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beefboyandbabygirl · 10 months

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Pretend It's Someone That Came for You (18+)

pairing: coworker!wonwoo x fem!touch-starved!reader

genre: coworker au, office au, strangers to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), fluffy fluffy fluff fluff

description: you're lonely. you're so lonely you think it might actually kill you. but when wonwoo transfers to your office, he might just change that fact.

warnings: unprotected sex (do NOT pls my babes), soft dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, v loving sex, praise (f. receiving), confession of love, riding, fingering (f. receiving), pussy rubbing tihi, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, baby, darling, etc), VERY angsty beginning, yn is truly v sad so DO NOT READ THIS if u fear it will make u sad!!, they say i love u unrealistically fast but i had to do it, yn uses sex to feel less lonely/ends up feeling more lonely, relatable yn frs, slightly dramatized symptoms of touch-starvation (?), kinda boring plot but idc bc its CUTE AF

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "finally!!" (she was fed tf up), "stanley is the most stanley man ever. i hate him but i love him.", (more r coming she actually didnt have time 2 read this and i didnt want to wait with posting.)

wordcount: 10.0k

a/n: this story was supposed 2 have more angst, like it was supposed to have this whole misunderstanding, but it just didnt feel right, it made me sad, so instead this is a short n sweet love story xx

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you.

You weren’t always like this. You remember being a sociable, joyful child; half-broken bikes and teddy bears and booster seats. You remember pigtails and popsicle sticks and Power Rangers, and what came after that? Being a moody teenager, became being a moody adult. High school became college, and college became an office job that served to keep you alive, even if it didn’t feel like being alive. College wasn’t that bad, you remember, so at what point had you mistaken isolation for privilege? And at what point had you gone too far into that tunnel-hole to turn back?

You must’ve been cursed, you think, putting on your outfit for work in the deadly still apartment. Dust dares not move, dares not give you hope that you are not alone.

You must’ve been cursed, you think, coming into work to a string of half-hearted, mumbled greetings. Your office is off-white and black and gray and everyone inhabiting it is also off-white and black and gray, and their skin is faintly oily and sickly and their faces are dragging down as if the very earth was reclaiming them and you think that you fit in here better than anywhere else.

You must’ve been cursed, you think, when you spend your day writing emails and organizing documents of information into different formats to send to huge corporations. Sometimes you fantasize about the other end of the transaction. Maybe their office is warm and brown with an accent of blue, and maybe people put hands on each other's shoulders, when they tell one another they’ve done a good job.

Yes, there’s no other explanation, you think, and can’t even muster the energy to feel bad when you blame some old hag from your hometown. You think she must’ve conjured up the worst ingredients, something cartoonishly evil, and a spell befell you, sunk into the crevices of your skin and dug into your pores.

You lie on your couch with a glass of wine and the television going, but you’re not really listening. You don’t think anyone has touched you in six months. You’re not even sure you’re real anymore. You swear, you could live with no one hearing you out, because you’re not sure you’d have anything worthwhile to say, but you just needed someone to touch you. To reach out a hand and confirm, you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips, and I’m squeezing your shoulder, and I see you, and I feel you right here.

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you.

Lying physically very still, you still feel like you’re scrambling, fighting the clutch of the curse, and tugging on metal chains. Maybe that’s where all your energy goes.

What do normal people do when they feel this bad?

Sometimes you leave open the window, and when the wind tugs at your door, you pretend it’s someone that came for you.

Tug, tug, tug. The door rattles against its hinges when the fatally empty sky brings to you, in outstretched palms, the wind interlaced with glimmers of hope.

There’s never anyone at the door. _____________________________

This particular day starts like any other. You wake to your alarm and you put on clothes and you get ready and brush your teeth. Then you trample down to the bus stop. The sky is smothered by a duvet of heavy rain clouds. The rain hasn't come yet, but you know it will. Your fingers become stiff and hard, where they adhere to the polyester strap of your bag, massaging it. The bag is cold and dead.

The bus ride is by far the greatest part of your day. It’s quiet - early enough that you’re only accompanied by a few other souls. You rest your head on the window, vibrating gently against the curve of your forehead, and watch the people in the street.

The bus hums a gentle tune and snakes down the streets. Then you’re there, and whatever solace that it offers you under artificial light and mediocre, felted seats is gone.

Your office building is maybe the most depressing place on earth. It’s no glamorous feat of architecture. It is but a large, orange-y, puke-y, brick square, and the building is shared between yours and the Forester company. You don’t talk to the Foresters, but you know they eat cream cheese bagels on their breaks and throw birthday parties and once you saw the branch manager squeezing a salesman’s shoulder and telling him he had done a good job. His fingers squeezed down and the movement of the fabric revealed a shoulder pad built into the suit. You remember thinking it was a shame that it blocked the real touch.

Today, you walk up the stairs with heavy steps and you idle into the office building, eyes cast down to the dirty, gray carpet. You begin the long trek into the back of the building where your desk is located.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard.

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back.

“Morning.”

“M-”

Wait a minute.

Your greeting falls short. You don’t recognize that voice. Stopping in your tracks, your shoes scratch on the rough carpet, and lift your head to see him.

The first thing you notice is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He looks like he jumped out of an underwear commercial; he’s all strong jawline, sharp eyes, round glasses on his pretty nose, neatly trimmed, short dark hair stretching down the planes of his face. He’s wearing a button up (usually you wouldn’t even register the clothing your coworkers adorned, but something about how he wore it was noteworthy), a tie draping over the dress shirt, and formal slacks hugging his thighs.

He smiles at you sheepishly, hands nervously smoothing down his thighs.

“I’m Wonwoo” he says curtly, nodding to you. “Just transferred from the Wallingset branch.”

You nod. “Right. Wallingset,” you nod more. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you too, Y/n.”

Something about your name on his lips makes your heart flutter. It’s pathetic, you know, but his peregrine being in his office chair, spilling your name from his pink lips makes you feel a little more real. You look at him and then you nod again-again, kicking your legs into gear again and walking the last stretch to your desk.

You can see the back of his head from your orange-wood desk. Papers and sticky notes are scattered among the desktop. The monitor watches you accusingly, all big and square and black, waiting for you to open it up and begin working. Your eyes linger on him for a moment. Then you work.

A few hours pass on emails and translating information from a company into a comprehensive sheet. However, today you’re having a hard time focusing on work.

This is not new.

Sometimes you briefly talk to a man at the grocery store, and your mind will wander to him for next week, wondering if he’s thinking about you too, imagining yourself cuddling with him, watching movies, imagining him telling you it’ll all be okay. Sometimes you briefly talk to a man on the street, sometimes it’s even a date, but whatever the case you obsess and you dream and you always end up alone.

Today the victim of your depraved mind is Wonwoo. The guilt is easy to push away. You feel sorry for yourself. You think you deserve this. You think you can’t survive without this. And so you imagine him hugging you, stroking your hair, and you imagine him falling in love with you, and you imagine not being alone. Your fingers rest on your keyboard. It’s old and mechanical. You think it’s from a yard sale, probably an old woman whose children moved away. It’s plastic, and it curves inwards underneath the pads of your fingertips. The keys are cold and dead.

You fully zone out, eyes blearing into the back of his head, but you don’t really see it, your mind has traveled elsewhere. You guiltily imagine his hand between your legs, on your chest, straddling him, kissing him. And it’s not rough, it’s loving, because in this world he loves you, and he’d do anything for you, and you don’t have to be alone again.

You don’t love Wonwoo. It’s not some magical love at first sight, it’s not a romance book, it’s real life. You’re lonely. You need this to survive.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You snap your head up. Maybe you were still daydreaming. But you recognized the voice well and true, and it was Wonwoo, leaned over your desk, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, uhm, hey-” your voice is shaky and you quickly rush to compose yourself, hands moving frantically and uselessly to glide papers over one another and, then, realizing that there was no point to your movements, stilling and looking up at him, cheeks flushed. “Hey.”

Wonwoo smiles gently. “Uh, you know, I was wondering,” he looks around the office, as if surveying the area. “If you knew where to get a good lunch? I don’t know this area at all, so..”

He trails off, looking at you expectantly for an answer. Now that he’s standing before you, it’s much harder to ignore the guilt you feel. You wanna gnaw at your nails until they’re nubs, you want to crawl under your desk and cover your eyes. Does he see how red your cheeks are?

“Uhm- well- I don’t- I eat a packed lunch, so I’m-”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, no expert,” you giggle awkwardly and watch his gentle smile drop into pursed lips. “But! Uh- I hear the- the hot dog stand, uh, just a little down the street is good!”

“Really? Maybe I should try it,” he contemplates, smile returning to his lips. “Would you mind showing me this mysterious hot dog stand?”

“Uh-”

Just seconds before you were thinking of his fingers in your pussy, and his hands caressing you, and him making you feel loved. He’s standing before you and he’s a totally normal guy, and you feel like shit. You feel like shit for using this fake image of him to comfort yourself. You can’t be around him, can’t convince yourself that maybe this’ll turn into something more - not when you always end up alone. Your brows furrow in determination.

“Actually, I have to, uh, get this done, so-” you gesture vaguely to your monitor.

“Right! Yeah,” Wonwoo seems embarrassed, biting his lips and nodding. “It’s, uh, just down the street?”

“Yeah, to the right when you walk out the building.”

“For sure. Thanks,” he doesn’t even look at you then, just waves you off half-heartedly and starts trailing down the office. His shoulders are incredibly broad and his belt wraps tightly around his small waist.

You feel like shit. _____________________________

Why is no one else cursed?

You look out of the window, lying on your bed after work. Everything is very still and unmoving - your whole apartment feels like it’s knotted in strings, tightened until everything is snapped into place, and if you move the wrong muscles, the invisible hands will let go and everything will fly and hurdle through your home, and you can almost hear the sound, like the hard, empty sound of throwing a bowling ball and getting a strike.

No one else is cursed. People crowd the streets with friends, family, partners, and they’re talking and laughing. You rest your head in the windowsill, a lone spectator in the window. The glass cuts you off from the streets.

The afternoon after daydreaming the way you did about Wonwoo is always hard. Your apartment seems intent on suffocating you. Your daydreams serve as a reminder that you’re alone, that you truly have no one, and the act itself is so humiliating, you sulk into a glass of red wine and sometimes you cry. What do normal people do when they feel this bad, you wonder again, sobbing in your bed and spilling wine on your nightie.

Nighttime falls early while you’re crying. You weep on and off, hug your knees, eat a microwave dinner and watch TV, light casting onto your pathetic form on the couch.

And in your most vulnerable state is when you most easily slip into your old habits.

You press an old contact in your phone, one you’d tried to steer away from recently. You wipe mascara from your reddened cheeks, you wear pretty lingerie, and you lie, completely empty, void of any warmth, on your bed, awaiting.

It’s the first time he touches you in months. When his hand finds your shoulder, you shudder terribly. Sorry, he says, and he seems taken aback. Just ignore it, you plead, just ignore it. He does so, unsurely, and every time his hand grazes over your body you shudder and sob and every time he hesitates, asking if you’re okay, you cry at him to continue.

It feels good while it’s happening. Skin beneath your fingertips, hands on you, a face close to yours. You and him are the only thing moving in the apartment, synergizing on your bed, conjoining and writhing, and for just a moment, you don’t feel so alone.

When you’re done the anonymous man stands back up, sliding on his pants in the late hour. He says it was great and you hum. But then he looks around, hesitating on every old piece of furniture, on every photo on the walls, and lastly on you.

“What?” you ask, lying naked in your bed. He grimaces at you, as if signaling that he can’t quite figure it out himself.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, hands on his newly-clothed hips and surveying the corners of the room, where shadows pool. “It feels haunted in here.”

He leaves.

When the warmth is gone, the bile rises in your throat. Old habits die hard, you think, and you feel totally empty. You couldn’t go on like this. It was nights like these you began to feel like a martyr - sacrificing yourself for a brief escape. Because when the door is closed with a click and you’re alone again, you feel yourself trembling and your heart is glowing red in the empty astral plane. Brief, easy forms of pleasure are often the most harmful.

It feels haunted in here. You remember his words, and before you finally fall asleep, you wonder one thing. You wonder if you’re already dead. _____________________________

The next day is a pain to overcome. You’re slightly hungover, slightly sore, and very uncomfortable. But you comply with your routine, and you enjoy the bus ride, and when you get to the office everyone greets you.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard.

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” Wonwoo says. You look up from the carpet carefully, flashing him an apologetic smile. You hope he can read its intention: Sorry about being weird yesterday. You think he got it.

“Morning, Wonwoo.”

And then you’re landing yourself at your own desk and beginning work once more. It’s boring, but today you ward off the daydreams and you focus, and you’re getting an exceptional amount done.

The clock on the wall (off-white, but yellowing near the top) reads 12:28 when your boss, Stan, approaches your table. He’s half bald, and his suit is much too loose, and he has a ladder of wrinkles climbing his larger-than-life forehead.

“Hey, N/n!” he calls, so loud that a couple of heads turn at the commotion. You’ve asked him several times not to call you that.

“Stanley,” you breathe, tapping a stack of papers on your desk to neaten the pile. You wonder if you were in trouble, but if his smile is anything to go by, you’d guess not.

“My favorite woman in accounting!”

“Hehe,” you laugh half-heartedly. You catch the eye of Wonwoo, glancing over his shoulder with a small, teasing smile. You smile back.

“I have a big- oh wait, wait, new guy, uhh, Jeon? Come over here real quick!” Suddenly his solid fingers waft the now scared Wonwoo over. The spectacled man’s shoulders hunch up as he moves off the chair, nodding respectfully. Wonwoo stands beside Stanley at your desk, and you focus your attention on Stanley, hoping to not get too lost in the idea of Wonwoo again - you were doing so good today.

“I have a big job for you, and I thought you could work with Wonwoo on it,” Stan moves his hand up to cup the side of his mouth, as if telling you a big secret, “seeing as he was a bit of a star over in Wallingset.”

Shit. The guy you were daydreaming about was working with you? Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed, but you hardly have time to catch it. You can’t do this. Yesterday you were thinking about him fingering you while looking at you lovingly!

“We have a massive, new client! Just dropped a big competitor of ours, and they want us to do their six month report!” Stanley seems genuinely excited about this, so you can’t help feeling a little guilty that you’ll be a gobbering, slobbering mess, sitting beside Wonwoo on this.

“That’s great-”

“I know! So, my two star members in accountancy, I’ll hand this off to you. The data should be coming into your emails soon,” without letting either of you react, Stanley hunches over, like a coach does before a little-league baseball game, wrapping his arms around both of you and Wonwoo. “You got this, troopers!”

Stanley claps his hands on both of your backs, so hard you jerk forward at the movement, and then he bounces off to the elevator at the far end of the room. You sigh heavily from the interaction. It’s quiet for a moment, while you fiddle with the papers in front of you.

“What a guy,” Wonwoo muses finally, thin fingers resting on the edge of your desk. You giggle, unable to look him in the eye for fear that you might remember how you’d thought about starting a family with him. “Yeah.”

You and Wonwoo settle into an unoccupied meeting room, and it’s all very professional. Markers and post-its, trying to find the best way to structure the report, excel sheets to categorize and overlook data, double check numbers.

However bad you think it’s going to be, you’re wrong. Wonwoo is easy to talk to - he’s quiet, but he’s intelligent, and he understands how to bring on conversation, even when you fold in on yourself like a used napkin.

“Yeah, we used to steal signs from our neighborhood,” Wonwoo admits halfway into a conversation about your hometowns. “I don’t think that’s gonna fly anymore.”

“Why stop now? You’re letting societal rules hold you back,” you joke, and the two of you laugh, and it’s so pathetic, you’re certain you haven’t laughed this much in years, and the conversation has lasted maybe 20 minutes.

“Well, I could show you the craft, you know, it’s a delicate process-”

While Wonwoo talks your phone buzzes and you absent-mindedly pick it up, reviewing the notification.

Your grin drops. Faintly, you hear Wonwoo stop talking. He tilts his head to study the way you frown at the screen. “What’s up?” he asks.

It’s the guy from last night and he’s asking if you’ll be available again tonight.

Maybe it’s how you could almost forget it - how you let yourself into positions that would hurt you, just to feel seen and heard and touched. Maybe it’s the dichotomy of that encounter and now, talking to Wonwoo, and having the laughter steal away the loneliness. But you’re reminded so terribly of your position. You’re reminded that this, too, will end, and that the loneliness will return. You’re reminded that once the shift ends, you’re alone again.

Suddenly you’re a thousand daggers all pointing out. You shield yourself.

“Uh,” you trail off, putting the phone down again. “Just some guy.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise. “Boyfriend?”

“No!” you say quickly. “No, he’s, uh. Just some guy.”

A pause.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. You don’t even remember where you left off the conversation. You bite your lip because everything is all agony. The table is cold and dead beneath your hand.

“I’m thinking we group these together,” you say, eyes now tuned to your screen and fully submerged back into your work. Work. That was all that could cover your beaten down, cursed self.

The rest of the shift you feel Wonwoo looking at you carefully, as if he’s trying to read you. You don’t talk about yourselves anymore, no more banter, no more witty comments. You structure the report, and try to ignore how his eyes laser you open. You don’t like it. You feel like he can tell you’re a pathetic, lonely woman and that you have nothing and no one. You feel like he can sense the curse upon you.

This would be torture. _____________________________

It is not torture.

The next day, to your surprise, Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen. You wait 5, 10, then 15 minutes in the meeting room you’d camped in, before you begin working on your own. It’s slower without him, but you manage.

You can’t help but slightly worry about him. It feels stupid. You know you’re putting too much emotion into a person you’d known for two days, but you can’t help it. You wonder if he’s gotten hurt or injured, or if maybe he hates you and has transferred back. You think even Excel finds you pathetic.

You sit there for three hours, among the ruins of paperwork and your open laptop, running your hand through your hair and typing in sentences that mean nothing, and the wallpaper is off-white and yellowing at the top, and the blinds are closed to the meeting room.

Around 1 PM the door to the meeting room is opened, wood smacking against the glass that surrounds it, and Wonwoo stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath. You snap your head up to him, like the jerk of a lifeless doll, suddenly interrupted from a very disorganized Excel sheet.

“Hi, shit, sorry,” he gasps, slinging his bag off of his shoulder to sit down next to you.

“Are you okay?” you ask immediately, and Wonwoo nods blindly, pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Yeah,” he says, cheeks slightly flushed and licking his lips. “My cat- my cat needed surgery, she got sick last night, it was an emergency.”

You nod in understanding, “it’s okay-”

You can hardly get the words out before Wonwoo rolls his chair back, wheels resounding hollowly on the floor, so he can look at you clearly. “I’m really sorry about this, it was not nice of me to leave you alone with this.” He gestures vaguely to the scattered papers, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, Wonwoo, I get it,” you say reassuringly, peering up at him through your lashes. “You don’t need to worry about it. You’re here now.”

Wonwoo seems less intent on personal conversations today - it’s probably because he was so late, and now is trying to make up the time. But it’s okay, in fact you’re somewhat relieved, because it dampens the false hope that blooms in your chest, whenever he asks you about your life.

Even if you and Wonwoo work hard and quietly, you slip into the late hours of the night in an attempt to keep on track for your schedule. Outside the windows that separate you from real life, the sky turns orange, and then dark, muted blue, and stars begin dotting its impressive stretches. People begin to leave around five, and by the time you and Wonwoo finish all your work, you’re the last ones left on your floor of the office.

Wonwoo lets out a loud sigh when he finally finishes the second segment of your report, and the both of you slump back in your seats.

“It’s so fucking late,” Wonwoo limply throws his hand in the direction of the window. You smile a little, looking out. Smaller buildings spawn geometrically from the ground, and every once in a while someone walks by with their dog, spotlighted by the stretch of street lamps that stand outside the parking lot. “I really am sorry about this, you know. Really ruined your night,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I had nothing to come home to anyway.”

There’s a pause.

Wonwoo looks at you intensely. Oh shit, you realize, was that too obvious? Was that too pathetic? Has it just clicked that you’re a loser that no one wants? You nervously look back at him, but there’s no malice in his eyes. A totally unreadable expression adorns his features, where he’s leaned back in his leather chair, legs spread invitingly. You look away, feeling dumb.

“At least we followed our schedule!” you say. Wonwoo snorts.

“Yeah, thanks to you. If you hadn’t completed so much before I got here, it would’ve been hopeless.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff, blushing lightly and looking at the linoleum flooring. “I don’t know about tha-”

“Seriously, Y/n, just take the compliment,” Wonwoo reaches a hand over, and you watch its movement.

It’s like time slows down, not like the movies, no, like you can stop time with the heavy weight of your gaze, pinning his muscles in place. But you can’t, and it lands on your shoulder with a soft thud. Fuck. His hand is warm and alive on you.

“You did so well today, I-” Wonwoo cuts himself off, because suddenly you’re trembling.

He feels your body shuddering and jerking under his hand, like the wind rattles your door when you leave it open, and he can’t see your face behind a curtain of hair, but he hears you gasp, and, fuck, you look like you’re sobbing.

The man from last night had become so hesitant when you reacted this way. When your body trembled and shook and when you cried, but Wonwoo seems to understand. He peers at you from above the rims of his glasses, and his hand stays put right there on your shoulder.

“Y/n,” he whispers, so sincere it causes a pathetic squeak to escape you. What must he think of you? The thoughts spiral and you can’t control a single one of them, they dance like freed souls in your head, and you can’t stop the spasming of your muscles, and you know you look so pathetic beside him right. “Y/n, look at me.”

You don’t. You can’t. You can’t because there are tears spilling from the rims of your eyes, and rolling down your cheeks, wet and glossy. Besides, you’re an ugly crier.

“Look at me,” he says seriously, finger tightening on your shoulder. You try to steady your breath and calm your tears, before you obey and begin to turn your chair. The simple motion requires so much effort - it’s like the air has become so thick, that the friction against your leather seat slows you down.

Finally you turn to him, eyes first resting on his knees, then, carefully, traveling up to his face. He’s frowning.

Your face is reddened and your eyes are puffy, your cheeks are shiny and you chew your bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay.

Wonwoo looks genuinely devastated. The hand on your shoulder softens its grasp, then begins petting your arm, rubbing up and down. The action has you choking out gasps, trembling even more in his hold, and Wonwoo feels the need to roll his chair closer to you, so his other hand can grab yours. His thumb rubs over the back of it, and he lowers his head to look at you.

“Shh, relax, relax, Y/n,” he whispers, and you try to nod, but it’s so overwhelming; being touched, being seen, being heard, all at once. For months, maybe years, no one has touched you like this - as if they care. Now the feeling is foreign, so scorching hot on your arm and your hand, your body can’t take it anymore. You’re stuck between wanting to lean into his hands, wanting to feel how real you are, and how physically true your existence is, and wanting to shy away. What must he think of you?

“Y/n,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut to banish the sigh of your sobbing. “When was the last time someone touched you?”

You hiccup painfully. “Uhm- I- I don’t, ” your eyes are bleary and your lashes are wet. Your lip trembles and your whole body shakes when you try to breathe.

Apparently this was enough of an answer for Wonwoo, because he suddenly stands, somewhat harshly tugging you into a standing position too, and pulls you directly into the harbor of his arms.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his torso. His chest is pressed flat against yours, so, so warm, when he nudges your head into the crook of his neck, and presses his face against its side, sighing softly into you, and breathing warm air onto your hair. His palms push you into him, soothing your trembling body, and holding you like an anker. One hand travels up to your hair.

“W-Wonwoo, you don’t have to-”

“Shh,” he quiets you immediately, voice the softest wind of a peach tree. “Just let me take care of you.”

You do. Wonwoo holds you until you stop crying, and though it must’ve been twenty minutes or so, it feels like no time at all. Standing in his space, breathing in his dark cologne, and letting his heat thaw your dead heart is a totally timeless act. Joy and serenity flows from the places where your bodies touch. When you stop crying, Wonwoo holds you for longer.

Eventually, he lets you go.

You step back sheepishly, now much calmer and the red in your face faded. You wipe your tired eyes shyly with your sleeve.

“Thank you, Wonwoo,” you mumble, voice thick and garbled. When you look up at him, he smiles softly, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly, arm extending one last time to squeeze your forearm. Then it falls limp again.

“I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course.”

When you return home, you’re buzzing. Your entire apartment buzzes along with you, things seem to clatter and beam along with the bright, glowing of your heart. You snuggle into bed and nothing is still and even when you’re drifting into sleep, your nerve endings spin in joyful circles, and your feet are a static hum. Suddenly you are very, very real. _____________________________

You’d think the next day would be tense and awkward, and maybe it is at first, but soon enough you’re talking again, more intimately than before even.

This is Wonwoo’s doing - you know this. You know he’s smart and you know he doesn’t want you to feel bad, so he makes conversation and builds trust between the two of you. You know he hopes you don’t feel insecure. Every word he says and every flick of his eyes is riddled with it.

The conversation decidedly slows down your progress, so Wonwoo once more suggests staying overtime. You look at him for a moment before agreeing.

You can’t tell what his end goal is. A chamber of your heart has been revived and rebirthed, and you’re more chipper, more bouncy, but the rest of your heart insists: you’re still cursed - eventually it’ll go back to how it should be. You listen. You try not to get your hopes up that Wonwoo really cares about you. Why should he, really?

Although when you’re done for the day, about an hour after your usual 5 PM, you stand up and begin to pack your things, laptop sliding into your bag and clustering pens in your hand. It’s gray outside, but the sun comes in a single strand through a gap in the smog and the clouds. The wind hoots by the windows, and it smells like the indian you ordered for lunch together.

You stop your packing, feeling a set of eyes in your back. You twist your head to see him.

Wonwoo is sitting completely still in his chair, slack-covered legs spread open, and he makes no move to collect his own things. He just stares.

“What’s up?” you quip. You’re slightly nervous. Just before it was all silly childhood stories, college and weed and life before the dead-end job. Now Wonwoo has that unreadable expression on his face again.

He slowly lifts his hands from the armrest, eyes locked with yours, and claps his palms on the tops of his thighs.

Your eyebrows furrow.

“Wha-”

“Come here,” he says simply. When you stand completely still, like a deer in the headlights, Wonwoo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What? You think you’re cured because someone hugged you once?”

“Cured?”

“You’re touch-starved, Y/n,” Wonwoo states matter-of-factly, “you need to be touched.”

“Touch-starved?” you echo, a bewildered expression on your face.

“We can also just hug, like yesterday,” he suggests calmly. You envy his collectedness. “I just don’t want you to feel bad. So please. Come sit.”

To emphasize, Wonwoo pats his thighs again, patiently. You step away from your bag with hesitating steps, pursing your lips. Your cheeks blaze when you look at his thighs again - they’re so long, and the folds in his slacks stretch down and centralize on his crotch and- You’re being a pervert.

“Okay,” you squeak and Wonwoo tuts. Why is that hot, you think, why the hell is that hot?

“We can just hug if you-”

You feel bold.

Without letting him finish, you swing your leg over his, and plop down, straddling halfway down his thighs. You thank God you put pants on this morning instead of a skirt, when you look down at where you rest on top of him.

Wonwoo is a little taken aback, but when you’ve settled on him, his hands find your waist and he looks up at you with a hum. Your breathing is a little shaky. Once again his hands provide a pumping of golden joy into your body, and more of you comes alive and becomes real, and you smile.

What had Wonwoo been talking about? Touch-starved?

“What’s, um-” your question is cut off with a gasp, when Wonwoo uses his hands on your middle to tug you closer. You rest on the highest point of thighs that you can without sitting on his dick. Cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut, you hear how Wonwoo hums, pleased. “What were you talking about? Touch-starved?” you whisper, keeping your eyes shut.

Wonwoo sighs, and once more, like the movement is entirely replayed, his hand finds your hair and pushes your face into the crook of his neck. You sigh against it, enjoying how his arms protect you and hide you from the evil of the world.

“If you don’t touch anyone,” Wonwoo begins, his voice low bass in your ear, “you become touch-starved. That’s why you reacted the way you did yesterday.”

His hands run up and down your sides.

“But- but I’m not crying today,” you say quietly into his neck. Wonwoo hums.

“No, that’s good,” he says. “We can stop if you really want, I just wa-”

“No!” your voice squeaks immediately, and, as if he were running from you, you fist his shirt to keep him close.

“Okay,” there’s a smile in Wonwoo’s voice. You can’t see it but you can imagine it.

Comfortable silence. Wonwoo traces patterns on your back and you breathe deeply against the skin of his neck. The two of you function as one living thing, the only living thing left in the office. Chairs are turned halfway, a couple lights are left on. The desks betray the past presence of humans.

“Wonwoo,” you pip.

“Mhm?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t want you to do it if you- if it’s just.. Pity.”

Wonwoo sighs, and you feel the way his torso deflates underneath you. He trails his hand up from your back to tap your cheek. You move back and look at him.

Your faces are very close, you can feel how your exhales collide and then scatter, hell, you think you could count each of his eyelashes from here.

“I already told you. I’m doing this because I don’t want you to feel bad. I-” he hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips. “I’ve been there. So I know what it’s like.”

The thought of Wonwoo feeling like this, like you, is sickening. Genuinely sickening, you feel your insides turn to rot and mold and you frown so deeply, you think your lips might forever lock in that position.

“I’m okay now,” he reassures, reading you immediately. His hand finds your cheek and he almost cries out at the way you lean into it blindly.

“How did you-.. I- I always thought it was, like, a lifelong curse,” you say.

“A curse?” Wonwoo grins, thumb stroking over the skin of your cheek. It makes you happy, it makes you feel like your heart will burst.

“Yeah. I guess I just blamed some old woman from my hometown,” you giggle, blushing a little because, yes, it did sound stupid when you weren’t just echoing the theory to yourself, like playing a team sport alone.

“You’re not cursed,” Wonwoo promises, tucking your head into his chest. “I’ll help you, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you from now on.”

He does take care of you.

Every day you work overtime, and every day when you’re done with work, Wonwoo slides you into his lap and holds you, while you curl up in his chest. Then you talk and you laugh, and you listen to each other's music. His hands run warm up your back and in your hair and on your hips, gentle caresses, deeply intimate. For two weeks you and Wonwoo indulge in this nighttime ritual.

You have not felt lonely since that night. And Wonwoo can tell. Your skin is warmer and brighter, you smile wider, your eyes twinkle, and there’s energy in every movement. Your body thaws under his warm hands every night, and sometimes when you smile, he gets so happy he could kiss you.

You realize you like Wonwoo one particular night when you’re falling asleep in your bed and you can still feel the ghost of his arms around you and it lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when you wake up you smell a little bit like his cologne. That’s how you realize. You like how considerate and how gentle he is, you like how sweet he is to you, you like how he looks when he smiles and when he laughs and you like how much he loves his cat. You like how his arms feel wrapped around you.

And you like him, and suddenly your apartment is a song that you dance in, and every photo on your walls is smiling and your bed is always warm and so is your heart.

There’s nothing dead in here, you think, when you cook a delicious meal on the stovetop, sauce bubbling in a stainless steel pan. Nothing haunted about your home or your heart. _____________________________

“We’re almost done.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe we’re almost done!”

Wonwoo looks up, bemused, lips made small and pointed. You’re staring at the almost-done document, scrolling up and down through long and arduous paragraphs. It’s nighttime again - not that you had to stay late today, it was a choice - and the city glimmers brilliantly in the coolness. You and Wonwoo wear sweaters to keep warm.

“Feels like a lifetime,” Wonwoo murmurs, same smile upon his beautiful face. His cheekbones point out from beneath his skin.

“Yeah,” you breathe, leaning back. You won’t put your fingers back on the keyboard. Not when it could be done so soon. You look at him, all snuggled up in a brown sweater. “What if..”

A pause. He tilts his head.

“Well, are we still gonna talk?” you chew your lip dejectedly, feeling a little sad and desperate, but Wonwoo only laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, it’s one you associate with joy.

“Of course,” he says, as his laughter quiets down. “If you want to.”

A shy smile forms on your lips. You turn to look back at the computer, but you hear the now-familiar sound of Wonwoo patting his thighs. You flit your eyes back to him, teasingly scolding.

“We’re not done.”

“We don’t have to be done now,” he shrugs, an equally teasing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes, but, unsurprisingly, you shift over to him, sitting down in his lap. He immediately tugs you closer, fingers searching for stimulation on the seams of your jeans. There’s something different about Wonwoo today, you realize, his touch is more feverish, his fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips and he looks up at you like you’re a diamond-encrusted chandelier, hanging from the ceiling, all glittering jewels.

“What’s up?” you giggle nervously. It’s becoming hard to breathe with the way he paws at your hips.

There’s something in the air between you, but maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you, concocting the magnetic pull that lingers between you, the thicker, heavier air, that urges you closer.

He sighs heavily, as if he was dreading this. All of a sudden composed, cool, icy Wonwoo is chewing his lip and avoiding your eyes, looking instead down where your fat gives way for his needy fingers.

“I, uh, I really like you, Y/n,” his voice shakes. “Would you. Maybe. Want to go out some time?”

At the last syllable his gaze locks on to yours, and you watch him visibly relax, because you’re fucking grinning.

Not maliciously, not crudely, not a dime or a dab of evil, only genuine joy.

“I-I would like that,” you control your smile, pointing your lips in the same way that Wonwoo does and blushing all over. Wonwoo grins too and it’s unbearably boyish.

“Okay,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. “Okay. Great.”

The window slams shut, the spell is undone by his hand, the dead defy their only law to bow to his necromancy. Wonwoo is alive and warm underneath you, and you are alive and warm on top of him, thighs pushed up against his and tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Your balloon of heart pops in your chest, and the bone-cage of your chest is filled with helium, that has you floating. Rosy and shiny, your heart beats at twice its normal speed.

There’s a lull in the conversation. It would’ve been a more comfortable silence, if you couldn’t see by how Wonwoo looks down and purses his lips, that he’s itching to say more.

Sparked by his confession, you confidently snake your hand up to tap his cheek lazily. He turns to you with a loafy smile. “What is it?”

He breathes out unsteadily.

“You’re-” he closes his eyes. “There’s so much I like about you. It- It makes me feel really bad that you weren’t feeling well, so I-”

He cringes at himself, one hand pushing away his glasses to rub the eyes underneath them.

“Can I make you feel better?” he asks vaguely.

You huff out a laugh. “Are you trying to ask if I want to have sex?”

He laughs too, behind his big hand. “No. It’s not the same, I want it to be about you!”

You laugh more, and Wonwoo’s face reappears as he lowers his hand. He looks up at you adoringly, dotingly. He’s smiling.

“I’m being serious,” he says quietly, when you finish. He seems less embarrassed now, more so smug. “I want to make you feel good.”

He’s paying an awful lot of attention to your hips, which he has not let up massaging and squeezing roughly.

“Can I..?” he begins, eyes fixed on your hips in his lap. “Can I make you cum?”

Then, slowly, Wonwoo lifts his hands and gently places them around on your face. His touch is always as soft as a hope-laced wind. He’s warm and he’s alive and he’s holding onto you, and you see it in his eyes: you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips.

“Please.”

That’s all he needs, before he presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is everything you want it to be; because it’s loving. It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s gentle, there’s no tongue, just the soft, warm, real, alive flows of his lips against your own. His hands on both of your cheeks caress your cheekbones gently, and warm air is spilled in the small space between you. He pulls away, panting.

“I don’t understand it,” he mumbles, before he’s pressing his lips back to yours hungrily. You let out a confused hum, and you have to gently push at his shoulder to back him off again. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“Why you were so alone,” he breathes, transfixed on your lips. “I want to be with you all the time.”

Before you can respond, Wonwoo grips the underside of your thighs, lifting you and himself from the chair and placing you on the desk. You gasp at the impact when the glass table meets your bottom, and Wonwoo is standing over you, suddenly so tall and so broad, and slimming at the waist. His narrow eyes become hooded behind the reflection of his glasses. His head is tilted down to meet yours.

“Can I take off your clothes, pretty?”

You don’t answer, only grip the edge of your shirt, tugging it over your head, so your bra-clad chest is exposed to him. He groans at the sight.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, nimble fingers dancing across your back to unclip the bra, sucking in a harsh breath the fabric becomes loose, sliding down your arms. “Such a pretty girl.”

“Stop,” you whisper, face warm and red. Your heart has never beat this way. It’s utterly unbearable and addicting at the same time, it’s without rhythm or class, it’s wild. And it’s because he’s looking at you and it’s not just lust. It’s adoration. There are deeper strings to the make-up of his eyes, there are lines connected to his heart, and he’s all flushed.

“What?” he asks. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

Wonwoo throws your bra on the floor next to him, hands finding the hem of your pants. “Can I take your pants off?”

You nod, still so shy and abashed, because Wonwoo’s eyes feel like a pink spotlight, and you are bathed in its warmth. He unbuttons your pants and you gently slide off the table to work them off your legs.

“Your panties are cute,” Wonwoo remarks (it should feel lewd, but he has a hand on your hip, that brushes the bone and he smiles at it). “Thank you,” you breathe, before you’re taking them off too.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to, but he still insists on gently lifting you back onto the table, and he kisses your nose when you’re sitting before him. He’s standing in between your legs, and then he’s looking down at where wetness drips onto the glass table.

His hand slides down your stomach, resting on the fat of it. He’s smiling, he’s so gorgeous, because he’s smiling the most gentle smile at how wet you are and how it leaks onto the table and his hand is so warm on your stomach, doing nothing, yet turning you on even more than you’d ever been before.

He sighs like he’s carrying the greatest burden on his broad back. “You’re so pretty,” he says, almost exasperated by it. He pinches some of the fat of your stomach between his fingers lovingly. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

Then the hand on your stomach slides down further. His large, veiny hand cups your pussy, the tips of his fingers just barely teasing your hole. You whimper against him, hands finding his biceps for support. Wonwoo studies you, craning his neck down to peer at your face, while his fingers begin swaddling your folds.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he mumbles, trying to catch your eye where you bury into his chest. One finger dips into your hole, penetrating slowly and settling knuckle-deep.

“Wonnie!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Mmm, clenching down on Wonnie’s finger so hard. My beautiful girl.”

He begins pushing his finger in and out of you, pace slow and torturous. His other hand slides up and down your body, squeezing your waist then your thigh, then coming right back up to fondle your chest. He pushes your back flat against the glass, so you’re all splayed out for him and you watch him from there, eyes hooded and legs spread to accommodate him. He breathes in shakily at the sight of you.

“Shit, Y/n. What were you doing hiding all this from me?” His finger picks up the pace, as another finger slips in alongside it. You’re moaning and panting, lips red and hair mussed, unable to focus on his words, when his fingers curl against that spongy spot inside you. Apparently Wonwoo expects an answer though, because he speaks again, voice lower and rougher. “Hm? You didn’t want to go have lunch? What, was it that guy?”

“W-What?”

“Just some guy,” Wonwoo echoes your past words, emphasizing with a harsh thrust of his fingers.

“N-No, I- Hng!” you cry out, when Wonwoo’s thumb presses onto your clit. He rubs it torturously. “I-I was embarrassed because I- I was thinking about you!”

“Oh?” this catches Wonwoo’s attention, as he diligently works his hand within you, staring down at your naked form, fully clothed and tall. “Tell me what you were thinking about, baby.”

“This!” you cry out, too high off the pleasure to really feel embarrassed about it.

“Pretty, sweet, dumb baby. You were thinking about you whimpering and writhing while I fuck you with my hand, hm?”

“N-No,” you mumble, cheeks aflame. “W-Was thinking about you l-liking me.”

At this Wonwoo hastily leans over you, pressing his lips onto yours again, and this time his tongue pries open your mouth, wet and warm in the cavern of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, hips canting into his hand. There’s something so desperate about him then, something so eager in the way he crooks his fingers, and how he kisses you, panting and covering your face in warm air. You feel a tight knot in your stomach.

“Cum on my fingers, please, pretty, sweet, baby, darling,” he mumbles into your mouth, rushing out the words before he’s sealing your lips again.

“God, I think I might fall in love with you.”

That makes you cum. You cum so fucking hard, clenching around his fingers like an air-tight seal, and your cum spills onto his fingers and his name spills into his mouth. The curse comes out with it, escaping like the air that spills out from an ancient, rediscovered chamber, and dissipating into the night. Your heart is beating and you’re breathing into his mouth, nose brushing his.

“Good girl,” he breathes, finally releasing your lips and letting his lips fall heavy and wet on your cheek.

He pulls out his fingers, unbearably wet and slick, and you think for a second that he’ll let you calm down and then maybe he’ll put his dick in you, but as soon as the fingers are out of you, they’re settling back on to your clit, rubbing heavy-handed circles.

You whine, arching your back off the table and wiggling your hips at the overstimulation. His other hand catches your hip and he shushes your cries softly.

“You can cum again, can’t you, baby? You can take it,” he says, so nonchalantly, while his slick fingers rub you. You cry out. Your legs are shaking. “Think you can cum again from just this?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh and when you look down, his entire hand covers your pussy, as he pets your clit in circles. He smiles at your words, pinching your clit teasingly. It causes a squeak to escape you, hips struggling against his hold, where he pins you to the table.

“Good girl,” he praises, purring. “Letting me use your pretty pussy like this, letting me make you feel good.”

His body in front of you prevents your legs from closing, but, God, do they try, knees pinching his thin waist, and hair bunching up on the glass when your face scrunches up in pleasure.

“A-a-ah!” you cry out. Your hips involuntarily begin to inch away from him, but Wonwoo pulls you back with one strong hand, tutting.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, pouting. “You need to be touched, remember?”

The whole thing is so heart-achingly intimate. The way he stands, still fully clothed and with a huge fucking tent in his pants, simply rubbing your pussy and looking at you with heart-eyes. Seriously, eyes swimming with adoration for you, teasing words slipping from his mouth unable to mask the genuine wonder he feels, at how you gasp and you arch and you clean and you jerk from the simplest of his movements. And your pussy is so warm and wet under his hand, and his body between your legs is so warm, and you cum again from just that; from how much love he looks at you with, and from the fingers crooking to pinch your clit again, wet and swollen underneath his glistening fingertips.

“W-Wonwoo!” you cry out, cumming again, and your body convulses around his, when it oozes out of your hole. Wonwoo’s fingers gently work you through it. His gaze on you is so intent, so careful and insistent, you can’t bear it, the way he sees you totally lost in the pleasure he brings you.

“There you go,” he whispers gently, fingers letting up and disappearing from your pulsating pussy.

“Wonwoo,” you mewl tiredly, pushing yourself onto your elbows to look up at him. He looks at you, so sweetly, so attentively, hands immediately finding your back to stabilize you. “Can I please have your cock now?”

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to!” you interrupt him, brows furrowed and lips in a pout. Wonwoo grins at that and though he may deny it, you don’t miss the red that twinges his cheeks.

“It’s just if you were too tired..-”

“I’m not,” you say decidedly, and Wonwoo nods.

“Okay. C’mere then.”

You’re confused when Wonwoo sits back down in the office chair, fingers working his slacks open. He doesn’t answer to your grimace though, only manages his pants unzipped and in one lift of his hips, peel both them and his boxers down.

His cock springs free, and your confused grimace is replaced with one of awe. It’s pale and veiny, the head is red and thin, white liquid oozes from it, like melted candle wax. And it’s huge.

You’re too slow to mask your amazement, it seems, because when your eyes return to his face, he’s already looking at you, smiling smugly.

“Come ride me, baby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You slide off the table eagerly, lumbering over to where he’s relaxed against the back of the chair. He looks up at you, all naked and pretty, with a grin.

The top buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, but he must’ve given up halfway. Either way, the milky plates of his chest are exposed, shining gloriously in the warm office light, and he discards his glasses, face fully exposed to you. He’s beautiful, and you think to tell him.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, planting each leg around his, so you’re straddling him. Like your ritual, Wonwoo grips your middle and pulls you closer, but this time it’s even closer than normal. Your stomach meets his dick, all heavy and hot on your skin, and your breath hitches at the sensation.

“You’re beautiful,” he teases, looking up at you. You smile.

“Can I put it in?” you ask.

“As if the answer was ever gonna be no?”

You snort out a laugh, raising yourself by your thighs and gripping the base of his dick to steer him inside. He hisses at the feeling of your hand grappling with his impressive size, and he hisses once more when the head of his cock buries into your heat.

His hands on your waist anchor himself while you slowly sink down, until he’s so fully sheathed in you, you think the tip of his cock must be brushing your heart, because it feels like it’s swinging in your chest.

“You’re so big,” you whimper, clutching his broad shoulders, and scrunching the fabric on top of them.

“Don’t say shit like that, I’m gonna cum, babe,” he grits out, fingers bruising your waist. You mewl, clutching his shirt. Then you begin to bounce.

Your thighs flex on either side of him as you heave up and down his cock, the both of you gasping into each other, and clutching each other for stability.

“Shit,” he pants out, genuinely out of breath. “Fuck, you’re the loveliest girl in the world.”

You cry out, pressure already welling in your stomach and burying yourself in his neck like you’ve always done, and it’s so intimate and he’s warm, and, fuck, he wants you. You can feel it in his grip, in his cock, in his words; he wants you more than anything. The thought makes you wanna cum.

Wonwoo is not quiet at all. He grunts and whines and his words are strangled and garbled, but frequent, showering you in affection and praise, while you bounce eagerly on his huge cock.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

“Your tits are so perfect, shit.”

“Pretty girl.”

“Loveliest, prettiest, sweetest girl, bouncing on my cock, fuck.”

Praises spill from his lips in purrs, one after another, and when you cum you can’t help but return it tenfold.

“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonnie, fuck! Gonna- fucking cum, I think I’m- f-falling in love with you”

You and Wonwoo come alive. Cum spurts from his cock and into your pussy, and you both cry out, entangled and completing one another in the space where you meet.

And it’s true, falling in love with him is so easy. And falling in love with you is easy too, you realize, because the second he’s spilled his cum in you, he pulls you from his neck to kiss you so deeply, so thoroughly, you think your lips might never unpuff from his hasty, bitten kisses.

His cock, now soft, still inside you, his warm chest against yours, his nose nudging yours, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin, the kiss is totally perfect, and you’re warm, and the windows are all closed and fogged up and there’s no curse other than the most fatal and most perfectly tantalizing of them all: love.

You are not alone. You’re sitting in his lap and you think if you give it a day or two more, you might want to spend the rest of your life with him.

You catch your breaths.

“You’re really good at that,” you say finally. He grins again, perfectly undone, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. “Yeah?” he asks. You hum.

After some minutes of keeping him inside you, kissing lazily, running your hands over his pretty chest and arms, you pull back, beginning to flex your legs to pull him out of you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, hands wafting to still your movements. You furrow your brows, confused.

“Am getting your dick out of me?”

His hands sink down on your hips heavily, fully encompassing his dick again. You sigh at the feeling.

“Don’t do that, silly. You’re touch-starved, remember?”

He tilts his head teasingly.

“So why don’t you just sit snug on my cock, so you can get all the closeness you need?”

#jeon wonwoo x reader #smut #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt angst #wonwoo angst #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you

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avoxrising · 6 months

Text

The Feral One - Prologue

I had an idea for a mini Finnick x reader Tumblr series so I wrote a short prologue to gage y’all’s interest. Lmk if y’all want to see more!

“I want you guys to forget everything you think you know about the games,” Haymitch states as the District 12 team sits down to eat.

“Last year was child’s play,” Haymitch continues. “This year, you’re dealing with all experienced killers.”

“All right. What does that mean for us?” Peeta asks.

“That means you’re gonna have to have some allies,” he replies.

Peeta starts, “ok I think that if we…”

“Whoop,” Haymitch interrupts. “You’re not the problem.”

“No,” Katniss states as she stares at the pair, seemingly upset that they even suggested allies.

“Look,” Haymitch sighs. “You’re starting at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years.”

“That just puts us higher on their kill list,” Katniss states.

“Do it your own way,” Haymitch tells her. “But I know these people. You go it alone, their first move is going to be to hunt you down. Both of you.”

“Katniss come on,” Peeta sighs.

“How could any of us even trust each other?” she asks.

“It’s not about trust,” Haymitch responds. “It’s about staying alive.”

After the group eats they move to the lounge to watch the recap of the reapings. Haymitch proceeds to give his tributes a rundown of their competition.

“Cashmere and Gloss,” Haymitch states. “Brother and sister, District 1. They won back to back games, capital favorites, lots of sponsors. They will be lethal.”

He clicks to the next clip. “And the other half of the career pack, Brutus and Enobaria.”

“What’s with her teeth?” Katniss asks, noticing the abnormally sharp teeth in her mouth.

“She had them filed into fangs so she could rip peoples throats out,” Haymitch explains.

“She’s committed, I’ll give her that,” Peeta declares. Haymitch moves on to the next clip.

“Wiress and Beetee,” he states. “Not fighters, but brilliant and weird, real tech savvy. He won his games by electrocuting six tributes at once.” The tributes absorb this information as Haymitch moves on to the next clip.

He moves onto the next clip and Katniss speaks out. “Finnick Odair right?”

“Yes, he won his games at 14, youngest, ever, extremely humble,” Haymitch replies.

“You’re kidding,” Katniss gapes.

“Yes, I’m kidding,” Haymitch sighs. “He’s a peacock, a total preener. But he’s the capital’s darling, and they love him here; charming, smart, and very skilled at combat, especially in water.”

“What about weaknesses?” Peeta ask and Haymitch skips back to the escort calling out the female tribute’s name.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Haymitch states. “Known in the capital as ‘the feral one’, winner of the 69th games”.

Katniss and Peeta shrink deeper into the couch.

“Isn’t she, um, a serial killer?” Peeta stutters.

“Well technically most of the victors are,” Haymitch responds. “But yes, she has killed outside of the games. She’s a deeply misunderstood creature.”

“Why is she Finnick’s weakness?” Katniss asks.

“She was Finnick’s first victor that he mentored,” Haymitch explains. “It’s hard not to get attached to the ones you bring home, especially your first. However, those two are a bit more complicated. I’d says it’s probably more of a… situationship… than an actual relationship but if you mess with either of them I can assure you that you’ll be dead pretty quickly.”

“So we should avoid them,” Peeta states, taking a mental note of Haymitch’s explanation.

“No,” Haymitch states, confusing his tributes. “The best move is to ally with them. They’re your biggest competition in the arena besides the careers, but they’re arguably more reliable and you don’t want to get on her bad side. They call her feral for a reason.”

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #catching fire

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allfearstofallto · 2 months

Note

Okie so we've had childe meeting scara's wife, but what about scara meeting childe's wife for the first time? If not can we hear more about the first one?

- 🍓

You are so right strawberry!! My dumbass really forgot that I could write the scenario going the other way!!

Scaramouche Meeting Childe's Wife

Yandere Childe! x reader x Yandere(?) Scaramouche

After almost a year of Childe fawning over you, the look of disinterest his coworker gave you was rather refreshing. The man, only a head shorter than Childe and obviously much more frail looking, had a scowl that could kill. You wondered how long it took to get a look that aggressive, but somehow still elegant on his delicate features.

“And this is my lovely wife!” Childe said rather excitedly and the man merely rolled his eyes.

“It's very nice to meet you,” you muttered softly, he didn't have much in the way to say back. Despite the cold of Snezhnaya he was wearing a shirt that barely went down to his elbows, shorts, and sandals. The cold of Snezhnaya wasn't normal, it felt like the air was biting you. You couldn't even leave the house without a few good layers, yet here he was walking through it with ease, “You're not dressed well for the weather.”

Another glare was shot your way, his eyes colder than the snow, “Skip the pleasantries. I'm here because I have to be. Don't pretend you want to speak with me.”

You didn't even dare look at Childe after the man spoke. He was always so quick to anger, especially when it came to you. Childe had very few loyalties in his life, one of them being the Tsaritsa, the other being you. He often told you how easily he could and would turn on anyone else if needed be, and it seemed this coworker was going to be no different.

“Number six,” you could hear that he was forcing the words through gritted teeth, “Perhaps I wasn't clear when I told you that I love my wife more than anything in this world.”

“You were clear. But perhaps I didn't care,” the man was bold, you'd give him that. And despite how rude he was being he still walked further into the home, taking off the large ornate hat he was wearing and letting you finally see how beautiful his silky, indigo hair was.

Childe followed soon after and the two of them went to talk. You could already tell that he wasn't completely friendly with this coworker, out of the many you'd met. You knew more harbingers than the average person did in a lifetime, more than you wanted to as well, but this one was the first one you'd seen be blatantly disrespectful.

But as they sat and chatted amongst themselves about missions and quite honestly, things you didn't understand, your mind still thought about how underdressed the man was. There was no way Childe would let him stay overnight, not with the way he was acting and Snezhnaya only got colder when the sun was down. You didn't want to just send him out into the elements.

“Could you bring me a spare jacket, and maybe some snow pants and boots,” you asked a maid and she was quick to drop what she was doing to scurry off and find things for you. In less than thirty minutes, everything was handed to you, neatly folded.

The meeting only lasted two hours and both Childe and his co-worker were leaving the office. You wondered if he ever got sick of scowling so much. Or if he ever even showed interest in anything at all.

Childe was walking faster than usual, probably trying to quickly get the man out of the house, but you stopped him, holding up the clothes that you'd acquired. The way both men looked at you made your heart sink to your ass, your orange haired husband had so much fury in his eyes from your kindness to the other, but didn't stop you.

“It's…it’s just cold out there,” you muttered, hoping that Childe would understand your explanation. He allowed the other man to take the clothes, a gentle smirk on his face.

Throughout the whole day, you'd never seen him with anything but his usual frown, you weren't even aware that he could smile, “Such thoughtfulness. I see why number eleven is interested in you,”

The door to the home was opened and the man ushered out. He was still holding the items you'd given him, not wearing them, but you didn't want to tell him to stop. Not while Ajax was looking at you so angrily. You didn't want to cause even more misunderstandings.

“Scaramouche,” he said while still walking out the door. You must've made a noise of confusion because he elaborated, “I'm called Scaramouche. And I'll see you soon.”

#mai<3 answers #🍓 anon #genshin #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche

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morganski-19 · 3 months

Text

The One with Shaved Legs

Eddie walks into Steve and Robin’s apartment, planning on asking if can borrow a charge since Nancy has banned him from borrowing hers. But instead, he’s stood there staring at them with a hand on the door handle.

“Oh, hey Eddie,” Steve waves a greet as if what’s happening is completely normal.

“If you’re going to ask for a charger, the answer is no. Nancy already told me you’re blacklisted.”

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, closing it and reopening it a few times. “I’m sorry, what are you doing?”

What they are doing, in question, has Steve with his leg on a chair, wearing the shortest shorts known to man, with shaving cream rubbed all over his leg. Robin is standing next to him with a razor, delicately shaving the hair off.

“Yeah that. Robin’s shaving my leg,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, finally able to step into the apartment. “But why?”

Robin stand upright, rising the razor off in a bowl and glaring at Steve. “Do you want to tell him why or should I?”

“I didn’t know, ok I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know?”

“Did he not show up to parent teacher conference?”

“Fuck he did, I forgot.” Steve runs his hands over his face, mortified.

Eddie clears his throat. “Explanation, please. Clue in the person not connected to your weird twin telepathy thing that you have.”

“Steve’s on a sex ban,” Robin informs. “He slept with one of his student’s parents, again.”

“Divorced,” Steve clarified, “I knew that much. And he was very hot, could you blame me?”

“Yes, always.”

“How hot?” Eddie asks.

Steve reaches for his phone on the counter and almost falls over in the process, swiping through his phone to pull up the guys dating profile.

Eddie takes it and stares at it. “Yeah, very hot. Not for me, but I can see why you went for it.”

“Thank you.”

Nancy walks into the apartment. “Oh, there you are Eddie.” She takes one look at what’s happening and immediately gives Steve a deadpanned look. “Sex ban again, seriously, Steve.”

And because the timing couldn’t be more perfect, Jonathan and Argyle show up and walk into the apartment unphased.

“I forgot, ok. I wouldn’t have slept with the guy if I knew.”

“Parent again?” Jonathan asks while already knowing the answer.

“Wait, how many times has this happened?”

“Too many,” Nancy says annoyed. “The first time was in college when he slept with the TA to get a better grade.”

“That was not why, it was not grade motivated,” Steve depends.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Either way, he got a weird grade boost so we invented the sex ban.”

“It happens like once every year or so,” Jonathan fills in.

Eddie crosses his arm, still confused. “How exactly is this a sex ban?”

“We only shave one leg,” Robin explains.

“Yeah, shaving both would do nothing, now I get so disgusted by the feeling of my legs rubbing together that I won’t want to sleep with anyone. I can do with both having hair, or both shaved, just not one with both.”

“Oh, yeah that makes sense.”

“I shave my legs all the time,” Argyle says unprompted.

Jonathan nods. “It’s true, he does.”

“I like how soft they get.”

“Very soft.”

“You’ve touched his bare leg to feel how soft it is,” Eddie questions.

Jonathan shrugs. “Hard not to when he does that thing where he shaves and then makes me feel how soft it is.”

“Because I want someone to appreciate it,” Argyle reasons.

“Just because I didn’t say anything doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate it.”

Argyle rolls his eyes. “Well, you could have said it.”

“Your relationship still confuses me.”

Robin finishes the last stripe on Steve’s leg, swishing the razor in the bowl of water. “Done, go rinse it off.”

Steve brings his leg off the chair and walks to the bathroom with a wide stance, so he doesn’t get any of the shaving cream on his other leg. He comes out with a clean leg.

“You missed a spot.”

“Even better.”

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic, @fearieshadow, @mentallyundone, @eightpackdiaz

#morgan's friends au #stranger things #spicy six apartment schenanigans #friends au #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle stranger things #modern au #steddie #ronance #jargyle #pre relationship #for alll of them though

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billwidoll · 4 days

Text

Come back to me please

_____________________

You were at Topper's party, looking bewildered for your boyfriend Rafe, you asked everyone, but no one knew where he was. Except Topper.

"Hey Topper..." You say, approaching him, getting closer as the music was loud.

"hi yn! Enjoying the party?" Topper says drinking his drink. Topper was the king of parties and Rafe was the king of Outer banks Fact.

"Not really, I'm looking for Rafe, have you seen him?"

You ask loudly, you didn't drink or like parties much, you only went because of Rafe. You were the golden girl, you didn't drink, you didn't smoke, you were perfect and everyone was surprised when you and Rafe made it official, even Topper imagined that his friend would date a bitch, But Rafe chose you because it was love at first sight.

You had already been dating for 2 years, and Rafe was making plans for your future with him, you knew Rafe's fame, but you put that aside and clung to loving him.

"I think he's smelling dust with the kelce on top"

Topper speaks normally and you immediately get angry, as Rafe had promised he would stop it. You thank him and say goodbye to Topper.

You go up and see several rooms, and you ask everyone which room Rafe was in, until they pointed to a room that was in the last one. And you go there, ready to give a scolding In Rafe, you just didn't expect what was going to happen.

You approach the room and open the door, and you see Rafe Cameron, sucking Sophia, his best friend's breasts.

"Wow!" You speak with tears welling in your eyes and impulsively end up dropping your cell phone.

Rafe quickly sees you and stands up with a pale face.

"My love....and....I can explain...." Rafe speaks stuttering and getting closer to you and holding your arm.

"friend...we can explain" Sophia adds, and you become completely mobile, without any kind of reaction, and that terrified Rafe.

"Sophia get out of here now!" Rafe shouts, thinking Sophia would ruin his explanation.

"what about us Rafe?" Sophia asks how the victim was her. Rafe takes a quick look at her and she runs away.

"Love... don't cry... don't do this to me, it hurts too much" Rafe says holding your face and you're still a statue.

You stand up and move a little away from Rafe.

"I only have one thing to tell you: I loved you and I did my part, I thought we were going to get married and have two children like you wanted"

You throw it in his face, and his heart starts beating too fast. Rafe had just had a fight with his father, and it got on his nerves, so to distract himself he went to his father's party Topper, there he saw Sophia in a tight and short dress, seducing him, he unfortunately fell for her fetish.

"Whatever you say, I love you, I'm crazy about you, you're the woman I want to have kids with and marry, I want you to be a Cameron."

Rafe speaks crying and despairing, he was very afraid of losing the only person he truly loved.

"Bye Rafe... I hope you take care, okay?" You say, approaching the door, until Rafe jumps at you.

“Don’t give up on me, please don’t give up” Rafe cries pinning you against the door.

"no Rafe, that was the last straw" you reply, and Rafe insists once again.

"I belong to you and only you, love" Rafe speaks sobbing, and perhaps it could be more emotional manipulation that he was trying to do.

But it's true that Rafe was distressed by the fact that you might disappear from his life.

"Only you, my girl, only you, love, Only you, my girl, only you, babe"

Rafe repeats several times, placing his hands on your face and kissing you forcefully, clearly you pull away.

"Rafe! You've wronged me several times, okay? And I always forgive you, but this time you really hurt me"

You explain and unfortunately it doesn't enter Rafe's head.

"No! No! And not! You won't leave me now or ever!!!"

Rafe shouts at you and this scares you, putting you back, he approaches you to try to kiss you or hug you, but you kneel on Rafe's dick, and he falls to the floor. And you run from there. After that day, Rafe never saw you again.

Five years later

_____________________

Rafe was at the Country Club, with Topper and Kelce. Rafe didn't play golf anymore, he didn't work anymore, he didn't date anymore, and he was poorly looked after, Rafe only cared about drinking and sleeping.

"Hey man! Are you aware of the gossip?" Topper says drinking his water.

"what is it huh?" Rafe asks, drinking his whiskey as always.

"The wonderful yn, being back, married and with children"

When Topper says this, Rafe chokes on the whiskey he was drinking, he never saw you again. After the breakup, you went to Los Angeles and never responded to any of Rafe's messages.

"Married? And what do you mean with children?" Rafe asks trying to compose himself.

"and man! The girl is in luxury, her husband is a millionaire back in New York." Topper speaks, and Rafe is furious with those comments.

"so what? I'm a millionaire too" Rafe says trying to think he's better than his husband.

"Ah Rafe, let's be honest, you've run out of money and practically your father's, you haven't risen to your future friend"

Topper speaks wisely, and Rafe knew he was right and that's what you were talking about and he didn't listen and he regretted it

"you know what? I'm going to go to her" Rafe says, taking his wallet and leaving the money on the counter.

"Who she?" Topper says confused.

"the woman of my life" Rafe says looking directly into Topper's eyes.

"Man, she has two kids and a husband, do you think she's still stuck in the past?" Topper speaks leaving Rafe crestfallen, but that wouldn't stop him from going after you.

"just tell me where she is Topper!!!" Rafe yells, pulling on the ring on Topper's shirt.

"they told me she was at her old house, bro" Topper speaks in despair at his friend's desperation.

Rafe immediately gets on his bike and goes out to look for you.

_____________________

Rafe arrives at his old house, and you weren't Kook, you were Pogue, and you had a simple one.

Rafe parks his motorbike, and he sees you in the garden of the house, playing with your two young children and a dog. Rafe gets emotional at that scene, and starts to cry.

It didn't take long for you to see Rafe, and when you did, you didn't know it was Rafe, you thought he was an ordinary man, watching you and your children play.

You approach the man who was watching that scene and go to him and ask.

"Can I help you?" You ask, holding one child in your arms and another in your hand.

Rafe raises his head, and you can see better that it was the former great love of your life.

"Have I changed so much that my ex-girlfriend doesn't recognize me?"

Rafe made a light humorless joke, he was very sad but wanted to appear normal in front of you.

"oh my god! Rafe! Wow! And.... you look so... different"

You say really shocked, Rafe was really different.

"Do you want to come in? Do you want anything? We can talk, don't you think?" You ask him formally, and Rafe nods his head and nods accepting his invitation.

Rafe enters your house, and everything really was the same, everything was the same when you were dating.

"Don't fix the mess, please" you say, giving Rafe a slight smile, and you put your son in the crib and your other son on the floor to play with the cars.

"no... it's perfect. It really is beautiful" Rafe says, smiling at you too and you go to the kitchen to prepare some juice.

Rafe can't help but ask, the biggest question in his celebration.

"why did you come back....?" Rafe asks creating a tension in his words.

"I'm going to renovate this house and sell it as a beach house" you say, still smiling. Rafe couldn't believe you looked like that. Were you mad at him? I was sad? Or worse, was it over? There were many questions in Rafe's head.

"Really? You came to the Outer Banks just to sell this house?" Rafe says hoping you tell him you missed him.

"No, actually I saw it, show the beaches to my children, there in New York, we were just getting used to the cold and the city." You made it by gluing the tea to the cup for you and Rafe.

"Ah... I see... your children are cute...." Rafe says, getting confused in his answers, but he was sad and depressed.

"But what about you, Rafe Cameron? How are you? Are you still the biggest playboy in town?" You say smiling and giving him the glass of tea.

"Nah...my life is...crazy as hell" Rafe says once again scratching his head and looking down "but you're okay, right? You're already married and with kids, and from what I know the guy and one hell of a Millionaire, right?”

You noticed right away that Rafe wasn't feeling well at all, and that he was suffering from anxiety, you were angry with him, you were very young when you separated.

"Yes....I evolve in life Rafe" you say a little more intensely, without knowing the relationship as Rafe was.

"that's good! I'm very happy for you..." Rafe says with tears welling up in his eyes and you realize at some point

"Rafe? Hey! Look at me, are you crying?" You ask, putting down your tea, and moving closer to Rafe.

He lowers his head trying to hide it, but he was already sobbing.

"It was supposed to be us...it was supposed to be us, my love!" Rafe says, crying a lot and putting his hand on his face.

"Rafe...what we experienced was in the past..." You try to speak in a way that doesn't hurt him.

He shakes his head no and you sigh.

"Look....I'm sure if I didn't make mistakes with you in the past, maybe we would be a perfect family!!"

Rafe says, crying with anger, he was angry with himself for doing something horrible to you. You were speechless, you didn't know what to feel, you loved your new husband, but you loved Rafe... regardless of everything.

"I love you! My life turned into hell when you left it" Rafe says, grabbing your face and getting closer to his "I fell into drugs and drinks, I never felt attracted to you again no woman , I lost my inheritance, I'm running out of YN..."

"Rafe..." Just as you were about to start talking to Rafe, someone interrupted.

"Honey, I'm here!" Her husband speaks, opening the door and finding Rafe beside her.

"Oh dear!" You speak completely unprepared, you didn't realize that it was time for your husband to arrive. Rafe's face changes to hatred and contempt

Your husband drops his suit on the chair and approaches you, giving you a peck on the lips and then holding your waist. When Rafe saw that, all he could think about was pain and suffering.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, my dear?" Your husband encourages you to talk about Rafe and you swallow hard.

"this one is Rafe Cameron, my old.... friend" you say with a heavy heart. And that hurts Rafe a lot.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Rafe" her husband raises his hand to greet Rafe, only for Rafe to leave abruptly "What did I do wrong?" Your husband asks confused.

You run after Rafe, and it was starting to rain. You keep running Rafe, who was heading towards his bike.

"Rafe! Stop! Stop! Please listen to me!" You say, grabbing his arm and trying to turn him around to make him face you.

"Stop what?! Hu?! My life is shit because of you! And you're making it worse!!"

Rafe shouts in your face, as the rain starts to get heavier.

"You betrayed me, Rafe!!! It's not my fault that your life is horrible!!!" You respond by screaming and pushing his chest

Rafe laughs without humor

"oh and? You have the husband of your dreams, a house of your dreams, you have two children and a dog, your life is wonderful!!"

Rafe says, making you so angry that you end up slapping him in the face.

"I was supposed to do this five years ago!"

When you turn to go back to your house, Rafe ends up pulling you and kissing you intensely.

The kiss had passion, anger, sadness, longing, desire, it had emotions, and that kiss was a sudden goodbye between Rafe and you.

You stop kissing and look at each other, and your look says everything Rafe wanted to know. You were married to a wonderful man and a millionaire, you had two children and a dog, you already had a life Formed. Rafe, on the other hand, had drugs and drinks. And you couldn't let go of that, for Rafe, unfortunately.

Rafe immediately understands that and he nods, understanding what you meant.

"Goodbye Rafe Cameron..."

_____________________

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babygorewhore · 2 months

Text

Cuffed

Rafe Cameron x fem reader

After accepting a housekeeper job, you find out that Rafe Cameron has other plans for you, especially after you discover a secret room he keeps locked away.

Hi. So this is loosely based on 50 shades of grey, LOOSELY. The horny demon once again got ahold of me and I created this monster. Thank you once again to @xxbimbobunnyxx for beta reading and keeping me sane!! And thank you to @redhead1180 for helping me out on aftercare tips! This may be a short series.

Warnings! BDSM themes! Daddy kink! Sir kink! Pussy slapping! Oral! Fem recieving! Light degrading? Choking! (It’s rafe) unprotected sex! Reader is handcuffed! But aftercare is absolutely included! Barely proofread because if I look at a fic too long I’ll delete it. Rafe is OOC but it’s an AU.

You scrolled through options with your resume ready to be uploaded before settling on a higher paying housekeeper job in the uber on the way home from work. You assumed it was a mansion or something from the pay. They were very common for kooks here, the term you learned from your cousin Kiera when you moved here a few months ago. The hours alone could make you able to work just one job with the salary. Was this real? It was official, you investigated for your own sanity. You pressed the buttons and submitted your resume with a jolt of adrenaline.

As you got out of the car,your phone buzzed. You unlocked your screen with a slight frown that it was an unknown number.

“How soon can you start? Rafe Cameron.”

That was the name of the guy who listed the job and your thumbs immediately tapped on the screen. “As soon as possible.”

“Can you start tomorrow at 5pm?” It was a second shift job and you smiled to yourself.

You answered yes and set down your phone.

Maybe you’d finally have some luck after all.

Or maybe not. When you stepped into the penthouse the next day, there was already someone cleaning it. You immediately frowned and wondered if you had the wrong house. “Excuse me? Is this Rafe Cameron’s house?” You ask with a perplexed look as you adjust your purse and the older woman nods.

Your eyebrows crease and you pull out your phone to call him, wondering if maybe you had the dates mixed up when a voice said your name. Your eyes darted to the top of the balcony, seeing a tall male wearing a suit holding up his hand as he quickly went to the stairs, his long legs led him to you in a matter of seconds. “She wasn’t supposed to still be here.” He laughs weakly and sticks out his hand.

You shake it in greeting. “Well, it’s already clean here, so-“

“I know. But I need to talk to you. It’s about the job. Can you give me a few minutes?”

Your stomach plummeted when you heard his words as you nodded rapidly. Of course this was too good to be true. You were so stupid, you thought. How could you think working one job was possible? You followed him into the large kitchen and he leaned against the White Island in the middle of the room.

“I know I shouldn’t have lied. But what I have mind-I didn’t think-“ he stutters and you hold up a hand.

“Listen. If you don’t want to hire me-“

“No. I do. It’s just this isn’t a cleaning job. That was just a ruse.” You pursed your lip and waited for his explanation. That he was struggling to give by the way he twitched his jaw, flexed his hands and looked in other directions.

“Mr. Cameron-“

“Rafe.” He corrected you. And you cleared your throat.

“Rafe. Sir, if you don’t like me for this job I understand-“

“The problem is you’re the only one I want for what I have in mind. I don’t want someone to clean. I already have someone for that. I want someone to keep me company. Stay with me. Talk to me. Anything I want within reason. And I’ll pay you.” He blurted out and your mouth parted.

Oh.

That’s what this was.

A quiet snort escaped your nose and you quickly covered it with a cough. “So, you want to be a sugar daddy?” You said slowly and Rafe sighed.

“I don’t like that term. But yeah. And ideally, that would be you.”

You glanced down at your run down clothes. Stained with bleach marks and raggedy shoes. “Me? Why me? We’ve never met.”

Rafe scanned your face and neck, tilting his face to the side with a small smirk. “I saw your resume picture. That was enough for me. And now? You’re perfect.” He said softly. “But the choice is yours. That’s the real job.”

“So-let me get this straight. You want me to be a sugar baby. And just…talk to you? Keep you company? No fucking?” You deadpanned and he shook his head.

“No. Doesn’t have to be that. I just need someone. It gets lonely here. And it’s just me. I’m not gonna hurt you or some shit. Or force you into anything. We could just sit in silence for all I care. Just be with me. That’s all I need.” Rafe’s voice was almost pleading.

You should have immediately said no. But something inside you prevented you from turning him down right away. “Let me sleep on it. I think that’s fair.” You offered and he quickly nodded.

“Yes. Please consider. Text or call me when you’ve made your decision.”

When you got home to your small, messy apartment, you sighed and pinched your nose. What were you doing thinking about this? It wasn’t anyone else’s business at all but how long would this last? You plopped down on your bed, legs sprawled out as you laid down on your back. Maybe not long but it could get you out of here. Long enough for you to save. Have a nice place to live. Even get a car that wasn’t broken and too expensive to fix. It had only been thirty minutes since you left his house, he paid for your uber home and your phone was open on his contact already. Was it too soon to make a choice?

But another question rose in you, one that wasn’t forced, one that was genuinely curious.

When was the last time you had something fun to do?

You snorted to yourself and rolled to your side, facing away from your phone. Months ago when you last hung out with someone uninterrupted. Without the stress of getting up in the morning or clocking into a late job.

Fuck it. And you picked up the phone and called him. He answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mr. Cameron. I’ve decided to accept the offer. I can start anytime-”

“Please, call me Rafe,” He said with a stern voice. “I insist. And can you come tomorrow? Same time?”

This time you wore nicer clothes. A plain black dress and sandals when you knocked on the door the next evening. Your hair was back, exposing your neck and necklace your mom got you on your last birthday. When the door opened, you plastered on a smile but it wasn’t Rafe. It was the actual housekeeper. “Mr. Cameron is in his office. You can wait here.” She gave you a judgemental look and you almost rolled your eyes. Of course she was looking at you like that. That didn’t help your nervous energy as you stepped around her and waited in the main entryway.

His house was immaculate. It almost looked futuristic from the decor and digital advancement. You chuckled and glanced at your feet. Clicking your heels you looked up when you heard a door open and shut upstairs.

Rafe peered down and quickly made his way to you, still wearing a suit. “Right on time and I’m not. Sorry. Meeting went over later than I expected.”

You both fell into silence and you chewed your lower lip. God this was so awkward. Wasn’t he supposed to be…charming and giving you a tour? “How about you show me around? Since I’m going to spend some time here!” You prompted and he jerked his head.

“Uh, yeah of course. Just follow me.” He was purposely moving slower, his longer legs could have easily made you lose him as he showed you the lower level of his house. It was sleek. Obviously the taste of a rich male, but he had a few photos of his parents. And some were a few selfies of him and his youngest sister,

“She’s the only one who doesn’t get on my fucking nerves. All the time, anyway.” He grumbled as you walked through the dining room and towards the upstairs.

His phone started ringing and he groaned. “Sorry about this, but please make yourself at home and feel free to explore. I’ll be with you in a minute.” He walked away and you huffed.

This really was easy, you shrugged to yourself. Most of the time he was working. You meandered upstairs, loitering in the hallway before your eyes fell on a closed door.

You really shouldn’t, being nosy always gets you into trouble. But he wasn’t around, and if there were cameras, you could always lie and say you were looking for the restroom.

You opened the door and quickly covered your mouth, stifling a gasp.

The room was basically-and there was no other way to form the words-a sex room. It was red with leather furniture. Sex toys on clear shelves. Ropes. Handcuffs. Whips. Riding crops. Belts. Paddles. Lube. Anything you could imagine in a local kinky sex store and your eyes were wide as you shut the door as silently as you could. Okay, you definitely should have minded your own business. And when you turned and saw Rafe, you wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

His face was white and you immediately started to grovel. “I’m so sorry. I was just curious-I should have just stayed out of closed doors-“

“I’m surprised you’re not running and screaming-“ Rafe blurted. “That’s why I shut the door. Didn’t want to scare you off.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “You think kinks would scare me off? Come on, sir. You think I’ve never been spanked before?”

You had no idea where the sudden boldness came from but by the darkening of his eyes, you knew he wasn’t opposed to it.

He nodded slowly and gestured forward. “Would you like to look around?”

Your mouth goes dry but you say yes anyway. Your veins burn as he opens the door, exposing the bright red color and you fold your arms and step inside. “Feel free to…touch. If you want.” The tone in his voice is clear and you smile a little to yourself.

You examine the walls and approach a riding crop. Your fingers run along the material, imagining the sting of impact on your body as you then pick up a pair of black handcuffs. You flip them over, holding it in your palm.

“Those interest you, hmm?” Rafe noticed and you set them back down.

“Never been tied up before.” You answer back honestly and face him. “So, is this part of the deal?” You tease him and he shrugs.

“If you want it to be.” He replied back simply. “You don’t have to. If you’re interested then…I’m always open to play with you.”

Chills cause you to shiver and you lean against the wall. “So, that’s-if I say yes-“

“Before you do, we’d have to set rules and establish boundaries. There’s a whole contract I have prepared. This isn’t just sex, baby girl. This is emotional. This is something that could be harmful if it’s not done correctly.” His tone is set and clear.

You knew about BDSM and you understood what he was saying. But his response honestly surprised you. You didn’t expect him to be so stern with that part of the negotiation.

You remained quiet for a few seconds, contemplating your next words. “Can we go over it?” You ask and he smiles at you.

“Of course we can.”

You sit down on the bench in front of the bed as he returns to the room after getting a wad of papers downstairs. Rafe gives them to you, “take your time reading them. It’s a lot of information.”

You took several minutes looking through the extremely detailed contract. The rules, terms and his own boundaries were all highlighted. It was so official. Something he took the time to come up with. And you couldn’t lie to yourself.

It was hot as fuck.

You glanced at him. He was very good looking. You were so prepared to keep emotional distance that you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to admire him. The way his fit body wore his suit. Blonde hair swept out of his face and stunning blue eyes stared at you as you read through the words. He took his jacket off, exposing his muscular arms. “So. Running for the hills yet?”

You rolled your eyes and flipped over the pages. “Are you kidding? You think this will scare me?”

Truth be told, you were a little nervous. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

And you honestly needed this. You needed a break. You needed fun. You needed a distraction.

“There is…one rule I think we should change, Sir.” You slowly stand up, move to him with deliberate swaying of your hips. Your fingers found his loose tie. Rafe’s eyes burned as you tugged him down, his head toward yours.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think spanking should be a punishment.” You give him a sly smile and he laughs darkly. A breathy sound and his hand encircled your wrist.

“Are you going to sign the contract?”

You nod. “Do you have a pen?” He gives you one out of his pocket and you turn to put down your signature on the last line of the paper and date it. The rules consisted of obedience, honesty and pleasure. But the biggest part was the safe word.

Mercy. If at any point it became too much, you’d say that word and he would stop.

“Do you want me to start?” Rafe asked you, still keeping his hands to his sides.

“Please?” You whispered.

His palms heavily pressed on your hips before sliding to your ass and cupping the soft flesh outside of your dress. He walked you backward, your knees hitting the bed and you stumbled back. A rush of excitement burned through you and the breath was knocked out of you as he pulled out the same pair of black cuffs you held earlier.

“Put your hands over your head.” He ordered with a new assertiveness that made your core tighten. You obeyed him, laying on your back and he shook his head.

“Did I say you could lay down?” You sat back up with your hands over your head and he slapped the cuffs on your wrists, giving them a light slap.

“Keep them up.” He tells you and stands straight. His hardening cock in front of you. “Until I tell you otherwise.”

His fingers trace the skin of your neck, tracing your collarbones…to the skin of your chest. His thick digits found the outside of your bra, where your nipples perked underneath his touch. “Mmm, so responsive already and I’ve barely touched you.” He muses and you want so badly to reach forward.

But that would result in a punishment. You wanted one but you needed to ease yourself into this. Like the contract stated. Intense impact play needed to be used with expertise. And you had just met him yesterday.

“Mhm,” You leaned into his touch, keeping your arms above your head as he pointed forward, leaning down so his face was inches from yours.

“Go to the bed. You can move your hands. Being a good girl for me.”

You settle on your back, keeping your legs together and he gives you a satisfied smile. “Good girl. Now. This is what we’re going to do.” His eyes settle on your covered pussy.

“I’m going to make you cum. More than once. And you’re going to stay cuffed. You’re going to listen to every word I say or else I will punish you. And you’re not going to like it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You respond quietly.

“Are you going to be a good little whore and take it?” He sets one knee on the bed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you going to cum for me? As many times as I make you?” His other knee is on the bed.

“Yes, sir.”

Rafe moved to hover over you, painfully slowly lifting up your dress over your legs and exposing your underwear with the sticky middle. He nudged your knees apart with his own, his fingertips finding the waistband of your panties and he pulled them down, moaning at the sight of your glistening cunt.

“Such a wet little pussy for me, babydoll. This what you needed? Daddy to fuck you?” He questioned and you whined, arching your back and pressing your chest to his.

“Please, daddy.” You begged.

“Please, what? Use your words like an obedient slut.” He said against your lips.

“Please, fuck me.” You pressed your mouths together in a slow, messy kiss as your tongue lapped at his. Rafe moaned and his hands skirted up to your tits and he squeezed them while he settled between your legs.

“Gonna fuck that little cunt.” He said and you felt yourself drip onto the bed.

Rafe slid onto his stomach, breaking the contact and pressed kisses along your pelvis, holding his mouth above your clit. “This what you want?” He asked and you nodded.

He slapped your pussy. “I said use your words.” You jolted at the impact.

“Yes, daddy please!” You squealed when he shoved his face between your legs, licking a firm stripe along your slit and circling your clit before pressing his tongue flat. You move your hips along with him, causing more friction as he thrust his tongue inside before replacing it with two fingers, stuffing you and curving them upward.

He was relentless as he moved his head, causing you to throw your head back and almost scream. You’d never been eaten out this good. Not with so much enthusiasm. A lot of men you’d be with didn’t give a shit about your pleasure. And now…

It was the only thing on Rafe’s mind.

Your stomach was coiling with pressure as your thighs locked around his head, keeping him there as he brought you closer to the edge that quickly.

“Fuck!” You yelled out, bursting with a tidal wave of pleasure and it creamed all over his mouth and chin. You sputtered as he immediately lifted up, unbuckling his belt, releasing his heavy dick that slapped against his stomach.

Your mouth watered at his size and girth, as he ran the tip along your folds and clit. “You want me to fuck you? Tell me how bad. Beg.”

“Sir, please fuck me. Please, please, please! I’ll be good, I’ll be so fucking good for you. I’ll listen the whole time-I promise I will! Just please!” You were brought to tears and he did nothing but smirk at you.

“Aww, you want it that bad huh?”

“Daddy-“your watery eyes spilled over and he finally lowered himself and sank his cock deep in you, inch by inch until bottoming out and his balls slapped against your ass.

You were a blubbering mess underneath him as he thrusted hard against you, moving the entire bed as his tip hit your deepest spot. You were so wet he went in with ease.

“Fuck, you’re sooo tight, baby girl. Such a pathetic little slut for me. You fucking needed me, didn’t you?” He growled and his fingers wrapped around your neck.

Your breath constricted from the contact but you loved the pressure. Being unable to touch him was torture but it only made it more intense as he moved faster, causing you to whine as he pulled you in for another kiss, which was more of just smashing your lips together in a tangle of tongue and teeth.

He was strong enough to hold you down in place with little effort as he wildly rolled his pelvis, forcing you close to the peak again, harder as you did scream this time and your sticky fluid pooled out of you. “So fucking pretty-“ he rasped and held you down.

You nearly blacked out as he kept going, before ropes of his cum filled you up, spilling out of you and dampening your thighs as he halted and buried his face in your neck, peppering kisses on your sweaty skin.

You were trembling violently, your teeth chattering and Rafe moved his face out of your neck, looking down at you with glazed eyes. He reached around you to the nightstand and grabbed the key. He unlocked the cuffs and then encircled his arms underneath your legs. He lifted you up, “come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He said softly.

Your mind was nearly blank as he placed you in the warm water of the bath as he gently cleaned you up, the warm cloth soothing on your skin as you rested your head against the wall. “Daddy?”

Rafe looked at you sharply for a second, surprised you were still referring to him as that outside of a scene but he answered anyway, “hmm?”

“Does this mean we’re…dating?” You asked him with a heavy heart. The contract said nothing about an actual relationship but you knew you’d fall for him fast.

Rafe didn’t answer right away, continuing to move onto doing a poor attempt at a braid of your hair before giving up and putting it in a bun.

“I don’t…normally-“ he stopped himself from continuing before swearing under his breath. “I know I won’t be able to stay away from you but I don’t normally date. This was better than I’ve ever had.” He told you honestly. “And I’m not the best boyfriend. I haven’t been in the past.”

“It’s okay, Rafe. I understand. If it’s just part of the contract then-“

“Would you let me take you out? On a date?” Rafe interrupted you. A small formed on your lips as he offered you a towel.

“I’d like that very much.”

Rafe smiled back at you. A genuine one and wrapped you up securely. Picking you up again and you clung to his body as he took you back to the bed and set you down.

Your eyes drifted closed as he turned off the lights and pulled the blanket over your head.

You were soon fast asleep.

@drewstarkeyslut @slvt4jamesmarch @marchsfreakshow @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @gri959 I may have forgotten some and I apologize

#rafe #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #Drew Starkey smut

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januaryembrs · 19 days

Text

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE | Marc Spector x reader

Request: @happyhauntt says - okay i am BEGGING for a fic based on the song 'forest fire' by brighton (be warned that shit HURTS) but i fully cannot decide between poe dameron, steven/marc or spencer reid so i am giving you full creative direction and i look forward to getting my heart ripped out!!

Description: Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realises he should have saved her.

length: 3.9k

Warnings: Heavy warnings for childhood / domestic abuse/neglect (both from Marc and also reader has a neglectful father) warnings for alcohol, the cave scene, drowning, death etc. you asked for angst, so I served!

authors note: sorry this took so damn long, today isn't even my day off and I have been too exhausted to even look at my computer, but I hope you like it!

Before Randall was too little to be part of his adventures, Marc used to play on his own in the yard.

Usually that entailed kicking a football at the wooden fence that lined their garden, trying to knock it off his chest when it would come bouncing back the way he’d seen the professionals do it, even if it had led to three milk teeth coming loose already.

But there weren’t kids on his street to play with, at least that’s what he thought until the one day he kicked his ball a little too high and watched it fly right over the top of the fence, bouncing into the neighbour's yard, a soft “ouch” meeting his ears.

In minutes, a little head appeared over the wall, beady eyes frowning down at him, and he realised it was a girl around his age, maybe a little younger.

“Did you lose this?” She held up his soccer ball he was worried he was going to have to kiss goodbye to forever, the small digits of her other hand holding onto the fence tightly.

“Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it so high,” Marc said, and with no more explanation than that, she threw it over to his side of the partition, and her tiny head disappeared back below the fence line.

He felt stunned. He knew there were moving boxes over that way a couple weeks ago, but as far as he could see there was only a man living there on his own, a scowl on his face most days. Marc had seen him shouting at the other kids on his block to stop riding their bikes in front of his house because it ‘upset the dog’, though Marc had yet to see for himself this canine friend he was speaking about.

But there was a girl living there! A real life girl who spoke to him; granted he had lobbed a heavy soccer ball at her, from what her distaste told him, and he wondered if perhaps, despite the grumpy look on her face he realised mirrored the man he’d seen living there, that she might like to even make friends with her neighbour.

“Wait!” He yelled, running up to the fence where she had slipped away from him, grabbing on to the top and pulling himself up to the point he was on his very tippy toes and he could only just about see her yard.

The grass was unkempt, which was odd because Marc’s own dad cut the grass every fortnight, and there were planks of wood with nails sticking out of them strewn across the side of the shed she had used to pull herself up with. He fought the urge to cringe in disgust, because there, looking up at him from where she was making a daisy chain in the long, dry grass, alone in a pink plaid shorts and a white, dirt stained top, was the girl.

“Do you want to play?” Marc asked, his foot nearly slipping under him where he was trying to rest it on the wood to take a closer look, “I have tennis, or swing ball we could play?”

She looked interested at the mop of curly, black hair for a moment, before she looked back at the house that he had still yet to see any sign of a dog.

“I’m not sure my dad would like it…” She said cautiously, almost whispering to him, picking the soil under her nails.

“My mom could come around and get you, she could talk to him,” He offered, because this was when his mother was still mom and not Wendy.

Before she had yet to flip his world entirely upside down with her cruel hands and vicious tongue. Before Steven.

She seemed unsure, biting her bottom lip and stroking her arms like she was giving herself a cuddle. But she nodded, looking up at him, and he tried to hide just how excited he was to finally have someone to play with.

“I’m Marc,” He said, grinning at her, his tongue poking between the space where his adult teeth were only just growing back in.

She told him her name back, and it was the first time he understood what a crush was.

–

“Marc, I’m not sure we should be doing this,” She said, grabbing his hand so tight he thought his heart might explode.

“It’s okay, we come here all the time, don’t we, RoRo?” He reassured, looking back to where Randall, now a few years older and big enough to play with them, held onto the side of the cave, his own face nervous.

“All the time!” The little boy echoed, because Marc knew he had a bit of a thing for her as well, because she was older and cool and smelled like a field of flowers and he hated seeming like he was scared, even though he was.

He was just a kid.

They were just kids.

And being kids, they stumbled into danger without realising it, not even when the rain started coming down outside torrentially and they had to pause their game of pirates to run for cover. They hadn’t expected, in their childish excitement to continue the adventure, that the water would start pooling into the cave; that it would fill up like a basin, whether they were in there or not, and it wasn’t until the screaming started that they realised they were in the kind of danger that required an adult.

Marc was the first one to get out, his hair soaked, his heart racing, and he used a grown up word he heard his dad use sometimes because he could have sworn they were both right behind him.

And if that had been true, then where were they?

He called her name, debated going back in there himself to see where they had gone, then he yelled for RoRo, because she didn’t seem to be answering.

And there was only silence, except a clap of thunder overhead that said the rain was going to get worse; was not going to stop for hours.

Which was when he ran to get his dad.

By the time Elias got there, his glasses wet and steamed, his thick thatch of curls too similar to Marc’s soaked through, all he could see was a head of hair peeking out of the mouth of the cave, and his heart sank.

He dragged her out of the dark water, arms under her shoulders as he rolled her on her front and started patting her back, trying to get her to spit some of the water out, because her face was ice and her skin was soaked and her playsuit was ripped from where she’d snagged it on the rocks.

Marc remembered crying into his hands, gaze flicking back to the cave to see if RoRo was right behind her, if he was just waiting to be pulled out as she had been.

But there was nothing. Nothing but rain water and moss and those damn rocks he’d been gripping onto not an hour earlier.

His heart leapt when she spluttered finally, after his dad had thrown her over his knee and taken to giving her a one handed heimlich right between her shoulder blades. She spat the water out, her body shivering immediately, eyes bleary as they looked around as if she expected to still be in that dark hole in the wall, and Elias set her down on the grass to go look for his youngest son.

“Stay with her, Marc,” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp for him though Marc guessed it was fear, and took off towards the cave again. Marc pulled her into his arms, and it was only then they started wailing together.

They sat there for an hour when the rescue team finally arrived, a medical team with warm hands and even warmer blankets ushering them to the safety of the back of an ambulance, and the last thing Marc remembered for that horrible day was sitting on the stretcher with her pressed against his side, trembling under the reflective wrap they’d been tucked in that made them look like baked potatoes, wishing he had never suggested they go in that damn cave.

–

“You’re leaving?” She said, her lip quivering, her eyes lined with tears. They sat on his bed, his duffel bag already packed, his acceptance letter burning daggers into his head from his nightstand, “Military? Marc, just think about this for a minute-”

“I have thought about it. I’m not some dumb kid making rash decisions, I want this,” Except he didn’t, not really. What he meant to say was he wanted to leave, to run away and never come back, but the idea of never seeing her again was too difficult to think about.

She thought about it for a moment, and he held her hand when he saw her face really start to crumble then. “If you go, I’ll have no one left. You’re all I have,”

He didn’t hide the fact he saw how nervous she was when Marc would pick her up from her house and her father would see her out the door, a nasty, inebriated glare in his eyes at the Specter boy. He saw all the times she would tiptoe around the floorboards, the way he knew too well, as if she was scared of what would happen if she took up too much space, made too much noise. Or when his mother had been kind, way back before any of this had happened, and had fussed over her pretty hair, had piled food on her plate because Wendy said she needed the goodness, she had locked up entirely and looked at his mother as if she was an alien.

Even now, when they were both seventeen, nearly adults in the grand scheme of things, he knew her father was cruel.

“I’m sorry,” He said honestly, and he felt his own throat clogging up with real emotion he only ever let himself show when he was with her, “When I get a place of my own, I’ll come back here, and we can pack your bags together, and we can live far away from all of this,”

And it sounded like he was spinning her a fantasy; which he was. She felt like an idiot for believing him, for flashing him a small smile and leaning her forehead to his which was the closest they ever got to admitting how they really felt about each other.

He wanted to kiss her then, before he left to start his new life, one where they could be happy together, and he made a promise to himself that when he came back for her that would be the first thing he would do.

He could see it now; he would be in some kind of flashy car with the top rolled down, a man grown from the regime and fitness they would teach him in the army and she would come running to him like an angel parting the clouds, like a dream that was finally within reach, and he would kiss her then, so hard it would make up for the time they had lost, the time they had grieved together, it might even make up for that day she nearly died because of him.

So he left her, that fantasy of coming back to her keeping him going in the months of training, during roll call and exams and the small, clinical portions they would serve him in the military.

But that day never came. Somewhere between losing himself to the alter that had formed and led a full life separately to his, between hiding Steven from the ugly truth and becoming a mercenary after dropping from the army, he tucked the dream away as a what if, and he didn’t return back to that house where his mother had caused so much hell.

Not until the second day of her shiva, that was.

“Marc?” He forgot how sweet his name sounded from her lips, and he hated to admit it in the middle of his drunken state, but he’d wished he’d never heard it again in his entire life.

Because the second his front door opened, and a woman in a long black dress, heels and lace gloves stared back at him with a face that looked similar to a girl he once knew, only a notch between her brows that said she had done nothing but frown for twenty years, he wished he had never seen her again.

She was beautiful, more beautiful than he ever gave her credit for, yet she looked tired. Sunken. Like she had wept and screamed alongside all the frowning.

“Marc,” She said it more determined this time, pacing down the stairs to his home, her footsteps rushed and worried, “Are you okay?,”

He knew he must look like a mess. He hadn’t stopped crying for three days since he got the first phone call from his father in almost two decades, since he’d learned his mother had passed, and he was already a bottle of whiskey deep by the time he’d stepped out the cab onto the street he grew up on.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought she would be there. He guessed she would be far away from this place, just like he had been, in a mansion with a 401k and a dog and a neurosurgeon for a husband. She had always deserved it.

But here she was, grabbing the bottle out of his hand gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulder like not a day had gone by that they hadn’t seen one another, and it didn’t take him much convincing at all to pull her into a hug he had needed since the day he left.

“My mum’s dead,” Marc said, sounding like a little boy again when he wept into her neck, squeezing her body to his, and he felt her rubbing his back soothingly.

“I know, Marc, I’m so sorry,” She hummed, and she smelled like a fancy floral perfume he couldn’t afford to give her before, “I know you must be feeling complicated,”

He nodded, because he couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt complicated.

“I missed you,” She said, like it was a confession, and he cried harder, his face burying into the crook of her shoulder.

“I missed you too,”

“How’s Steven? Is he still around?” She asked, pulling him away to root through her pocket for the pack of tissues she’d kept handy for the day. He took a deep breath, rubbing his sleeved arm over his face to dry it even the slightest. He could feel his cheeks sopping wet from where he had sobbed in the back of the cab like a madman all the way here.

But she was still fussing over him, and she looked just as pretty as he had remembered her, sitting on his bed that day, if not only a little more tired under her eyes.

Ofcourse she had known about Steven. How else was he supposed to explain the times they would be playing boyfriend-girlfriend together and he would become a different person.

Sometimes Steven would remember her too, because it didn’t matter to her who he was, she was his best friend either way. He remembered a girl who smelled like summer, sitting on the swings and eating ice lollies together, taking it in turns to push each other, blue tongued and happy.

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replied quietly, as she handed him the tissues, “He misses you, too,”

She smiled at him with her lips pressed tightly.

“I take it you’re not coming in?” She said in a careful tone, and he shook his head quickly.

“No- I just can’t,” He said, tears welling up in his eyes in seconds, and she wrapped him in another hug immediately, soothing his hurt as fast as it had bubbled back up.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to,” She hummed, stroking down his back gently, and he hugged her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him together.

He opened his mouth to speak when his front door opened again, and he worried for a second that it was Elias.

Instead, he saw a girl no older than five emerge in a cute, poofy dress that met her knees, her hair tucked into a neat braid, lace gloves matching her own as she lingered at the doorway.

And perhaps the thing that struck him the quickest; she was the damn near double of the girl he’d hit in the head with his soccer ball in that very yard.

“Mommy,” The girl said in a gentle coo, her eyes empathetic as she met his gaze, more empathetic than he knew children could feel. But, he supposed, if she was her daughter then it didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

His best friend turned, her face smoothing out into something peaceful when she saw her little girl, and he knew then she was born to be a mother. Nothing like his own, nothing like Wendy, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

She was a mother.

“Yes, baby?” She said, half stepping towards her child as the girl stumbled down the first step towards them, and she was quick to swoop her into her grasp and onto her hip.

“I need to use the bathroom,” The girl said shyly, peeking a glance at him over her mum’s shoulder, and she waved at him with tiny fingers.

He waved back, even if the sight of her had dumped a bucket of cold water all over his body.

“Alright, baby. Just wait in the foyer, I’ll come take you in just a second, I’m just speaking to my friend right now,” She said, stroking over the back of the girl’s hair softly, and kissing her chubby cheek. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, and her mum kissed her once more, plopping her back on the top step to direct her back into the house. And they were alone again.

She looked at him guiltily, stepping back towards him as she fiddled with her sleeves nervously, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get childcare and I don’t really know anyone in state anymore-”

“No, it-it’s fine,” He stammered, feeling her watching him for his reaction carefully, “What’s her name?”

“Dalilah,” She replied, rubbing hands up her arms to calm herself.

“Where’s her dad?” Marc asked, hoping he didn’t sound bitter, but the whiskey made it sound like a bite.

She shrugged, “He wanted the cars and the house when we split; I wanted her,” She said calmly, like it wasn’t one bomb after another to be dropped on him.

He knew nothing about her life. He had tried to run away from that promise he’d made her for twenty years, because he knew he would never be good enough for her; that he could never give her the happiness she deserved, even before he had become the Moon Knight.

At his core, he would rot her, ruin her. He would destroy her.

And yet hearing it was just the two of them alone, he felt like he could take out the piece of shit who ran out on them barehanded and go home to sleep next to her soundly.

He felt like perhaps, as much grief and anguish as returning back to that house had caused him, perhaps this was his second chance. His chance to be what she needed, to be something good.

He would be so good to them. He would give them everything if she asked.

“I’m not really in town much, especially with my dad still around,” She said, gesturing to where her yard still stood, full of junk and a dog that had supposedly been kicking strong for two decades, “But I would love to see you again. Lila has school most days so you’re free to come over any day of the week if you want it to be just us; I work at home,” She scribbled an address about two hours away down on a piece of paper, along with her phone number, handing it to his distraught face with a sad smile, somewhat hopeful he would take the olive branch she was shaking his way.

He took it with a nod, his bottom lip still trembling before he bit it hard enough to force it to stop. He would love to see her, if he would even allow himself something good. If he would just let go of the resentment for everything that reminded him of that time, he could see the two of them healing one another slowly, but surely.

She could fix him. And he could fix her. The way it had always been with them.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Marc said softly, allowing her to grab him tightly one more time, “I really did miss you,”

She laughed, not properly more like a sad breath out, squeezing him to her, “I loved you so much. I never let you go, you know that?”

He tried not to sob, almost holding her so maddeningly hard she couldn’t ever leave.

But he had to let go eventually, and he watched her walk back up the stairs to where his family mourned, her face glinting with something hopeful, holding a flashlight out to him where he was walking around in the dark blindly.

He tried to smile back, though he knew it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn't be truly untouched by the grief he wallowed in.

And by the time he got back to his hotel room, alone, even more drunk, Khonshu had another job for him that would whisk him away for two weeks. But he kept her number, the piece of paper gripped in his hand tight, like he was determined to keep his promise this time around.

He dialled her number exactly fifteen days later, his body aching, his nose bloodied, but something lighter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. The light in his dark, the girl on the swings he’d once pretended to marry during their game of house (the rings had been tiny daisy chains she’d woven together just that morning, their officiant was Randall who could barely ride a bike let alone remember the vows he was supposed to say.)

Only when the phone got put through, a different woman answered, and the light flickered back out into something cold and dark and vengeful.

“Oh, oh god, you haven’t heard?” He swallowed thickly, “She was hit by a drunk driver last week picking Lila up from school,” The woman, her cousin, explained, her voice teary and solemn, and he didn’t doubt she’d had to make a thousand of these calls the past few days, “They said it was quick, and Lila went fast so she wasn’t in any pain- and she was only in the ambulance for ten minutes before her heart stopped so she wasn’t hurting long either-”

But he put the phone down, his eyes wide, his body numb, his chest empty and lonely.

Because the very last bit of good in him was gone; because everything he touched was cursed and tainted from the offset.

It took what felt like twenty cups of whiskey for him to black out that night, he knew sleep would evade him, he knew not to even bother trying. And Jake Lockely woke up for him, something mean and hateful in the black of his eyes.

He didn’t care who, but someone was going to pay for his cielo being taken from them.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #moonknight x reader #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #jake lockely fanfiction #jake lockely x reader #steven grant imagine

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serpenlupus · 2 months

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About Wyll and his horns

Let's say I was writing a part of my Tav's story with Wyll directly connected to the dialogue he has during the tiefling party, and while struggling with this bit, I've realized there's quite a few misconceptions floating around. I felt compelled to add information to the table that might clear them, so here we go.

First, what exactly happens to Wyll when he disobeys Mizora in act one? Well, he doesn't get turned into a devil, he certainly doesn't get turned into a tiefling, he's not a half fiend, not a demon, none of that. Wyll stays human, but he has horns and red eyes (and other features we can't see on his model as of now).

(Everyone has their race listed, Wyll's remains "Human")

This is because when a warlock fails to uphold some part of their contract they can suffer a certain number of consequences, Wylls is “The character grows horns, a tail, or some other devilish features that can't be removed by any means short of divine intervention. As long as these marks persist the character detects as a fiend when subjected to Detect Evil and Good spells or similar magic.” ( from Baldur's Gate: Descent into Avernus, page 214)

And I’ve come across some people that think it wasn’t so bad of a punishment, that he was being racist towards the tieflings, or just not being justified in being upset after having his body forcibly changed against his will. I think they are missunderstanding just how insidious Mizora’s actions were, and here I just want to give some context to maybe bring a better understanding to the situation. Your conclusions are up to you.

Gonna start by using a not exact analogy, but I think it’s going to make the explanation easier. Stick with me for a minute.

Remember Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean? He had a branded “P” on his arm that marked him as a pirate. A murderer, robber, criminal, etc. in the eyes of the society he was a part of. What did Jack do to earn the branding? (if you don’t know this I suggest you look up the “people aren’t cargo mate” scene) He refused to transport slaves and later freed them, and Beckett had him marked as punishment.

Then, in the first movie, he saves Elizabeth, a woman he didn’t know, from drowning. Right after however, when Norrington sees he has a branded “P”, he’s like “alright, off to jail with you, and then hanging”, no other option crosses his mind. Again, Jack doesn’t know Elizabeth, isn’t indicated to think he is going to be rewarded for helping her, he just sees a drowning person, sees that no one else is going to help, and chooses to save them. That is a pretty selfless/good aligned thing to do, for no other reason that he was the one able to do it, yet the branding in his arm overrides any good action he could ever do, marking him as a criminal for execution and no further thought.

In a way, that’s what Mizora did to Wyll; she forever visibly branded him as someone that has made deals with devils, and that in the world of DnD is a VERY BAD THING. Personally I really like the mod that gives him more devilish features, but at the same time I think there was something clever about choosing to leave him looking more human. He can’t be confused with a tiefling, he doesn’t have the ears, the claws, the tail, all those features that characterize them. He looks kind of uncanny, and that would be like a red flag for anyone in that world. (Beyond the already existing hate for tieflings that I’m not gonna tackle on here because it’s a complicated thing that deserves its own post). And Wyll wants to do good, he wants to help people, to be a positive force in the world so, so badly. This dude got abducted by a nautiloid, got tadpole’d, and the first thing he did right after that was come across the Tiefling refugees and be like “Oh you need help? No worries let me teach you self defense. Oh you being attacked by goblins? Let me blast them real quick”. His way of saying fuck you to all the awful things that have happened to him is being aggressively good and kind. Mizora knows this very well, wants to see him suffer for her amusement, wants to remind him he can't escape her claws, so her choice of punishment was to forever taint his future interactions with mistrust and suspicion. Some people can go real fast from “oh thank God they saved me” to “oh no, are they gonna rob me, are they trying to trick me, are they in cahoots with the ones that attacked me first?” just because of outward appearances. Especially in DnD world. And that deserves its own conversation, but we're focusing on Wyll here.

(Mizora, when I catch you Mizora)

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have made a deal in the first plac- - “ He was seventeen, alone, preyed upon by Mizora and put in an impossible situation. Please PAY ATTENTION to the story you’re witnesing.

Anyway.

About the tieflings. I know it’s easy to think his words can be derisive towards them, but it’s less about the horns and more about his body being changed against his will. Imagine instead that he got half his face burned, or something that disfigured him. I think his feelings at the moment were closer to that, and yeah they are pretty insensitive words to say to someone with a similar condition (horns or disfiguration), but when feelings are fresh and raw like that it’s easy to say insensitive things. Not saying it was ok for him to say those things, but ther was no malice in his words. I’ve also seen some people share that they think Mizora wanted to change him more to make him unrecognizable to his original self, the Wyll Ravenguard kid, and I think there is some truth to that too. She wants to make sure that Wyll remembers that he belongs to her, there's no question to that.

(MIZORA, WHEN I CATCH YOU MIZORA)

Whether the Tieflings refugees would feel unsettled by Wyll or not? Yes. In a way, they would. From reasons aside from the ones I explained above, remember that these specific tieflings come from Elturel. If you didn’t pass the History check or don’t remember, Elturel is a city that was literally ripped from the land and dragged to Avernus, First layer of hell (it left a hole on the ground and everything) because their mayor made a deal with the Archdevil Zariel some decades back in the timeline. He sold the souls of all its citizens and the city itself.

This was probably one of the worst times of their lives. Some even got captured and forced to participate in the blood War, like Dammon as a mechanic. And after Elturel got returned to the surface, the tieflings lost their homes because they reminded the other citizens of the literal Hell they’d just gone through, and they kicked them out. And remember, they met and saw Wyll as a human, and then saw him with horns. It’s not unreasonable to think that by looking at him they would be reminded of all the events that led them to the awful situation they’re in. Because of someone that was making deals with devils, just like Wyll. Even if his situation is completely different. And Wyll knows that, that’s why he tells you the tieflings are unsettled by him and chooses to stay away during the party.

It was never just about the horns.

And I know Wyll calls himself a devil but I think it’s because it’s the closest thing he looks as; devils are a whole different race with their own intricacies, although humans can be turned into devils ONCE their souls go to Avernus and they start climbing the power hierarchy there (Mizora and Raphael are cambions/ half-devils btw, which is a different thing, there are plenty of videos exploring those details more in depth).

Do I think Larian should have made some of this information clearer/easier to access? Maybe? but to be fair, it's a game focused and dedicated to a crowd that was already somewhat familiar with the source material, that blew up waay out of what they originally expected to reach. Hopefully they’ll add some clarifications like they did to other quests.

Anyway these are my two cents to the conversation, have a nice day, and don't hesitate to add your two cents if you feel like it!

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telvess · 3 months

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Reader using pick-up lines on them

chaotic writing for the fun

Hades

“You should be arrested for stealing my heart!”

Pick-up lines, hmm? Alright, fine, but did you have to use the most pathetic, the cheesiest one? Hades is way too elegant for such a poor tasted attempt, he actually feels offended by your words.

Your first impression is horrible. Hades silently judges you. Of course, he is too classy to make any snarky comments, but you can tell by his cold, indifferent look that he has lost all interest in your company. At this point, he is more of a Poseidon than his brother himself.

If you aren’t the type of person who gives up easily and still tries to flirt… just stop. The best you can get from him would be „yes”, „no” or a nod of the head.

Buddha

“You see my friend over there? She want to know if you think I'm cute.”

Buddha stares at you for a long moment, then looks over your shoulder to check out your friend (who you obviously made up), then then returns to you. His expression is blunt, maybe slightly bored. Totally makes you lose the confidence you had a moment ago as you watch him lazily suck a lollipop and pierce you through with his unimpressed glare.

The worst he can say is „no”, right? Well, who would have thought that the enlightened mind of Buddha would prove otherwise. A drawn-out silence makes you uncomfortable and you start to squirm under his gaze, not ready for that unfazed attitude of his…

Once the confidence you felt approached him vanished and you are ready to leave as quickly as possible, Buddha begins to laugh historically. You jump up a little and stare at him confused. It takes him a while to calm down, but when he does, he looks at you seriously again and says „tell your friend I find ya cute” with the most annoying smirk in the entire universe.

Susanoo

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

Susanoo watches you with harsh expression, his eyebrows raising as your attitude doesn’t change. You just stand in front of him and wait for his answer. Kinda hot, he has to admit.

He is amused by this shitty attempt, but still has to admit that it takes some balls to say something so crappy to his face. You’re bold, stupid and definitely not in your right mind.

He would definitely address all of the above and then… respond to you with an even cheaper pickup line that he thinks sounds good. He is very proud of himself and oblivious to the point that it matches his intimidating aura.

Susanoo likes a person who isn’t concerned with what everyone think of them, but he is also a person who expects others to submit to his will, which makes him rather difficult person to flirt with, demanding from you to adapt to his confusing preferences.

Nikola

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together.”

BUAHAHAHAHA! HE WOULDN’T GET IT 100%!

He looks at you very confused at first, then he puts to work all of his braincells trying to figure out what you meant. Is this some kind of puzzle? Mystery? It’s clearly impressive, because he struggles to solve it!

Please, stop the brainstorming session before he starts writing his thought on the board and calls members of the science crew asking for the consultations.

After yours short explanation (which probably burnt your soul to the bones with embarrassment) Nikola nods, compliments your clever attempt and… continues what he was doing before this whole masquerade started, oblivious to the fact you just hit on him. So you just stand there and wait for something, but you last barely several dozen seconds before you run away to hide somewhere far, far away.

Much to your surprise, Nikola visits you the next day and invites you for coffee, bluntly.

Hermes

“Can I put my hand on your thigh, where it belongs?”

You sit next to him and get straight to the point. No hesitation, no shame in your eyes. Hermes’ eyes widen for a millisecond as the words leave your lips. Oh? Oh? Oh? He couldn’t help but let his lips stretch into a wide smile, trying to cover his mouth with his hand as a single chuckle escapes his lips.

When he pulls himself together, Hermes lets his playful nature take over. So you thought you were flirty? Hermes is too smart and too cunning to allow you triumph for long. Even if he isn’t interested, he will leave you with a dry mouth and wet panties. Hermes uses the tongue as smoothly as he uses the violin.

Apollo

“I'm sorry, were you talking to me?” He denies, “Well, would you like to?”

My, my, look at you! Approaching the Sun God just like this? Apollo is impressed. In fact, because of how intimidating he is, it's not often that others surprise him with such bravado. Usually they just treat him as something as intangible as the rays of the sun, bathing in his glory, praising him as a celestial being, not as a person. You - on the other hand - are a breath of fresh air.

Once the first shock wears off, his entire figure begins to glow and he gives you the most breathtaking smile you will ever see. From that point on, everything he does comes so naturally that it makes you lose yourself. After making great first impression, you end up like everyone else: Apollo wraps you around his little finger and before you know it, you just sit there and listen to his melodious voice as if you are bewitched. The man is too charming.

Poseidon

“Are you a magician? Because when I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

Peasant. Get out.

You aren’t clever. You aren’t brave. You aren’t impressive. The only person that will disappear is gonna be you, if you don’t remove yourself in the next 3 seconds.

Whoever didn’t stop you from approaching Poseidon like this, definitely doesn’t wish you well.

Kojirō

“Aren't you tired? From running through my mind all day?”

The man gives you surprised look, and moment later he presents you his widest smile. Sasaki has no clue what to say, so he just stands before you, rubbing his neck and blushing like teenage girl. He may stammers out a few words of thanks, but you really shouldn’t hope for more. Kojirō is simply not used to compliments, so even the simplest pick-up line can rock his world.

Please, ask him about swordsmanship, because it’s probably the only thing he can talk about while his brain fries in the skull.

Once Kojirō pulls himself together, he turns out to be exactly as carefree and friendly as you expected. The longer you two interact, the more open and less awkward he becomes.

Ares

“Do you have a name, or can I just call you 'mine'?”

Did you just? Huh???

Ares blinks a few times before his brain process information. He can’t believe you said something like that! Do you even know who you are talking to? He is Ares, the God of War! One of the twelve Gods of Olympus and son of Zeus! He deserves more respect, not some pathetic, human-alike attempt at flirting. He shouts all this in your face, making a big scene and ridiculing you in front of the others gods. For a moment he’s proud of himself, but your teary eyes quickly put him in a less mighty state.

To make things worse, you literally run away. At first Ares tries to ignore the feeling of guilt in his chest, pretending that your reaction was childish and exaggerated, but all he needs is Hermes to make a little remark (“Poor thing, it seems she gave her all to speak up.”) to make Ares’ face red.

He mutters some lame excuse to leave and starts looking for you. He still thinks your attempt was awful, but maybe - just maybe - his heart skips a beat knowing that some pretty miss thinks so highly of him.

Jack

“If music be the food of love, let’s have a feast together.”

Okay, this man isn’t used to hearing compliments, let alone hitting on him. Jack is a little shocked, not because he doesn’t understand you, but because you actually chose him. He doesn’t recognize you, but to his great surprise you seem to know a little about him. After all, you referred to Shakespeare. It couldn't have been an accident, right?

“Pardon me, lady?” is probably the first thing out of Jack's mouth as he’s still processing what you’ve said, but he quickly snaps out of his surprise, “Forgive me, where are my manners?”

Jack introduces himself properly, takes off the hat and bows like a gentleman. He then politely asks for your name, still fluttered that you gave him a chance.

Thor

“Did you do something to my eyes? I can't seem to take them off you.”

“…”

Neither Thor nor Mjölnir budge. Well, this is definitely something new; no one has ever approached Thor this way before, so he has to give you some points for creativity. However, don’t expect anything as Thor isn’t interested in continuing the conversation, so it’s up to you if you are interested in one-sided interaction.

Loki

“Well, here I am! What are your other two wishes?”

Loki stares at you without the slightest sign of interest, twirling strand of hair around his finger. He seems distant, almost like he didn’t hear you. Then he flinches, as if snapped out of trance. His face changes in a split second: a wide, forced smile and squinting eyes screaming at you to evacuate, because you’ve hit on the wrong guy. “Do you have a death wish, woman?” Loki asks, his voice has the sweetest tone that tickles your ears, but his words spew poison…

Loki is capricious. I don’t think it’s a matter of wrong pick-up line, it's rather more a matter of right timing. But even if you choose a bad moment to approach him, he probably wouldn’t hurt you (physically) - he prefers to scare others, toy with their fear than kill them.

On the other hand, if your timing is right, then you would still bounce off the wall, because Loki doesn’t intent to give you a straightforward answer; he would like to play with you, confuse you with the mixed signals he sends. He wants a reaction from you, entertain him. If you are cocky - his goal is to crush your self-confidence. Shy? Prepare for blushing, squealing and stuttering. Ah, you think you’re being funny here? Loki will gladly turn your smile into tears.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror x reader #snv x reader #ror hades #ror loki #ror jack the ripper #ror buddha #ror poseidon #ror hermes #ror susanoo #ror thor #ror sasaki kojiro #ror nikola tesla #ror apollo #ror ares #udj

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creatingblackcharacters · 17 days

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“The Same Place as the Music” Lighting & Color

“Where is the light coming from?” “The same place as the music.” Andrew Lesnie, Cinematographer of LOTR

How & Why It's A Problem

If I had to summarize the frustration I have with this topic in one image, I'd use JeCorey Holder's (queer Black creative!) meme:

Now here's the thing. I'm not saying you have to be a master at lighting. I'm surely not. Hell, I still play around with lighting in my art in ways that aren’t the ‘most realistic’. You can’t ask me the technical explanations behind ‘color theory’ or 'contrast' without me doing some more reading. However… I don’t think anyone needs an art degree to understand this point:

We should be able to SEE your brown skinned Black characters!

I brought this up in my lessons about skin tones and blushing, and it applies with lighting as well. If all of your other characters have focused light and shadows, so should your Black characters.

However, this does NOT mean making them lighter-skinned!!!!

It's not funny nor logical at all to suggest that they somehow can't be seen like your other characters when you’re the one creating the piece. It's like a classic fifth-grade racist joke, “You blend in at night”. Har-de-har.

I was once rudely told to my face (well in the DMs) that a Black character that was completely Europeanized looked like that “because of the [sepia] lighting”. So I'm going to give you all, gracious readers, an example to show that that's not true.

This is Ana Flávia, Afro-Brazilian model! Gaze upon her beauty! Notice how in both of these filters, Ana did not, in fact, turn into a white woman! Because, my friends, that is not how that works! At all!

Here are some other examples of Black people in non-color lighting:

None of these people vanished from the frame just because there was no color. They didn't have to paint on lighter makeup to be captured by the camera. What do they all have in common (in this example)?

Lighting!

Now let’s discuss different ways to think about and potentially try instead!

What I want you all to keep in mind, is that the art you’re painting:

And I know that's silly right, like yeah no shit Ice, we knew that. BUT my point here is don’t be afraid to study photography, theatre, and staging for ideas. They actively work with light! It’s why I share so many images of models; it’s purposeful, focused staging of light with many of these compositions!

Brown-skinned Black people- brown-skinned people in general- GLOW in the light! Our skin reflects environmental light! There’s so much opportunity to play with that, and you can see different examples in those mediums.

Here are a couple articles of lighting in film focused on Black actors.

When lighting a person with dark complexion, the answer is not LIGHTENING THE SKIN, it’s understanding how light reflects off of dark skin.” -Nilah Magruder

Nilah Magruder (Black creator!) has an ENTIRE, thorough and wonderful essay on the topic, far better than I could give! She incorporates the use of cameras, lighting, painting, and more- so rather than be redundant here, I'm going to spotlight (ha see what I did there. It's okay, I know I'm funny) her and her explanation.

Incorporating Blackness in Color/Colorful Lighting

@dsm7 has an excellent and short visual explanation of how picking certain colors will lead to washing out or whitewashing Black characters, and how certain lighting and backgrounds (think the black and white photos on brighter backgrounds) will change the way their skin tone looks.

@nicosbighead has one of my favorite images on here, that shows how many different colors can still be used to convey the image of Blackness. Notice how all those pinks still worked?

@gaksdesigns has a beautiful picture here that I feel utilizes the light in a very minimal yet effective way to show highlights even on a palette that's fully brown.

This article approaches from a lighting perspective via filmmaking, but essentially Sade Ndya suggests instead of increasing the amount of light, change the color/lens of the light based on your character’s skin, as well as for the circumstances of the scene. They'll remain vibrant that way, and you’ll still capture what you need.

I know one way I do this on CSP (I think I’ve mentioned this but I can’t remember) is to use the Add Glow tool with the same or a similar shade of the character’s brown skin tone as a highlight under natural light, or maybe use different colors or filters depending on the sort of light on their skin at the time.

Here’s a reddit about it too, just because I know y’all value Reddit on here, and someone else discussed the topic that both Nilah and Sade discussed.

Is It Intentional?

There are going to be times where you intend for the light to be minimal. Maybe it’s a style choice. That should still show purposeful composition. Here’s an interview with famed Black director Ava Duvernay discussing the intentional darkness on Black actors in the prison scene in the movie Selma. To show that they're both trapped in prison AND that Martin is temporarily low on resolve- it's a part of the story that's being told.

I'm always talking about this: there is a difference between intention (and following through), and neglecting to think about it at all. And neglect isn't what we want, because often we can tell visually when it is- when an artist simply did not think to do it for one versus the rest.

Sidenote, on Youtube in the suggestions after Ava's interview, are also plenty of videos discussing lighting for dark-skin as well- why not take the chance to look?

Conclusion

We do not lack for light! We aren’t flat and lightless when you see us in life. It's actually a pretty awesome part of being brown-skinned. If you’re giving proper, flattering lighting to everyone else, give it to us as well. Study and experiment with ways to highlight brown skin.

You already know what I’m going to say. It’s going to take practice, same as anything else, because it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black art #black character design #black artists

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ponderingmoonlight · 2 months

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Satoru Gojo trying to make a bun with his daughter's kinky hair

Pairing: husband!Gojo x black!reader

Word Count: 1,1k

Synopsis: It always looked so easy to him, the way you put your thick hair into the most breathtaking hairstyles. But when his daughter asked him to do a sleek bun on her, he was confronted with the stinging fact how difficult styling kinky hair can be. But that doesn't stop the dad of the year from learning...

Warnings: This is the first time ever I'm writing a black reader and I'm beyond excited 😭 I'm hoping with all my heart that you guys like what I came up with! I'm not a poc myself so if this offends you, don't read this work. Also, I'm writing from the point of view of my own research and the tellings of my beloved moot @almostshinymiracle. As usual, there's many ways to do your hair and this specific one might not be yours 🤍

Comments, likes and reblogs are so appreciated, I'd be more than thankful for you guys telling me what you think - THANK YOU 🤍

Your eyes widen when the loud shriek of your daughter echoes through your house. What’s wrong? Did she hurt herself while playing? As fast as your feet carry you, you run down the hallway and open the door to her room.

But no, your daughter didn’t fall, she didn’t hurt herself. She sits in front of her dad who holds a brush in his hand.

“Hey honey, is everything alright over here?”, you question softly while kneeling down next to both of them.

“I’m so sorry. She said she wants a bun like the one you wear so often and I thought it can’t be that hard. But the brush doesn’t even get through her hair…”, your husband explains, bright blue eyes fixated on his daughter’s hair.

“It’s not that simple with kinky hair, babe. Look, the bristles of your brush are way too tight to get through her hair. That’s why I’m having a special one.”

Oh, how absolutely adorable he looks with his face visibly in guilt, still holding onto the brush that seems to be his while visibly pondering about your soft explanation. Making your daughter’s hair as a dad without experience has to be difficult already, but a girl with black roots and a hair structure completely unknown to him? You chuckle to yourself, remember the countless times he observed you doing your hair already.

“This seems so damn exhausting, babe. Can’t you just…brush it?”

“If I just brush it, I’ll look like a mop. That’s the price I have to pay for having kinky hair I guess.”

“But you look like a princess. My princess”, he purred into your ear while his long fingers tried to brush through your thick hair.

“She just asked me and as her dad…I just wanted to help, y’know”, he mumbles with a pout.

“And I’m so proud of you for trying, Satoru. It’s just an art itself and if you didn’t grow up with it, it’s quite difficult. Sometimes not even hairstylists are able to tame my and her hair from time to time. No worries, I’ll do her hair and I’ll show you how it’s done when there’s enough time, okay?”

You can’t help but give him a kiss on his cheek, letting yourself fall into his arms.

“Mommy, can you do my hair?”, your daughter interrupts your way too short cuddle session.

“Of course, angel. We’ll be ready in 10 minutes, Satoru. Don’t worry about it-“

“My name is baby”, he corrects you before leaving the room, his shoulders almost hanging to the floor.

This doesn’t sit right with you. It shouldn’t hurt him like this that he wasn’t able to do his daughter’s hair when it’s absolute not comparable to his very own. Mindlessly, you run your fingers through her thick mane that is so similar to yours, so familiar that you’d be able to make a sleek bun with eyes closed. You’ll definitely show him how to take care of his daughter’s hair when there’s more time than today.

“Is daddy sad?”, your daughter asks innocently while you apply gel.

“He was so excited to do your hair, honey. But with kinky hair like ours, this can be really difficult, you know?”

“It hurt…”, she admits shyly.

“Did it hurt as much as doing braids?”

Your little daughter chuckles while you tickle her playfully on her neck.

-the next day-

The heartfelt laughter of your daughter makes your eyes flutter open. What time is it? Given the fact that the sun already rose, it has to be late in the morning. Your naked feet meet the cold wooden floor, carry you to her room on their own. Satoru’s side of the bed was already cold when you woke up. Did he have to leave for a mission? Or is he the reason why his precious little daughter laughs?

“Okay, let me remove the scarf from your cute little head. Is this how mommy does your hair?”

You stop in your tracks, already grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. A scarf wrapped around her daughter’s head? You know exactly what that means.

“That tickles!”, your daughter shrieks.

“Shhh, don’t you wake up Mommy before I’m done here, okay? I want this to be a surprise.”, Satoru whispers exaggeratedly mute.

It takes all your strength to not break out in laughter, to stay hidden behind the slightly open door.

“Okay, now let me wrap this around it…and…Fast, I need a bobby pin, honey!”

Your heart almost overflows with warmth. When did he learn how to do his daughter’s hair, what steps it takes to create a sleek bun with kinky hair? It’s hard to keep you from entering the room, to keep your composure. The urge to see what he’s doing becomes almost unbearable-

“Did you hear that daddy?”

“Yeah, that sounded almost as if someone behind that door stalks us!”

With a swift motion, your husband exposes you to his bright blue orbs. Your heart skips a beat. Is he mad, disappointed? The look on his face is rather amused, calms down your tingling nerves.

Until you look at your daughter.

Your precious little daughter with a perfect sleek bun.

“Oh my”, you breathe out.

Instantly, you kneel down in front of her, eyeing her from every angle. He really managed to put all her unruly hair in one of your afro puff hair ties, the whole package covering the floor along with multiple tubes of different gels and countless diverse brushes. It looks like an absolute mess around her room, different brands and tools clustered around. But you only have eyes for your daughter and beloved husband.

“This looks absolutely stunning!”

“Do you…really think so?”, Satoru mutters while scratching the back of his head.

Is the strongest jujutsu sorcerers of your time really…blushing? Immediately you grab his hand covered in dried gel and press a passionate kiss against his cheek.

“She looks like a model, I couldn’t have done it better! How did you do this? Only yesterday, you didn’t know what to do!”

“I did some research…”

“The whole night?”

“The whole night.”

“This looks fantastic!”, your daughter cries out when seeing herself in the mirror, twisting and turning herself in order to soak in her gorgeous bun.

“You always make it look so easy. Sometimes I forget how much skill this requires”, he mumbles against your ear, dragging your body onto his lap.

“I hope you’ll remind this when you ruin my hair next time”, you playfully reply.

“Want me to ruin your hair right now?”

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thehighladywrites · 4 months

Text

The Airhead Chronicles

… and the explanation

-> pairing: cassian x bimbo/ditzy reader, nesta archeron, feyre archeron

-> summary: You meet the third Archeron sister, what could she possibly want? Secret and past relationships get discussed

-> warnings: light angst, I had to vilify Nesta, even tho I adore her. Feyre is just fucking hot in this, cuddling, hurt to comfort, reader getting flashbacks/thoughts about her old life, cassian protecting his mate, oh and giving him a blowjob so nsfw lol, also reader is fucked.

-> amara’s note: sorry for the wait, i changed the plot like a million times. seriously, there are versions with super angst, versions where nesta poisons cassian and brainwashes him, there are just crazy plots but i hope you like this one💗💗 also this is probably the final chapter bc i have nothing else left. there will be one vacation chapter later and that’s it💗💗 soon i’ll be posting nerd azriel x bimbo reader, stay tuned👀👀

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

“Cassie, baby, who is she?”

Anger filled cassian at the vulnerability in your voice. How dared Nesta speak to you like that? In his anger, he hadn’t realized that he had flinched away from your touch. Looking down at you, his hardened eyes softened.

You looked up at him with a worried expression, eyes filled with fear. He realized what this looked like and hurried himself to explain.

“She’s Feyre and Elain’s sister.”

Nesta’s scoff echoed through his chambers as she stalked closer, keeping eye contact with him. You hadn’t even realized what she was wearing, she was dressed in a very short night gown and robe.

Wait, was she in here for Cassian?

No, Feyre and Rhys told you that Nesta wasn’t present at dinner today but she was aware of the two of you.

This isn’t making any sense, maybe she’s confused. Because no one goes after a mated fae, right? Yes, that’s it! She must be confused.

She had to be fucking confused because you really didn’t like how close she was standing to him.

Stepping forward you gave her a sickly sweet smile,

“You’re like really pretty, I can tell you’re their sister but you’re too close to my mate. Back off.”

Nesta looked at you bewildered,

“Excuse you? I'm merely talking to him. Are you not allowed friends, Cassian? Don't you find that a tad controlling?” she delivered with a mix of disdain and sharp sarcasm, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

She stepped closer to you and you had never seen so much hate in a persons eye.

“And who do you think you are? I’ve known him for several years, so if I want a moment to talk to him then it’s what I shall have.”

You smiled at her ready to punch her,

“You’re dressed like a slut in his room. I mean there’s nothing wrong with it, we all should embrace our inner sluts but just not with my mate, okay? Either back off or I’ll make you back off and that’s just a hassle. I mean, I just got these nails and my outfit is too cute for blood!”

Before she could step closer, Cassian grabbed your arm and pulled you back as he kept an unreadable face towards Nesta.

“Give us a moment.”

Your stomach dropped as you caught her secret smile. Why did they need to be alone? Had you done something? Oh Gods would he go back to her now? He wouldn’t do that right?

Flashbacks from your past came back, men would have their fun and then leave you. It was a big insecurity you had and you just hoped it wasn’t like that.

“But-”

“One moment.”

His firm words made your throat close up, you always got emotional when someone raised your voice at you, so to save face, you ripped your arm out of his grip, not once looking back as you hurried out of his room ready to leave.

—

Cassian’s pov:

As the doors closed, Cassian glanced back at the door with nausea as he heard your sobs. In that moment, he wished he could be closer to you. The safety he felt with you was incomparable to anyone else. The need to comfort you was taking over.

“She is as stupid as a bag of rocks. You’ve seriously mated with her?”

Cassian's head whipped towards Nesta, anger simmering in his eyes. He couldn't stand her condescending tone and the comment that belittled you.

Cassian's voice was firm and filled with a lethal edge as he addressed Nesta,

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but you need to leave. I don’t care what you think we had, if you ever speak to my mate like that again, I’ll kill you.”

His words were clipped as he practically spit them at her. Nesta still not grasping his rage and annoyence, started pulling on the strings of her robe, trying to undress.

“Please, you know you would be happier and more satisfied with me. Don’t you remember the times you took me like some rabid beast in bed? You can’t honestly tell me you don’t miss me.”

She got closer and closer, but before she could touch his body, he grabbed her forearm.

Cassian maintained a strong grip on her, pulling her closer. His voice was unwavering, “As I said, you insulted my mate and you’re directly ignoring what I’m saying. I don’t miss you in the slightest, Nesta. I’m finally happy, and I feel sorry that you must resort to this.”

She pulled her arm back roughly and again scoffed,

“Love always made you disgustingly weak.”

Cassian chuckled, “Loving you sure did. But with her, it has made me stronger than ever. It's a pity you don't understand that strength.”

He pivoted and stared out the window as he delivered his last words to her.

“Even if she wasn’t my mate, it would have never been us. So, don’t ever disrespect her like this again. And if I find out you’ve said anything else to or about her, there would be no one in this world stopping me from getting you.”

His words were casual and promising as if he wasn’t talking about literally murdering her for even speaking ill to you.

——

You tried not to cry, but being the sensitive soul you were, tears just couldn't resist. Ugh, talk about embarrassing! How on earth were you supposed to face that girl again? And when you replayed his tone in your head, the waterworks just cranked up a notch.

Trying to find your way through Rhysand's massive mansion, you got easily distracted. Oh, look, a beautiful painting! You gazed up at the massive artwork that covered most of the wall. It showed a life-sized scene with Rhysand, Feyre, Elain, Amren, Mor, Azriel, and—hold on—Nesta and Cassian sitting very close. Wait, no, she was sitting on top of him. What the fuck? Were they a thing before you? Why didn't he tell you? He just casually mentioned she was the third Archeron sister, conveniently skipping the whole history chapter.

Great. The male you mated with was just like every lying piece of shit out there. You rolled your eyes at the situation, irritated that you once again realized that males only wanted one thing from you and after they were done, moved on to another. You couldn’t lie, it really stung, especially with the bond but you’d survive.

“I was supposed to throw that away tomorrow.”

Feyre's gentle voice reached your ears, prompting you to lift your head in her direction. With a sorrowful expression, you acknowledged her, doing your best to hold back tears.

Feyre had been a true friend; you had loved her from the moment Rhysand introduced her to you. She was incredibly funny, offered great advice, and was the perfect companion for gossip. Many times, you had found solace in her arms when someone broke your heart, and you knew that if she asked how you felt now, tears would be inevitable.

“Oh, hi Fey. Is this a secret painting or something?”

She gave you her signature soft smile, moving closer as she looked at her painting.

“No, honey, not secret. Old. This was something I painted a few years ago. And it is not needed anymore, so I was getting rid of it since no one wanted the reminder up.”

“Be honest Fey, were they a couple?”

She looked hesitant to answer but sighed and explained,

“They thought they were mates. They were together, yes, but there was a lot of miscommunication and fights. Nesta became very closed off and wanted nothing to do with Cassian after a while. They broke up, and it became a big shift in our family. Now she lives in her own apartment, and we barely see her. Every night we invite her for dinner, but she doesn’t even bother declining; she just doesn’t come.”

Your brain just focused on the fact that they were almost mates. And now she was upstairs in a closed room with your real mate. What the hell was she doing here if she deliberately declined every dinner Feyre invited her to?

“Well, surprise, she’s here. Yeah, that’s right, she’s upstairs talking to him right now.”

“Wait, what? She’s here? What is she doing with Cassian? She said she never wanted to be around him ever again.”

You felt nauseous. She was trying to win him back. Your man, she was wanting YOUR man now that he was locked up and unavailable.

Feyre’s muffled words pulled you out of your thoughts as you asked her to repeat herself, too busy in your own mind to hear her the first time.

“I said let’s go up to them. What could they possibly be talking about that you don’t need to hear? Let’s go.”

She grabbed your hand, and you could tell she was totally pissed off. You smiled a little to yourself. Maybe you didn’t even need to say anything after all.

You climbed up the stairs as your heels clicked against every step. Ugh, you really needed a few inches off.

You froze at the thought. Had you really reached rock bottom? Shaking your head at the rash thought you kept climbing. You’d rather fucking die than not use your many, many heels.

The door opened up, and both of you stopped in your tracks. Nesta stepped out of the room and looked between you and Feyre before her lips twitched in a cruel smile. She pulled her robe tighter and glanced back into the room, fixing her hair as she shoved right past you, all while smiling and hitting both of your shoulders.

You felt like time stopped. Your stomach dropped, and your throat closed up. Honestly, you didn’t know who to confront first – the homewrecking bitch or the cheating bastard.

There was no missing her insinuation. Come on, you saw what she wore under her robe – a piece of lace and nothing more. And now she was pulling it tighter to her? Yeah right, they totally fucked.

Okay, the cheating bastard it was since Feyre turned around and grabbed Nesta’s arm, pushing her into the wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You ignore my invitations, and now you’re back in Cassian’s room? To what? To show him how distasteful you are? Why, in the Mother’s name, would you go inside, dressed like this when you know he has a mate? I thought you, of all people, would know more about class, Nesta.”

Nesta looks you dead in the eyes as she just smiles again and shrugs Feyre off.

“He will come back to me eventually. Cassian knows where his true feelings lie.”

“I’ve never called another girl a bitch, because that’s like so weird but you’re the biggest, grade A bitch i’ve met in my life. I’m mated to him, not you. And keep one eye open, because I will so kick your ass when you least expect it.”

You had an acrylic nail pointing to her. You also give her an annoyed look before turning around, leaving her with Feyre as you open up the room to see Cassian looking out the window.

“Please, tell me she didn’t do what I think she did. Because I will actually kill you both.”

Cassian turned around with a tired expression and stepped forward before picking you up with one arm and bringing you to the foot of his bed. He began undressing, leathers and siphons discarded on a nearby table. He pulled you closer and began undressing you too which put a crease in your brow.

“I love getting fucked but sex isn’t the answer, Cassie. I don’t like feeling left out, so just explain.”

He looked at you with soft eyes before kissing your forehead and lifting you up again. He strode to the other side of the bed before gently putting you down and sliding underneath the sheets. He pulled you impossibly closer until you were almost on top of him with your head on his chest and took a breather before explaining.

“She tried to undress and then get me back, but I made it clear that it wasn't something I wanted. It's a really long story, but Nesta used to be closed off, pushing people away to shield herself from getting hurt. After facing a lot of challenges, we got together, but we just weren't a good fit. We clashed a lot, and she eventually reverted to her old ways. The breakup was messy, but honestly, we're both better off without each other.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened. Sympathy and pain for them surged within you, yet a selfish relief that you still had him to yourself.

“Tonight, she panicked when she saw you. I said no, asked her to leave, but then she tried to undress. I firmly kicked her out. I'm sorry for dismissing you like that, sweetheart. I know her well, and she might have said something to you. I don't think I could have held back if she did.”

Oh, that explains why she was fixing her robe! Phew, the sight nearly made you sick.

While you briefly considered telling Cassian about Nesta's earlier words about where his feelings lie, you decided to leave it at that. You're definitely planning to kick her ass someday, just not right now. Your current priority is to snuggle up to your Cassie and comfort him.

A sweet kiss and blowjob, just as you promised, seems like the perfect remedy to make everything better.

You shift your head and look up at his tired face.

Maybe just the kiss today, you decide. He looked very tired and-

“A blowjob sounds mighty fine, sweet girl.”

Your eyes widen a bit as your cheeks heat at his words. You then remember that he knew what you were thinking because of the bond. He could be really forward sometimes, your perfect match.

“I was just thinking of giving you one but you seem really, really tired, Cassie. Ya still want one from me?”

He shifted, grabbing your hips before sitting you upright on his lap so that you straddled his lying body.

“Sugar, I’ll take anything you have to offer me.”

He let out a deep chuckle at the way your face lit up with a smile as you let out a shriek of excitement.

Your hands eagerly tore the blanket away, shifting down to get eye-level with his cock.

“This is all mine, no one in the whole world will ever get it, ever. Just mine.”

Cassian raised himself onto his elbows, gazing at you before offering reassurance,

"Only yours, sweet one. Forever."

You smile at him before you wrap your plush lips around his leaking tip, humming when he groans in pleasure.

Your entire body heats at his needy sounds. There was nothing you loved than making Cassian feel good. His hisses and little ‘ fuck, right there baby’ was filling you up with pride and was really giving you an ego boost. It was you making him feel like this, you who he loved more than anything.

The thought alone made your pussy wet. The scary 6’7 general of The Night Court, one of the most feared and skilled warriors in history was nothing more than a babbling mess infront of you.

Cassian lets you take your time, allowing you to get used to his size. He lets you take control even though all he wants to do is bury his cock deep in you. So when you run your tongue into his slit, his hips jerk and his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

“There’s my girl, so fucking perfect for me. Can you take me all the way, baby?”

You nod and take him deeper before you swallow, making your throat contract around his whole lenght. He gasps then pulls out with a pop, looking at you bewildered. You however just stared at him irritated, huffing at the disruption.

“Cassie, I wasn’t done! Why did you pull out, I almost had you,” you whine at him.

“Exactly. And we’re not done yet. I plan on fucking you until you can’t think straight.”

Cassian pulled you closer, putting a fat kiss on your lips before getting on top of you and fulfilling his promise to you.

He fucked you so hard, you passed out from the intensity. You had cum over and over again, time not registering in your brain.

As you sat together, the atmosphere turned sweet, and you found solace in the connection. All you knew was the comfort of his being, engulfing you.

—

You both lay there exhausted, wrapped in each other's arms, the once turbulent bond now a tranquil river of love and understanding.

“You wanna tell me about your shopping trip yesterday, sweets?” he asked, eager to hear your voice light up with excitement as you shared details about your latest fashion finds. Your ability to bring a sense of peace and light with the simplest conversations made Cassian feel an unmatched warmth. He knew he'd never love anyone as deeply as he loved you.

Throughout the night and into the next morning, you talked about everything under the sun. You even took a moment to explore his old room, running your fingers over his old possessions and playfully trying on his oversized leathers. The connection between you two felt stronger than ever, a testament to the depth of your bond.

Again, he thought about how there was no one he would ever love as much as he loved you.

Cassian was in deep, deep water and he wasn’t planning on ever getting out.

🏷️ taglist: @danikamariewrites @amara-moonlight @willowpains @cleverzonkwombatsludge @stonerpersona @starsinyourseyes @phoenixgurl030 @dreamlandreader @fxckmiup @infintyfandoms @ayme301 @sevikas-whore @fightmedraco @sweetshifter @stasiereads @rowaelinsdaughter @redbleedingrose @clairebear08 @thelov3lybookworm

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violetrainbow412-blog · 9 months

Text

Devil's night [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: Spencer is excited about his Halloween plans and you join him.

Directly based on episode 6x06, because I felt so bad about how the team behaves with Spencer that I needed to do something

“I see someone’s feeling spooky today,” Morgan smiled, looking you up and down.

You were wearing a cardigan knitted with various prints related to the time of year; pumpkins, ghosts, black cats, and candy corn, over a bright purple skirt and tall boots. Normally you would dress more formally due to the implied dress code the FBI operated under, but it was the weekend and Halloween was around the corner, so you could skip a suit day to wear one of those many scary-related items you had. After all, Halloween was your favorite holiday of the year. It was fun for everyone when you were a child, but as you grew up, your love for said celebration became a little weirder for others, so when you became an adult, you didn't think anyone shared such excitement about the date. Well, that is until you met Spencer Reid.

“It became a little more commercialized in the 1950s with trick-or-treating, and today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity” you heard him say, as he walked in with an already quite annoyed Emily Prentiss.

You knew that sometimes Spencer talked too much, but you hated that the rest of your coworkers got upset like that when he was talking about something that he was passionate about. Now the subject was, clearly, the next date.

"All I asked was what he was doing this weekend" she complained to Rossi. Spencer ignored her and continued with his cathedra as he settled into the empty space next to you.

“I'm toying with the notion of either going to the Edgar Allan Poe Shadow Puppet theater or the re-enactment of the XIX century Phantasmagoria,” he said and your heart did a little skip. You and Reid had argued on a few occasions, outside of work, about Poe’s works and although you didn't know what the second thing he had mentioned was, it sounded very interesting.

“What is a Phantasmagoria?” you asked nicely and when your partner noticed your presence he smiled widely, as if he was just noticing you in the room. The others all pouted in anticipation of the explanation to come and you hoped Spencer hadn't noticed.

“Phantasmagorias are these amazing pre-cinema projected ghost shows invented in France, where the showman attempted to spook the audience using science magic” he explained to you, while he took a seat and waved his hands from side to side. You were completely unaware of the term so you slightly parted your lips in astonishment.

"Sounds interesting"

"I have an extra ticket, do you want to come with me?" he asked you, almost immediately, with the biggest smile of all. Honestly, the invitation took you by surprise, especially who was asking, and Spencer seemed to see it on your face. “I mean, if you don't have plans this weekend. You can say no if you want."

“I'd really love to,” you exclaimed, so he wouldn't get the wrong idea, and watched his eyes sparkle with joy as he nodded.

The others wanted to make fun of it a bit, but Garcia didn't give them time to when she handed you the case files. When Hotch told you that you were going to fly to Detroit, your partner complained loudly and his gaze inevitably went to you, since you were supposed to have made plans together literally three minutes ago, but knowing that the unsub only attacked during these three days of the year. You had no choice but to accept your fate. You have never gone from feeling completely happy to being so disappointed in such a short time.

"I guess you better forget what I just told you," Reid sighed, as you left the conference room.

"Maybe we'll make it on time, when is the show?"

"This Sunday. The puppet theater is at 9:00 pm, the last Phantasmagoria show is at 11:00 pm. None are sold out yet"

"If we get back in time enough, I'll accompany you both, what do you say?" you muttered, trying to be as positive as possible, as you took your friend's arm with both hands and gave it a friendly squeeze. Spencer was taller than you, but thanks to the boots you were wearing and the extra inches they gave you, your eyes were almost at the level of his “Don't be discouraged.”

"I like your clothes today," he suddenly murmured. Sometimes he would give you those kinds of sweet compliments, perhaps as thanks for the kindness with which you always treated him, and you would almost always blush "The drawings are beautiful. Do you know why pumpkins became so representative?"

"Jack-o'-lantern," you replied, rather proud of yourself for knowing the answer.

"But did you know that in the original story it wasn't a pumpkin but a turnip?" he said and you were silent. But he didn't make fun of you for it, instead he saw a new opportunity to impress you "Yeah, you see, in the original legend Stingy Jack..."

The rest of the team, who was in front of you, shared knowing looks as if they were pitying you for having activated the doctor's rambling mode, but the truth was that you were fascinated with every word that came out of his mouth. Sometimes you couldn't believe how there was someone as intelligent in the world as your cute companion and as he spoke you prayed, perhaps with all your might, that you could catch the unsub in time to be able to fulfill the plans in the ones he had included for the weekend.

Almost as if by divine handiwork, the case was solved just in time for the plane to land and you two to rush home to get dressed for the theater. Hotch was even sympathetic to you and told you that the paperwork could wait for Monday just because he had heard of your plans, which you were immensely grateful for.

Spencer was happy that you agreed to go out with him, especially since the idea of asking you out was completely impulsive. It was true that he had an extra ticket but he never thought of having the courage to ask you to accompany him, much less did he think that you would be interested in it, since he was regularly ignored by his colleagues at work. It was something he had never discussed with anyone, only his beloved and gone Elle, but it haunted him almost every day.

Luckily for him, Spencer had prepared the wardrobe he wanted to wear in advance, and all he had to do was take a warm shower, shave, and put on some cream and cologne to get ready. In addition to, of course, styling his short hair as best he could.

He felt particularly concerned by his appearance that night and he pondered whether you would think he looked silly wearing a 19th century French suit. He had bought it last month and it was stored with his costume collection, which no one on the team knew about yet and he didn't intend for that to change.

He had offered to pick you up and when he got to your building, he felt strangely nervous. The doorman was a kind older man that he had seen a couple of times, so when he said that he was looking for you, the man called you on the phone to let you know.

They were silent for a few moments and he began to rock on his heels to kill some time.

“Will you take her trick-or-treating?” the doorman, Tony, joked. Spencer didn't take it the wrong way, instead he laughed it off.

"It's not the plan, but if someone takes pity on us and gives us some I won't complain" he replied and now it was the employee's turn to laugh.

"I've seen you before, are you her boyfriend?"

“Coworkers,” Spencer clarified, with a smile.

"Ah, so you're also a policeman?" although it wasn't the proper term, Spencer didn't know if you had hidden your real job for personal reasons, so he held back from explaining to the man that you were actually a profiler.

"Yes, something like that"

Tony wanted to ask more questions, but the sound of the elevator caught the attention of both men and revealed your figure.

"No fucking way," you breathed, looking your friend up and down and if he hadn't gone dumbfounded, he probably would have said the same thing "Look at you!"

"Where did you get that?" he asked in amazement. Although Spencer had thought that you would show up in a costume, he hadn't expected to see you like this.

"You don’t like it?"

"No, I love it" he hastened to say, when he heard the insecurity in your voice "It's just… I didn't expect to see you as a 19th-century French lady"

You were wearing a beautiful black dress with lace details that obviously alluded to the fashion of the time, black satin gloves, plus a discreet hat on your well-groomed hair and boots that Reid had seen before, but they made a great combination with the outfit. The man's surprise was because he had invited you with such short notice and yet you had gotten the perfect costume and not only that, but one that conveniently matched his.

“And I didn't expect to see you as a French gentleman either” you laughed, as you reached out to wrap him in a hug "I guess it was pure fate"

“Or the fact that we are going to see a recreation of a 19th-century show. Our brains thought the same thing.”

“It doesn't sound so charming when you say it like that" you complained amused and he realized it was true "Shall we go? I don’t want to be late"

Spencer nodded and immediately offered you his arm to hold onto as you walked, a gesture that made you believe you were really entering a time tunnel.

“Enjoy your night”

"Thanks, Tony! Don't scare too many kids and don't eat too much candy,” you waved, blowing him a kiss as you followed Spencer out the door.

He guided you to his car and opened the passenger door for you and then he got in himself to start the engine and get going.

"I really can't believe that we got a couple's costume by pure coincidence"

“Couple costume?”

“Yes, they are those costumes of the same theme that you use with a couple. You know, like the people who dress up as Fred and Daphne or Morticia and Gomez”

Spencer didn't know the last couple, but he did have a vague recollection that the first ones mentioned were from Scooby Doo due to the cartoons he came from as a child.

"Oh" he sighed "Yes, get it”

“Honestly this was a last-minute thing. My downstairs neighbor studies theater and we are good friends, so I asked her if she had anything in her curiosities bag that could help me and she pulled out this dress. It was enough to adjust it a little" you told him, putting both hands on the neck of your dress and smiling from ear to ear "I couldn't believe it, it was really a stroke of luck”

"It looks so pretty on you," he said suddenly, looking away from the road just for a moment to check that you had heard him. "I don't think I told you when I saw you, but that's what I thought."

"Thank you then," you smiled, feeling your cheeks warm a little.

Spencer started talking to you about the creation of puppet theaters and, of course, the Poe stories you were going to witness, with you interrupting him only to point out some decoration along the way that you thought was cute. On Halloween you almost always preferred to stay at home to watch horror movies or go down to the hall to distribute candy to the youngest children, with very discreet costumes to avoid the evil looks of adults. But now you were excited to be doing this with Spencer, who was maybe the only person you knew who wouldn't make fun of you under any circumstances. Your relationship was based on a certain complicity, perhaps more than you had with any member of your unit.

Arriving at the site, he reopened your door and offered you his hand to help you down, which you took without complaining. Once you were outside, he repeated the gesture from when he picked you up from your building and in this way you walked to the entrance, where a woman disguised as who you assumed was Berenice (a Poe character) sold you a couple of tickets.

It was a lovely show and when you weren't looking at the puppets you took the time to admire your companion, whose eyes revealed the emotion of a child. You never thought the doctor was fond of a thing like this and now that you had discovered it you found it quite adorable. As you left you asked him if he was a Muppets fan by any chance and, to your surprise, he was. Spencer even told you that he had a couple of Kermit the Frog items that his mom bought him when he was little, but he also told you not to tell anyone or he'd be embarrassed and you pinky promised him.

You still had an hour between the two shows so you decided to go to a nearby park where there were lots of food stalls: candy apples, popcorn, candy, lemonade, and you even got to one where a Hispanic woman offered you pieces of candied pumpkin. You had to take off your gloves (which he kept carefully in his jacket) when you bought a few pieces of this last one for the two of you and when you tried it you agreed that it was delicious. The woman told you that in Mexico, her country of origin, she always served them to her children with a glass of milk.

Spencer spared no expense just to fulfill all your cravings, even though you refused, so when you got in the car to go to the Phantasmagoria your stomach was pretty full. The place where it would take place was a gray tent in the open air, with a dais in front and several wooden benches arranged so that enough people could fit in. As you had arrived with some time, you took a seat on a bench in the second row and waited patiently for the show to start.

Suddenly all the lights around you went out, leaving only the ones pointing to the front of the stage, and a presenter dressed as a magician appeared.

“For many centuries, wandering spirits have inhabited the world unseen by the human eye, always confined to the world of shadows…” his voice was mesmerizing and kept you on the edge of your seat, watching him carefully “but for a certain time of the year, their magic grows and they are able to cross the barrier that separates us…”

The entire tent was filled with smoke and the audience, including you, looked around trying to figure out what would happen. The presenter continued giving his gloomy monologue and, although you didn’t imagine how, you even felt that the temperature decreased a little with each word he said. Suddenly even the lights that were pointed at him began to dim and by the time he finished explaining to you the whole place was in complete darkness.

There was silence for a moment to build tension and then there was an explosion that made you jump in place. To tell you the truth, you didn't expect much from the show, you thought that being a recreation it would have many shortcomings, but when the first figure appeared on the roof your heart skipped a beat.

You weren't a scared person under normal circumstances and your resistance to the horrifying images you saw at work on a daily basis shows this, but this time perhaps all the environmental components of that night were what made you feel that way. A loud laugh resounded and then another pair of specters appeared, this time flying at the height of the audience and even passing through some of you.

Spencer's reaction was nothing like the rest. Despite his fear of the dark he was totally fascinated by all the images, his mind already working to decipher the magic trick that was being performed. What finally got his breath caught was the feel of your hand searching his. He was still shielding your gloves so he could feel the cool temperature of your fingers, as opposed to how warm he was in comparison. Even knowing that doing that was a reflex act due to fear, he stopped paying attention to the show to look at your hand on top of his, with that noticeable difference in size.

Just as you had admired him during the puppet show, he took the time to observe your expressions now. Your face lit up from time to time by the illusions around you and every time you startled you squeezed his hand harder, in addition to adjusting your body against his as if you were looking for some kind of protection. Spencer had gone out with friends many times and of course with the rest of his female colleagues at work, however none of them had behaved like you were doing. He wasn’t bothered by your behavior, but rather intrigued, since you seemed quite comfortable taking refuge in him to feel safe. Although he knew how to identify qualities in people, he sometimes had a hard time crossing the line of identifying them to really admire them. When he thought of JJ, he thought of a charismatic woman. When he thought of Emily, he thought of intelligence. And when he thought of Penelope, he always saw joy and optimism. But when he thought of you, there were too many qualities to focus on just one: he thought of kindness, calmness, creativity, wit, beauty, empathy... what a big heart you had and how at the end of the day you were perhaps the only one who could make him smile. When he invited you to join him, he did it because he knew you had the same feeling towards scary things, but now that you were there, looking so pretty and holding his hand tightly, he thought maybe there was something else going on between you. You were the closest thing he had to a best friend, though he had never said so verbally, and that night he wanted to be nowhere else but by your side.

Only when the lights came back on did he realize that the spectacle had been forgotten to him, since the whole time he had been looking at you.

“That was all for today, my friends. Thank you for these wonderful performances and remember to recommend us to your friends the next time we're in town. Have a spooky night, all of you."

“I can't believe it, did you see all that? It was just awesome! I didn't think it was going to be this good” you said, completely excited, as you turned in his direction. Apparently you weren't even aware that your hands were clasped until he got up from the seat and helped you imitate him with that grip. Though you thought of apologizing for that, you didn't, fearing to embarrass yourself further.

“It was amazing, even for me it was hard to figure out the trick”

“Why do you want to figure it out? admit it's only magic, doctor. Sometimes life is” you laughed, grabbing his arm for the third time like a happy wife would her husband.

You are something magical, he thought, with the words on the tip of his tongue, but not daring to say them to you.

Although the night was late, the movement in the streets was still the same and Spencer considered asking if you wanted to go somewhere else, but the yawn that escaped you made him think that the best thing for both of us would be to go home to rest. After all, the case had exhausted you.

"Back to your house, right?" he asked, just to be sure and you nodded with a smile.

The road wasn’t long, you only had to take care of the naughty at night so as not to receive any damage, so when you least expected it, you were already in front of your building. Although you intended to say goodbye, Spencer told you that he would accompany you to the door of your apartment just to make sure that you arrived completely safely, because he knew better than anyone how much could happen to a woman alone, even if it was such a short journey, and he didn't want to risk you. Tony was still awake and greeted you nicely as you walked in, so you could then get on the elevator and press the necessary button.

“I seriously have no words to thank you for today, Spencer. Except for that one time I ended up in the hospital for eating so much candy, this has been my best Halloween ever,” you admitted with a laugh, as you leaned in for a big hug.

"Thank you for accompanying me. I'm really glad you had fun, because I had a great time too”

There was a dead space between you, in which you just looked at each other with a smile. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that the night had been wonderful and maybe it was just that you two were trying to drag it out as long as possible.

“Spencer”

"Yeah?"

"Before you go, can I ask you something?"

"Whatever" he responded immediately. He got a little nervous thinking that he wouldn't be able to satisfy your curiosity by ignoring the topic you were going to ask him about and hoped that wasn't the case.

You waited another second before speaking.

"How frowned upon do you think it was for 1800s society for a woman to steal a kiss from her companion?"

Spencer's eyes danced a little in his sockets and you thought he was processing your request in disguise, until he looked at you again and spoke with complete assurance:

“Very frowned upon, surely. At that time, it was usual for men to court women, who were very repressed from making their own decisions or living their sexuality as they pleased. A woman who kissed a man was considered indecent."

You wanted to correct him, tease him or, as a last resort, simply pull him by his shirt and plant the kiss you had wanted to give him all the way. But you didn't do any of that, you just laughed softly and enjoyed his smirk for telling you the right answer.

“I was afraid of that. It's good to know” said this, you carefully approached him and placed a small kiss on his cheek, seeing him slightly surprised by the act “See you tomorrow at work. Call me when you get home”

"I will do that. Rest and see you later"

"Bye”

Just as he said, he called you a few minutes later to announce that he had arrived at his destination so you could sleep peacefully.

Spencer didn't realize that you had explicitly asked for a kiss until Morgan told him and while his friend laughed, he felt like the luckiest guy of all and, at the same time, the dumbest.

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