#i simply answered: i’m doing it for the people

[mggslover]

Reflections

In which Spencer sees himself in a suspect, making him willing to do anything to protect her. Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: crime x angst? x fluff? Content warnings: post prisoner!spencer (but no spoilers bc i'm still on s11 lol, so sorry for inaccuracies), one time mention of suicide and rape (no details), fade to black smut so suggestive content Word count: 3,8k A/n: my own entry for #lovers1kevent ! bit different from what i usually write. didn't exactly turn out like how i had envisioned it, but i'm still very curious to hear your thoughts!

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. I see my reflection in your eyes.” The sound of a clock striking midnight made you jump in your seat, the plastic stool screeching loudly against the cold, concrete floor. The interrogation room was filled with nothing but the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the pounding of your heartbeat. Everything in this room felt eerie: a harsh light shone down on you, irritating your eyes, and there was no escaping your reflection in the two-way mirror in front of you. You observed yourself through the glass, and to put it simply, you looked awful. The dress you were wearing was crumpled as it hung loosely on your frame, the dark circles under your eyes were noticeable from a distance, and your eyes themselves expressed no spark. They looked dimmed, with no emotion behind the colored irises. Though, that had been so for a while now.

The creak of the door jolted you out of your thoughts. You turned your head, feeling disappointment when the same agent as before walked in. He wasn’t hard on the eyes: dark skin, rolled-up sleeves that showed his muscular forearms, a neatly trimmed goatee covering his sharp jaw, and eyes that looked just as cutting as they darted over you. Maybe, in another life, you would’ve considered dating him. In a life where he didn’t suspect you of killing three men.

He stayed quiet as he made his way over to you, taking a seat at the opposite side of the table. He placed a folder in front of him, shoving it toward you. “Still not going to talk?”

You cleared your throat. Nevertheless, the words came out hoarse. “I have nothing to say.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance before crossing his arms. “Do I need to remind you of your rights? You can contact a lawyer, or we can get you one.”

“I also have the right to remain silent.”

A small huff escaped his lips, and you noticed the way he clenched his fingers, as though trying to hold himself back from making a comment he’d regret.

His eyes landed back on you, glaring. “A girl like you won’t survive in prison.”

“Well, then it’s good that I’m not going to prison,” you snapped back with a small smile. You weren’t going to let him intimidate you. You didn’t do anything wrong, yet here you were.

“I’d lose the attitude if I were you because it’s not looking good.”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, he cut you off. “Open the folder.”

You inhaled deeply before obeying. You hated the way you couldn’t help the nerves from creeping in. Your hand trembled as you opened the folder. The picture that greeted you was one of three lifeless bodies slumped over each other in an empty alley. A bitter tang formed in the back of your throat, but you ignored it, forcing yourself to look back at the agent.

“Looks familiar?”

Your eyes flicked over the image again. “What exactly are you referring to?”

“The people. Do you recognize them?”

You nodded.

“I want a clear answer,” he said, his voice raised.

“Yes,” you replied, matching his tone. “We went to college together.”

There was no way you could forget them. Unfortunately. The idea that they were wiped off the face of earth gave you a strange sense of comfort. Maybe now you could find the peace you’d been looking for. The peace she was looking for.

The agent seemed relieved to have gotten an answer out of you. “And you met up with them again today. Is that right?” he queried, nodding toward the folder.

You got the hint and pulled the first picture off the pile, revealing another underneath it. It was a selfie taken by two women. You spotted yourself in the right corner by the bar, in conversation with the three men he was referring to. His gaze stayed focused on you, trying to see if you’d reveal any emotion.

“It was our college reunion. As you can see I wasn’t the only one there,” you explained.

“Multiple witnesses have told us you were the last person seen talking to them.”

You shrugged. “Is that something significant?”

“Not necessarily so,” he answered, sitting up straighter. “What is, is that you left through the emergency exit. And what makes it even more suspicious is that you left right after the victims got their drinks served.”

You gave him a blank look.

“The victims were poisoned.”

Ah.

You offered him a tight smile. “I think that’s something you need to bother the bartender about.”

“We checked him out already. The only person we can connect to this case is you.”

A silence followed. It truly didn’t seem like you’d be leaving anytime soon. You rubbed your hands down on the material of your dress, gathering courage.

“It’s an unfortunate coincidence. Like I told you, I had nothing to do with it. I don’t want anything to do with them,” you clarified, the disdain evident on your tongue.

The agent turned his head around, looking at the two-way mirror. The thought of other agents standing behind that wall, all analyzing you full of judgement, made your skin crawl. 

“Seems like you’re not too fond of the men.”

You scoffed, “No one is.”

“What about Natalie Fisher?” he wondered aloud. “She seemed close to you. We found multiple pictures dating back to high school.”

Like a gust of wind, the memories came back to you. How you found Natalie standing in front of your college dorm room, smiling brightly as she introduced herself as your roommate. You instantly hit it off: sharing the same humor, the same passions. Only a year younger than you, but a carbon copy. From that day on you were inseparable. 

It all came back to that one night — that one time you bailed on her, deciding studying for an upcoming exam was more important than joining her at a frat party. It was only when she called you awake in the middle of the night, her voice shaking as her words tripped over her tongue, telling you she didn’t know where she was and how she woke up in an empty alley, possibly drugged and with her clothes torn — that you knew you made the biggest mistake in your life.

You shook the thoughts away. Pursing your lips as you shrugged. “She was. I don’t know why you’re bringing her up.”

“Her report says she died two years ago from suicide. Or did you kill her as well?”

It felt like he’d knocked the breath out of you. You made a choking sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “You’re sick,” you spat in disbelief.

“I’m sick?” He chuckled sarcastically. “You’re the one who murdered those people.”

“I didn’t murder anyone!”

The sound of your yelling reverberated off the concrete walls, the echo scaring you. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back tears as you bit your tongue. There goes your attempt at staying calm. He was playing games with your mind. You knew this was all a trick — a way to get you to admit to the crimes he was naming. And it drove you crazy that it was having an effect.

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” you muttered.

-`♡´-

Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as he looked through the glass. You’d been sitting there for three hours, forty-three minutes, and twenty-six seconds, counting. He didn’t know what it was about you that made it impossible to look away. Hotch had told him to go home. Hotch was certain that they got the right unsub, and he assured him that you’d confess at some point. But he couldn’t get himself to move. To turn his head even. All he felt was a nagging guilt as he watched you being questioned by Morgan. It was a different experience to see an interrogation when he’s been in one himself. He now understood what it was like. How pressuring their questions can be, how the weight of a sentence is crushed on your shoulders, and how they keep pushing you to the point where you even start doubting your own truth. 

All he could think of when he saw you was innocence. A soft, radiant white light surrounded you. You were bright even against the harshness of the room. There was no rational way to explain how he felt, only that he sensed the deepest desire to keep you safe from everything that could hurt you.

“She’s working on my nerves,” Morgan exclaimed, tension visible in his shoulders as he stomped out of the interrogation room. 

“We can’t stop,” Hotch stated. “We haven’t gotten an answer out of her yet.”

Morgan let out a deep huff. “It’s clear that she did it.”

Spencer's focus was back on you. Since he’s been to prison he’s been more aligned with his feelings. His heart overpowering his mind at times. 

“She’s not our unsub,” Spencer spoke up, surprising even himself with the firmness of his voice.

Everyone looked at him expectantly, waiting for the genius revelation he always had. But the room stayed silent.

Hotch eyed him, “What makes you say that?”

“I just know.” Spencer replied, not caring to elaborate further. He nudged Derek aside and headed for the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

He pulled the heavy metal door open, at once met with your doe eyes as you faced him. For the first time tonight, you didn’t flinch when someone entered. 

Spencer had to swallow. His gaze momentarily dropped to the floor, feeling overwhelmed by how beautiful you looked up close. You seemed tired, cold, yet somehow angelic.

His eyes never left yours as he made his way over to you. You held his gaze, observing him with the same intensity as he was. He carried a calm, magnetic presence, which made you feel an unexplainable urge to get closer to him.

“Are you cold?” he eventually asked, his voice gentle and considerate.

You blinked at his question, clearly not expecting it. You remembered how you were only wearing a light dress, noticing the goosebumps that had formed on your bare legs. Inevitably, you nodded.

He surprised you again by taking off his suit jacket and draping it over your shoulders. The fabric felt heavy, enveloping you like a warm blanket.

“Thank you,” you silently mumbled, noticing a small dimple appear in his cheek.

He sat down in front of you, resting his arms on the table between you, as though compelled to get as close as possible. The moment felt intimate, your eyes locked on his tender brown ones, making the world fade around you. “I believe you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, a frown formed on your face as you realized he wasn’t about to say more. “What?”

“I believe you,” he repeated in the same composed manner. He leaned forward even further, and it was then that you noticed you had subconsciously mirrored his movement, drawn to him like a magnetic pull. 

“They suspect you, but I don’t.”

He didn’t need to rephrase his words for you to understand who he meant by them. You could almost feel the other agents’ glaring stares pressing down on you through the glass.

“Try to forget about them,” he reminded you, as if reading your thoughts. You didn’t look up to face him, instead your focus was on the proximity of your hands on the table, his finger just inches away from touching yours. Spencer noticed the look in your eyes, and moved his little finger just enough to brush against yours.

An electric shock coursed through you. Simultaneously, both of you shuddered, stunned as you saw the other wearing the same stupefied expression. Sure, it could’ve been a static shock, but something told you it was more than that. And by the look of the curly haired agent, he felt the same.

“Why don’t you?” you asked, returning to the subject. “Suspect me, I mean.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “Because I know what it’s like to be in a situation like you are.” He saw the confusion written on your face, continuing his explanation. “There’s something about being in a room like this — being treated like you’re guilty before you even speak — that makes you start questioning your own truth.” 

Questions flooded your mind, but you chose not to press further. You had someone who believed you, you weren’t going to ruin that opportunity by being too curious.

“So, what now?” your voice sounded more sure, hopeful even.

“Usually, we ask people if they’re willing to take a polygraph exam,” he explained. “It can also be referred to as a lie detector test, even though that term is often used incorrectly. A professional will ask a series of questions, and as you answer, the device will measure multiple psychological indicators which are associated with lying, like your blood pressure and pulse. I know it can sound scary, but in cases like these — when there’s no clear evidence — it might be the only thing keeping you from going to prison.”

His words hit you hard, though the gleam in his eyes remained soft. You inhaled deeply before nodding. “I’ll do it.”

-`♡´-

“She’s telling the truth.”

You hadn’t known pure relief until now. Your eyes closed, trying to stop the flood of emotions from flowing in when the pressure cuffs and sensors were being removed from your arms and hands. You didn’t know whether to cry or to cheer, but when you opened your eyes and saw Spencer — who had introduced himself as Dr. Reid, smiling at you, you were sure everything would turn out okay.

“Impossible,” the agent who questioned you earlier huffed under his breath.

The chief who had introduced himself as Aaron Hotchner walked up to you. “For now you’re free to go. However, this case isn’t closed yet. You’ll remain our primary suspect until we find more proof.”

The sharpness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. You kept quiet as he and the other agents left the room, leaving you alone with Dr. Reid.

He closed the distance between you two, standing near enough that he could see all the details on your face. He fought the urge to tuck the loose strings of hair behind your ear, to hold you and tell you that you were okay.

“You did really well,” he said with a soft smile. “Your heartbeat stayed on an average of 70 beats per minute, only going up to 86 once, which is still in the normal range.”

“Did you peek at the monitor?” you jokingly teased.

“I- uh, no. I just counted.” Spencer shyly admitted, earning a playful grin from you. You took his hand in yours, his palm slightly sweaty, as if he was nervous about the outcome too. Then you placed his hand on your chest, right where your heart was. “What about now? Higher than average?”

He swallowed, a blush creeping up his neck. “95 beats per minute.”

The tension between you was palpable, though his touch felt comforting. Your hand was placed over his, and you could both feel the way your heartbeat steadily decreased as you brushed your fingers soothingly over his.

“Can I drive you home?” Spencer offered.

You bit your lip in an effort to hide your grin, but then the corners of your mouth slightly dropped. “I don’t really have a place to stay.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but an empathetic twinkle appeared in his bambi eyes. “You could stay at my place.”

Spencer wasn’t sure why the words came out, but he meant them. He could practically hear the voices of his team telling him to not get involved with someone on a case, let alone a potential suspect. But it wasn’t like he was the first person to do so. And he wouldn’t waste the opportunity of getting closer to you. Maybe if he could get to know you better, if he could make you comfortable enough to open up to him, he could prove to everyone that you were innocent. Because deep down, he knew you were.

-`♡´-

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing, man?” Morgan called out, rushing after Spencer, who had just entered the bullpen to grab his satchel bag before heading out with you.

“Hotch told me I could go home,” he hastily replied, stuffing his papers into his bag.

“Yeah, two hours ago. Before you decided to flirt with a suspect,” he exclaimed in frustration.

“I didn’t flirt with her,” Spencer recounted under his breath.

Morgan let out a dry laugh. “Everyone saw what went on in that room, Reid,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I would’ve least expected this from someone like you.”

“Someone like me doesn’t exist anymore, Derek,” Spencer snapped, a sharp edge to his voice. “I’m not who I was before prison, and neither will I ever be that person again. However, I can help her from turning into someone like me. So, if you don’t mind, I am leaving now.” 

He left Morgan at a loss of words as he walked off. You were waiting on him; your posture stiffened as you wrapped his jacket closer around you. Gently, Spencer threaded his fingers through yours and guided you to the elevator.

Once inside, Spencer pressed the button to the ground floor, then leaned his head back to the wall, letting out a fatigued sigh.

“I am sorry for causing you trouble,” you apologized, nervously picking at the fabric of his jacket that hung loosely over your arms.

His gaze softened, and he shook his head before he reached out to hold your hand once more. It was ironic how he longed for your grounding touch. “You’re not causing me any trouble. I’m sorry for the way they’re treating you. It’s our job to be cautious, to not easily trust someone.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you trust me,” you stated, though it came out more as a question, waiting for confirmation.

His other hand lifted up to touch your cheek, and his heart warmed at how you instinctively leaned into his touch. “I do.”

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Can you prove it to me?”

He responded with a soft chuckle, reaching up to cup your face in his large palms. You rose to your tiptoes, leaning in until his sweet lips found yours.

-`♡´-

Spencer had expected to spend the ride home talking to you. Instead, you spent the entire ride trying to resist the urge to climb on top of each other. Once he tasted your lips, he couldn’t get enough, and neither could you.

Your giggle sounded through the dimly lit halls of his apartment complex as he dragged you up the stairs. 

“Hurry,” you impatiently chuckled as he struggled to find his keys in his bag. He joined your giddy laughter as you entered the apartment. The second he shut the door close, he gently pressed you against the wall, his lips finding yours again. You let out a satisfied hum, your fingers sliding into the soft curls of his hair, tugging on it as he bit down on your bottom lip.

“Wait—one second,” he murmured.

“No,” you pouted, capturing his lips. 

He kissed you back—then again, and again—before finally pulling away. “I just need to put my gun away.”

“Fine,” you mumbled, pressing one last kiss to his lips. “Just make it quick.”

He gave you a big grin and walked to the cupboard, where his safe was hidden behind his jackets and a row of spare shoes. It felt strange to have someone in his apartment. Strange to be smiling so brightly, to feel so much, after the emptiness prison has brought him. But strange didn’t mean bad. It felt new. And new could be good. You could be good.

His fingers pressed down on the familiar buttons: 62383. With a soft click, the lock opened; he took his gun from its holster on his pants and safely put it away.

When he turned back, he saw you leaning against the wall, a sweet expression on your face as you awaited him. He strode toward you, immediately pulling you in and kissing you fiercely.

Spencer was aware of his actions. Aware that he shouldn’t be doing what he was about to do with you. But as his hand made contact with the warm skin of your inner thighs, and as your sweet sounds filled the air, he chose to simply not care.

-`♡´-

The next morning you woke up with messy curls tingling against your face. You chuckled as Spencer lay asleep with his head resting on your chest. Your fingers ached with the urge to graze them through his hair, to press a soft kiss to the top of his head. Instead, you held your breath as you climbed from underneath him.

The golden sun shone brightly through the curtains, illuminating your surroundings. You tiptoed through the room, gathering the items of clothes one by one, until you were fully dressed. 

Wearing yesterday’s dress sent a shiver through your body, being reminded of the long hours spent in that bleak interrogation room. 

You mumbled a sorry, before opening his closet and fishing a T-shirt out of it, a blue one with a faded Caltech logo, barely visible. You ignored the thoughts forming in your head, the itch to want to know more about the man who was still sleeping soundlessly in the bed that you shared. 

Once you found yourself a suitable pair of pants, Spencer started groaning from the other side of the room. You turned around, catching his hand patting down the empty space beside him, as if in search of the heat of your body. It felt irresistible to not check up on him. You slowly made your way to his side of the bed, crouching down and lightly stroking his face. His eyes blinked open, and the way he smiled made your heart churn. 

“I need to go,” you softly whispered to him.

His smile faltered. “Where to?” He sat up straighter on the bed, but you gently pushed him back down.

“Will I see you again?” Spencer asked when you didn’t respond.

Your lips curled in a smile, “I’m sure you will.”

And sure you were, because as soon as you left the bedroom, you were headed to the cupboard, pushing aside the jackets that hung on the hooks, until your eyes landed on the shining steel safe. 

62383.

The lock sprung open, and in a swift motion you took the gun and hid it in the bottom of your purse. I will be seeing you again, Spencer. Just under different circumstances.

[baepsays]

Love Hangover⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

synopsis: "Call me back. Call me back. Call me back." — love hangover by Jennie & Dominic Fike

Cw: toxic relationship, emotional cheating, manipulation, just sex and NSFW stuff, choking (took something from the mv and applied it where I think they implied it :3 ), lot of back and forth, use of the word 'bitch' to refer to the reader (not by Gojo), hate sex, oral sex, fem anatomy, no particular use of pronouns for reader, lowkey angst sorryyy, they are just both pretty shitty lol. Mention of alcohol consumption and cigarettes

'Call me back' received. 2.13AM 

You and Gojo Satoru might be great people, your respective friends will agree. But when you're together it's as if all hell breaks loose. They do not understand. Neither do you two. He makes you so unlike yourself, so unrecognizable, it's often difficult for you to fathom the person you become around him. 

He becomes an unbearable prick; controlling and smothering you, simply too much for you to handle. In return you become a shady bitch; criticizing his every gesture. “Roses instead of lilies? Did you confuse me for someone else?” One day you would be joking over the dinner you made him, next day you would be wishing he was dead. Going through his phone, shouting at him and asking if he is speaking to his exes, was a regular occurrence. Then you won’t talk altogether, but just fight constantly—while lying under your covers together, while eating, on the phone, in public— just making things harder for everyone and yourselves. Until one of you goes;

‘I’m over, I'm so over.’

But you two would always end up where you started. One coincidental meeting with Gojo Satoru somewhere, anywhere, could be that you're across the street from each other; sitting in different restaurants, with different people— and that would be enough for both of you. Doesn't matter he has some girl hanging off his arms. Or the fact you are on a second date with some guy, thinking this might be something serious; a single, double, triple back from him, and suddenly the fact that he was still entertaining his date while you could practically feel his gaze burning your skin, won’t matter—not that it did not bother you. In fact, to put it simply, you do not really mind when he plays you. Because you two will always end up back in each other’s arms. 

‘One minute, we're growin' apart, and next, I'm in her apartment.’

And here you go again. Doesn't matter how many times either of you tell yourselves and your friends that ‘I swear I'll never do it again!’ But you always do it again, and again, and again. He always ends up ringing your doorbell, unannounced. Does not matter you did not pick up his calls, does not matter you did not answer his texts— One “Call me back” at 2 AM, then suddenly he is at your door. And you know he will be there. No matter what, you two always end up in front of each other’s doors. You may not answer his texts or calls; but when you open the door for him and beckon him inside, he will always be welcomed with two glasses of wine. For the sake of the pretense of wanting to have a civil conversation over wine like two grown adults, finally resolving this push and pull and drawing a firm boundary— is all a faux excuse. you still have the keys to his place, and he still has the keys to yours. And they are not being returned any time soon.  

In a flash you're on your couch, back arching off from its surface and fingernails digging in and ruining the fabric. Again. The other hand would be a tangled mess in his hair. The bigger mess would be pooled under you and around his mouth. Again. Eating you out like he has never before, or he might never again. But he knows better than that. 

So, you would start all over again. Things would be blissful for a while. Sweet talking, going on dates, reminiscing about everything which was good. Thinking this time you would take it slow. Take your time with just hanging out and getting to know each other all over again, promising to not repeat the past. All over again. Though when you two would go out for dinner, all that talk would bore you to death. It is not that you feel like staying with Satoru because of who he is, in fact the more you think about that the more it makes you want to leave him, but you want nothing more than to keep him around, forever. And Satoru knows that, hates that really. Always thinking “what's up with that?” — but just as the waiter would bring out the check, you would gaze at him all sultry and go, 

"Let's head to mine."

And all Satoru would be able to utter is , "Okay, awesome."

Subsequently, there would be just lots, lots of sex. Spending days in bed; skipping work, calling in sick, flaking on friends and practically going missing. And everyone would already know what to expect, nothing new, just the cycle repeating itself. 

Spending days in each other’s company giggling about, high on sex and the thrill of having each other back. Then the nights would pass with him being  buried, as deep as he possibly can be, inside of you. Just spending nights watching you get naked instead of watching the movie he chose himself— roaming his hands all over every ridge and curve on your body, encoding new details, leaving kisses and marks all over you. Places where everyone will be able to see, but also places only he would be able to access; tucked away safe even from your own eyes.  Letting the muscles inside your pussy hug him snug, fitting like she has never known anyone but him, because even she knows no matter who comes and goes— his shape will stay. 

As soon as he would get his hopes back up again. Just as soon the momentary bliss would be unexpectedly cut short. One day you are holding each other to sleep after indulging in each other’s bodies, the next moment you are shaking his hands off you and he is waking up with cold sweat all over him. Then you would stop reciprocating his kisses, leaving his lips cracking. Giving short and curt replies to questions, getting irritated over small things. Not that this is unprovoked. Unknowingly to Satoru, before he could delete the texts from the girls flooding his phone and block their numbers; you saw it all.

Back to square one. Fights and nights spent away from each other doing reckless stuff to provoke each other. Because why are you kissing his eyelids and calling him your one and only one moment, and then accusing him of ruining your life another day.

Soon enough you’re going to a club and letting people openly hit on you. Ignoring his calls and texts, to a point he has no choice but to pull up your location (do not ask how he got that). Then letting him drag you back to his place, shout out profanities at you, rip off every piece of clothing from your body. Doing nothing about him pushing you face down on the bed, pulling on the necklace— which he gave you—on your throat from behind and practically choking you, as the necklace leaves behind marks on top of the marks he previously left behind with his lips and teeth. As he thrusts himself inside you, mercilessly, not even letting you turn back around, putting all his body weight on yours— very literally smothering as always. One hand keeping a firm grasp on your throat while the other comes down to place slaps on your thighs and ass, from time to time. You would barely phrase something between loud moans and whines, “F- fuck you.” 

“You are. As always” all he would reply with with a singular impactful thrust. 

Next morning he would wake up to  empty, cold, and wet sheets. A singular half burnt cigarette would be lying on his bedside table, from the stash of cigarettes in his dresser, despite the fact he does not smoke. And a bottle of whisky would be gone from his collection, even though he does not enjoy whisky. All that would be left of your immediate presence, are the shredded to nothing flimsy pair of painties, which you wore last night. Not like you ever went out of his apartment with the same panties you entered through his doors with. 

Concurrently you would be drowning in alcohol, shooting glasses of shots after another to cure the hangover from the day before. You were not one to drink, but you were also not one to be irrational. Yet here you are, hungover and functioning on autopilot. If anyone asked what is wrong, you would not have an answer. Though you do know what this is, the need to never get over this hangover, instead perpetuating and fostering it. Because you know better than anyone that no alcohol will relieve the itch in your throat the way the whisky in Satoru’s cabinet burns down your chest, and alleviates you. You can buy similar whisky, the same brand even, or maybe even a wine or rum— but it won’t taste the same, it won’t get you drunk the same. 

‘I swore l'd never do it again.’

And after a month, Satoru would wake up to a singular missed call from you. 

‘you know I'm gonna do it again.’

a/n: dividers by @/dollywons & @/aquazero, header from the mv for the said song. essentially saw @jumpinglillies talking about wanting to read a Satoru fic based on this song, thanks to them for bringing the song to my attention i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

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[bitchlessdino]

the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend (m) Teaser

A Valentine collaboration hosted by @camandemstudios and their masterlist

Pairing: office manager!seungcheol x childhood friend!fem!reader Genre: romcom, smut, fluff, slight angst Teaser word count: 1.2k rating: R Summary: In a world where relationships mattered just as much as money or status did, Seungcheol found himself wrapped up with a person from twenty years ago. He didn't know how you remembered him, and frankly he didn't know how he remembered you, but the way you've reentered his life, like a gust of wind, he didn't think he'll ever forget you now.

The crowd of Seungcheol’s colleagues all started harmoniously greeting you, their eyes lighting up and genuine smiles forming for the first time since encountering their superior outside the office. You were quick to entertain them, never leaving Seungcheol’s side as his arm essentially became a leash, lugging the thirty-year-old man around like a purse dog, and being at the receiving end, he was too stunned to object.

“Hi, you must work with this guy right here,” you grinned, nudging into Seungcheol with the crown of your head.

“How do you know Mr. Choi, Miss…” Jihoon began to ask, curiosity radiating off of him as much as it did everyone else.

“Well,” you took Seungcheol’s hand out of his pocket, interlocking your fingers together, earning a bigger reaction than a simple thousand-yard stare from the office manager. “I’m Seungcheol’s girlfriend.”

Everyone involved in the conversation stared at you as if you had grown a second head and Seungcheol looked at you as if you had grown a third.

[…] It’s when he realized for once in his life he feared someone, and it was this smiley little creature that lied through their teeth as easily as they breathed.

“Okay looks like it's all good. Looks like we can finally be in business. What will be our first move, considering you are the first to have proposed the idea?”

“Yes, well, that will be the office party the company is hosting. Usually, everyone is required to attend, and I've skipped many events like it–”

“And you want me to come with you to make you look good for your team?”

“No, I want to make you an excuse so I don’t have to go.”

You furrowed your brows. “That’s counterproductive. Literally the opposite of what I’m here for.”

“But neither of us would have to go.”

Your fingers curled up into your palms, forming halfhearted fists before you unfurled them, trying to cherry-pick the right words to get through this tinman’s head. “You have to realize that simply having a girlfriend is not enough for people to like you. It’s about talking you up, showing off your redeeming qualities. Getting people to understand Seungcheol the person, not Seungcheol the boss.”

“Are you proposing I have no redeeming qualities?”

“You were trying to use me as an excuse to avoid going to a company party. What were you going to do with that time on your own?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“This is exactly why you need my help, Cheol,” you reminded, feeling like you’re lecturing a cat about not scratching up the couch.

He gave a light grimace, “You don’t need to call me that childish abbreviation. I have a whole name.”

You leaned over from your seat, staring over at him wide eyes, fluttering your lashes and feigning a lovestruck grin. “I need to give you a nickname if we’re dating. What about Babe? Baby? Honey? Lover?”

“Seungcheol is just fine,” he answered, unaffected, not bothering to look past his laptop.

Your smile dropped in an exaggerated scowl as you pulled yourself back down, crossing your arms. “How have your other girlfriends dealt with you?”

Seungcheol suddenly had nothing else to say, his eyes started darting everywhere but you, leaning back against the booth and preoccupying his mouth with his scalding hot vanilla latte.

Your eyes narrowed at him suspiciously as the silence persisted and the click-clacking of his keyboard, “Seungcheol, you have dated before, right?”

His eyes flitted back to you like a flickering flame before it went out, directing themselves back to his laptop, typing away at something at a more urgent pace, or looking as if he did.

“Oh my god. You haven’t.”

“Silence,” he finally said.

“You…You haven’t been on a date with anyone? With a woman? Or even a man?”

He rolled his eyes, groaning under his breath. “Don’t make a scene.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you reassured, “of course, I'm just very surprised…and confused. For 30 years of your life?”

“It was never something I prioritized.”

“Middle school. High school. College,” you began listing off.

“I went to an all boys school, and college does not leave much time for dating when you’re getting your Bachelor’s and Master’s.”

You waved your hands bizarrely. “So what? You worked your entire life?”

“Yes.”

“…Hmm.”

“What?”

Curiosity killed the cat, so the cat never came to know Seungcheol and apparently he never came to know the cat. “So if you’ve never been on a date, your intimate life…?”

He raised his brow, and sighed, realizing he was doing that a lot today. He closed his laptop, placing his hands neatly in his lap. “That goes without saying, but yes. I haven’t been intimate with anyone.”

“Right,” you responded, processing the information in real time.

“Are we done here? Is this game of 101 questions over with?”

“Just one more.”

“What?”

“What are you so big for then?”

“They’re watching…” He sang, eyes glazing over off in the distance.

You slightly turned your head to watch his view, seeing a few of your friends off in the distance, coming from the beach or slightly in view from the poolside, that could easily catch you in whatever act you and Seungcheol looked like you were up to. However, at this point, everyone seemed to be in their own world, talking, laughing, minding their own businesses. You weren’t sure if it mattered.

You snickered, resting your hands on his shoulders and readjusting your knees as they dug into the seat cushions. “You’re gonna go this far?”

“Yep. I have to look like a good boyfriend.”

You squinted at him suspiciously. “You had a lot to drink, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know?” He mumbled dumbly, his dimple indented extra deep.

You shook your head in disbelief, dipping your head forward and momentarily colliding with his in a headbutt. You reacted as expected, rubbing your forehead at the slight ache you caused, but from the lack of tact of the receiver, your assumptions were true. “You're so drunk right now.”

His hand rose to your hair, patting it down before finding your ear. As he thumbed over the curve of the helix, he could feel the heat bloom between his fingers. “You look so pretty right now.”

“Cheol,” you tried getting up, but he sat you back down, gripping you by your hips until they met his.

“Stay,” he quietly pleaded, his eyes glistening under the moonlight staring back at you with utter need that you have no choice but just melt right back in his touch.

You couldn’t believe the situation happening right now, and neither could your heart in your chest as it started beating at twice its usual rate. All you could focus on was his hands as they traveled up your body, skimming through the thin fabric of your shirt, following up your spine as he let out soft, ragged breaths.

You pressed the pads of your fingers a little deeper into the meat of his shoulders, “S-Seungcheol–”

“Do you know what will really convince them?” His voice is unrecognizable, deep and indulgent.

You made the ghost of a whimper as a finger travelled back down your body as you responded earnestly. “I don’t think we have to do much more convincing. I think they believe us when we say we’re a couple.”

“But you know what will really convince them though?”

You were scared to even ask, thinking a single word would burst this bubble you have no idea how you got caught in. “What?” you asked softly.

[00valentina-writes00]

I just thought about this and thought it was so fuckin cute. Ambessa (I’m so obsessed with her I’m sorry) x reader who likes to play in her hair? Just running her fingers through it and maybe styling it just to take it out later.

I love your work so much, you’re so talented but remember to take breaks every now and then. As usual, thank you. 🖤🖤🖤

This is really cute ngl-

LITTLE rant rq: I love running my hands through peoples hair, or just messing with it in general. It’s SO SO SO- comforting and fun to do. Literally I could sit next to someone for hours with a brush and just style their hair if they would let me.

✞⛧Tresses of Power and Softness✞⛧

Warnings: None! Just fluff

You’ve always found solace in the simple things—the quiet moments, the stillness, the warmth. And tonight, that solace comes in the form of Ambessa Medarda. The cold, commanding warlord who takes what she wants and leaves no room for weakness. Tonight, however, she’s different. Tonight, you see her as she rarely allows anyone else to: soft, vulnerable, and still.

Ambessa sits in front of you, her powerful frame a mix of elegance and strength. The dim light from the candles flickers in her sharp eyes, casting shadows that accentuate the sculpted lines of her face. You sit behind her, your knees grazing the back of her chair, fingers poised to do what feels natural in this moment—run through her hair.

Her hair is short, practical, waves of dark, silky locks that are streaked with silver at the temples, adding a depth to the dark hue. You love it. Love how it feels between your fingers, the texture different from the severity of her usual demeanor. With every brush of your hand through it, you can feel her tension slowly fade away.

You start gently, your fingers tracing along the lines of her scalp, carefully moving through the short waves. Ambessa doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. She simply leans back, resting her head on your chest, allowing you to touch her in this intimate way.

“Do you always find such quiet joy in the small things?” Ambessa’s voice is low, gravelly, as though she’s still adjusting to the feeling of relaxation. You notice the slight amusement in her tone, but there’s a softness there, too. An openness.

You smile, shifting your fingers so they begin to weave into her hair. “Maybe,” you answer, your voice equally soft. “It’s just… nice, you know? The way it feels to be here, with you.”

She hums in response, and you continue your slow, deliberate movements. You gather sections of her hair, carefully styling it the way you like it, always with an eye toward the moment you’ll undo it. She lets you, never questioning your hands.

The first time you did this, you weren’t sure what to expect. It felt intimate—too intimate. Yet, when you brushed your fingers through her hair, you realized just how human she could be. It was an act of care, and something about her letting you do it spoke volumes. Ambessa, who commands armies, who runs Noxus with a firm hand, submitting to this small act of affection.

Ambessa shifts slightly, one of her strong hands resting on your thigh, fingers curling lightly, as if to anchor herself in this moment. The contrast between the weight of her touch and the tenderness in the way she allows you to handle her hair is striking, and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

“I never thought I’d be in a position to trust anyone with something so… trivial,” Ambessa murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, but her words weigh heavily in the air. “But you,” she pauses, her breath steadying, “you’ve found a way.”

You pause, your fingers stilling for a brief moment, feeling the pulse of her breath beneath your touch. There’s something almost sacred about this moment, something you both know but neither of you speak aloud. Trust. Vulnerability. It’s a rare thing in the world of power she inhabits, and yet here she is, letting you care for her in this simple, quiet way.

It doesn’t escape you how different she is when she’s with you, how much more human, how much more like the woman you’ve come to love. A woman who isn’t just a warlord or a general, but someone who can relax in your presence, allow herself to be touched without the weight of expectations.

You resume your work, weaving another section of hair through your fingers, shaping it and twisting it gently. It’s almost a game at this point—styling her hair and taking it out again, a cycle that’s as soothing to you as it seems to be to her.

“Why do you like it?” Ambessa asks suddenly, her tone still soft but curious. Her voice holds an edge of something—something deeper than her usual tactician’s precision.

You smile, your fingers catching a stray lock of hair and carefully smoothing it back into place. “I like the way it feels,” you say, your voice low and unhurried. “I like how it looks when it’s styled, but I like undoing it, too. It’s… comforting, I suppose. To touch you in a way that doesn’t demand anything.”

Ambessa is quiet for a moment, and you feel her muscles, once stiff and tense, gradually soften beneath your hands. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter than before, touched with something rare—vulnerability.

“I didn’t think I could let anyone in like this,” she admits, her fingers tightening slightly on your thigh. “I’ve spent so long keeping others at arm’s length.”

“I know,” you reply softly, not needing to explain. She has always been a fortress, and perhaps that’s part of why you love her so much—the complexity of the woman who holds the world in her hands but, with you, lets it go, if only for a little while.

You twist her hair into another small braid, each movement slow, deliberate, mindful of the way she reacts to your touch. Her breathing has evened out, a sign that she’s not only relaxed but letting herself be cared for.

You finish the braid, pulling it gently through her fingers, watching as she examines it. She turns her head slightly, peering into the reflection in the polished metal of a nearby desk. Her eyes narrow as she inspects the work, the edges of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“It’s… fine,” she says after a beat, her voice soft but laced with approval.

You laugh quietly, brushing your fingers over the braid one more time. “Fine, huh? Well, I think it looks good.”

Ambessa’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “You always think the best of your work.”

You nod, pleased by her rare acknowledgment, but then you let your fingers fall through the braid, undoing the delicate strands, letting the lock of hair fall loose once again.

Ambessa watches you, unbothered by the undone work, a sense of ease settling into her posture. It’s as if the act of letting you touch her hair and undo what you’ve done is as much a part of the ritual as anything else.

“You know,” she says, her tone shifting back to something teasing, “you could do this forever, and I’d still find a way to let you. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse, but I’m starting to think it’s both.”

You laugh again, the sound light and easy. There’s a comfort in it, a softness that you haven’t seen from her very often. She’s a woman of power, of wars and strategy, but with you, in these moments, she lets herself be something else.

And for you, that’s enough. That’s everything.

As you run your fingers through her hair once more, styling and undoing, she leans back into you, a quiet contentment radiating from her. The rest of the world could be falling apart, but in this moment, it doesn’t matter.

Ambessa Medarda is yours, in a way that few can claim. Strong, untouchable, but here, in your arms, she is something else. Vulnerable. Trusting. And utterly, profoundly yours.

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter twenty-eight: The Weight of Silence

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 28 | next

Series Masterlist

The world moved on.

The guests at the masquerade spoke of the Panther Mask in hushed tones for no longer than a night. By morning, his name was nothing more than a fleeting thought, an unspoken reminder of what happened to those who stepped out of line.

No one asked where he had gone.

No one wanted to know.

You sat in front of the vanity in the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the dim light. The space was quiet, save for the soft hum of the ventilation system, the faint sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs outside. Your mask lay discarded on the counter beside you, a cracked reminder of the night before. The adrenaline had long since faded, but the memory of the Panther’s grip on you still lingered like a bruise beneath your skin.

He was gone. You knew that much. But the how—the when—the where—those were things you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to.

The faucet dripped. A slow, steady rhythm. You focused on that sound, grounding yourself in the monotony of it, in the certainty that water would keep falling, that the world would keep moving, regardless of what had just happened.

A soft creak of the bedroom door beyond the bathroom made you stiffen slightly. You already knew who it was.

A moment later, the bathroom door pushed open, and In-ho stepped inside.

His mask was off.

That alone made your breath catch in your throat. He never removed it, not unless he wanted something to be understood without words. His face was as unreadable as ever, his expression set in careful neutrality. But there was something in his eyes—something dark, something lingering.

You swallowed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

It wasn’t really a question.

In-ho exhaled through his nose, stepping further into the space. He didn’t lean against the counter, didn’t sit. Instead, he simply looked at you, as if measuring something.

“He won’t bother you again,” he said finally.

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap. A confirmation, then. You hadn’t expected him to lie, but something about the finality of it made your chest feel tight. You weren’t sure what you had expected to feel. Relief? Fear? Satisfaction?

Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “What did you do with him?”

A long silence. Then—

“I erased him.”

That was all he said.

Erased.

Not killed. Not disposed of.

Erased.

The word sent a chill down your spine.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what happened to people who crossed the wrong line in places like this. But there was something about the way In-ho said it—so calm, so absolute—that made it feel different. He hadn’t just removed the Panther from the equation. He had ensured there was nothing left of him. No name. No body. No story.

Gone.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening against the fabric of your robe. “Good.”

Something flickered in his gaze. Approval, maybe. Or something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

He stepped closer then, stopping just a breath away. His presence was heavy, grounding, suffocating all at once. His hand lifted—hesitated—before he slowly, deliberately brushed his fingers along your jaw. The touch was barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you held his gaze. “I’m not.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

His thumb ghosted over your chin, the touch so light it could have been mistaken for accidental. But it wasn’t. Nothing In-ho did was accidental. He was testing something, watching for a reaction.

You weren’t sure what he found.

Seconds stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. Then, just as easily as he had touched you, he pulled away. The warmth of his hand disappeared, leaving behind only the cold weight of silence.

His expression remained unreadable, his mask of indifference settling back into place. “Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow, things will be different.”

You weren’t sure what he meant.

You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

But as he turned and left, as the soft click of the bedroom door closing echoed through the space, one thing became clear.

The Panther Mask was gone.

And nothing would ever be the same.

———————

Yippee chapter twenty eight!! Lemme know what you think!

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[nownahc]

i absolutely love the prompt idea! i might not make it easy on you~ prompts 1, 3, and 83 with hyunjin sound like they could be interesting <3

just once | hwang hyujin

hyunjin x reader

main masterlist

prompts list send in an ask to request

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı.

notes. been in my feels lately so this might be a reflection of what's going on in my mind

warnings. angst, talk of serious emotionnal stuff

prompts. “Do you want me to leave?”/“I’m not jealous.”/“Just once.”

Never in his life, Hyunjin would have thought he’d witness such despair in someone. Let alone, when that person happens to be you. He can’t seem to find the words, nor the strength to move as he sits in front of you, watching helplessly as you sob in the sleeves of your sweater. Your bedroom, so familiar, yet foreign now that your laughter doesn’t echo between the walls, feels cold, devoided of any of the warmth he’s accustomed to. “I just… I don’t get it, everyone around me seems so in tune with everything, with their life, their family, their friends, their… love life, while I’m stuck here, watching me, as if I’m outside of my body, like a spectator of my own life, I…” It’s the first words you uttered since he arrived here. All you’ve been doing is sob and cry silently in the fabric of your sweater. When you called, he had no idea what caused you to feel this down, was it someone, or something, he had no clue. All he knew, is that he had to sprint to you, the sole idea of leaving you alone in such a vulnerable state eating at his consciousness.

“I’m not jealous, it’s envy more than anything, admiration even and,” she can’t help but hiccup letting her words hang in the air, until she can speak her mind again, “I want to be like them, to know what I’m doing, to be happy, truly happy, to love and be loved.”

He wants to scream at her that no one has anything figured out, that everyone is pretending, and everyone has probably cried and begged like she’s doing right now. He wants to scream that, he can give her at least one of those things she’s asking for. Love. He can love her, and let her love him. That’s all he ever wanted, all he ever wished for.

“Do you want me to leave, or do you want comfort?”, his voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as if he was scared of his own words.

Finally, her gaze flickers to him, a small sad smile tugging at her lips. “Stay…”, she wants to add that there’s no need for comfort, for his sole presence already means a lot to her. The fact that he's there, watching her drown in her own sorrow is a sign that someone cares, someone sees the ugliness of her thoughts yet, he’s still willing to stay.

Hyunjin shifts on the floor, trying to conjure the perfect words for her, the perfect words that would make her magically see all the goodness this world has to offer, that at some point, she’ll realize that happiness is different from all people, that maybe she simply hasn’t found hers.

“Y/n, I can’t miraculously make you happy, or make you see that people care and love you, but I can help. I can stay with you and guide you through it, so please, give me this chance. Just once, let me help you find yourself.”

The words hang in the air, both Hyunjin and you processing the weight of them. Hyunjin wants to say more, he wants to say that he’d repeat the process of healing with her a million times if needed, in every universe, in every life time if needed.

“Help me Hyunjin…” Her answer surprised him, for a second he thinks he imagined it for how vulnerable and quiet it sounded. Still, she said it, she allowed him to guide her, to show her, to help her through this, and he’s more than happy to help the one person he doesn’t want to see this desperate ever again.

[zeroseuniverse]

His To Protect

Word Count: 870 Summary: "Have you ever heard of guardian angels?" Pairing: Doyoung X Reader

Navigation

I sit in the cold metal chair, my wrists resting on the table, my fingers clasped together tightly to keep from trembling. Across from me, two detectives—one skeptical, one furious—stare me down like I’m a caged animal. The air is thick with unspoken accusations.

"You have to understand," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't do it."

Detective Lee slaps a file onto the table. A collection of crime scene photos spills out—people I knew, people who had wronged me in some way. A high school bully, a spiteful boss, an ex who cheated on me. All dead. Some torn apart as if mauled by an animal, others suffering from "accidents" too convenient to be accidents.

"Then why is it," Lee sneers, "that every single one of these victims had a history of crossing you?"

I swallow hard. I don’t have an answer. Not one they’d believe.

Doyoung sits beside me, his hands folded in his lap, his face eerily calm. To the detectives, he's just my best friend, my most trusted confidant. To me, he's something else entirely. My guardian. My curse.

I glance at him. His dark eyes hold a quiet warning. Say too much, and they won't leave this room alive.

I shudder and focus on the detectives again. "I know how it looks," I admit. "But I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this."

Detective Kim, the calmer of the two, watches me with a calculating gaze. "Then who did?"

Doyoung tilts his head slightly, studying them. I know what’s coming. A distraction. An intervention. Something to make sure I walk out of here.

"You wouldn’t believe me," I say honestly.

"Try us."

Doyoung shifts in his seat. The light above flickers. Detective Lee rubs his temple like he’s suddenly developed a headache.

I take a deep breath. "Have you ever heard of guardian angels?"

Lee scoffs. Kim stays silent.

"They protect people," I continue, my voice even. "But sometimes… they take their job too seriously."

Doyoung’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. The room feels smaller, colder. The flickering light dims further, the air pressing against my skin like unseen hands.

Lee shivers. "What the hell—"

The bulb above us bursts. The room plunges into darkness.

And then, the screaming begins.

The darkness swallows the room whole. For a few long, suffocating seconds, the only sound is Detective Lee’s ragged breathing. Then—chaos.

The metal chair scrapes against the floor as Lee stumbles back. Kim curses under his breath, fumbling for something—probably his gun. But it won’t help him. It never does.

A whisper slithers through the room. Soft. Amused. "You should’ve let them go."

Doyoung.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Not again. Please, not again.

A sharp gasp. A thud. When the emergency light flickers back on, Detective Lee is sprawled against the wall, his body limp. A smear of blood trails down from his temple. Kim, frozen mid-motion, stares at Doyoung—at the thing sitting where my best friend should be.

His eyes are black now. Not the deep brown I know, but an abyss, vast and endless. Shadows curl around him like living smoke, licking at his fingertips.

Kim’s lips part. "What… are you?"

Doyoung tilts his head, considering him. "The only reason they’re still breathing," he murmurs, nodding toward me. "You should be grateful."

I push back from the table, my pulse hammering in my throat. "Doyoung, stop."

He looks at me, and for a fleeting moment, I see something soft in his expression. Something human. But it vanishes like a candle snuffed out.

"You don’t belong here," he tells me simply.

The air shifts. The walls groan. The fluorescent light above flickers, then steadies.

Kim is shaking. Lee groans, dazed but alive. Doyoung sighs, as if disappointed, and stands up. "We’re leaving," he says.

Kim finally finds his voice. "You’re not going anywhere." His hand grips the gun holstered at his waist, but I already know he won’t pull it in time.

Doyoung doesn’t give him the chance.

With a flick of his wrist, the gun flies across the room, clattering against the far wall. Kim stumbles back, eyes wide.

I grab Doyoung’s wrist, my fingers burning at the touch. "Enough," I say, desperate. "No more."

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he hesitates. The darkness retreating, the weight in the air lifting just a fraction.

"Okay," he says at last. "For you."

His free hand lifts—and the room plunges into nothingness.

I wake up to the hum of passing cars. The scent of rain lingers in the air. We’re outside now, far from the interrogation room. The station itself is eerily quiet behind us.

I sit up, my head spinning. Doyoung crouches beside me, his expression unreadable.

"You saved me," I whisper.

His gaze meets mine. "I always do."

I want to ask him what happened to the detectives. If they’ll remember. If they’re still alive. But part of me already knows the answer.

Doyoung stands, offering me his hand.

I take it.

Because I know, no matter where I run—no matter what I do—he will always follow.

Because he’s my guardian.

And I am his to protect.

[moonlight-hwa]

FI, TYMI ~ C. S | Chapter 7

Synopsis: Wherein Mikyung does a fake dating agreement with her co-worker, in order to escape the constant pursuits of her ex-boyfriend.

Pairings: lawyer!san x female!lawyer!OC (ft. bff!wooyoung)

Genre: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, fake dating turned real dating, kinda she falls first, he falls harder

Warnings: none…just San being an absolute sweetheart again and Wooyoung being a menace

Word Count: 2,005

Mikyung pulled into a parking lot, belonging to a handmade noddle restaurant, where she was meeting San for lunch, after he had invited her yesterday.

  Her gaze immediately landed onto his familiar figure as she pulled into an empty spot; he was sitting on a bench near the entrance of the restaurant, eyes trained down to the screen of his phone.

  Mikyung breathed out a soft sigh, taking the key from the ignition, before finally getting out of her car. At the sound of a car door shutting, San’s eyes lifted from his phone, his gaze instantly locking with hers.

   A smile curled at his lips, standing from the bench, all the while his eyes bounced up and down her figure “Well, hello there beautiful.” He spoke, his hand finding hers, before he raised them up, allowing them to do a little spin, showing off her outfit.

  Almost two weeks had passed, since the beginning of their agreement and over the course of that time, she and San had grown closer; they held more friendly conversations, along with the occasional flirty remark tossed back and forth. So, San complimenting her was nothing out of the ordinary recently.

  Mikyung felt her face become warm at his words “Thank you, I actually put effort into getting ready this time around.” She said through a soft chuckle, her smile somehow growing as she faced San again.

  He hummed, smile also widening “And you look absolutely gorgeous…but I will say you look beautiful no matter what you wear, darling.” He confessed the pet name rolling off his tongue so effortlessly, that it made her heart beat a little quicker.

  Soon enough the two of them were sitting at a table, enjoying their bowl of noodles as they talked and laughed.

  “Since we’re supposed to make people believe we’re dating, we should probably get to know one another better, huh?” San spoke.

  Mikyung hummed in response “I guess we should.”

  “So…what does Ju Mikyung do in her free time, when she’s not working on cases?” He asked, a small smile curling at his lips.

  Mikyung exhaled a sigh, chopsticks absently moving around the contents of the bowl as she shrugged “I don’t really do anything, I think I’m kinda boring outside of the firm.” She spoke, “Either I’m reading, watching tv shows that I’m really into or with my best friend, which is probably all the time actually.”

  San hummed, while nodding “Do you have hobbies you enjoy?” He asked further.

  She shook her head “No, not really. Either I’m too busy or too tired to really start one.”

  She then heaved out another sigh, knowing that she was going to regret breaking down this wall. “But I did use to really enjoy photography, I would bring my camera everywhere.” A fond smile tugging at her lips.

  “Why did you stop?” There it was the question she dreaded answering, but at the same time she also completely expected it.

  She didn’t want to go into total detail about what Chanwoo said and did to make her stop, so she just simply said “Chanwoo made me feel insecure about it.”

  A frown tugged downward at his lips “And would he do that?” San questioned softly.

  Mikyung chuckled humorlessly “Because he’s a terrible person and emotionally abusive…simple as that.” She replied rather bluntly, all the while she felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes.

   Silence then filled the air around them as Mikyung continued eating and San thought of something to say.

  He cleared his throat softly “Mikyung,” He spoke after a few moments of silent and she hummed in response, looking up from her bowl of food.

  “Whatever that bastard said to you or called you…not a single one of those things is true, okay?” Mikyung nodded, as tears glossed over her eyes.

  “He had no right to make you feel insecure about something you enjoyed so much…nobody has that right to do that to someone.”

  Mikyung inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly as her gaze turned downward to the table “God���I’m sorry.” She spoke chuckling softly out of embarrassment, while she wiped away fallen tears.

  A soft smile curled at San’s lips “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for darling. I just wanted you to know that you should never let people stop you from doing things you love.”

  And just by his reassuring words, Mikyung could feel herself falling for him even more.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a single word out, a person clearing their throat stopped her. Mikyung’s head whipped around and was immediately met with her best friend.

  Her eyes widened, totally not expecting to see Wooyoung here. “Woo, what in the world are doing here? How did you even know where I was?” She questioned, while he pulled up a chair from a different chair, before sitting down.

  A grin curled on his lips “I have my ways.” He replied.

  As that interaction was happening, San looked between the two with a very confused expression. “Darling, who is this?” San spoke, causing the two of them to turn toward him.

  The grin painting Wooyoung’s features grew wider and before Mikyung could explain, he started talking. “Wow, you guys are really going all out with this, pet names and everything.” He commented.

  Mikyung rolled her eyes, while she elbowed him in his side, causing Wooyoung to mutter an ‘ow’.

  He cleared his throat, composing himself “I’m Jung Wooyoung, Mikyung’s best friend.” He said, extending his right arm.

  San’s face lit up realization “Ahh, so you’re the best friend Mikyung talks about.” He spoke, shaking Wooyoung’s hand as the latter hummed in response.

  “I’m Ch-” and before San could finish his thought, Wooyoung interrupted him by saying “I know who you are, Mikyung has the biggest cru-” Mikyung kicked him in the shin, stopping him from finishing his sentence.

  Wooyoung let out a low pained groan, along with a slew of curses. Mikyung turned back to San, with a composed smile on her lips “I apologize about him, I don’t know what his problem is.” She said and San spoke a soft ‘that’s okay’ in response, before turning back to her friend.

  “Now…” She started, crossing her arms over her torso “What happened that was so important, you had to interrupt our date?” She asked

  Wooyoung interjected with “Fake date actually.” At that Mikyung briefly turned to San, mouthing ‘he knows’ and he let out a soft ‘ahhh’ sound, while nodding his head subtly.

  “Anyway, I listened to your advice. I went back to the apartment that morning, made breakfast for us and we had a civil conversation.” Wooyoung spoke.

  Mikyung’s lips curled up in a smile as she nodded, listening intently to his words. “And I’ll have you know that we came up with a solution to the problem.”

  Mikyung hummed “And that is?” She drew out, basically sitting on the edge of her seat for his next words.

  “Well, we came to the agreement that on Chaayeon’s next trip, I would go with her.” He finally said, a wide smile gradually taking form on his lips.

  Mikyung couldn’t help but smile as well. “That’s awesome, I love that for you guys.” She spoke sincerely.

  Wooyoung’s gaze left hers, taking his bottom between his teeth, nodding his head.

  She chuckled softly, gently elbowing him in the side, causing him to look up at her “See…I told you, you two would work it out.”

He also let out a chuckle “Yeah, yeah you were right-” She gave him a look and that lead him to say, “Thank you, Mimi.”

  “Mimi, huh?” And at that Mikyung remembered that San was still there. She felt her face warm as her head turned in his direction; one of his eyebrows was quirked up and a small smirk curled on his lips.

  She let out a groan, sinking further in her chair, because she knew this was going to set Wooyoung off and lead to more embarrassment.

  An annoying grin curled at his lips, gaze briefly moving to Mikyung as he leaned forward in his chair. “Yep, that’s been her nickname since we were kids, and she absolutely hates it. But you should’ve seen how she was when she was younger-”

  And that set Wooyoung off to talk about embarrassing childhood stories with San, all the while Mikyung wanted to disappear from the face of the earth.

  By the time Mikyung stepped through the door of her apartment, she felt exhausted; Wooyoung’s antics will always and forever tire her out, but it seemed that he and San got along…so that was good at least.

  When she entered her room, instead of getting changed in more comfy clothing, Mikyung just flopped onto her bed, heaving out a long sigh as she covered her closed eyes with her right arm.

  Silence filled the space around her, the only audible being the quiet wooshing of air moving through the ventilation system and the subtle white noise was enough to allow the effects of sleep to wash over her.

  But she was suddenly pulled away from those effects, by the obnoxious buzzing of her phone; Mikyung groaned lowly, blindly reaching for her that phone sat atop the mattress. She expected the text to be from Wooyoung, but it wasn’t, instead it was from San.

  ‘I meant what I said, Mikyung’ She felt her heart stutter inside her chest as her eyes moved down to the second message. ‘You should never let anyone make you feel insecure about something you love and enjoy’.

  Her breathing caught in her throat as her vision blurred with tears, and then the third and final text buzzed through.

  ‘I hope that one day, you realize that you are talented in anything you do, and I hope you find your joy in photography again’.

  When she finished reading the message, tears were rolling down her temples.

  Mikyung exhaled deeply, a steady trail of tears continuing to roll down her temples, while her gaze naturally fell onto the black bag atop the wardrobe.

  Her eyes remained on it for a few more moments, before she eventually got out her bed, wiping away the fallen tears as she stepped closer to the wardrobe.

  She breathed out a shaky breath, reaching for the bag that had been collecting dust from its place on the wardrobe. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, while she stared down at the black camera bag, that now sat on her bed.

  She absolutely loved her camera, and she would take it literally everywhere, taking photos of everything. Photography was Mikyung’s creative outlook and something she would do when she was stressed…but all of that changed when she was dating Chanwoo.

  Every time Mikyung would show Chanwoo the photos she had taken, he would always make a snide comment…and gradually over time she had last her spark and joy for photography.

  And at that time Wooyoung had obviously noticed that she had stopped using her camera. He asked her about it, and she simply said she wasn’t feeling inspired, he believed her. That was the only time Mikyung ever lied to Wooyoung.

  But now…it was different, and she was tired of letting Chanwoo still have power over her, especially when he was stopping her from enjoying what she loved doing.

  Mikyung heaved another sigh, finally unzipping the bag and revealing the camera she loved so dearly. A smile gradually curled at her lips as she grabbed the camera from inside the bag; the weight of the camera was familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time.

  She pressed the power button and surprisingly it turned on.

   Once it was fully powered on, she held it up to her left eye, looking through the viewfinder as she spun around in place, before eventually stopping with her opened bedroom window in view.

  The sunset covered the entirety of the room in warm hues of orange and yellow. Mikyung smiled “Perfect.” She muttered, before taking the photo.

prev | m.list | next

[polysucks]

I've seen a bunch of your indigenous headcanons for Starks and I love them so. Do you think of all First Men that way or particularly northern First Men/Starks? Also I'm going feral over your idea for a wild west AU!

HI I LOVE YOU.

I will talk forever about indigenous Starks and Northmen.

yeah. I’m that bitch. I am the #1 Indigenous Stark Truther* (unproven claim) and I will happily die on this hill.

I’m answering all of this on mobile like 15 mins before I have to be in class so I have none of my research in front of me and no sources, so yall feel free to jump in the comments and the reblogs to compound or (CONSTRUCTIVELY) Correct me :)

As we know, the First Men are all over the place. I mean it’s been, what, twelve thousand years since they came over from Essos on the Dornish Landbridge? (Sound familiar, fellow US Public Education System Victims?) and maybe six thousand years since the Andals migrated, with all the interbreeding and the thousands of years of generational melding, there’s bound to be traces First Men blood all over the planet by now. Just like all indigenous peoples irl! Imma have to write a whole thing about the Westerosi equivalent to the Columbian Exchange now is not the time—

So like personally, I see Native American coding in the Northmen. And all I know is of the American Indigenous perspective (and not even a whole lot bc I wasn’t raised in the tribe. I was removed from the tribe via my grandparents who are both Blackfoot-Salish out of the PNW and victims of modern colonization but that’s another story for another time. It’s just to preface that I am no expert in Native American culture, and only know what I personally know. I got some baller resources if you’re super interested tho)

In my personal humble onion. There would be a high concentration of First Men blood (god I really hate using the term ‘blood’ bc of blood quantum and lineage politics but for the sake of brevity imma just use it) in the Northmen. To me it’s giving PNW and Inuit who pressed north after the Columbian invasion because they had the means to survive in the harsh lands, where the whites. Simply didn’t. And knowing Peepaw is American, like, I see the parallels.

The First Men lived in close harmony with the land, practicing a nature-based religion—the worship of the Old Gods—centered around weirwood trees, sacred groves, and the guidance of “greenseers” and “skinchangers.” (We don’t use the W word around here but do you smell what I’m stepping in?) Their way of life was deeply tied to the land and vaguely resembles that of indigenous spiritual beliefs about animism and ancestral wisdom.

After however long years of battling with the Children of the Forest, the First Men reached the pact, agreeing to honor the children’s sacred forests and worship their gods. This mirrors real-world treaties between indigenous peoples and settlers, which were often later broken or disregarded (to put it nicely). the pact was chill for thousands of years (I think like I say I got no refs in front of me we die like Icarus), leading to the Age of Heroes, in which the First Men formed their own kingdoms, including the foundation of House Stark.

Bro that. Is so ancient American history coded. Same shit different font.

There’s a large population of indigenous peoples in reservation-adjacent areas cherry picked all over the US. I mean, we’re everywhere. Don’t ever let terminal narratives win. We out here babyyyyyy but to me it makes sense that the highest population of indigenous peoples of Westeros would be on the lands that are least likely to be gentrified (wrong word but imma stick w it) as in. The North. I can’t source any quotes rn specifically but how often is it mentioned that the north is the biggest and the “emptiest” in all their seven kingdoms?

So excellent question! Yeah I think all the Northmen are indigenous coded! You can’t convince me that Lyanna Mormont isn’t some badass fuckin thicc warrior goddess coded. And the Greatjon??? My mans leanin and rockin w a bear pelt. That man kills bears with his fists (just ask him) and I could go on forever about how The Boltons in all their violence and the rumors surrounding all that they’re capable of is so so so sooooo Comanche Ute and Sioux coded. They were so shat in by westward expansionists and rumored to be barbaric and cannibalistic and fuuuuuuucked up—simply bc they fought back against the people who were raping, pillaging, and stealing from them. But that’s pure speculation and personal hot take on my part, and wildly incorrect bc the boltons really do be flaying people. While the Ute, Comanche and Sioux did not. In fact. Flay anyone. (Unless they deserved it :) )

Tl;dr

Yeah man I think all the Northmen are native coded (w some Viking and Norse imagery thrown in there bc this is fantasy. It’s not that serious.) but the Starks heavily so due to the hard focus on the animism, their honor, connection to the land, spiritual beliefs, dedication to family, and the fockin’ wolves bro. Natives do be really into wolves. (Wolves are cool as fuck dude)

Also I got three chapters of my Wild West au already written and so much art I haven’t posted. when I unlearn shame and finally post it all it’s over for you bitches

[constant-brain-fog]

All the thirsty Bad Batch people, come get y’all’s food! 😌

This is literally just and excuse to draw some more tatts on Hunter at this point

Also I think Tech deserves to be slightly disheveled and a lil bloody, as a treat <3

Part Two of this drawing

[swordsmans]

your fics makes me want to kill myself!!!! 🫶🫶🫶

hi genuinely thank you for reading—i’m very grateful—and i’m sorry to use your message as an example but i’ve been sitting on this for a minute because it’s very succinct so it’s the easiest way to say this—

please stop sending me anon messages or leaving fic comments like this. i know im an “angst with a happy ending” type of writer so at a certain point im basically asking for it, but these type of comments are some of the worst to receive and ive gotten so many (along with “this fic ruined my life!!” and “i hate you!!!<3333 what the fuck” and “im sobbing pay for my emotional damages 😭😭” type asks, dms, and comments) over the last two years across all of my fics with a big burst recently that it’s just. it’s not fun, it’s never been fun but it’s especially not fun anymore. it was a pretty rough year and it does not make me happy to think that art i’ve spent months at a time working on is actively hurting people, even if it’s meant as a compliment. i recognize this is a sensitive response especially after i’ve done my best to laugh and brush these things off “publicly” (idk how else to word that) or just quietly delete these, but i dunno, maybe its after midnight and im jet-lagged or maybe im just not especially thick-skinned anymore.

thank you to everyone who has been very kind and effusive since my return to fanfic—truly, you are the beloved majority and you’ve made the last two years a gift and a miracle—but i’ll be finishing up a couple of projects throughout the spring so i can close the book (heh) on my wips and then focusing on, idk, touching grass for the foreseeable future. maybe it’ll be a few months or years again, maybe i’ll post things on anon for a while or just write for friends, maybe i’ll pivot entirely and write kindle unlimited hockey dark mafia dinosaur erotica novellas. i don’t know. i love writing, and i want to write in a way that builds connections with people by exploring deep emotional catharsis etc etc etc, but it’s very hard to feel like it’s worthwhile when the more stories i post, the more comments like this come around.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

"It's too silly to make jyl's cutie mark soup" - the artist who made an entire equineswap au with lore seemingly spontaneously

[deafleppard]

i am. so close to being done with my summer break project. and i’m gonna do a whole redbubble update before i post it, are there any specific posters people would like me to add?

[permanentreverie]

.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[emmcfrxst]

ngl i kinda wanna hear your analysis on arthur whenever u have time bc as much as we love this man- i think we sometimes forget that this man is canonically racist and sexist even tho he is considered progressive and better than most men during that time (looking at u micah😒).

examples of this being like during his antagonizing lines for the women around the camp or him not rlly caring when other racist gang member make racist comments towards lenny, javier or charles.

idk if this wording made any sense but i’m too lazy to go over it too much😭 i love your works btw!! just wanted to see your own analysis on our man🫶🫶

(don’t know if u need age for anons but i’m 19!)

i quite honestly don’t really have an analysis on this because i hadn’t really thought about it like that before (which. you are SO right. my bad) and i honestly think that this part of his character is kind of held within the boundaries of the game itself because when it comes to the antagonizing comments it’s a personal choice of the player’s whether or not they wish for arthur to treat women with respect and i think that despite the boundary of the player’s choice, there’s still moments where you can see that arthur is definitely not like the others when it comes to feminism/the rise of suffrage because he does, whether in low medium or high honor, accept to drive the carriage for the women in Saint-Denis and keeps them relatively safe during their speeches— he also mentions not minding the idea of women voting in a conversation with the leader of the suffragettes (although his answer ends up being kind of cynical, he’s still open to the idea)— and even in low honor, arthur makes sure to protect tilly and sadie multiple times throughout the game. the racism part is kind of tricky because we firstly as players don’t have an option of stopping the others from making comments or defending the poc members’ honor (i think? i could be wrong) so that part of arthur’s mindset isn’t shown and isn’t malleable throughout the game, he does mention not caring about skin color multiple times and also threatens the eugenicist and the kkk members upon meeting them, but as for his true, genuine personal beliefs (since it’s still the 1800s) i don’t know and i’m not exactly comfortable theorizing and discussing it in detail because i am Very Much White and i feel like it’s not my place to tell people how to feel about the content presented in the game; that’s really up to personal interpretation i think