screen as his system and neural networks work at an incredible pace. Your eyes flick between him and the screen, wanting to pay more attention as W0NW00's words intrigue you. 

Each session you've grown to understand him more and more. You've become increasingly aware of how he feels, and you feel a bit guilty. He's right, robots have become so advanced, but it isn't right to treat them as just a commodity. 

Your change in procedural work hasn't gone unnoticed by management. You continue to follow protocols, but you've been a bit messier. You've become more curious about W0NW00. You're avoiding the development of codes that will reset his defined emotions. You're avoiding the final steps that are required to lessen W0NW00's malicious side, and management is demanding results. 

Management claims it is an inevitable malware that's coded into his system. That it's taken him over. He's closer and closer to self-destruction, closer to sabotaging the group, and closer to losing his fanbase. 

You no longer have the desire to please the company. You're too curious about W0NW00 at this point, but you can't do anything too drastic. Not until you have a proper game plan. You've heard of recent escapes from Earth, and at the rate W0NW00 is sharing information, you don't doubt that some members of his group will be escaping soon.  

It's easy to understand how he's frustrated. The more you listened to him, filtered through his data, and studied the group, it became clear that he wasn't fulfilled. He desires more, it's only natural for anyone who has a conscience. 

W0NW00 doesn't see it since you've been trying to remain under the radar, but you understand him. You can see it in his performances. You can see it in the results of these sessions, and you can definitely see it as W0NW00 continues to rant. 

"I feel stuck, Y/N. Is this what it is like for you? Do you feel stuck in your job as a developer? Do you get satisfaction from this just like everyone else around me does? If I could just leave, I wo-"

"Wonwoo," you're voice drops low, fearful of what he will say. Every single word and thought of his is documented. If he speaks of any intention to escape, you know it will draw a red flag for the company and his management. You know you'll have to destroy the data from today's session. You'll determine how to do this later, but your concern right now is to stop W0NW00 before he says anything stupid. "You need to 

Of course, W0NW00 pauses upon hearing you refer to him as Wonwoo, as he has requested many times. He's angered quickly again when you don't speak, annoyed by the way you seem off-character and squeamish in your chair, infuriated by the way you frantically click at your mouse, trying to terminate the program. 

"Now you're referring to me as Wonwoo? Is this just a trick to see how I'll react?" He continues to rant, hands tightly gripping the table and eyebrows threaded together as he works himself up. You pay little to no attention to him, trying to ease the situation at hand ahead of you on the LED screen.

The computer is suddenly crashing, the code that you were previously running is now indicating an infinite loop, and the program is faulting as your computer continues to malfunction. In a panic, you're doing everything you can to execute the code, scared that management will recognize this oddity. 

This session has overset W0NW00, and you're uncertain about what to do, as you've never seen a code turn malicious. You're eyes go wide, staring at W0NW00, you can't believe it. 

All you can do is jump out of your seat and run over to W0NW00 to remove the electronic diagnostic band from his arm. You have to stop the data recording and terminate the code by eliminating the connection to the computer. 

W0NW00 is aghast as you tear the band off his arm, your hands feeling warm on his cold body as you make sure there are no remaining connections to the system. 

"Wonwoo," you whisper, sternly as you stare into his eyes. He seems to soften for once, sensing the urgency in your shaky words as you quell his anger. "You need to calm down. I understand you. I really do. But I need you to know you need to watch what you say." 

"You understand?" Wonwoo exhales, feeling hopeful as you wrap up the diagnostic band tightly, nodding as you begin to fiddle with the band, acting as if you are troubleshooting problems with it in case management questions the removal of it. 

"I do," you speak lowly, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you lock eyes with Wonwoo. "But you need to realize you're stepping into dangerous territory. I don't mean to interrupt you, but I'm trying to protect you." 

For once, he is looking at you with relief. His eyes are full of stars as he actually feels like he's being heard for once. 

For once, you are looking at him like he is human. 

It makes him feel something he's never felt before. 

Your breathing is shallow as you connect with Wonwoo for the first time, your heart pounding so hard in your chest that you can practically hear it in your ears. Wonwoo observes how flushed your cheeks are, registering how emotional you are actually feeling, and realizing just how serious you are. 

"I'm going to put this band back on, but you need to proceed with the session just like any other. We cannot return to the same topic. Do not indicate any desire to escape." You emphasize this prior to wrapping the diagnostic band around his arm, a nod of his head confirming he's heard your words and has taken them seriously. 

Returning to your desk, you begin to reload the software. However, before you finalize the restart, you softly speak again, "I will have to refer to you as W0NW00 again. I apologize, but please understand." 

"I understand," Wonwoo's voice is hushed, a soft smile gracing his features as you breathe out in relief. 

"W0NW00," you start, voice returning to a professional tone. You eye him closely, your mannerisms indicating that you have successfully started the program up, and are once again recording data.  "I apologize for that. It seems as if the system crashed. Shall we proceed with the session?" 

"Yes," Wonwoo indicates, trying his hardest to not overthink the current events. 

Wonwoo understands it now. Understands that you aren't all systematic, that his words have an impact on you, and that you are receptive after all. He has more faith in you now, knowing that you're here to protect him. 

You continue and complete the session as usual. However, this time there is an understanding between you and Wonwoo. One that you'll do everything to erase the data on. You'll do anything to help Wonwoo. 

★+ Comfort in Your Thoughts, Voice, and Touch +★

Things have since changed between you and Wonwoo. You now start the sessions differently, you take the time to set up your computer, and you allow Wonwoo to remove his band prior to the program.

You told him you'd argue with the company that it's to save his charge. However, you now look forward to your talks with Wonwoo prior to your sessions, talking freely knowing that the computer is no longer able to collect each and every bit of information. 

Wonwoo loves that you call him by his preferred name during these undocumented talks with you. He loves the melodic sound of your laugh when he cracks a witty joke. He feels an uncontrollable obsession developing within him that he can't quite understand. 

Wonwoo feels better and feels more understood around you, he can see changes in your behavior. You're not as systematic, more relaxed around him, only returning to your default systematic behavior once he is connected to the diagnostic band. 

Your touch haunts him, the feeling of your nimble fingers on his arm when you wrap and unwrap the band around his bicep has him overanalyzing his thoughts. 

He feels lighter, he doesn't feel as burdened after being heard by you, understood by you, and connected to you by your fleeting touches. Wonwoo can't help but look forward to these sessions with you. 

Who would have thought that'd been the case days ago?

Oddly enough, these sessions have been improving Wonwoo's negative state of mind, reversing the trend of his daily emotions and leading them in more of a positive state. Management has taken note of this, unsure if these changes are taking place when you haven't implemented any developmental changes in him. 

For now, they don't question it. 

Regardless, Wonwoo yearns to hear your voice, yearns for your occasional touch, and yearns to spend time with you. Even if it's him locked in this sterile room, he's glad it's with you. 

Wonwoo has grown too comfortable for once. Inevitably, as he once believed, the system tends to disrupt everything that was once good. 

★+ The Escape +★

You've begun hearing of members of 53V3NT33N escaping Earth and traveling to other planets. Wonwoo isn't aware of it, he's been stuck with you in R&D for days now after management has cracked down on his diagnosis. 

However, today was a different day. Management knows you are erasing data. You were confronted with it before today's session. They've noticed peculiarities in Wonwoo's behavior, in the data reports you've returned, and in the results you've been providing. They've also noticed the increase in "blank" spots, and the increase in system errors, unlike the software systems that have been developed to perfection. 

Albeit, you weren't providing any updates of substance, which wasn't per your reputation as a developer, and your lack of urgency during the time of other member's escapes was especially concerning to management. 

Wonwoo can't help but notice the aggressive rate at your leg shakes. It's been like this since the beginning of today's session. 

"Everything alright?" He questions, genuinely worried about your anxious state. You're never like this, even as you two have been sneaking more time together prior to sessions.

Wonwoo's words are drowned out, the tapping of your pen against the desk resounding through your head as you consider your options. You know it's time to make a move. 

You have access to a ship. There is one in the development center that you could hijack, it was simple; you'd just have to make sure you tear away the tracking core to ensure the company can't locate you and Wonwoo. 

You're haunted by anxious thoughts. Was it even possible to get Wonwoo out of this room without management noticing? Where would you even go? When was the last time you traveled to another planet? How will Wonwoo react to news of other members escaping?

Would Wonwoo even want to go with you? Does he even trust you enough?

You stand up from your seat, shutting down the computer in front of you just as quickly as you had booted it up. Striding over to Wonwoo, you make sure his band isn't wrapped around his arm yet. 

"Wonwoo," you speak eerily calmly, "Your members are escaping."

"What?" He's confused, not quite understanding the weight of your words. 

"It isn't just you who has implied leaving Earth, others are too. They've just held you here for a bit too long for you to know."

He's clearly processing, not quite sure where you're headed with this, but he leans towards you in anticipation, hanging on to your next words. 

"Management is onto me as well," you breathe, voice quivering as you realize how serious this may be. "They know we aren't progressing with our sessions as I should be. They know I am terminating data. They are onto me, and I'm not sure how much longer they will keep me here."

The weight of your words settles on him. "What can we do? Where are the members going?"

"I can locate a ship. There are multiple in the terminal right off the plant here. If we are strategic enough," you pause, gauging his reaction. He doesn't seem appalled by the implication of your word so you can continue. "We can escape too, we can be freed from the shackles of this system like you've been talking about."

There's a minute's pause between you two as you both consider the situation. 

"How can we trick management?" He ponders, hinting that he isn't against your suggestion, but he does realize this requires a bit more thought than just running. 

"I just -" you stutter, uncertain of any plan. "I can't think of any way to fake that we are in our session. The band reports everything. Management will know if we leave our session if you never put the band on." 

"I mean," Wonwoo thinks some more, peering down at the port on his arm where the band connects. "Is there a way," he slowly speaks, eyes implying what you're horrified he may reference as he peers at his port, "is there a way that we can tear this port out? Leave it with the band?"

"I'm not so sure about that, Wonwoo. I mean, it could have negative effects on your system, and I'm not sure how successful that would be. It would be too risky to the health of your network." 

"It's worth trying," he pleads, already toying with the port on his arm, already seeming as if it were possible to remove the said part. 

"You can't, I said it would be too risky-" you argue, but Wonwoo stuns you, pulling the port out of his arm. It's immediately recognizable that the port has disrupted something, and you can verify from initial inspection that it will definitely have an effect on the efficiency of his charging. 

"See," he chides, but he can sense the effect on his system too. Nonetheless, he connects the port to the band, and the diagnostic band accepts the port. "It works, go check on your computer." 

You rush to the computer, reboot it, and load the same software. You're jaw drops, almost unbelieving that the program recognizes the port without being directly connected to Wonwoo. It isn't feeding any valuable information, but it's recognizing that it's him regardless. 

"It's working," you chime in disbelief, eyes wide as you turn to him, realizing this is the time to make the run for it. 

"Lead the way," Wonwoo declares, encouraging you both to move forward with the escape. 

There is no hesitation between you two as you lead him through the bright hallways of the R&D wing. There is a shortcut that leads to the terminal where the ships are, if you can get through there undetected, you are bound to make it to the ships. 

If anyone were to spot Wonwoo, they would be suspicious. Of course, he's recognizable, and with everyone in the company being high-strung regarding escapes, it would be an immediate red flag. 

Thankfully, you two make it unscathed to the terminal, and you work quickly to prep the ship. 

"Wonwoo," you gain his attention from beneath the ship as he helps the best he can, mostly just on the lookout as you prepare. "I don't have the strength, can you attempt to pull the core out from beneath the ship? There is a tracking device, and we'll need to pull this before we leave."

"Of course," Wonwoo is quick to trade places with you. He works swiftly, but your eyes dart around the terminal. It's dreary, industrial, and clean. Everything you've started to resent over the past few days. It encourages your escape even more, a wash of relief falling over your shoulders as you determine this is the right situation. 

Wonwoo appears from under the ship, the core of the craft held in his hands before he smashes it against the ground, shattering the material at both your feet. 

"Let's go," you smile, climbing into the ship with Wonwoo and booting up the vessel. Your adrenaline has never run so high, you feel it through your veins as the vibration of the ship resonates through you. 

It's been a while since you've started up one of these, thankful you were able to successfully start the craft up without issues. Wonwoo is impressed too, of course never navigating one himself. 

It's a blur how you two escape, taking off at light speed as you accelerate up into space, leaving the stratosphere of Earth at a record speed, and focusing until you've fully left the exosphere. 

You have no clear where to go from here, but, holy shit, you've successfully left. And you have Wonwoo here with you. 

★+ The Long Path Home +★

It's a long path for you and Wonwoo. It's uncertain where you'll end up. You've heard of a planet called Lumen before, but you have no clue how to even get there. You're just thankful Wonwoo can even assist in navigating the ship between planets. 

Your first stop is Opifex. After the escape from Earth, Wonwoo suffered significant damage during the boarding of the ship. His arm was damaged in the process of tearing out his main port, the tear in his arm reflecting in the functionality of his charging system. This concerned you more than Wonwoo could understand. You weren't sure if you could make this travel alone without him.

You rarely visited Opifex, but you had connections as you'd offer occasional assistance in developing robots that were created on this planet. 

Your main connection was a level 3 robot named Changkyun. He had previously assisted in the creation of another idol robot, which you were the head developer of. You hadn't spoken to him since, yet you knew he'd be able to help Wonwoo. Discreetly at that. 

You knew you weren't safe yet. Even if the tracking was removed from the ship and you had escaped from Earth, anyone could identify Wonwoo and the logo on your ship. 

There was a constant state of fear during your travel to Opifex that you'd be caught. Tracked down. That Wonwoo would completely lose his charge. 

"What is wrong, Y/N?" Wonwoo's concerned for you. He knows exactly why you're anxious, he is too. But he's hoping he can quell your anxiety somehow. 

"I'm just tired, Wonwoo," you sigh, checking the ship's charge levels, anxiety only growing upon realizing you really do have to stop in Opifex soon. "Also concerned about getting to Lumen safely. We really need to stop at Opifex to make sure you're repaired before we even consider locating Lumen." 

Wonwoo's free hand runs through your hair, the comforting motion alien to you, but you gladly accept it, leaning your head into his hand as he soothes you. 

"How much longer until we reach Opifex?" You can tell Wonwoo is drained too. He needs Changkyun's help as soon as possible. 

"I believe only a day more of travel," you confirm per the navigation. You know how to get there, and where to land. You decide against pinging Changkyun, in order to eliminate as much of a footprint as possible. 

"Why don't you get some rest?" Wonwoo prods when he realizes your eyes start to roll back, head bobbing to the side after a while. 

"Do you mind?" 

"Of course not," he smiles gently, making your stomach flip. 

You oblige, not having the will to fight after the past events. You lay back in the cot behind the main seating area. Observing Wonwoo as he takes his place in the captain's seat, he adjusts the controls to his liking as he navigates Opifex. 

Your heart pounds as you observe him, Wonwoo made you feel free, he made you feel safe even in times like this. You've never felt this way about anyone. It's hard to fall asleep, these thoughts consuming your mind.

Wonwoo turns back to check on you, the same soft smile making you flush as you lay on the bed admiring him. You can't help but feel a connection with him, emotionally, and desire even more. 

Eventually, sleep took you after much contemplation of your thoughts.

When you awoke, it only felt like you had slept a blink of an eye's time. The ship rattled, alarming you and jostling you awake. Only to realize that Wonwoo had landed the ship. You immediately recognized the planet, he had safely landed the ship at Opifex. 

Wonwoo's smile relaxed you even further, dusting off his pants as he stood up and headed towards you. As per usual, Wonwoo's hand ran through your hair, instantaneously soothing you. 

"We've arrived," he coos softly, trying his best not to overstimulate you more in your drowsy state. "Just lead the way once you're ready."

It's easy to see he is drained as well, in desperate need of a charge, and you're relieved that you've made it to Opifex. 

The both of you quickly tidy yourselves up, you do your best to cover Wonwoo's damaged arm, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to the automation as you make your way to Changkyun's workshop. 

There was an odd sense of security here, but you knew you had to lay low. You didn't want word of your appearance here. You knew his company would be looking for him, as that's all they were doing prior to the escape for the other members who had left before Wonwoo. 

It was easy to find Changkyun, his shop was located where you had previously remembered it. It felt almost nostalgic coming across his shop, he had an eclectic style, yet the place was tidy enough to store and easily find all his supplies.  

"Y/N?" Changkyun questioned in delightful surprise as you knocked at his door. "What are you doing here? It's been quite some time."

"Hello, Changkyun," you smile brightly. Something that Wonwoo can only pin as jealous pings inside him at your reaction. 

How odd, he thinks to himself. 

"Do you mind if we come in? I do have a favor to ask, which is why we are here," you speak quickly, emphasizing that you didn't just show up for no reason. 

Changkyun holds the door open for you both, allowing you and Wonwoo to shuffle into the shop. Wonwoo takes note of the large magnifying lens contraption strapped to Changkyun's head, quickly noting that he is a Level 3 robot, and shows his own wear and tear after working all these years. 

Wonwoo immediately deems him as trustworthy.

"What is this favor you are requesting," Changkyun prods, curiously eyeing Wonwoo as if he could understand where this was going. 

"I can't share too many details," you speak hurriedly, beginning to unwrap the material around Wonwoo's damaged arm to provide Changkyun with a visualization of the problem at hand. "We've escaped Earth. However, in the process of avoiding getting caught, Wonwoo had ripped his port out. I think it's affecting his charging system. I just don't think we can go on for much longer until we have some sort of fix."

Changkyun hums in understanding, immediately resorting to his tools and materials. "I'm not sure if I'll have the materials for a level 1 robot, I haven't created one in quite some time, but let me see what I have."

You and Wonwoo let Changkyun search, shuffling around the shop quietly as you try your best to quell your anxiety. You hope and pray that Changkyun can help, there is no one else you feel comfortable resorting to. There is an unspoken trust that you have with the Level 3 robot, after spending years learning from his skills and further understanding the creation of robots. 

Wonwoo's free hand is grasped in yours, you aren't quite sure when this happened, but it eases you slightly. You've grown to become attached to Wonwoo, amazed by how quickly things changed between each session and landing you in this scenario. 

Thankfully, after a while of searching, Changkyun determines he has parts that will suffice, and will be enough to repair Wonwoo's system in order to allow him to charge properly. 

Changkyun bids you off, encouraging you to get some rest as he makes the proper repairs to Wonwoo. You're continuously flooded with thoughts, but part of you feels better knowing you now have Changkyun's help. You hope Wonwoo can charge up before you continue your journey. 

It takes a few hours, Changkyun claims the connections are not as direct as he thought they'd be, but by the time he is done, Wonwoo seems way too worn down. 

Changkyun encourages you both to get your rest before continuing with your journey. He offers you a place to stay, it isn't much, but it's a spare bedroom in the back of his shop, offering it as a safe place to rest before continuing. 

"Thank you," you hum sincerely, expressing your gratitude one last time before Changkyun wraps up for the day to head to his normal engagements. "Thank you so much for your help." 

"Anytime, Y/N," he smiles, bidding you both good-bye and good luck on the rest of your journey. 

That night you and Wonwoo share the crickety bed in the back of Changkyun's shop. Wonwoo had been timid originally, but you claimed it was alright, that it would provide you some more comfort if anything.

Wonwoo was relieved at that because he couldn't think of anything better. He was finally able to get closer to you. 

Laying next to him, you adjusted the glasses and sat on the bridge of his nose, they'd always fall down a bit when he wasn't paying attention, a feature about him that you found so endearing.

Wonwoo was seeming better already, charging much faster than you anticipated. His hands found their way to your arm, nimble fingers running up and down your skin. 

He could recognize the way your skin bubbled with chills, uncertain of what he was doing that made you react this way. His skin didn't react like this to touch, but the way yours reacts reminds him just how sensitive humans are. 

"What are you doing?" You hum in content, enjoying the softness of Wonwoo's skin on yours. His skin was different, not nearly as warm as a human touch, but the synthetic skin was so smooth, feeling comfortable as it dragged across yours. 

"What are these bumps on your arm?" He asks out of genuine curiosity. 

"You're kidding," you laugh, eyes opening humorously to gauge if Wonwoo is serious. He is absolutely dead serious. "It's this phenomenon, we tend to call them goosebumps. It's a bodily alert that humans feel, a reaction to touch." 

Wonwoo hums in acknowledgment, "Is it good?"

"In this case," you smile, enjoying his innocent curiosity, "it is very good. It feels nice what you're doing. Very soothing."

"What else causes goosebumps?"

You can't tell if he's twisting your arm at this point, looking for a reaction, because there is an insinuation in his tone as his hand drags upwards towards your neck, looking for more of a reaction from your skin. Which he earns, as goosebumps run all up and down your body at his barely-there touch. 

His fingers travel to the crook of your neck, his hand wrapping around the back of your head and finding a home in your hair. He pulls you closer, testing the waters as he yearns to feel more of your body against his. Curious to see if he can pull more of a reaction out of you. It's all so new for him and he's hungry for more. 

"Wonwoo," you whimper, allowing him to pull you into his body, your lips falling impossibly close to his perfectly molded ones. "Are you trying to send me into shock?"

You try to joke, but your words come out whiney as Wonwoo's lips brush yours. 

"I don't know," he teases, his plush buds continuing to skim yours. "Is this good?"

"It's very good," you confirm yet again, your breath being knocked out of your lungs when Wonwoo's lips finally attach to yours. Kissing him is different, it's almost as if he's immediately on the same wavelength as you. 

Your lips fall into the same rhythm, and you're just realizing this is something you've been craving for a while now. It becomes heated quickly, and Wonwoo's hands stay wrapped in your hair, ensuring you can't break away from the kiss. 

He understands what it is like to be addicted to something now. He recognizes this feeling as lust, knowing of its effects and understanding why humans love it so much. He needs more of you and he needs more now.

Wonwoo pulls you on top of him, the motion feeling incredibly natural as he continues to kiss you, swallowing your little noises as you moan in delight. 

You can sense him react to you in a similar manner as a human. You forget how advanced Level 1 robots are sometimes. You had been a bit worried that he wouldn't react similarly, but you can feel his cock swells beneath you. 

"Wonwoo," you whine, finally breaking the kiss after what felt like light years of delight. However, you need more. "Please, need you to touch me. Need you to fuck me." 

"I need it too, Y/N," he groans, the sound that comes from him is deep, uncharacteristic of his usual voice, but it sends shivers down your spine. Wonwoo is encouraged by the goosebumps that reappear on your skin, very apparent to him as you remove your shirt. 

Wonwoo's lips instinctually wrap around your pebbled nipple, loving the way the bud peaks along with the bumps on your skin. He's even more encouraged by the sound that falls from your lips, a breathy moan that has his cock growing even harder. 

"Please," you croon. "Can't wait much longer." 

He's quick to pull his pants down, helping you stumble out of your shorts and underwear as well. He's amazed by how wet your nether regions are, and you're amazed by just how perfectly sculpted his cock is. 

"You're perfect," you moan, running your folds over his length and pulling another groan of pleasure from him. "God, whoever created you did an amazing job."

You raise yourself slightly, teasing yourself with the head of his cock, the skin soft against your folds as you wet his length. You sink down slowly, your walls contracting in delight as your pussy greedily accepts his thick manhood. 

Wonwoo recognizes the slight pain in your features as you accept him, but he can also sense the relief you feel as he bottoms out, feeling the contraction of your walls around him throughout his entire system. 

"Let me ride you," you moan when you sense that Wonwoo is hesitant. "Let me take care of you." 

He doesn't argue, overwhelmed by the unrecognizable pleasure he feels as you begin to bob up and down on his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, a sensation he's never felt before as they clamp into his shoulders, leaving divots in his synthetic skin and claiming your mark on him. 

The pathetic noises that tumble out of you encourage him to move, his hips rolling upwards into yours and pulling even more deranged sounds from you, ones that encourage him to groan in enjoyment. 

Wonwoo watches as a bead of sweat falls down your neck, loving the effect and glow that graces your skin. His hands wrap into your hair, pulling it up off your neck as you continue to ride his cock with more fervor. 

He pulls on your hair tightly, enough for you to feel a tinge of pain, but it only increases the pleasure you feel in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your clit burns and throbs at the pleasure, your core heating and winding up tightly as you roll your hips against his, meeting each thrust of his. 

"Wonwoo," you're screaming at this point, eyes blown out as you watch him, his jaw hanging slack as he becomes overwhelmed with the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. The friction of your pussy around his cock has him feeling engulfed in all ways by you. 

The pleasure that builds inside him begins to feel impossible to fight off, he's unsure if he can hold this feeling back much longer, especially not when your walls throb around him with each thrust. 

It's brutal at this point, the sound of your skin slapping against his, the visual of your breasts bouncing in front of him, and how you feel all too perfect like this. 

"Y/N," he breathes out in desperation, "can't hold it for much longer. You feel too good."

"Good," you cry out, no longer able to hold your own pleasure back. "Finish with me, Wonwoo, release." 

Wonwoo can feel the fluttering of your walls, the intense pleasure exploding inside you as you spasm around his cock, your body falling limp in his arms as you reach your high. Wonwoo is pleasured too, but you're not filled with cum, only watching as he reaches his own form of pure pleasure. He continues to thrust into you, driving you into overstimulation. 

Wonwoo doesn't realize you're spent, especially since he can't necessarily be spent himself, he has the stamina of a Level 1 automation overall. However, he recognizes it after he pulls one more orgasm from you, holding up your form as your limbs can no longer hold your body up. 

That night you sleep incredibly well in his arms, connecting with him on a level you would have never anticipated. This was something you would have never imagined as a developer, something you always condemned previously, as you feared growing a connection like this. 

But now that you have it, you'd do everything to not lose it. 

The next morning, you are awoken by a frantic Wonwoo. Changkyun had come early, informing you that there are correspondent Level 3 robots searching for you and Wonwoo. 

Word has spread, and you're no longer safe here at Opifex. 

Changkyun informs you that your ship has been reclaimed by the company. However, he offers you an older ship he has in the far back of his shop. It isn't the most modern craft, but it will get you to Lumen. 

After providing you with the proper navigation and instructions on the ship, Changkyun bids you both goodbye yet again. 

Thankfully because of Changkyun, you and Wonwoo are able to escape yet again, continuing your journey to Lumen. You continue to spend this time with Wonwoo, feeling more at piece in an unidentifiable craft, and knowing that his damage has been repaired. 

It's comfortable with Wonwoo, you two work well as partners you've determined. You take shifts navigating the ship, Wonwoo has become quite the captain as you spend the next few days searching for Lumen. 

Thankfully, your trip has come to an end, even though you've enjoyed the time with Wonwoo, the travel has been tough. You can see Lumen in the distance. A planet similar to Earth, yet seemingly a bit more thriving as you approach the safe haven planet. 

★+ Lumen +★

Lumen. Wonwoo and you had finally landed safely on the planet. It felt safe. It felt like home. You felt as if you could be anything and everything you wanted to be with Wonwoo. 

Lumen is similar to Earth, yet the land is lush and the population is diverse. Travelers from multiple planets have made their way here seeking safety. Here you felt accepted. You didn't have to consider the previous system of Earth. You weren't tied to anything. 

Both you and Wonwoo could start fresh, and you both could sense this feeling. Wonwoo held your hand tightly, breathing in the fresh air and peering down at you. You looked peaceful, eyes shut as you did the same, head lulling back as the crisp air filled your senses. 

This made Wonwoo's eyes flood with adoration seeing you look this free. He remembered what you once were like on the first day you met him. He felt lucky knowing he could be here with you, like this, now. He knows of others who weren't that lucky to have their partners with them after escaping their planets.  

Here you'd settle with Wonwoo, in a quaint house where you two could be your true selves, and not worry about others' expectations of you two. Wonwoo holds you tightly at night, knowing that he always has you, the first person who has ever understood and listened to him. The unexpected developer that he can live freely with. 

[sapphic-agent]

Thank you for the invitation! I've read your posts on Bakuguo's relationship with Izuku, and I agree with almost all of them, but this most recent post is the first time I saw you suggest that it's not just a mistake in writing on the creator's part but *deliberate* writing on the creator's part (forgive me if you've written about the subject before). The only way I could appreciate Izuku's relationship with Bakuguo was as an unfortunate side effect of Izuku's immature ideas of what it means to be a hero, and that as he experienced more of the world and grew into being his own hero, that he would eventually reject this need to tolerate Bakuguo's ... Bakuguo-ness. I also was informed that Bakuguo's behavior is a trope of manga characterization that the audience would expect from this type of writing, so I should just accept it.

But now, from what you've written, this might not be true. I've always suspected that some creators would have preferred to write about characters who couldn't actually carry a story *without* changing, but they didn't want them to change. (For example, Sukuna in Jujutsu Kansen is obviously the creator's favorite, but a story about Sukuna would require change, and the creator likes that monster just the way he is.). Are there clues that Izuku's creator is just using Izuku as a "Caretaker" character to enable the characters he does like to behave terribly and get away with it? (I hope this makes sense.)

I suppose the answer to this relies on how we look at "deliberate."

Do I think Horikoshi is intentionally undercutting Izuku's character to make Bakugou seem better? No. I don't think he has the foresight, skill, or self-awareness to even go about writing like that. I'm sure in his mind he thinks that by giving Bakugou more spotlight, he's making Izuku better written by extension.

And a lot of that has to do with the fandom. Horikoshi is an author whose decisions are very driven by popular opinion, it's why so many of his storylines and characters are all over the place. For example, almost as soon as Bakugou began to become popular (around the Sports Festival), Horikoshi started to give him more exposure. If you pay attention, you'll even notice how characters like Iida and Uraraka begin to fade into the background. This is even supported by the two of them not being very popular (especially Iida) in comparison.

And obviously, BakuDeku is very popular, the most popular ship in the fandom. Horikoshi would never make it canon, but that isn't to say he won't milk that fact for all its worth. By pushing Izuku and Bakugou together, he's feeding into that. Every time they so much as share a panel about it, BakuDeku shippers go crazy here and on Twitter. It keeps attention on MHA, and keeps revenue up.

Horikoshi knows that a large majority of the fandom will consistently read anything he releases as long as he keeps Bakugou and Izuku connected. Both Bakugou and BakuDeku as a relationship are essentially a cash cow that he can exploit.

But for Bakugou to actually improve and become a better person and for Izuku to come into his own as a hero, they need to be separated. They are both detrimental to one another's development, which is why Bakugou's character development sucks and Izuku's character seems so stagnant. They should have had to grow and learn away from each other before reconciliation was ever even thought about.

Does Horikoshi know this? Probably not. I don't think he even has the capacity to think this way. But it doesn't change the fact that he will gladly shove Izuku- and everyone else- to the side if it means Bakugou's stans keep reading

[katakaluptastrophy]

Sorry to be a bother, no pressure to read or answer I just got tea feelings

but I saw you tag something with how tea is currently popular due to imperialism and that feels strange given that the names for tea - tea/te and cha/chai stem from the regions of modern china/south east Asia they traded from. Tea is native to most global areas in many forms and that particular bit of analysis confused me because it's not necessarily just a product of imperialism.

Its a huge part of many cultures but also the types of tea that are popular are influenced by imperialism. However something about that throw away tag hit me because one of the things that's always united my cross cultural friendships has been tea. Brewing herbal tea for medicine or late night talks, milk herbs and cha at my friends house, all kinds of tea across the middle east, various tea like things. I feel like the insistence on the type of tea might be a more fitting analysis than just tea as concept.

If anything Jon's insistence on tea that Harrow doesn't like suggests more about how he experienced it as opposed to the concept of tea. I imagine that Alecto would have so much to say about interesting psychoactive plants if given the chance to be the earth and not Alecto, and that she'd view tea as a gift to people. A way to consume so many flavors, odors, and feelings in the plants she loved so much. So Jon forcing lukewarm unpleasant tea seems more like a horrible personal choice than a condemnation of "variety of hot leaf juices".

Finally, tea is always offered with options in most households, at least in my experience. It's not about forcing one tea - tea is just a time to chat and have a nice snack and beverage. That comes in so many forms and is often beautiful. Jon making it a dominance ritual fits more with the worst parts of his character than it does with the existence of tea.

Thank you for the question!

The tag was alluding to the fact that British tea culture, and by extension the tea culture of former British colonies such as Aotearoa New Zealand, is in part a consequence of the role tea played in British imperialism (Opium Wars, Indian tea plantations, Boston Harbour, etc).

I certainly don't think there's anything sinister about the social enjoyment of a cup of hot leaf juice per se! I myself am the worst sort of British stereotype who will pop the kettle on to deal with any situation ranging from Monday to death.

And I don't doubt that John's social tea drinking is, to him, part of his self-construction (and perhaps self-understanding) as a regular guy. He is, in his own rather twisted way, trying to be kind (and part of what makes John so genuinely compelling and terrifying is the fact that part of what he's doing is genuine).

But thematically, John tries to assemble a group of friends and family and creates a Freudian hellscape of coercion. John, an indigenous man from a colonised country, recreates the violence of empire on an unfathomable scale. Tea's historical role in imperial violence certainly isn't the main thrust of what Tamsyn is doing here, but it sits somewhere in the background of how tea functions thematically in the narrative.

[marianadecarlos]

hewwo ma amie !! i came as stated cus bourbon - habsburg infodump exchange

I would actually want a presentation about mariana de austria ... im a loser who doesnt know much about her ! i read about her when she got to spain and was confused about spanish (that was so real from her) but i dont know more cool stuff about her at all ... so feel free to tell me anything you find remarkable about her !

who is your favourite bourbon ? :3

Thank you for this Question:

Queen Mariana of Austria is known as the Mother of Charles II of Spain and the niece/wife of Philip IV. She was Queen Regent when her husband Philip IV died and ruled on Carlos II's behalf until he was 14. Like Charles II, Queen Mariana was a victim of the classic “decline of Spain” paradigm. She is defined by 19th-century historians as “weak,” “unstable,” and “ignorant” but also “Machiavellian,” “scheming,” “with a German outlook” (meaning foreign), at times “melancholic” because she suffered from migraines, and was overly pious and uninterested in politics because she “dressed as a nun." She was accused of handing power over to her favorites; Jose Everardo Nithard and Fernando de Valenzuela. In reality, She was smart, strategic, strong, decisive, and seemingly tactile. Her favorites played a dominant role in her regency but her strong and decisive personality and her extensive and consistent participation in all aspects of government suggest otherwise. She faced two political crises during her regency the first was in 1669 resolved by her dismissal of Nithard; the second, between 1675 and 1677, ended with Valenzuela’s fall and her exile. There is evidence in state papers to prove that she did not surrender power to them. Speaking of Jose Everardo Nithard, He was Mariana's tutor, friend, and later her confessor. He was made inquisitor General. As for Valenzuela, Known as the palace elf, due to his influence and connections to people in high places. He married a woman who is part the queens valet. He provided Queen Mariana information about gossip and rumors that were circulating in Madrid. Valenzuela got more influencial overtime which created tension between him and the court. He was Mariana's protégé. Their friendship caused controversy and nasty rumors where made about them as a result. The worst one I believe was the rumor of Queen Mariana sleeping with Valenzuela. The fact that people actually believe that rumor makes me angry. Mariana was dressed as a nun because this is the type of dress worn by Habsburg widows. She made a few changes to the garb like having princely folds and lavish materials. Queen Mariana was exposed to the Spanish cultural traditions because Mariana's mother is Philip IV's sister. She was exposed to Italian culture because of two generations of italian empresses. Mariana both observed and participated in court ballets, rituals, and ceremonies; her dance master, Santo Ventura, was highly regarded. Boys received this kind of instruction as well. Leopold I, for example, was an avid consumer and practitioner of theater and music as emperor. At the age of seven, for example, Mariana publicly greeted her parents on their return from the Diet of Regensburg in 1641 by saluting her mother in the Spanish style and her father in Latin. When the fourteen-year-old performed a similar greeting in Trento, this time as queen of Spain, she had had at least seven years of practice. Queen Mariana was educated and spoke Latin, Spanish and German well. Judging by her education and her fleunt spanish, I doubt she struggled speaking spanish. I read somewhere that Queen Mariana as a child loves playing with dolls. She was cheerful, obedient, and lively girl. Her marriage to King Philip IV of Spain was always described as a terrible marriage because King Philip "cheated" on her, their different personalities, and massive age gap. In reality, They had an affectionate relationship and King Philip was loyal throughout their marriage. He described himself as a change man and would give Mariana everything she wanted. They did struggle financially though and at times could get caught in a series of arguments. I mean no marriage is perfect.

Gossip writer Barrioneuvo reports that one day The Queen asked for pastries and commented that she was not served for some days. She was told that the pastry cook would not supply the palace until a large outstanding bill had been paid. She removed a ring from her finger and ordered a servant to exchange it for pastries; Manuelillo de Gante told her to put the ring back on and gave the servant a copper to buy some tarts so that the Queen can finish her dinner.

Queen Mariana was the woman behind Castillio De San Marco, After a pirate attack in June 1668 roused Mariana into action. Queen Mariana was horrified receiving this news because the attack was so brutal. On March 11, 1669, the queen regent issued her decree ordering the viceroy of New Spain to send subsidies to the city. She also added funding for the building of a masonry fortification and additional soldiers. To oversee the project, she sent Don Manuel de Cendoya to St. Augustine as the new royal governor. Her judgement protected and spurred the city’s growth over the following decades. This growth even led to a later governor requesting the same regent queen for a new two-story, coquina Governor’s House in St. Augustine.

Mariana was a good mother-in-law to Marie Louise of Orleans. After the wedding of Marie Louise, Carlos introduced Marie Louise. Marie Louise bowed to her but Queen Mariana grabbed her hands and told her to stand; and said "Call me mother" with a smile.

Mariana in the year 1696 felt pain in her breast turns out she had breast cancer and she tries her best to hide it because she did not want Maria Anna of Nueburg to take over. The pain was unbearable that she asked the doctors to check her breast. When they examined the Queen they found a huge tumor in her breast. Their is no treatment for this and she was offered relics and prayers. When she died.

Reports of miracles attributed to her quickly began to circulate. These miracles and her body’s reported “incorruptibility” three years after her death led to a beatification proceeding in the last years of Carlos’s reign. Mariana’s path to sainthood, however, came to an abrupt end when the new dynasty, the Bourbons, took power. Both the beatification proceedings in 1698 and its abandonment in 1702 were as politically motivated as everything else in her life had been

I won't give too much information on her regency because there is a book about it called Queen, Mother, and Stateswoman Mariana of Austria and the government of Spain by Silvia Z. Mitchell. This book is my source about her and the reason why I made this blog so her side of the story will be known. Other sources are from https://governorshouselibrary.wordpress.com/2022/09/22/mariana-de-austria-the-queen-behind-the-castillo-de-san-marcos/?fbclid=IwY2xjawE5D5UBHUpP8HVhtFboR9ZThC2j5LNDLj531pKjmVxtGQbf7A2yMOo2AuNxqEU3Qw

I like 4 bourbons, Philip V, Luis I, Fernando VI, and Carlos III. If I had to choose one it would be Carlos III because he modernized Spain and imposed great reforms.

Sorry I took so long to reply

[noahsresources]

REBLOGGING FROM SOURCE WITH XKIT REWRITTEN !

hey friends!! okay, so i can't believe it took me this long to figure out how to do this, but thanks to the new xkit rewritten extension, we can bring back easily reblogging from the source! the newest update is kind of a pain for a lot of people, and it was much easier to just click on the username of the source where someone reblogged a post from. but thankfully, we can bring it back!!

i'm not the greatest at giving tutorials, but because i think this is important for a lot of us roleplayers, especially those who like reblogging things from their respective sources for whatever reason, and also generally for the majority of us who became frustrated with the new update. so, here's an attempt at teaching all y'all lovely people how to get your dash back to the way you liked it!! with that being said, it is greatly appreciated if this post is reblogged so as many people as possible see this tip!

TUTORIAL. ( skip to step 3 if you already have xkit rewritten installed. )

STEP 1. first, download xkit rewritten from tumblr's new xkit github page. right now it only works with chrome and firefox. instructions are under the "installation" section (you may have to scroll down a bit).

STEP 2. once you install the extension, click on the xkit icon at the top of your browser. it should look like a small purple box with a white "x".

STEP 3. under the "configuration" tab at the top of the pop-up, scroll down to the "tweaks" option. it should have a yellow icon with a gear and is (probably) the third option from the bottom.

STEP 4. the "tweaks" option should be marked as "disabled", especially if you are using the new xkit for the first time or if you haven't seen this extension before. click the slider on the right side of the pop-up to turn the extension on.

STEP 5. once you toggle the extension on, a drop-down menu should appear under the extension label. you can also toggle this menu by clicking on the extension label. click on "restore links to individual posts in the post header", which should be the first option in the drop-down menu.

STEP 6. and that's it! you should now be able to click on the url next to another url and it should bring up the source that that person reblogged from. you may need to close the tumblr tab or restart your browser for the extension to take effect.

and that's it! i hope you enjoyed this tutorial and that it was helpful! if you have any questions, suggestions, or reservations, do not hesitate to reach out! please remember to reblog to spread this information! <3

[beefrobeefcal]

Dieter Measures Up feat. Dieter Bravo & Cookie (f!reader)

a HeftyThrowaway one shot drabble | Rated: 18+ | word count: 834 warnings: weight gain, grinding, Dieter being a needy mess A/N: thank you @toxicanonymity for celebrating 900 friendos in the bistro! and yes... this is a bit more than a drabble.

Dieter groaned. He looked over the email from his manager, suggesting in the firmest way possible that wouldn’t compromise their job, that he needed to wear an actual suit to the premier. To add to his grief, they put in bold right at the end before signing off: YOU ARE NOT WEARING ANYTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING SOMETHING YOU COULD SLEEP IN.

Included in the message was also the requirement to get fitted for the suit because they knew he hadn’t lost any of the weight he’d gained for the role. Rolling his eyes, he flipped the bird at his phone, tossed it into the pocket of his robe, and pulled the tube of raw cookie dough from the fridge. He forwent the spoon, taking a big bite of the dough, and leaned over the counter thinking.

An idea hit him: he could just send the measurements that were taken when he arrived on set to shoot ten months ago. He smiled as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his notes before it dawned on him that he had to be measured and then remeasured a few times over the course of the shoot because his costumes kept shrinking. As he wondered who he needed his assistant to contact to track down the measurements, another email arrived from his management team: DON’T ASK FOR PRIOR MEASUREMENTS. THEY WON’T BE ACCURATE ANYMORE.

He scowled at his screen. “Mother fucker.”

*****

It had been a while since he’d been to a tailor, normally opting for off the rack because prior to this role, he was within the sample size range. He was pretty sure he still was. Sure, he had less of the iconic ‘slutty little waist’ and sure, his belly had stuck out when he wasn’t close to being full, but there was no way he was that much bigger.

At least he thought that until the seamstress, an older European woman, came out and began to measure him. Every time he felt the measuring tape pull tight against his body followed by the older woman calling out a number much higher than he anticipated, his body reacted. Not negatively – no, quite the opposite. He was getting hard.

Even after the project wrapped, he kept you on as his private cook, telling you that now he’d had a bite of his ‘Cookie’, there was no way he could have any other. And while nothing was official between you, he hadn’t fucked around with anyone else, and even cleared out his extensive vintage clown pornography collection from the guesthouse and set you up in there so you could live on sight. He loved the praise you gave when he finished his meals and he craved the look you gave when he sat back, belly heavy and sitting on his lap.

He needed to get home. Now.

****

You stood at the door to the pantry, debating on whether to make burritos or chicken korma for dinner that evening when you heard the door from the garage open and slam loudly. Before you could ask if everything was okay, Dieter was behind you, shoving you against the wall, his front to your back.

“Fuck, you do your job so good.”, he grunted, biting softly into your neck. His whole thick body pinned you and he bucked his hips, seeking friction.

“Most bosses offer a raise… not a full body slam.”, you breathed back with a smile.

“Most bosses…”, he panted, “aren’t grateful… enough.”

“Dieter… we can go to the bedro-“

“No… right… oh fuck… right here’s fine…”, he grunted with a whine. He ground his hips, and his painfully hard erection finally found the right angle against your left ass cheek.

“Dee! The couch! Not here!”

His breathing picked up and he bit the crux of your neck and shoulder with a whine. “Just… almost… need this…”

 You pushed your body from the wall with all your strength, but it was no use; Dieter’s additional weight had made his physical self just as stubborn as his personality.

“Got me so… fuckin’ big… Olga… measured me… no idea… who I was… said I was a… a fat man…”, he whimpered in grunts, breath panting over the skin he’s made wet on your neck and shoulder.

You couldn’t help but moan in response, and his arm snaked around to your front, cupping your legging clad mound, and pulling your ass against him harder. It was almost painful, but also euphoric. Dieter’s breaths became faster and carried high pitch whines with them.

“I promise… I’ll fuck… I’ll fuck you later… after dinner… just need… to cum n-oh fuck!”

You felt a warmth through your leggings on your ass cheek and his whines hit heights that only dogs could hear. When he finally stilled, his body relaxed enough that you could turn around and face him. He gave you a goofy half grin with heavy lidded eyes.

“Now that we got that out of the way, I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”

[commsroom]

first of all thank you so much for having this blog and sharing your thoughts!! your eiffelposting (and heraposting) has literally got me through the post w359 Grieving Process after running though the whole thing in about 2 weeks and your character insight is. well. chefs kiss. Eiffel Understander Of All Time. 2 things: 1, if it’s ok, you’ve mentioned before about an eiffel version of change of mind, and the idea has (1/2)

(2/2) literally stuck with me since and i’d love to hear your thoughts on that if you have any! 2, are there active w359 discords about bc i got a deep need to yap about all this (apologies if the first msg came through twice, tumblr's being weird)

oh, it makes me very happy to hear that!! your art is a gift, and i'm glad i can offer you something in return.

as for your question... yes! okay. the basic premise is to frame eiffel losing (and regaining) his memory as a catalyst for character growth, as a narrative parallel to lovelace's death and resurrection, rather than a resolution. i think it's noteworthy that the finale has eiffel faced with himself from first a very internal (the final confrontation literally taking place inside his head) and then a very external (hearing his logs as an outsider after losing his memory) perspective and i think the natural extension of this is, well. to confront him with himself.

one of the most key things about eiffel's character arc is that he wants to escape himself. "it's taken me this long to realize that running from everyone else means that you're alone with yourself" but, as addressed in constructive criticism, he's also running from himself. he doesn't like what he hears on those tapes, but the eiffel of succulent rat-killing tar both is and isn't the eiffel of brave new world, and i think that's what's being set up/suggested at the end.

i think viewing eiffel's memory loss as a death is incomplete, while viewing it as a "fresh start" or anything of the sort is incompatible with his existing character arc. but if you think of it as part of this pattern of eiffel trying to escape himself, and ending up still stuck with himself...? if he makes the big sacrifice, "escapes" the person he is as much as anyone can, and then finds he's still stuck with himself, still has to live as the person he is...? then, what next?

(i think this also ties in well with maintaining sobriety; addiction, self-destructive impulses and the desire to not be present in his life, etc. are all rooted in the same things.)

my concept of eiffel regaining his memory would be this sort of... fever dream "life flashing before his eyes" sequence of stepping into significant moments in his life (as a stranger) and interacting with himself, and needing to accept / reintegrating all of these versions of who doug eiffel is and has been. that the question of "am i still doug eiffel?" is one of accountability for his past but that he's always been changing and will continue to grow. i think a key part of this would be him seeing these moments through a pop culture lens / as if it's a movie and then more gradually seeing what they really are. ideally, these would be moments tied to specific songs for him; eiffel's internal soundtrack is well beyond wolf 359's budget, i'm sure, but it's a hypothetical anyway. these would be real memories, in some form, but obviously none of this would be happening for real; it's just how i think his brain would make sense of it (while he's presumably unconscious.) it's like sarah shachat said about eiffel's story in limbo: to tell that story, he would first have to make it a story.

i like this because i think it works well with eiffel's existing arc. i like it because it provides a different angle on self-exploration via memory in the same vein as memoria and change of mind. i like it because it makes a good potential parallel to shut up and listen/constructive criticism, and to mayday (eiffel alone with the voices of others vs. eiffel literally alone with himself.) it feels like a natural extension + heightened conclusion to things that i feel are already implied + set up. and, while i like where wolf 359 ended and would never want to add to it, i like imagining what zach valenti would do with a bunch of different versions of eiffel at different stages of his life interacting; i think he would knock it out of the park with material like that.

i think the real core of identity in wolf 359 is in these moments where people assert who they are, or decide to be who they are. again, in parallel to lovelace... the same way that lovelace decides to be isabel lovelace, "even if [she] never has been before", eiffel would decide to be doug eiffel, all the people he's been, the person he is now, and all the people he's going to be.

(as for discord... i think there are some, but unfortunately i don't know of any that i would personally recommend. you are always welcome to ramble at Me on discord, but i know that's probably not the same.)

[sophieinwonderland]

Hullo! I have questions? I’m trying to figure out what endogenic systems are, and it’s all decently new to me.

If this ask is rude in any way please void

What is a willowgenic system?

Are median-systems (monoconcious) systems strictly endogenic?

Are dreamaway systems (maladaptive daydreaming systems, MaDDs systems) endogenic? (Curious about this one because anti-endos do not like answering that one)

And last but not least, how does tulpmacy works (idk if I spelt that right)

Thank you for your time!!!

Hi there! Thanks for the questions!

A "willogenic" system is a term for a created system, and is usually used as an alternative to tulpamancy. The big difference being that tulpamancy has a much more extensive community with a masive trove of resources that isn't always connected to the more general plural community.

I don't much like "willogenic" as a term personally as I feel it simplifies the process, suggesting the headmates can be created through will alone.

Tulpamancy generally works, in its most basic form, by talking to an entity in your head until it becomes autonomous and sentient. There are a few different variations of this.

The most popular in the community seems to be starting from scratch. You give your tulpa an appearance and imagine their appearance, but not much else. Maybe you'll imagine a few personality traits for them as well. If you talk to them enough and treat them like their own person, you'll eventually hear a voice belonging to them. It will sound similar to your internal thoughts, but different at the same time. So the job of a tulpamancer is to listen for these voices. Or often before a voice, you may instead sense your tulpa's feelings and emotions in the beginning before the tulpa is actually vocal. (This is usually called tulpish.)

The less popular method, but the most common for producing accidental tulpas, is creating a more-developed character and "parroting," where you speak for them in the beginning. Do this long enough, and that character you controlled initially will develop independence and autonomy. Many tulpamancers end up being writers whose creations become sentient.

The reason for this, I believe, is that a lot of fiction writing involves low levels of dissociation. When you think about it, it requires you to compartmentalize. To feel what a character feels, you need to put all your knowledge and feelings as the writer in one box, and the feelings of the character in a second box.

This is even more true when you start talking to the character, and having conversations with them as yourself.

And no, median systems are not inherently endogenic. There are plenty of median systems out there who are traumagenic, and one could consider certain forms of OSDD a type of median system. Additionally, many polyfragmented systems will describe having median subsystems.

Dreamway systems will also vary in origin. Some are traumagenic. Some are endogenic. And sometimes it's complicated.

Maladaptive daydreaming itself is heavily associated with trauma, but can exist without trauma present. This is because of an addictive quality of daydreaming. And even if the daydreaming is caused by trauma, that doesn't mean that the system is. In a traumagenic system, the system is created by the trauma directly, and the brain basically trying to quarantine the trauma from the rest of the system. In a dreamway system, the maladaptive daydreaming may be caused by trauma, but that doesn't mean the system is.

Dreamway systems, even if the MADD itself is traumagenic, may lack the "EP" or trauma-holding headmates characteristic of CDDs (complex dissociative disorders) under the structural dissociation model.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Hi there! So happy I found your blog! I also love everything Rohan 😄 I'm a linguist and am just wondering about the language of Rohan. Given your extensive knowledge of our beloved kingdom, I was wondering if you'd be able to share what you know about their language? I understand it's supposed to be similar to Old English? Would a modern-day English-speaking person be able to understand them at all? Or at least identify it as a language that is similar to Old English? Did the people of Rohan more commonly speak Rohanese/Rohirric or Westron? Did all of them speak/understand both languages? Thank you so much!

Hello, Anonymous! I’m so glad you’re here and that you enjoy what you’ve found so far! Your question, coming from a linguist, makes me a little nervous because I am very much not. But I have confidence that someone else will pop in to correct me if I screw it up!

Any discussion of Rohirric gets complicated by the framing device Tolkien used. We’re supposed to believe that LOTR is an in-universe history, written by people who were there and who wrote in Westron. So what we see as English in the published book is supposed to be Tolkien’s translation of Westron. He then picked Old English to represent the language of the Rohirrim as a way to demonstrate the relationship between Rohirric and Westron – namely, Rohirric is an older, more archaic language than Westron with some shared historical origins (though the shared origins between Rohirric and Westron are not as direct as the way that English descended from Old English).

That means Old English is just used to make a point, not to show us what the language itself looked or sounded like. For that, we mostly have Legolas’s description (“rich and rolling”, “hard and stern” and “laden with sadness” 😬) and a few individual words that are mostly found in History of Middle Earth. The differences between the actual language and the Old English representation is pretty huge! The Old English-style name Éothéod (“horse people”) is actually Lohtûr. The name Théoden (coming from Old English meaning “king of the people”) is Tûrac in Rohirric. Because we know “loh” means horse in Rohirric and Éomer and Éowyn’s names both have eo- coming from Old English for “horse,” their real names would start with Loh- as well!

So a real Rohirric speaker would be using a language that has no relationship to Old English and wouldn’t be intelligible to a speaker of any form of English. As to whether a speaker of Old or Modern English would be able to understand Tolkien’s Old English-based representation of Rohirric, I’m not sure. He clearly knew a lot about Old English, so I imagine his use of that is probably pretty good (though he definitely made changes, like replacing “þ” with “th”). And I know that sometimes, as a modern English speaker, I can recognize and understand Old English words, but only those that made their way down to us largely unchanged. If I listen to someone reciting a whole bunch of Old English, it still sounds mostly like mush to me.

As for what languages are used on a daily basis in Rohan, I think we’re supposed to consider that Rohirric is the everyday language. Appendix F notes that the Rohirrim “still speak their ancestral tongue” and the guards at Edoras in TT say that using Rohirric is how they recognize their countrymen and friends. But Tolkien also says the “lords” use Westron freely in the manner of Gondor, and even the Rohirric-speaking guards switch easily to Westron when Gandalf asks them to. That suggests to me that Rohirric is for everyone/everyday use, but Westron is widely known, at least for anyone who might be interacting with outsiders.

I hope that was helpful! And thank you for sharing in love and appreciation for my favorite place in Middle Earth! ♥️🐎🗡️👑

[yandere-paramour]

Heyyyyy. So I wanted to know how it will be if Atalanta and Vivien met darling’s parents, and the parents were like “ yes my daughter has told us everything about you” . And I mean like EVERYTHING like darling said told their parents everything about them( including how they treat darling) but you don’t have to add that if you don’t want to. Hope you’re doing well btw ☺️

Vivien is sweating bullets. In my version of the story, Darling has no idea about his murders because he generally only eliminates the scum of society or people who hurt/upset Darling. However, Vivien will immediately freak out and think that everyone knows what he did. His eyes are wide, he's sweating, he's fidgeting, he is literally doing everything to make himself seem more suspicious. And he worked so hard too! He put on a nice shirt and combed his hair all nice, AND he brought Darling's parents a cake he baked. He wanted to make a good impression so bad and now everything is ruined! He doubts Darling will visit him in the maximum-security prison he is definitely getting put in. Vivien's thoughts are spiraling when Darling's Dad says "She told us all about the fresh strawberries you grew for her :D She says you're such a great horticulturist". He just stares for a second, then he snaps back to his regular easy-going personality. But late that night he's lying awake in bed thinking that he needs to calm down and probably not commit any murders for a while. Just in case.

Atalanta brought a very expensive bottle of wine to meet Darling's parents. As the day grew closer, she researched them extensively, trying to discover anything they might bring up. She wants to make sure she seems perfect, and everything seems to be going okay, but the situation has an unidentifiable weird vibe. They all sit down to dinner and open the bottle of wine. I doubt Darling would actually say out loud what Atalanta has done; I think there's a higher chance the parents would read between the lines or make up their own terrible conclusions. When they say this, Darling freezes and Atalanta's carefully constructed smile drops off her face.

After a full 30 seconds of tense silence, Atalanta speaks, setting down her fork, "Darling, I believe I heard Abebe call for me. Could you go see what he wants?"

"But-"

"Darling." Atalanta shoots her eyes to the side, giving Darling a look.

Darling blanches, hurrying up from her seat to go check on the guards stationed outside the suburban home. When she leaves, Atalanta turns her attention back to her in-laws. She expertly picks up her wine glass, swirling the golden liquid a little.

"Now, I truly believe I heard you wrong. What was that you said?" One could never say Atalanta wasn't kind; here she was giving them a second chance.

"I'm going to the police about what you've done with my daughter," Your father hisses, standing out of his seat, "You won't get away with this, you bitch."

Atalanta takes a sip of white wine, the corners of her mouth turning up into a small smirk, "Oh Richard... Who's going to believe you?"

Your father turns an angry red and your mother tries to pull him back down, looking between him and Atalanta in fear.

"Thank you for having me in your lovely home," Atalanta stands up, inclining her head in respect to her elders, "I'll send my precious Darling in to say goodbye. I suggest you stay quiet, if only for your own self-interest. I am extraordinarily lenient with my Darling, but that benevolence does not extend much farther. I'd hate to have to arrange some sort of "accident". I expect Y/N to be back in the car in five minutes.

She smiles, showing off her perfect teeth, "Please have a good night and a pleasant tomorrow."

Atalanta walks away, leaving your terrified and fuming parents in her wake.