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jungkxook · 3 years

Text

—body talk. (m)

⟶ pairing: jung wooyoung x fem!reader

⟶ genre: fwb!wooyoung / virgin!reader + fluff / smut

⟶ words: 8,889

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: so maybe asking your best friend to take your virginity is wrong for a number of reasons, but you swear you’re still just friends. nothing more, nor less

⟶ warnings: idiots who might be in love with each other but are oblivious to it, first time sex, clumsy sex, also wet and messy sex tbh, dirty talk, pet names, grinding/dry humping, (brief) mutual masturbation, guided masturbation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, clit play, breast play/fondling, hair pulling, missionary, protected sex, aftercare

⟶ note: welp... here we go again, another shameless wooyoung smut to feed my fantasies! anyway, thank you to @ddaechwita and @kithtaehyung who let me cry to them endlessly about wooyoung and subsequently helped me push this fic out heheh and also for my other fellow wooyoung stans @trustingofwinds @seolaseoul 👀

also absolutely am thinking of making a part 2 to this, so if that’s something anyone wants, feel free to let me know!! 💛

⟶ part two can be read here!

It’s a little known fact that Wooyoung will do anything for you.

That’s a given, when you consider that he’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember. He’s used to you asking him to do anything and everything for you, whether it’s out of genuine need for help or something for pure leisure. Like the one time you called him drunk at three in the morning and asked him to pick you up from some random party, or that other time when you asked if he would go on a spontaneous midnight road trip with you to the next city over to make it on time for a concert.

When you’re sick, he’s at your apartment in a matter of seconds, rummaging about your kitchen to make you a heartwarming stew; and, when you’re bored and can’t sleep far past midnight, he’s at your door with your favourite snacks and the promise of bingeing Netflix with you until the morning only to have you fall asleep on his shoulder an hour into the first movie. He’s always content with helping you, if only because you mean the world to him and because he knows you’ll do the same for him. In fact, if it were up to him, and you asked, he would surely go to any lengths to move the literal moon for you.

Then you meet Yeonjun, which wouldn’t have been such a big issue to neither you nor Wooyoung had you not started to overthink your newfound relationship with him and had Wooyoung not realized that he maybe, sort of, kind of hates Yeonjun.

But what’s not to hate about a guy putting his grubby hands all over you?

Like now, at some frat house party San had somehow got an invite to, and dragged you and Wooyoung both along. You had arrived with Wooyoung only to be whisked away by Yeonjun during the night, now somewhere off in a far corner of the living room, his hands on your waist and you leaning against his chest, gazing up at him as if he’s everything good in the world. At one point, when Wooyoung glances over, he finds Yeonjun’s lips hovering around your ear, whispering sweet nothings that seem to make you giggle; when he looks another time, Yeonjun’s mouth is working some sort of magic on your jaw, and then on the corner of your lips, chaste enough to make you blush.

“God, you’re despicable,” San begrudges from somewhere beside Wooyoung.

Wooyoung snorts in agreement. “Isn’t he?”

“I meant you, dumb ass,” San rolls his eyes. He clips Wooyoung across the back of the head, which Wooyoung thinks may be sort of deserved. “Stop ogling them every minute.”

Wooyoung rips his gaze away just as you reach out to grab at Yeonjun’s shoulders. “He’s, like, two seconds away from shoving his tongue down her throat and asphyxiating her. It’s gross.”

Yeosang snorts from Wooyoung’s other side, “Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m a concerned friend.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

And Wooyoung swears he isn’t jealous. Why would he be? You’re his best friend, nothing more nor less. While he knows you’re more than capable enough to sort out the wrong kind of men for yourself, was it so bad of Wooyoung to want to keep an eye out for you, just in case?

Whatever the case, knowing you’re wrapped around Yeonjun is enough to preoccupy Wooyoung’s head for the rest of the party until you eventually unravel yourself from him to return to Wooyoung, ready to head home.

Which leaves Wooyoung here, in his apartment after the two of you somehow managed to lug yourselves back, drunken giggles and incoherent chatter filling the space between you. You’ve pulled him onto his own bed with you, whining about being exhausted, an innocent enough action when considering you’ve known him for so long and are just that comfortable with him. Though, that’s not after Wooyoung spent a good ten minutes rummaging about his kitchen cupboards, in the hopes of finding something to quench his drunken cravings (he had resorted to a bowl of cereal, then subsequently went on to rant how “it’s not pizza,” but he’s too broke to order out, before your patience ultimately started wearing thin).

There’s a moment of silence as you each settle back into his bed, some kind of smutty romantic movie playing on his laptop wedged between you two that was meant to be a joke but is now currently making your drunken mind slip into a spiral as the main character gets plowed in a shower, or whatever, and you sink deeper into the miserable realization that you’re still a virgin in college. Meanwhile, Wooyoung thinks you’ve long since fallen asleep, curled up next to him, though he’s more focused on carefully separating out the marshmallows with his spoon from the rest of the cereal in his now soggy Lucky Charms than anything else.

“God,” Your face scrunches up at the sight unfolding before you on the movie screen, catching his wandering attention. Wooyoung’s surprised to find you wide awake, glancing over to see you huddled up next to his side, your face smooshed up against your hands that are propped up beneath you. Your eyes are on the movie, but you seem to be focused on something else entirely. “Is it always like that? Sex? Like in the movies, and porn? So… Intense?”

Wooyoung barely flinches. “Mmm? Oh, not really. Yeah, it’s good but they definitely glamorize it for show. Like, statistically, women orgasm way less than guys.”

What would you know? His lazy description of it flies right over your head. So, maybe, you’re a virgin, but it’s not like you’ve cared so much about the state of your being before, created as a social construct anyway. But the irritating reality of being a less-than-experienced college student who has only ever kissed two boys and not much else, with the empty promise that you’ll find a special someone eventually, you were starting to lose your patience.

The derailing train of thought continues until you realize you’ve almost forgotten Wooyoung is seated beside you. And maybe his presence being there during your inner drunken monologue is what spurs on your next thought. “Hey, Woo?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d do anything for me, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Would you teach me how to have sex?”

“You want me to do what?” Wooyoung asks this with a gawking dumbfounded expression. Well, no, maybe that’s a bit of an understatement.

He yelps it a little uncouthly, in a manner not at all subtle nor nonchalant as Wooyoung typically carries himself. If you’re being honest, there’s not much that seems to shock the ever brash and brazen Wooyoung but, now, you can say with full confidence that your best friend looks as if he’s seen death ━ and maybe that’s because he almost has, nearly choking on the bite of cereal he had just shoveled into his mouth.

Meanwhile, flip yourself over onto your stomach to look at him, appearing as innocent as if you had simply just asked him what time it is. But he knows better than this, has the words still ringing in his head.

“What?” You ask obliviously now. When you shoot him a curious look over his sudden coughing fit, he looks at you incredulously.

“You want me to have sex with you?”

You let out a sigh. “No. I want you to teach me how to have sex.”

Wooyoung blinks once, then twice. Clearly, he’s still having a hard time registering this. “That’s the same thing, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude right now, Wooyoung. This is serious!” You protest.

“It’s almost three a.m. and you’re drunk. How serious can this be?” Wooyoung scoffs.

“Well, Yeonjun asked me out finally and I’m scared he’s going to make a move,” You ramble on indifferently, picking at a stray piece of lint on his pillow. Your worries seem to spill out of you before you can stop them. “And Jinsol says he’s this experienced sex god or whatever,” You wave your hand dismissively. “And thinks I’m not ready for him. But, like, whatever, y’know? Virginity is such a misogynistic thing anyway! If anything, he’s not ready for me.”

A fact Wooyoung considers to maybe be sort of true. But Wooyoung already knows all about your concerns and plights for love. He certainly has heard all about Yeonjun, but only recently. He’s seen the boy before on campus, though you finally had the privilege of meeting him in one of your classes this semester, and have been talking for nearly the entire semester before the boy worked up the courage to apparently, and finally, ask you out ━ amongst making out with you all night at this party.

Moreover, Wooyoung knows you’re less versed in having done anything sexual, and while he’s heard your many intoxicated rants before on how virginity is simply a social construct, he still knows your desire to wait for the right person, and the way you’ve already had to reject a handful of people and their bold advances before. So, to hear you’ve even begun to consider Yeonjun as a potential prospect is a fact that Wooyoung tells himself he shouldn’t care about because he’s supposed to be happy for you because you’re his best friend. And he is ━ he’s supportive of you and whatever you choose to do ━ but lately any time you mention Yeonjun, he seems to die a little more inside.

To avoid this happening now, Wooyoung tries playfully, “So you kick him in the nuts and run?”

“I’m not going to do that,” You say. “I’m also not planning on sleeping with him on our first date. But I will panic if he tries to make a move and I look like a completely helpless virgin.”

“That’s because you are one,” Wooyoung says this as politely as possible but still feels the need to add swiftly, “And there’s nothing wrong with that! You don’t need to feel pressured into giving him anything he wants.”

“But what if I want to?”

Ah, there it is.

Wooyoung winces, feels his heart seize momentarily in his chest. He hopes you don’t notice. He also hopes briefly that maybe he is choking on his cereal.

“You’re drunk,” Wooyoung tries now, rolling his eyes as if to hide the way his heart skips a beat.

“Look… Last time I said no to someone, you know how that turned out.”

“Yeah, well, Seonghwa was an idiot for that, who only thinks with his dick,” Wooyoung grimaces as the memories flood his mind. “I mean, breaking up with you because you wouldn’t have sex with him after a month of dating, and after dealing with weeks of him pressuring you into it? As if you’d want to risk getting an STD from him━”

“But I understand why he dumped me,” You sigh dismally. “No one in college wants to play the long game for someone when they can easily find a hook-up at the campus bar. But… I don’t know. Yeonjun is different. He’s gentle and understanding. He’s patient, too. I actually like him━” You muse softly, maybe even a little distantly. “A lot. It just feels like everyone here is so experienced, and I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself when the time comes. If things do go anywhere with him, I think I’m ready.”

Wooyoung swallows thickly. Fearing he might choke again if he takes another bite of his cereal, he instead busies himself by setting the bowl on his bedside table and straightening up on his bed.

“I thought you’ve already done… some stuff anyway,” Wooyoung says awkwardly.

At this, you roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t say giving Kyuho a sloppy handjob the summer we graduated high school is exactly experienced.”

“Well… Why would you even want me to teach you?” Wooyoung asks. “I mean━ You get mad at me for calling you dude, and yet you want me to dick you down━”

“Ugh. It sounds weird if you say it like that,” Your nose wrinkles as if the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. “We don’t even have to go all the way. Just… I don’t know! Teach me the basics!”

“The basics…” Wooyoung scoffs in disbelief.

“Yeah, like foreplay.”

“Foreplay.” You have genuinely started to consider the fact that he’s short-circuited when you hear him say, “But… you have, y’know, done stuff by yourself… right?”

As you register his words, an abrupt wave of embarrassment floods you, warming your cheeks. You sputter for air, and though you’ve been straightforward so far with your demands, you try not to let this particular question mortify you too much by hastily stumbling over your words.

“I-I mean, yeah, only with my hands,” You stammer, “but t-that’s so different!”

“Mmm, not too different,” Wooyoung begs to differ. “Just, like, buy yourself a vibrator or something. I’ll buy you one if you’re nervous, if that’s what this is about━”

“What? No,” You scoff. “Besides, it’s not like it has to make things weird between us, or like we’re gonna fall in love or something dumb. It’s just friends helping friends. Just… Wooyoung, look, I know you’re not a virgin. You’ve definitely talked to me before about your random hook-ups. How would this be any different from those?”

“Uh… Okay, but those are random hook-ups. One and done sort of thing. And because ━ I don’t know, maybe━ you’re my best friend?”

“Even more reason!” You insist hotly. “I’m comfortable with you, and at least I’ll know my first time won’t be a total regret if it’s with you. I trust you the most. I’ve thought about it and it makes sense. If I want my first time to be with anyone, it’s you.”

Oh.

Yeah, okay, fuck Yeonjun, Wooyoung thinks, because you want him to be your first. Him. Not Yeonjun, not anyone else. Wooyoung. He definitely likes the sound of this now, although the apprehension of overstepping any boundaries still looms near.

He inhales deeply, gnawing on his lower lip. He knows it’s insane, and maybe so do you too. The longer he looks at you though, the faster he falls for your charm, gazing up at him with your pretty eyes all round now in a silent plea and shimmering.

In the beat of silence that surpasses between you, reality seems to hit. That, paired with Wooyoung’s sudden quietness, has you fidgeting around until you’re sitting up. You clear your throat. “Or… just forget it. It was stupid of me to ask. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable━”

“I’ll do it.” When Wooyoung realizes he says this a little too quickly, he adds, “If it’s something you really want, of course. I’ll do it for you.”

You gap up at him, a hopeful expression endearing your face. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He waves his hand as if to dismiss the thought, but it’s more than enough for you.

Your gaze brightens as you look up at him, immediate relief washing over you, not quite yet letting the harsh actuality of the situation settle in. The bedroom is silent once more. You each slip back into your normal night routine, as you shift your eyes back onto the movie and Wooyoung takes another bite of his now soggy cereal. As if you’ve done nothing more than haughtily debate the answers to the chemistry test you both took last week. As if nothing has even changed.

“Sooo… how should we do this?” You pipe up innocently a few moments later. “I was thinking before my date with Yeonjun, which is in a week from now. Should I, like, pencil you in to my schedule or━”

“What━?” Wooyoung sputters, a sudden amused grin stretching across his face. “I’m your best friend, not your gynecologist.”

“A dick appointment is the same thing.”

Now, it’s Wooyoung’s turn for his face to scrunch up in disdain.

“Okay, maybe you’re right. Let’s agree to not call this any variation of being dicked down,” he says. “And how does this Friday sound?”

Without much holding you back or to cause any sort of hesitation, you can be heard responding with, “Perfect.”

Or so you think.

But not even Wooyoung quite knows why he agrees to such an insane idea. Maybe he’s a little too loyal and a little too impulsive, knowing he’ll do anything for you ━ but this surely must cross some sort of line.

As it turns out, Friday is not as perfect as you had initially thought. Sort of.

You spend all morning getting ready, as if it really matters. Wooyoung’s not your boyfriend, but you figured if he’s going to be the first boy you let anywhere close to you, you may as well clean up nicely for him. That consisted of various shower yoga poses as you intricately shave, scrub your body twice with some fruity exfoliator, and wear something cuter than your usual loungewear (typically leggings or sweatpants paired with an immensely oversized shirt of Wooyoung’s that you’ve nicked from his closet). But the faster the day draws near, the more nervous you become because maybe this is a little outrageous.

Still, you show up to Wooyoung’s apartment on time, running on nothing but coffee and nerves, your mind whirling with all the possibilities of the night only to come up short.

Because Wooyoung doesn’t initiate anything, and so you certainly don’t initiate anything.

The moment he answers the door after you’ve arrived, he’s all cordial and oblivious, greeting you with a charming, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He gives you a once over, and it’s only then that you realize you aren’t quite sure what you’re expecting. It’s not as if he’s going to pounce on you the moment he sees you. Oh god, you bemoan to yourself suddenly as you stand on the opposite side of the threshold, maybe you really are a helpless virgin.

“You look nice,” he says. He props the door open. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come in. I ordered your favourite; I think it’s almost here━”

You almost think he’s forgotten about your drunken agreement as the night unfolds as normally as it can, not a word about your arrangement being spoken to one another. In fact, you almost think you’ve dreamt up the outlandish scenario, awaiting a moment that’s only been made up in your head. Instead, the night consists of eating the takeout he’s ordered, then sprawling out on his couch as you watch some movie he’s chosen that you’re not exactly paying much attention to as you wonder what his next move will be. But there’s no need to be nervous around Wooyoung, because he’s your best friend. He would never do anything to purposely make you uncomfortable ━ except maybe passively avoid the obvious major predicament between the two of you.

He’s seated just next to you, one leg bouncing as he keeps his eyes focused on the movie. You’ve taken up the majority of the couch, lounging beside him with your feet kicked up in his lap.

At some point, you decide you can’t take the suspense any longer. You call out his name softly. “Woo?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?”

“Hanging out?”

A skittish snort eclipses your lips as you let out a breath of air you hadn’t realized you were holding in. “No. What are we doing?”

Wooyoung already knows what you’re trying to imply, judging by the way he finally turns to look at you. He runs a hand through his hair.

“I wasn’t planning on jumping into it the minute you walked through my door,” he says finally. “You’re clearly nervous.”

You scoff, sitting up at once. “No, I’m not.”

“Y/N, you’re wearing jeans around me for the first time in months,” he deadpans. “You even did your makeup, and you never do that for me.”

Oh. “Boys notice that kind of stuff?”

“If they care enough about you, yeah,” Wooyoung points out.

An awkward silence saturates the room, at which point you start to panic. “Well… You’re clearly nervous too.”

Wooyoung looks mildly offended by this. “What? No way!”

“You won’t stop bouncing your leg, you’ve barely looked at me all night, and now you’re stalling which is so unlike you because I know it takes you, like, less than ten minutes to get into any girl’s pants━”

Wooyoung frowns. “I’m not stalling━”

But now you’re starting to dread this more and more. The embarrassment of sitting across from your best friend after asking to have sex with him seems to finally sink in. You pry your eyes off of him and look over at the movie once more.

“I just want to make sure it’s right,” he says tenderly, sensing this shift in emotions. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Just because you agreed to it once when you were drunk, doesn’t mean you still feel the same. Things can change overnight. So, if you tell me you’re really ready right now, we can give it a try. But if you’re really nervous, you can be honest with me. We don’t have to do anything, and then we can pretend we never agreed to it in the first place.”

You find yourself pursing your lips. The earnesty in his voice is enough to beckon you to look at him once more. You roll your eyes, as if to hide your timidness. “Well… How would we even start? What even are the basics of foreplay?”

The sheepish expression you’ve adopted is enough to tell him you’re still content with your decision. He fidgets in his seat now, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“Er… Well…” he trails off. He takes a deep breath as if to brace himself. “Can’t go wrong with some heavy fondling. It helps if I’m hard━” he winces at the crude words, “which I’m pretty much the complete opposite of right now━”

“Ouch,” You quip lightheartedly. A poor attempt at making a joke to distract you from the awkwardness you feel. “I don’t know if that should be somewhat offensive to me. But okay… How do we… do that?”

But then Wooyoung thinks that may be a little too forward, a little too fast. He bites at his lip.

“Um… We could always make out a little first,” he suggests. “That helps set the mood. Probably something Yeonjun will wanna start off with anyway.”

He adds the last bit in a slightly disgruntled murmur under his breath that goes mostly unnoticed by you, if only because maybe you are more nervous than you let on.

“So… Should we…?” You gesture vaguely between the two of you.

Wooyoung pauses, as if considering his options. Then, he sidles up next to you, reaching out carefully to cup the side of your face. Suddenly, you have no voice. All you can do is nod, waiting with bated breath. He leans in slowly, eyes flickering to your lips just before they flutter shut. Just before he can kiss you, you murmur out loud, “This is weird.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung admits sheepishly. “Maybe we’re thinking too much into it? It’s like you said. We’re just a couple of friends, helping each other out. Nothing weird about that.”

“Yeah, sure.” You can’t help but laugh. “Okay! Whatever. Let’s just get on with it.”

Wooyoung obliges. He’s closer now, mere inches away from the tip of your nose. “Can I?”

You nod again, bracing yourself. You wonder briefly what makes you so nervous, and wonder some more when you realize it isn’t because you don’t not want to kiss him. Because you do, a self-indulgent thought beckoning to taste his lips on yours even if you know it might be wrong.

He leans in again. You can feel his minty breath tingle against your neck, and it sends a delighted chill down your spine.

“I’m not a good kisser,” You stop him for a third time, though now you’re simply racking your brain for excuses to make up for your rigid self. Your voice is a weak croak. “I haven’t done this in a while. Don’t make fun of me when you realize━”

“Y/N,” Wooyoung lets out a breathless laugh. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

“I know, I know. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, because I do ━ not in that way, I just meant for the experience, but━”

But Wooyoung isn’t listening anymore. Finally, his lips smooth over yours, all soft and velvety. Your heart leaps in your chest, and though you’ve felt the sensation of a kiss before, there’s something odd yet satisfying with feeling Wooyoung’s mouth on yours. He kisses you chastely, just once before he pulls away to check on you. He notes the dazed dreamy look on your face, and finds that he’s smiling to himself until he hears you quip sluggishly━

“This is so dumb.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Guess we can stop.”

“Wait, no. Kiss me again.”

So, he does, with a smirk that you feel ghosting across your mouth. Only this time he lets his hand slide from your cheek to the back of your neck, guiding you towards him for another kiss that’s much more eager and fervent, his tongue laving at your lower lip. He’s still cautious, treating you delicately, as if not quite sure where exactly the line crosses. But your head is spinning by now, and everything seems fuzzy and faint yet heightened all at once.

In this light, Wooyoung looks ravishing. Different. Irresistible. He’s always been attractive, but something seems to switch in your head making you acutely aware of just how devastatingly handsome he truly is. That, and the lewd thought of being in such a compromising position with him has a special type of warmth pooling between your legs.

With a head full of clouds and your face heating, you murmur, “Are you hard yet?”

An amused laugh rumbles against your mouth from him. “Well, I’m not a thirteen year old boy anymore, so, no. It takes a little more than that.”

“Like what?”

“Er… Some touching, usually,” he admits. “Or… If that seems too far, you could always sit on my lap.”

You hurry to oblige, pushing yourself to your knees and then straddling him. As you sit back onto his lap, he’s quick to catch your lips on his once more. It’s even harder to focus now, with the way he feels your chest arch forward and your hips dig a little harsher into his out of instinct as you wiggle to get comfortable. Everything feels foreign, yet comfortable, heightened sensitivity and feelings. While you’re also desperate to feel some sort of friction, you hesitate.

“You can move,” Wooyoung suggests, as if sensing your apprehension. He’s gesturing vaguely to your hips nestled against his.

Chasing the desire, you give an experimental roll of your hips, teeth sinking into your lower lip. “Like this?”

“Y-Yeah.” Wooyoung fidgets beneath you. “Fuck━ A bit faster━ Yeah, just like that.”

He hisses in delight when you oblige, his hands flying out to grip at your hips, and the sudden confident movement as he presses you a little more firmly against him makes your head spin violently. You realize quite suddenly you’ve never seen him so distracted, so intensely focused on something. On you.

He leans forward to kiss you again, needier than before. As he nips at your lips, a whimper sounds from you ━ a feeling and noise so unusual to you, and certainly to Wooyoung who could have only ever dreamt of having you wrapped around him like this. He fumbles to hear more, nipping and sucking his way down to your jawline, then neck. As your hips twitch above his, you notice a sudden growing hardness poking at your inner thigh.

“Woo━” You moan. “I━”

You lose yourself in the moment, so caught up in this unusual wave of pleasure washing over you. Behind closed doors, you’ve touched yourself before, have grinded against your pillow to desperately feel something, but this? He’s not even in you and you’re already struggling to keep yourself composed. Wooyoung must notice this, the way your brow creases together in hard concentration, the way your fingers fly out to thread in his hair. Suddenly, as if something carnal seems to switch within him, he wants nothing more than to make an absolute mess of you.

Still, he finds a moment of clarity, rasping against your throat, “Do you still want to keep going?”

“Y-Yes.”

“We can stop whenever you want,” His tongue lavs against your throat. “Just tell me.”

You nod. “I know.”

“Good,” he hums. “Then let’s move this to the bed. Now, please.”

A gasp tumbles from your lips when you feel Wooyoung sit upright beneath you, large palms gripping your thighs as he whisks you away to his room. He plops you onto his bed with a soft bounce of the mattress, wedging himself between your legs at once. You fumble to grasp at his face in your haste, so drunk off of him and the adrenaline, pulling him down for another kiss and he relents at once. His hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging at it in a wordless gesture that has you silently following suit when he pulls it up and over your head. When he reaches for your bra, you start to panic, though in a way that makes you embarrassed more than anything else. As if stripping down to nothing in front of him is somehow more intimate than what you’re already doing with him. You’re more than comfortable with him, but you decide you’d rather take things as slow as you can.

You stop him shyly, whispering, “Not yet.”

He obeys at once, pulling back his hand and replacing his hasty efforts with a sweet kiss to your temple. “Okay. It’s okay. Where do you want me?”

Chewing at your lower lip, you decide to take the lead. You grab at his hand, and bring it between your thighs, cupping your clothed pussy. He watches you with hooded sultry eyes, from the way you innocently press his palm against your jeans, to the way your bra strap falls down one shoulder, and the way your teeth tug at your lip.

His fingers pull at your belt loop. “Can we take these off?”

You nod, and so he helps you shed them with ease until you’re left in a pair of cotton pink panties, the front of which is already stained with a wet patch, that he can’t help but admire.

“Cute,” he snickers.

“Wooyoung,” You whine sheepishly.

A moment of clarity seems to strike him, and he leans down to plant a kiss to the underside of your jaw. “I’ll treat you right,” he promises huskily. “Tonight’s all about you.”

“Wh-What should I do?”

“Mmm,” he ponders aloud for a moment. He pulls away once more to look at you. “Touch yourself first for me. I wanna see what you can do.”

“I━ I’m not very good at it,” You stammer hotly. “Can never really get off.”

“You don’t have to be good at it, as long as it feels good,” he says. “Does it feel good?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Always with your hands, or with a toy?”

“My hands.” And maybe the occasional thought of you, a voice sheepishly points out in the back of your head, but you’ll be damned if you ever tell him that. Because the only time you ever really have felt a high when masturbating was technically when you’ve thought of him ━ and the thought alone was lewd enough to startle you away from ever thinking of him again.

Now, you realize Wooyoung is gazing at you, awaiting an answer. “Well… Go on.”

You do as you’re told, fingers fluttering across your clothed clit, pressing against it firmly enough to elicit a soft gasp. Wooyoung watches as you start to rub small slow circles against yourself, and you feel his eyes burning against every inch of your skin. It makes you both timid yet excited, and you indulge in his attention a little longer.

“Tell me,” Wooyoung murmurs. “What does it feel like?”

“Warm,” You rasp. “And w-wet. So wet━”

“Finger yourself,” he commands, and you obey wordlessly.

You push aside the material of your panties, running your thumb along your growing wetness. You’re surprised to find the stickiness between your thighs is a pooling mess, and all because of him. You can’t help but slip your middle finger past your folds, pumping it into yourself carefully.

“Like this?” You gasp.

“You can play with yourself,” he says. “Tease yourself. Imagine every little thing you want to have happen to you, and do it.”

So, you do, dragging your finger out to spread your wetness along your clit as you rub figure-eights against it. Then, you dip your finger back into your throbbing cunt, this time adding your index finger to stretch yourself out.

Elsewhere, propped on his knees between your spread legs, Wooyoung has hastily unzipped the top of his jeans, pulling his dick free from the confinements in a needy haste to relieve himself. He’s bigger than you ever could have imagined, red tip swollen and shining with precum, and the sight alone makes the room spin even more violently. Gripping the base of his cock, he pumps himself leisurely, hissing under his breath as he watches your every move. The sight, paired with the feeling of your finger sinking deeper into you with every thrust, has your walls clench and a sudden moan tumbles from your lips as your head tosses itself backward.

A small thought in the back of your head warns you that you shouldn’t be doing this, that being in such a crude position with Wooyoung is sure to be detrimental to your friendship ━ yet, you can’t seem to stop, and nor can he. You’re intoxicated solely by him, in a dazed trance to feel more of him.

“Wooyoung━” You whimper. “Touch me, please. Help me━”

“Yeah?”

“Please,” You whine, and Wooyoung swears he nearly comes then and there. How can he not, with how utterly sexy you look? So desperate for him, one hand buried in your swollen and leaking cunt, wide eyes gazing up at him.

He fumbles to help, sloppily shoving himself back into his jeans, if only to settle between your thighs once more. He’s startled when you reach out for him, impatient hands tugging at his face to pull him down for a zealous kiss and he grins against your mouth. Then, parting from you with much difficulty, he shifts his weight until he’s hovering over your core, hot breath fanning against you and making your hips twitch.

“Look at you,” he tuts. “Such a pretty mess. Will you let me have a taste?”

“Yes, please,” You beg, thighs instinctively spreading wider for him.

He swipes his thumb at your folds once, and you realize so suddenly how your clumsy hands pale in comparison to his expert ones. Or, maybe, the strange, newfound feeling of his rough hands now all gentle touches has you yearning to bask in the sensation a little longer.

“Ooh,” You bite at the inside of your cheek. “Woo…”

Your breath hitches as he nudges aside your underwear before leaning down to lick at your clit, pressing the wet muscle flat against the bundle of nerves. He teases his tongue against it, flicking it back and forth, and your thighs threaten to close around his head as your eyes roll back.

“F-Fuck━ Wooyoung!”

His head pops up almost immediately at your broken cry, surprising even yourself. Concern creases his brow momentarily at your scrunched up face. “What’s wrong? Did it hurt?”

“No,” You feel your face burn as you admit the truth aloud. “N-No, it felt good. I━ Don’t stop.”

An amused chuckle sounds from him, vibrating up your whole body. He busies himself by returning to his ministrations, tongue lapping at your clit in an obscene manner, all warm and wet around you. His fingers come up to swipe at your folds, gliding your slickness along yourself and then spreading you open. He feels you tremor above him, a choked moan tumbling from your mouth. Every little motion he does to you seems to earn a reaction, and Wooyoung suddenly craves to have you coming on his tongue again and again but he relents. Above all else, he wants nothing more than to make sure you’re comfortable.

“You’re so sensitive,” he hums, delighted. “Fuck, it’s so hot.”

He carefully pushes two fingers past your folds as his mouth wraps around your clit to suck at the tender bud; glancing up past his lashes, he sees your scrunched up face, and a hand clamped over your mouth.

He pauses fleetingly enough to murmur attentively against you, “Is this good?”

It’s the soft tone that underlies it that makes you acutely aware in all your pleasure that he’s checking in on you but all you can do in the moment is nod, your words a jumble in your mind. “Yes. M-More.”

The sensation starts to build up in your core, sending you into a spiral that has you writhing beneath him. He presses his arm across your pelvic bone to anchor you in place as his fingers stretch you out.

“Fuck━ Shit, Wooyoung,” You rasp through panting breaths. “That feels so good. I think I’m gonna━”

“Gonna come for me, baby?” he asks. In the heat of the moment, you don’t necessarily register the pet name, aside from the fact that hearing it come from Wooyoung makes your heart flutter. A sudden curl of his fingers upwards has your back arching off the bed. Your hands fumble blindly to thread your own digits through his hair, clutching so tightly at the root, he hisses into your cunt. “Come on. You can do it, baby. Let go; make a mess all over my face━”

Your jaw unhinges in a silent moan, so overwhelmed by the way he’s making you feel, lewd wet squelches of his fingers sinking into you and his tongue and mouth sucking at your clit filling your head. You can sense your orgasm approaching, only this time the magnitude of it is far different than anything you’ve experienced before and your face flushes hot.

“Wooyoung━”

Your voice splinters off as your orgasm washes over you, sending you into hysterics, twisting and turning beneath him. Whimpers and moans of delight fill Wooyoung’s ears as he helps you ride out your high, your hands twisting a little rougher in his hair and causing him to groan against you. He stops to watch you in all your unabashed glory, until you’ve calmed down enough to see him gazing at you with hooded eyes. Realizing you’ve never been so vulnerable, so dishevelled, in front of him, you clamp a hand over your face suddenly, turning away from him as you murmur sheepishly, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why?” he chuckles. He clambers back up to you, his thumb pressing comforting circles into your hip. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. And, just so you know, that was fucking hot.”

“Wooyoung,” You whine. You hate the way your heart flutters in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t notice.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung can’t help but admire how devastatingly adorable you are, so shy even after spreading yourself wide for him. Instead, he carefully takes your hand away from your face and presses a tender kiss to your temple. “Still good?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna call it a night?”

“No,” You gnaw at your lower lip. “I want… I think━no, I know━I’m ready.”

Even in the dark, you can see Wooyoung’s eyes shimmer fondly. He dips his head to kiss at the underside of your jaw. “Is it something you still want with me?”

“Yes,” You moan.

“Okay.” He wonders if you can hear the excitement in his voice. “We can still stop whenever you want. Just tell me, okay?”

Suddenly, he’s almost as nervous as you are, and every touch he lands on you is somehow softer than before. He kisses up your neck to your lips, then back down to your collarbones. His fingers pluck at your bra strap, and you pause him briefly to sit up a bit straighter and undo it yourself. As you toss it away, Wooyoung’s sultry gaze sweeps over the swell of your nude breasts and he groans. He can’t help but reach out for them, kneading the soft flesh of one in his hand, tweaking at the nipple; his mouth descends on the other one, tongue flicking around the sensitive bud.

“You’re fucking breathtaking,” he mumbles. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“You don’t have to be so sappy,” You tease with a half-hearted giggle that sounds more like a soft moan. “You’re gonna make me blush again.”

“You’re my best friend,” he retorts. “I’m allowed to be sappy about you. Plus, if this is your first time, I want it to be all about you.”

“Well, get naked already,” You roll your eyes, jabbing your finger at his side. “I’ll feel less awkward.”

“If you insist,” he grins against you, planting one last kiss to your collarbones before pulling away.

Your hands meet his halfway to fumble for his shirt but, in your haste, your knuckles accidentally knock against his cheekbone. He lets out a tiny “oof!” to which you snicker a quick apology, and then he grabs at your hand and kisses the tips of your fingers.

“One sec━” he hums. “Need a condom, and lube.”

As soon as he’s stripped out of his pants and underwear, he reaches over to his nightstand and pulls open a drawer to dig around inside. Then, settling back on his knees between your legs, he procures a bottle of lube which he tosses next to you and a condom which he rips open the wrapper of with his teeth. One hand grips his dripping swollen cock, and you eye him eagerly.

“It’s a good thing you’re prepared,” You snort. “Guess you know how to really treat a woman.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” he quips lightly.

A disapproving shake of your head makes him snicker. Then, he focuses on unraveling the condom down his length. He nestles himself a bit closer to you, grabbing the bottle of lube and opening it to squirt a few pumps of it onto your already glistening pussy and his own dick.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod in response. “What should I do?”

“Just relax,” he says. “It shouldn’t hurt but, if it does or if you’re uncomfortable, tell me. I’ll stop.”

You swallow your nerves as he guides the tip of his cock to your core, bracing yourself. You trust him with your whole life, and so you’re not worried about him hurting you; rather, you’re more anxious to feel something you’ve never experienced before. With one hand gripping himself, and the other gripping your hip, he carefully pushes the tip of himself past your walls. Your reaction is immediate, a delighted whimper sounding from not only you but even Wooyoung ━ a noise so sexy, your walls throb around him.

“Fuuck,” he grunts, face scrunching up in pure pleasure. “More?”

“P-Please,” You mewl.

He relents, pushing into you slowly, inch by inch as he takes his time and lets you adjust to his size, stretching you so wide, you feel as if you won’t be able to hold anymore. It’s foreign, uncomfortable, yet not in a way that’s painful but rather a newfound sensation that you’ll quickly adjust to. You marvel at how quick you are to abandon any sheepishness around him, instead looking impatiently forward to him stretching you open. As he sinks hilt deep into you, guided easily by the lube, his breath stutters and he pauses. He melts against you, kissing at your neck.

“Fuck, Wooyoung,” You whine. “Fuck, fuck, fuck━ I feel so━ So full.”

His cock twitches inside you from your words, and he bites down a little harshly against your neck, causing you to moan. He swallows thickly, head spinning. “Good?”

You nod sluggishly. “You can move.”

So, he does. Leisurely at first, pulling out of you just enough only to glide back into you, adopting a steady rhythm.

“Put your legs up,” he says. “Around my waist.”

You do as you’re told, letting him help you hitch one of your legs around him, his palm hot and heavy as it clutches at your thigh. The new angle makes it feel as if he sinks deeper into your pussy with each thrust in, and you wrap your arms around his neck as if clinging onto him will help brace you against the growing pleasure. When he reaches down to rub his finger at your clit still sensitive from your first orgasm, your whole body shakes and your walls clench around his length. He seems to lose himself in the feeling, moaning as he slams his dick into you a little rougher than usual, sending you teetering upward on the bed and earning an elated cry from you.

“Fuck,” He sputters. “Shit, I’m sorry. Did that hurt━”

“No,” You cut him off quickly, grabbing at his face in a drunken stupor to kiss him feverishly. “Fuck, no, Wooyoung. More. Give me more, please. You can go faster, harder.”

Wooyoung can’t deny the sudden spark of glee within him, wanting nothing more than to tear into you, send you into a sobbing mess. The thought is only spurred on even further when he thinks about the fact that you want it to be him, and not Yeonjun. That it’s him in this position with you, and not Yeonjun. Him being the first one to fuck your pussy, and not Yeonjun.

“Yeah?” he growls. “Gonna let me wreck this pussy? Make it mine?”

“P-Please,” You whimper. “Oh my god.”

His hips snap into yours swiftly, and a little harsher each time, while still within caution not to get too excited with you. Still, he completely ravishes you, his finger swiping at your clit as his mouth moves down to your breasts which bounce with each thrust, his teeth tugging lightly at your perked bud.

“Shit, you’re so good. Doing so well, baby,” he grunts. “Ah━ You’re taking my dick so fucking well. Fuck━”

He curses under his breath when his dick nearly threatens to spill from you, both from the oozing lube and the growing wetness pooling between your legs. He hastens to shove himself back inside you, his pace never stuttering. The bed creaks with each thrust as he pounds into you, the lewd noises of him sinking into you and both of your breathy moans filling the room. Tears of ecstasy start to brim your eyes, the familiar hotness burning at your stomach and core, but tenfold. The sight is truly one to behold for Wooyoung, seeing you so overwhelmed and frazzled. Your hips desperately try to buck up for more, your brows pinch together at the sensation, your teeth tugging at your lower lip so mean he’s sure it’ll bruise. And all because of him.

“Wooyoung,” You cry. “I can’t━ I’m gonna come━”

“Fuck, yes,” he rasps. “Wanna feel you cream around my cock so badly. Come for me.”

But he senses you’re close even without you telling him, judging by the way your walls spasm around his dick wildly. A few more thrusts, and you’re tumbling over the edge, tears streaming from your eyes as the pleasure completely enraptures you. You’re gone for a moment, head in the clouds and pupils glazed over, moaning nothing but his name. The sudden gush of wetness around his dick surprises even him, the both of you moaning aloud.

“Yes, holy shit,” he grunts, letting out a breathless chuckle. “Just like that.”

“Wooyoungie.”

The use of the silly and endearing nickname is what sends him to his orgasm, so sweet sounding in nature yet so broken and exhausted nonetheless. He lets you pull him down for a heated kiss as he thrusts himself into you sloppily.

“So sexy,” he whines. You clench around him so tightly at his words that he feels as if he can’t move, sputtering for air. “Ah━ Ah━ Yes, keep doing that. Gonna come. Wish I was filling you up━”

In the heat of the moment, neither of you seem to notice his choice of words. Instead, with one final shuddering ram of his hips, he comes. You gasp as you feel his dick twitch deep within your walls as he spills into the condom with a sudden rushing warmth between your legs. Your name wretches from his throat in a delirious cry so hot you nearly come again. He rides his high out a bit carelessly, murmuring a soft sorry when he realizes you’re cringing from the oversensitivity and stopping at once. Then, with the room finally falling silent, he slumps against your chest like a comfortable heavy weight.

Neither of you speak as you calm from your highs, his lips leaving fluttering kisses across your neck and jawline. As he pulls out of you and rips off the tainted condom to carefully dispose of it, you moan softly. The abrupt emptiness is not at all what you’re expecting, and you already miss his warmth. In his absence, the realization of the night threatens to dawn on you but, fortunately, it’s not for long, as Wooyoung curls back into bed with you with a pair of sweatpants on, tucking you into his chest and shedding any potential worries from your mind.

Moreover, you’re made aware of just how exhausted you are. Your body is starting to ache, and you want nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms in his bed. He’s content with letting you rest for a moment, fingers threading soothingly through your hair, before he tugs you delicately to your feet.

“Wooyoung,” You whine.

He smiles down at you, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “You good?”

“I’m so tired. Lemme sleep…”

“Shh, I know,” he hums. “Don’t fall asleep on me just yet. I’m gonna run you a bath.”

God, you love him. Not in that way. But the abrupt sleepy thought pops into your head as he helps you into his bathroom and settles you into the tub as he lets the running water wash over you until it’s filled up to your chest and the bathroom is balmy. He sits beside you on the floor, resting his hand on the edge of the tub next to where your head is propped up.

“Thank you,” You whisper faintly.

“What are best friends for?”

You look up at him past your lashes which are now heavy with sleep, and he brushes your hair out of your eyes. You catch him already staring down at you softly in a way you can’t quite explain.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You taunt.

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “I think I just fell in love with you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

But he laughs, and so you laugh, because you know it’s a joke. The wide cheeky grin on his face is surely enough to make you think so. Why would you have any suspicion to think otherwise?

Eventually, he’ll obey your silent wishes and pull you back into bed with him like always, the past events slipping away in a dreamlike state and leaving you as just a pair of innocent best friends. Nothing more, nor less.

Whatever the case, you’re content with your choices.

(And Wooyoung’s content with his).

You’ve only just returned home from your classes that Monday when you’re greeted to an unusual sight at your doorstep in the shape of a small black gift box with a shiny silver bow on top. Granted, it’s not as unusual because you had gotten a sort of cryptic text from Wooyoung earlier that stated simply, “left u a gift at urs. let me know when u get it.”

So, whisking it up and taking it inside your apartment, you settle it onto your kitchen counter and open it only to choke on nothing but air. Because there, nestled inside is a vibrant hot pink vibrator. It’s so shocking, in fact, that you almost miss the note that’s beside it before you pluck it up in a frenzied haste.

A little something for practice ( P.S. You can thank me later ) ~ Wooyoung

And Wooyoung’s none the wiser when he gets a phone call from you a minute later, with you exclaiming loudly, “You’re such a dick!” but at least it makes him chuckle.

“They say practice makes perfect,” Wooyoung points out. Pausing briefly, he adds, “Not that it wasn’t good, just so you know, but... Uh... you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, Wooyoung━” You ramble on about something else related to the toy, but even you can’t help but dissolve into a fit of giggles the longer the conversation goes on. And, in the back of your head, are his past words as they echo back to you.

What are best friends for?

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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norcumii · 3 years

Text

...oh thanks, Tumblr, it wasn’t like I was trying to answer that ask or anything. -_-

OHKAY. Take two! For this trope mashup meme, @dogmatix asked:

Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Apocalyse AU / Mermaid/Siren AU / Aroused by their voice

This modern!AU got a liiiiiittle bit more absurdist than planned, but NO REGRETS. Assistance was provided by @dharmaavocado and @deadcatwithaflamethrower -- THANK YOU BOTH!

*****

There was a lovely breeze coming in across the ocean, the sky had just enough puffy white clouds to keep things interesting, and Rex was taking a maintenance day. The last family group of tourists to charter a day trip had included several children that were at least two parts sticky and three parts grime. His poor Vigilance needed a serious scrub down, and Rex was not looking forward to restocking. Small Grubby Fiend 1 had stumbled – supposedly due to a sudden swell, but more likely because Small Grubby Fiends 2 and 3 hadn’t stopped ‘not kicking’ each other for way too long. Not being an entire idiot, Rex has gone right for the band-aids with cartoon characters, but since it wasn’t a cartoon Small Grubby Fiend 1 liked, that meant another – until all three Small Grubby Fiends had been plastered with far more of his first aid kit than was good for anyone.

It had been a long day.

So there he was, untangling life-vests that hadn’t even been used, while singing along with whatever music was playing from the boat’s speakers. Rex wasn’t sure if the music was pop, rock, or some other unholy category he’d never heard of, but thankfully it didn’t matter. He liked it, and could figure out which of Tup’s mix tapes it was on, which was the important thing.

Tup always made hilarious offended noises when Rex called them mix tapes, which was a significant reason why he did so. They were music folders, sensibly labeled by mood, because his little brother had realized at some point that was the only way to keep Rex up to date on anything past the 90’s grunge music.

Tup’s accusation, not his. Rex damn well knew how to use a radio – several kinds of radio, thank you very much.

He was several songs into mind-numbing chores when he spotted a flash of red streaking under the dock, and Rex ducked his head to hide a grin. He’d started spotting movement like that a couple of weeks ago, around the time the neighbors descended on their beach house. There were several ginger teenagers, so he figured one of them was a hell of a water rat who had damn odd taste in music.

To be fair, so did he.

It’d been weird at first, realizing he had an audience that disappeared the moment he acknowledged their existence. But the most he heard or saw out of them beyond the momentary glimpse was a bit of percussion, someone drumming in time against the water – and once, the dock itself – so Rex had shrugged and accepted their presence. It was kinda nice, actually, just to have someone around. He lived a ways off the end of a long, sparsely populated road, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, sometimes you just wanted another–

Rex’s train of thought went off the rails with a loud yelp as he discovered something slimy stuck to the back of a life-vest. It might have been edible once – it was a shade of radioactive green he didn’t associate with anything other than candy or video games, at least, so that was his best guess. Much as he wanted to blame the Small Grubby Fiends, he hadn’t done more than a spot check of these vests for awhile – could’ve been anyone.

Ugh. At least unlike some clients he could name, Rex’s eavesdropper wasn’t vandalizing anything. Wasn’t about to begrudge that.

Rex had managed to get most of the neon green grossness cleared when the rumble of an approaching car caught his attention. He wasn’t expecting visitors, not that that had ever stopped any of his brothers. Lost delivery drivers usually turned around before hitting up the driveway, which was long enough and had enough private property signs to keep out idiots looking for easy water access.

“Who the hell is this?” he muttered, setting the vest aside. He didn’t recognize the little black car, or the burly guy stepping out of the passenger’s side, but the guy waved and casually started towards Rex as if he knew who the hell he was.

Not reassuring, especially since the stranger rapped the car’s roof, and it headed back up the driveway.

“You seem lost,” Rex said, standing up and trying to look just the right level of intimidating.

“Nope,” the guy said back, still heading towards him. “Need your boat.”

“That’s work related – you need to wait till I’m back at the marina tomorrow. I’m at home, it’s my day off.”

Burly guy finally stopped, planting his hands on his hips – a move which just happened to part the jacket of his cheap suit enough that Rex could see the gun he carried. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Fett. I don't want any trouble – I just want you to head inside, and take that day off while I borrow your boat.”

Oh, FUCK. Nobody really talked about how the mob owned most of the marinas in Tatooine Bay, but you didn’t need to declare water was wet to get drenched in the rain. It just wasn’t something that ever happened to someone you knew, just friends of friends or something.

“And if I don’t agree?” he couldn’t keep from asking.

Burly Guy had a surprisingly expressive shrug. “Most people don’t enjoy pushing their luck that far.”

To his credit, it was a remarkably polite threat. “I’m surprised anyone ever does.”

“Eh, every now and then there’s some freaky masochist looking for cheap thrills, but it ain’t my kink. Don’t think it’s yours, either, so if you’d just head inside, that’d be appreciated.”

The smart move was probably to comply. Rex wasn’t inclined to cooperate anyways. He was saved from making either bad decision by...sound.

It didn’t register as singing – there was something too off about it, a combination that wasn’t quite autotune, or that polyphonic singing Echo had gotten into when Fives got obsessed with the guitar. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right in a way that was madly distracting.

The...singing? – pulled both Rex and the goon around towards the end of the dock, and if Rex hadn’t been so muzzy-headed from that sound he would have been gaping much more blatantly.

There was someone slipping out from under the dock, and it was most definitely not one of the neighbors.

It was a trim, shirtless figure in the water – ginger indeed, short red hair just dry enough to be messy spikes. Pale skin was freckled in scales of shimmering reds, protective lines over what would be vulnerable areas on a human. It swam close enough to the surface that Rex could see the sleek fins and tail, and part of his brain kept screaming ‘mermaid!’ while the rest took in the long, sharp claws on webbed hands and whispered ‘predator.’ Its singing showed sharply pointed teeth, and it should not have been nearly that gorgeous.

The mermaid glanced over at him, eyes a deep blue-on-blue that could never masquerade as human, flicking a look up and down him that could have been flattering or terrifying – it all depended on if that was measuring him for a meal euphemistically or not.

The singing changed as the creature turned its attention back to the goon, and the magnetic pull on Rex lessened. He staggered back a step, not too surprised to find he was halfway down the dock without noticing. The hazy feeling in his brain stopped, or at least dropped down to levels that were close enough to normal, so he got a clear view as the goon started walking into the water, oblivious to everything except the mer-siren-thing he was shambling towards.

The siren moved when the goon was almost waist deep in the water, flowing forward to delicately place a hand at the goon’s throat. The singing continued, but now there was a new undertone, soft and somehow questioning. Rex couldn’t tell if there were words to it or not – maybe a whole other language for all he knew – but the goon responded, voice soft enough that he couldn’t make out what was said.

Whatever he said, it didn’t please the siren. It kept singing, but it snarled, showing more of those pointed teeth, then it twisted and dove, hauling the unresisting goon under the water.

A terrifying few moments more, and the last hums of the song seemed to stop vibrating through the water.

“What the absolute fuck?” Rex said numbly. Thank everything, no one answered.

A smart man would’ve hidden inside, or driven off to a movie theater or something – inland and away. Rex wasn’t sure why he stayed: curiosity – morbid or otherwise – shock, or a healthy disbelief in the whole debacle. He was maybe a bit too numb to not have some kind of shock, but –

He felt like he maybe deserved it. “Yeah, I can have a bit of shock,” Rex muttered to himself. “As a treat.”

Okay, he might have more than a bit. But by the time the siren poked his head out of the water again – politely out of arms’ reach – Rex had calmed down a decent degree. They just looked at each other for a bit, then the siren gave him a polite nod.

“Hello there,” he said in a pleasant, deep voice with a hell of an accent.

Rex held up a hand, needing a moment. Of fucking course the British even colonized under the goddamned sea. “Hi. You speak English.” It wasn’t quite the most inane thing he could’ve said, but his brain hadn’t managed to catch up yet.

He was talking to a goddamned mermaid who had just kidnapped and possibly eaten some mob thug who’d been trying to take Rex’s boat. It had been a day.

“You’re not the first land-dweller I’ve made the acquaintance of.”

Rex absolutely refused to make any kind of a crack about being charmed. There was too much hysteria lurking in there. “Speaking of acquaintances, you didn’t, ah, kill that guy, did you?”

The siren’s lips pulled back from his teeth a little. “I still haven’t decided what to do with him, so right now he’s out of the way.” He must’ve seen something impressive in Rex’s expression, because the angry disdain smoothed over to something more neutral. “He’s stashed in a cave I know. Enough air to breathe, but the only entrance is underwater and too far for most humans to swim without assistance.”

That was...a lot. “Thanks for the help.”

The siren smiled, an oddly sweet, bashful expression. “I’d be a very poor guest if I didn’t assist.” He cleared his throat, his expression going awkward. “Though I...suppose ‘guest’ is a bit presumptive.”

Rex grinned. “No, I spotted you a couple weeks ago – ah, I mean, sort of.” Before he could make more a hash of that, he cleared his throat. “The name’s Rex.”

The siren folded his hands together and did a little bow thing. “Obi-Wan. Pleasure to meet you.”

He wasn’t blushing. He absolutely was not blushing. “So...you in town for long?” Ok, now he was blushing, that was worst subject change ever meeting worst fishing attempt – meeting worst and wildly inappropriate pun.

Obi-Wan’s expression fell, sorrow way too visible in those non-human eyes. “I suppose you could say that. I...no longer have a home to return to.”

Definitely not a topic to change to. Right. Rex cleared his throat and shifted. “Well. You’re welcome anytime, for what that’s worth.”

The slow-growing smile didn’t remove that sorrow, but it did kindle something warm inside. This was at least three different kinds of trouble, but Rex didn’t think he’d regret any of it.

~end

#star wars #My writing #meme #trope mashup #Rex/Obi #mermaid #dogmatix #still not thrilled with how it wraps but it's certainly not the worst fic ending I've read recently #oh I'm still salty #whoops?#meanwhile there's several lines in here i adore more than is reasonable #AND I DON'T CARE

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Note

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?"

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!" Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now. Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all, Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

Text

A Dangerous Game

part 12

masterlist

Namjoon left in a huff after that leaving both Y/N and Jungkook in shock. Neither of them really knew what to make of his exit as they looked at each other with mirrored looks of confusion.

“Well that was interesting.” She laughed. “Shall we walk around the garden?” She suggested smiling at the younger man. What else were they really supposed to do?

She had the time but not the inclination to stay and contemplate what was going around in Namjoon’s head. That was a twisted mess she had no interest in detangling. If you entered the labyrinth that was his mind you were likely to never come out again. It was not a risk she was willing to take, and so instead they walked around the garden.

Jungkook, she found, was a rather shy young man. He didn’t say much, but he followed her like a shadow as they wandered about the gardens. She was looking for an exit. He was making sure she didn’t do anything Namjoon wouldn’t approve of. At least that was what they were doing before they were accosted by the happiest ball of fluff she had ever seen.

“Who is this cutie?” She asked kneeling down to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

Jungkook kneeled down as well smiling as he gave the dog attention as well. “This is Moni. He’d Namjoon hyung’s dog.”

“Namjoon has a dog?” Jungkook nodded. “That man, the devil himself, has a white fluffy dog?” Again, he nodded. And she couldn’t help but laugh. It just seemed so out of character. Weren’t crime lord’s supposed to keep tough dogs like Rottweilers and Pitbulls? But here was possibly the cutest little ball of fluff she had ever seen.

“Your hyung is a very strange man.” She told Jungkook. “Does he even have time for a dog? You know between the illegal activities and kidnapping women?”

“Moni spends a lot of time with the staff.”

“Well that’s no good. Moni and I will just have to be friends from now on. Won’t we, Moni?” She cooed smooshing the dogs face. It was her dog now.

“Come along, boys!” She smiled standing back up straightening out her skirt ready to continue their walk.

She found out rather quickly that the gardens were enclosed by a wall, a very tall wall, but there were trees, trees that were very climbable. They could get her close to the top of the wall. The problem was that she didn’t know what was on the other side of that wall or how many goons Namjoon had watching the perimeter of the estate. And then there was her new problem. Jungkook. How was she supposed to get rid of her new shadow? Those would all have to be problems for another time though. She didn’t have the free reign she needed to properly scope out the area and plot.

Her days quickly fell into a new routine. She would wake up and go to her breakfasts with Namjoon in the morning and share a meal with him in the evening. Other than that she would be free to spend the day as she pleased, so long as she remained within the boundaries of the estate. Jungkook would be with her wherever she went or at the very least waiting just outside the door. The only time Jungkook was not with her was when either Namjoon or Jin was, but Jin’s visits could not be as frequent as she would have liked them to be. But she found a great friend in Jungkook.

The young man was like a younger brother to her now, and she no longer minded his constant presence in her life. He also came with the added bonus of sneaking her into activities that were not quite Namjoon approved such as Mario Kart tournaments or movie marathons. Of course the house staff knew of her activities, but no one could begrudge her a few luxuries without the boss’ knowing especially not when there was so little to keep someone occupied when you did the same things day after day. So they kept her secret, and Namjoon never knew of the little indulgences Jungkook allowed her.

It had been maybe three weeks since she’d been released from her rooms, and she was wondering the garden with Moni and Jungkook like she did most days. Her days were an endless cycle of wandering the gardens, playing the piano, and reading books that Namjoon had prepared. She and Jungkook would have tea in the garden. It wasn’t that harsh of a life. Namjoon treated her well in fact. The only real complaint she had, other than being a prisoner, was how monotonous her gilded cage was. If you didn’t know she was a prisoner, you never would have suspected it. She was treated as the lady of the house, Namjoon’s precious wife.

She was grateful for the gardens and for the piano room. She was even grateful for Jungkook, her guard, her shadow. When it was just the two of them and Moni, she could almost forget that she was a prisoner and that Jungkook was her guard. She could almost forget that he wouldn’t hesitate to turn her into Namjoon if she slipped up. But or a few moments at least, she could forget.

“I’d heard that Namjoon had found himself a woman.” An unfamiliar voice spoke startling her from her reverie.

Looking up she found a man smiling down at her. He was handsome with a lovely smile that normally would have given her butterflies, but nothing was normal about her life these days, and everyone she met was in Namjoon’s pocket.

She stood up straight and smoothed out the fabric of her skirt as Jungkook watched carefully from a few feet away where he had been playing with Moni while she watched the Koi from the bridge. “He hasn’t.”

“Then you’re not the lady of the house I’ve heard so much about?”

“That depends on who you ask.” She scoffed a frown marring her features.

“And what do you say?”

Y/N laughed, the sound bitter. “You must be new. What I say doesn’t matter here. All of Namjoon’s men know who I am and what my position here is. And if you don’t know you’re probably not one of Namjoon’s men.”

“And if I told you I wasn’t one of Namjoon’s men?” He asked curiously.

“Then I’d say you’re an idiot for being here.”

The stranger threw back his head and laughed. “I can see why Namjoon likes you. I’m Mark.”

“Y/N.” She replied shaking his out stretched hand. “So why hasn’t Jungkook removed you yet? He’s watching us like a hawk.”

“Jungkook?”

“The man staring daggers at you from the lawn.” She shrugged. “He’s here to make sure I don’t do anything stupid like try to hop the fence.”

“A caged bird then.” He hummed.

She narrowed her eyes taking him in. In all her time at the estate she hadn’t once met anyone who wasn’t under Namjoon’s thumb. But this man claimed not to be one of Namjoon’s goons.

“So who are you if you don’t work for Namjoon?”

“I’m an associate of his. I have a few businesses based in Taiwan and America”

“Legitimate business or Namjoon’s kind of business?”

He laughed again showing off a dazzling smile. Why were all these mafiosos so attractive? It was a carefree and happy expression, but there was something sharp lingering in his eyes. “A bit of both, darling.”

“Figures.” She sighed turning back to the pond and leaning on the railing of the bridge. “No one who comes here is anything less than shady.”

Mark gasped placing a hand over his heart. “Are you calling me shady? Darling, I’m offended.”

“I met you two minutes ago in a mob boss’ house.” She deadpanned.

“Point taken.” He shrugged nonplussed by her lack of enthusiasm.

“I suppose since you’re an associate of Namjoon’s I can’t convince you to sneak me back to the states.” She glanced over at him knowing full well he wasn’t going to get her out of this nightmare.

“Plotting your escape, jagi?” Her spine stiffened, and she immediately stood upright again at the sound of his voice.

There he was, sauntering up the bridge towards them as put together as ever in one of his suits. Y/N knew immediately that she was in trouble. Though he was smiling, his eyes were cold and hard.

“Tuan.” He greeted the other man with a curt nod.

“Kim.” Came the equally as curt reply.

“Jagi.” Namjoon beckoned her to his side, and she dutifully went unwilling to make him any angrier than he already seemed. He wrapped an arm round her waist, and pulled her into his side. “I do recall that guests are meant to wait in the parlor, Tuan.”

The other man smiled. “Yes, but you have such beautiful gardens. I couldn’t resist a stroll. And I got to meet the lovely, Y/N.” Namjoon’s hand tightened uncomfortably on her hip.

“Jagi, I believe Miss In has prepared tea for you in your rooms.” He squeezed her hip again flashing her a cold smile as she paled. “Tuan, I believe that you and I have business to discuss.” Namjoon motioned for Jungkook, who had moved closer during the encounter, to come and collect her. “There’s a lovely pavilion we can talk in since you enjoy the garden so much.”

He passed her over to Jungkook all the while maintaining his coldly polite smile. The message was clear. Her time in the garden was finished for today, and Namjoon didn’t want her anywhere near Mark. It probably didn’t help that he had walked right into a conversation about her trying to leave. She would probably be paying for that comment later.

“Until next time, Y/N.” Mark bid her goodbye with a sly smile as Jungkook gently herded her back towards the house, Moni following at their heels.

For the rest of the day Y/N was confined to her rooms. She wasn’t locked in like she had been before, but Jungkook stood guard outside making it clear that she wasn’t allowed out until Namjoon himself came to release her. As promised, Miss In had provided tea, but that was the last she had seen of anyone.

Boredom had quickly set in. She finished the book she had with her, and had resorted to rereading it when there was nothing else to do.

“Jagiya.” She was startled from her book by Namjoon. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest his features set in a stern look.

She sighed uncurling herself from the corner of the sofa and setting the book aside. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I’m not your sweet heart or honey or whatever.”

“Jagiya.” The endearment was stated more sternly this time.

“Yes, Namjoon?” She asked keeping her eyes on her hands folded neatly in her lap. She knew full well that she was in trouble.

“Oh, jagiya.” He cooed crossing the room. One of his hands came up to cup her jaw forcing her to look at him. “Talking to strange men in the garden? What were you thinking? What if he had hurt you?”

She pushed his hand away. “I doubt that you would allow someone into the house who would cause disruption. You’re far too careful for that. Besides, Jungkook wouldn’t let anything happen.”

“I appreciate the faith you have in me, jagi, but I don’t appreciate you talking to strange men.”

“He was your guest, and we only spoke for a moment.” She scoffed.

He smiled at her, bu the expression was cold and sharp. “Yes, you spoke for a moment, and yet you still managed to ask him for help leaving me.” Suddenly, she found the yellow of her dress very fascinating. “Did you really think that was a good idea, jagi?”

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it.” She murmured plucking at the fabric of her skirts.

He tsked under his breath. “I thought we’d put all those silly thoughts out of your head, jagi. You’ve been so good recently.” One hand snaked up to grasp her hair at the nape of her neck forcing her to look up at him with a gasp of pain. “Don’t you like it here, jagi?”

“I would burn this whole place to the ground with you in it if I could.” She hissed.

He released her with a chuckle moving instead to cage her against the sofa with two hands on either side of her head. “I know you would, jagi.” The smile he sent her made her skin crawl.

They both knew that she didn’t have any power in the relationship, but that only made his condescending attitude worse. He’d kept her here for weeks and weeks neither of them budging. But there wasn’t really anything she could do anyway, not yet anyway. Even if she somehow managed to escape the estate, she would still be in a foreign city with no phone, no passport, no money, and no way to contact the only person she knew here. She didn’t even know if Eun-ho had recovered from their crash. No one would tell her anything.

“I want you to know, jagi, that if you did manage to escape, you wouldn’t get far. I can promise you that nothing would stop me from finding you and dragging you back to me. You are mine, my wife. There is nowhere on this earth you can hide from me.” He smirked cruelly bringing a hand to her cheek in a gesture that was far more gentle than his words. “Not even that little friend of yours bothering the police can help you now. He came all the way from America for you.” She felt her heart drop, plummeting into her stomach. “Anything you’d like to tell me, jagi?”

part 13

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #rm #rm x reader #mafia #mafia au #dark romance #a dangerous game #soft yandere #fanfic

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

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@sambuckylibrary

SamBucky Halloween Prompt 5: Mausoleum

Sam meets Bucky in a mausoleum in Brooklyn (This fic is set in Brooklyn because I could not make up a reason for Bucky to be in Louisiana despite the fact that I really very badly wanted it set in Louisiana. Bucky is also slightly younger because of fic reasons.)

Rated G: Discussions of death and loss (It’s set in a mausoleum, use discretion) (AO3 link in the notes)

Title from “Little Ghost” by The White Stripes, highly encourage you to listen to the song

One I’m Most Scared Of

Sam hated funerals. He hated that his father wanted him around for them. No other seventeen year old was surrounded by so much death and mourning.

“Sam, you have a gift,” his father said. “You put others at ease just by your presence.”

Sam thought everyone else should invest in a therapist and not a high schooler.

Petulantly, he kicked his heels back against a stone bench as he stared at the walls of crypts and cremains spots. Behind him, the funeral party milled and offered condolences to the bereaved, which actually seemed like everyone in the party. Sometimes, a funeral party seemed less bereaved than relieved at these things. Sam remembered the first time he heard a man’s daughter immediately plan lunch with a group of friends without a waver to her voice or a tear on her cheek. He vowed he’d never be the kind of person that had a funeral like that.

If he even had a funeral. Putting himself in the ground in whatever clothes he died in and then becoming a tree without telling anyone was becoming a nicer and nicer option.

So, he listened to the sniffling without turning around and thought about what kind of tree he’d become. He’d already done his duties of rubbing a wife’s arm, hugging kids, tickling grandkids, listening to the same three stories a dozen times. His father couldn’t expect anything else from him. So he wasn’t thrilled when someone his age sat down beside him.

The guy was handsome in a traditional, classical sort of way. Not as boring as the rich white guys who went to Sam’s school. His hair was side parted and only long enough to make an impressive arch on his head instead of laying in his face. He had a square jaw that was a little comical and his nose was a little fucked up in a kind of endearing way. The way Sam’s best friend looked after getting beaned in the face by a wayward baseball. Like most people who came through the mausoleum, he was sad.

There was no other word for it. Sam had tried to be poetic about his time in the crypts, but there was only so much the clinical-ness of bereaved and the dramatic-ness of tortured or sobbing or anguished could do. And they were rarely entirely true. Sad was just the word for people staring at remains of someone they once loved. Sometimes the simple explanation was the most appropriate. The rest of death and grief was already so complicated. It was easier to just feel sad.

The guy was too old to be a grandkid but too young to be a kid, unless the deceased and his wife had gotten freaky in their elder age. Sam hadn’t noticed him in his previous passes of the party or from the service, where he always sat in the back and made it a game to memorize as many shades of black or ridiculous hair styles as possible.

In fact, the boy wasn’t even wearing black. He was wearing a dark brown jacket, adorned with gold accents and pins. In fact… Sam was pretty certain it was an old military dress uniform.

“Uh...are you just visiting?” Sam ventured when the guy didn’t even bother to glance over.

The guy’s mouth quirked to one side faintly. “Yeah, you could say that. That one,” he said, gesturing to an entombment with a gravemarker that read James Buchanan Barnes March 10, 1922 - February 5, 1942. Son, Brother, Friend, Hero.

“Oh,” Sam breathed and understood the weird military uniform. “Are you related to him? You do kinda look like him.”

The guy turned finally to look at Sam and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m Bucky.”

“Oh, jeez, you were named after him too.”

The guy--Bucky 2, apparently--cocked his head in a half nod. “I’m actually waiting on someone. Do you think they’ll be here much longer?” he asked, jerking his chin over to the party.

“Well, these things don’t really have a limit to how long people can be here,” Sam pointed out. “But most people get the point when they start sealing the tomb and all. Uh, this thing you’re waiting for, is it about him? Like, some kind of memorial service?”

It was neither February nor March, so Sam couldn’t imagine why there would be a memorial service for Barnes now. It had been a while since Sam’s father had done a service in Brooklyn and he’d kind of forgotten the cult status Barnes and, to a much greater extent, Rogers had in this town.

“Nah, I’m just waiting on a friend,” Bucky said.

“Well…” Sam settled back against the stone bench. “I’ll stand in for a while.”

“You wanna be my friend? Should I be worried. I think horror movies start off like this.”

“Name one horror movie that starts off in a mausoleum.”

“Murder by the Clock. Mummy’s Tomb. All the vampire movies.”

“Dracula doesn’t live in a mausoleum,” Sam argued lightly. “And I’ve never even heard of those other movies.”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t watch classics.”

“Uh-huh. Or you were just scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder against Sam’s. “Did you know…” He gestured back to the waning funeral party.

Sam shook his head. “No. My dad’s the pastor. He did the service. He likes me to be here for moral support.”

“Hell, I don’t think my parents trusted my morals as far as they could throw me,” Bucky snorted.

Sam noted the past tense but knew better than to push for information, especially in a mausoleum during a funeral of all places. “Are you a student around here?” he asked instead.

“Can’t you tell?” Bucky answered as he popped the lapels of his jacket. “I’m a soldier.”

“Right. A soldier who’s home, spending his time in mausoleums in front of his great-great uncle or something.”

“I could be a great-great grandkid. I heard he got around.”

“I heard that was all manufactured propaganda to sell a story.”

“I read it in a book.”

“And I read about time travel and aliens in a book.”

Bucky shrugged. “There are weirder things out there.”

“Right, in a world of super soldiers and Nazis with no faces,” Sam agreed drily.

“You’ll see,” Bucky assured. “Aliens and time travel are both gonna be all anyone talks about soon.”

“Y’know, I didn’t think a guy dressing up as his great-great grandpa-uncle to meet someone at his burial site would be so into sci-fi too.”

“Multitudes and all that. You know, there were half a dozen sci-fi books in his bag when his belongings were recovered.”

“I’ve heard that,” Sam said. Only because it’d been a point in the Oscar-Bait movie a few years ago. “He’d read to Rogers when he was sick.”

Bucky looked a little wistful and then nodded.”I’ve heard that too.”

“Do you ever feel pressure to be like him? Or be somethin’ you’re not, just ‘cause someone looked at your little baby face and named you after a legend?”

That wry, sad grin came back and Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Not really. Do you, though? I mean, obviously not him. But someone.”

Sam traced out the letters of the name of someone who died in 1985. A L E X A N D E R. He nodded. “Feels like everyone needs me to be someone and I let myself play that part until people stopped noticing it was a part.”

“What’s the part?” Bucky asked as he leaned back on his hands.

“I dunno. Someone who-- Well, I mean… Maybe it’s not a full part. Maybe I’m just upset that people only want me to have one kind of personality trait. I mean, everyone knows I’m kind and I’m good with words and I care about people. And I really do want to be that guy. But when I want to be that guy, y’know? Not all the time. Sometimes I want to cry and scream and rage too. Sometimes I want to be quiet for a little while and not help someone else. Just for a few hours.”

Bucky nodded and stared at the rows of internments before them. “Y’know. I’m sure people would understand that if you told them. If you said, ‘I can’t do this right now. Please let me be quiet.’”

“I know that,” Sam said softly. He tangled his fingers together in his lap. “Maybe I’m mostly angry at myself for not being able to say something like that. I’m the guy who helps. If I don’t do that, if I beg a day off, then who am I? What am I bringing to the table?”

Bucky scooted closer and put a hand on Sam’s knees. It sent a jolt through Sam’s body and he worked very hard on not jerking his gaze up to Bucky’s face. “Sam, you just said you have other personality traits, other feelings, other hobbies that aren’t hanging out in a mausoleum. That’s what you bring to the table on the days you can’t be there for everyone else.”

Sam nodded and reached up to rub two fingers under his eye. He wasn’t at full tears yet, but he also didn’t want to get any closer. “Wait, did I tell you my name?” he asked suddenly.

Bucky lifted an eyebrow again. “You must’ve. Or someone else said it earlier. The point is, you’re still you. And you bring smarts and humor and a good head around, even when you aren’t offering free therapy or a crying shoulder. And, Sam, listen, even when you don’t want to be any of that, you’re still kind. I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes and you’ve been kind the whole time, even when you weren’t trying. It’s not a part you’re playing. Just be who you are and ask for your time when you need it. If people reflect even a quarter of the love you put out there back at you, no one will ever begrudge you some quiet.”

Sam swallowed thickly and leaned against Bucky’s shoulder heavily. Bucky moved his hand from Sam’s knee to wrap his arm around his ribs instead. “You really think I’m funny and smart?” Sam asked eventually.

“You started spouting off propaganda theories and joking about where vampires technically live. Yeah, you’re something else, man,” Bucky laughed. “And I think you’re beautiful, which people always appreciate in people they hang around with.”

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored the last comment, thankful that his skin was dark enough to hide his blush and Bucky couldn’t see the swooping of his stomach. “Well, if you think that’s impressive, I’ve got a whole list of things I think are propaganda.”

“I’d love to hear all about it some other time.”

“Is your friend here?” Sam asked, sitting back a little and glancing around.

Bucky’s eyes cast around the mausoleum briefly too. “No. I just don’t feel like listening to any propaganda tonight,” he joked.

Sam jostled his elbow into Bucky’s rib and leaned back against his side. “I can’t remember the last time I actually talked to someone in one of these things. Everything’s always so surface level here. ‘Sorry for your loss’ ‘He was a good man’ ‘Of course we’ll come by the benefit.’ None of it means anything.”

“Well, I wasn’t part of the funeral, so maybe that was a plus. I’m just some guy. Hanging out in a mausoleum.”

“Ah, you’re the vampire,” Sam said with a grin. “Maybe I should get a stake in that casket.”

“There’s no body in it,” Bucky reminded him. “They never found Rogers’ or Barnes’ body.”

“Right, right. The train and plane.”

“It’s just for show,” Bucky said. He reached out to trace his fingers along Barnes’ last name and then held his palm against the stone for a second longer.

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s knee and said quickly, like ripping a bandaid off, “Do you want to get lunch or something? With me? Now, or later. I’m not picky. And then maybe again?”

Bucky turned blue eyes back to Sam and he really did look just like all those old pictures. That same sad smile came to his mouth. “Yeah, I really, really do. Maybe later,” he said and leaned over to kiss Sam’s cheek softly.

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut and his heart kicked up so rapidly in his chest it punched the air out of his ribs.

When he managed to open his eyes again, Bucky was gone.

#sambuckyhalloween2021 #sambucky #sambucky fanfic #sambucky fanfiction #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon #the winter soldier #captain america #writing #bingo #sambucky halloween

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wardenparker · 3 years

Text

I’m Yours Ch 1: Two Terrible Ideas

Rating: Teen Word Count: 3,094 Warnings: Mention of family death. A few random curses, I think? Summary: Ruby’s mom is a blind date machine and Ruby is...not thrilled with the results. Marcus has a truly ill-advised solution. Notes: Here’s the kick off, guys. A little insight into how close Ruby and Marcus used to be, and enough pancakes to shake a stick at. Un-beta-ed, so please excuse grammatical or spelling errors. As always, huge thanks to @pixiedurango and @absurdthirst for being the most supportive gals in the universe!

Prologue Here

“Oh no…” In the middle of what might have been a very dinner in front of her television, Ruby’s phone went off. Normally a text from her mother wouldn’t bother her in the least - they talked frequently and had always been close - but this one made her groan.

Annabelle Stevens was coping with losing her husband to cancer by doing everything in her power to “help along” their daughter’s love life. It was not going well.

Ruby groaned again, louder this day. Betsy Rittenhouse was one of her mother’s church friends and her son had grown up highly self-important. Handsome, but very self-important. She set her phone down on the coffee table and cracked her knuckles, staring down at the offending message like a bull. The last thing she wanted was another awkward set up, but she would also bend over backward to make her mother happy. She picked up her phone again with a huff.

She couldn’t. She really couldn’t. Dating and being an FBI agent didn’t go hand-in-hand. The long hours and short notice operations made it impossible to keep dates most of the time, even when she managed to find someone she liked.

------

It boggled the mind, that way people could be so disrespectful. From almost the moment they had sat down to dinner, Ruby knew the night was going to be a disaster. The snobbish boy she’d known as a teen was now a narcissistic man who enjoyed his privileged life to an off-putting degree. That meal was two hours of her life that she was never getting back, and the food wasn’t even that good.

Instead of going home, Ruby drove to her favourite diner. The little family-owned place by her apartment had breakfast all day and night; not to mention the best pancakes she’d ever had in her life. She absorbed herself in a glass of milk and chocolate chip banana pancakes, watching out the window as happy couples strolled by. Laughing. Kissing .Stopping to hold each other as they tried to hail a cab. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be dating. Not at all. It was that the man she wanted to be out with was still nursing a broken heart and her little crush wasn’t going to help him heal. So she’d left Marcus alone for the most part. Being friendly at the office but not offering to grab a burger after work or meet up for a classic movie night at the local theater. She’d kept to herself. Especially since he was now her boss.

She’d kept to herself even though she missed her friend, and kept suffering through blind dates and internet matches, hoping to find someone who could take her mind off of Marcus Pike.

------

His home felt empty. It was outfitted with all the things that made it his - was fully unpacked for months now - but it had been meant for more than just him. This was supposed to be where he started his family, but the house almost felt like it was taunting him with all its unused space. Instead of wallowing (this time), Marcus grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed out the door. Nothing cured the blues like pancakes.

The diner was full up, packed to the gills with friends, families, and a few date nighters. Those couples - any couples if he was honest with himself - made him ache. But he would never begrudge other people their happiness.

When the waitress slowed in her paces to tell him that there was a short wait for a table, he nodded and thanked her. He was ready to pull out the book he had stowed in his jacket pocket (a must for anyone dining alone) when he spotted her: sitting in a booth by the windows with a stack of pancakes and wearing a dress that was far too fancy for a 24-hour breakfast spot. Taking a chance that she might be okay with company, Marcus headed over to say hi.

“Hey stranger,” he grinned at her. Four hours ago they’d both been at work ten feet away from each other. “Is this seat taken?”

------

Ruby’s head shot up at the sound of his voice. Why did he always seem to appear out of nowhere when she was thinking about him? It would have been worrying if it didn’t make her shiver a little. “Hey.” Her voice was a lot softer than she expected. Maybe she was just tired from tonight’s stupidity. “No...um, it’s just me.” She waved a hand to invite him to take the seat across for her. “Craving pancakes?” She teased. Marcus Pike was always craving pancakes.

“Naturally,” he shrugged and his smile grew a little wider as he settled onto the vinyl bench across from her. “What about you? All dressed up for a short stack?” He knew that wasn’t remotely the truth, but he was also curious. The Ruby he’d known back in Texas was content to spend her Friday nights watching movies or painting - had she changed so much?

She shifted uncomfortably, shoving a slice of banana in her mouth to buy herself time to come up with a decent answer though she knew she’d just end up telling him the truth. She could confide in Marcus. A better friend did not exist. “Bad date,” she told him finally. “My mom has been setting me up with every single 30-something guy she knows in the DC area. It’s endless.”

“Well, you look beautiful.” Marcus never paid a compliment that wasn’t sincere, and she absolutely deserved this one. With her curly hair pulled over one shoulder and that dress that hugged every curve of her petite figure, beautiful was an understatement. When he caught her blushing, he grinned again. “Seriously, Rubes,” he insisted. “He’s an idiot. Any guy would be lucky to take you out.”

She could feel herself flush deeper than her namesake, the blush creeping up her neck until her cheeks caught fire. They’d only been back working together for a few months and even though he was actually her boss now, her crush had come back full force. The last thing she wanted to do was overwhelm him or make him feel pressured after his break-up, and she thought she was doing that by keeping her distance, no matter how much she wished she could spend time with him. The only man she wanted to be out with was right across from her but she’d die before she said anything. Instead she figured she’d just enjoy his company while she had it. “He’s just full of himself. Always has been, since we were kids.” She waved it off with a sigh. “He actually told me that I wasn’t a real FBI agent because I work with art and not serial killers.”

“Good thing we didn’t waste all that time at Quantico, then.” Marcus snorted, rolling his eyes so far back they nearly disappeared into his skull.

“I know right?” Ruby could feel herself relaxing more every minute since he had sat down, and happily enjoyed the sensation while Marcus ordered something to eat from the weary waitress. His easy charm had the older woman laughing and smiling during the short exchange and she walked away with a considerably more lively spring in her step. Ruby knew exactly how that woman felt - it was the same spring that she got when he stopped by her desk every morning to say hi on his way to his office.

“So why do you keep doing it?” He asked, when they were alone again. As alone as they got in a full diner. “If it was so bad, and I guess the ones before were, too? Why keep putting yourself through this?”

She’d pondered the question before - specifically tonight as she was listening to Chuck Rittenhouse drone on and on about his new boat. “Because it’s for my mom,” she confessed. “It’s been six months since Dad died and the only thing she’s seemed to show interest in since then is my love life.” She found herself looking down into her glass of milk as she talked about her lack of romantic interactions, fearing she’d give herself away if she let him look her in the eyes. “I asked her to chill out a little but...she lost the love of her life, ya know? I think she’s trying to push me to find mine, like it will make her hurt less if I’m happy.”

Marcus’s hand entered her field of view, clasping over one of hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent, but I know what it’s like to lose love. And I can understand where your Mom is coming from. She wants you taken care of. That’s not a bad thing.”

“No.” Ruby closed her eyes, willing herself not to implode from the feeling of his skin against hers. She’d missed their casual touches and easy friendship. “It’s not a bad thing at all. It’s not as if I’m upset with her. I just…” Her eyes drifted up, finding an expression of such earnestness on his face that it made her want to cry. He cared so much, but as her friend. And she wanted him to be so much more than that. “I just know that she’d be happy if I found someone, but that’s not in the cards for someone who works the kind of job we do.”

“It’s not?” He gave her hand an extra squeeze before pulling away to thank the waitress for arriving with his own pancakes and glass of milk. A part of him feared she might be right. His ex-wife had spent his extra work hours in bed with the neighbor and Teresa had stomped his heart into the dirt in her own neglectful way. Sometimes he felt like he should just hang up his romantic aspirations and concentrate on being the best possible uncle to his sisters’ kids, but every moment he spent with those rugrats made him ache with his own desire to be a husband and father. He knew himself well enough to know that he’d search for his soulmate to the ends of the earth. His near-misses wouldn’t discourage him forever, they had just made him a little gun shy.

“I mean not for me,” she corrected herself quickly. Romance meant everything to Marcus, and she knew he’d find a new woman to love sooner rather than later. It was just who he was - the most giving and nurturing man she’d ever met in her life. It was part of why she felt about him the way she did. “Other people make it work.”

“You could make it work for the right guy.” He tried to be comforting - having every confidence in her ability to balance any number of things life might put on her plate - but felt his chest tighten a little at the image of her coming to him in excitement over meeting someone. Showing off an engagement ring another man had given her. Coming in to work one day with a noticeable bump under her blouse from another man’s child. He thought he’d banished these feelings ages ago. The last few months of time that they’d worked together in Texas she’d been dating a guy from Organized Crime and Marcus had forced him to bury his feelings for Ruby and be satisfied with being her friend. It was better to have a part of her than nothing at all. When he saw her frown slightly, he rushed to continue his thought. “I mean you’ve done it before, right? It’s just that none of these guys are right for you. You just haven’t found somebody worth your time.” That tightening in his chest reminded him that at one time he had wanted to be that man - and that that want was starting to emerge again, behind the wall that he had built around his heart the minute he found out Teresa wasn’t on that plane to DC.

Ruby couldn’t help but bristle at the fact that the guy she would happily try for was the one advising her to keep an open mind. “Well, until that guy comes along, I still have a mother whose current mission in life is to get me a boyfriend.” Her pancakes now demolished, she shoved the leftover syrup around her plate with the tines of her fork.

“Can’t you just tell her you met someone?” He suggested.

“That woman has a bullshit detector the size of Texas. She’d know if I tried to make someone up.”

“So don’t make someone up.” Marcus was screaming inside his own head as the words came out of his mouth. “Tell her I asked you out, or something.” Or something. He could kick himself. What a fucking boneheaded idea.

Her mouth hung open for a split second before she startled babbling incoherently. “Marcus...are you...I mean that’s...kind of insane, right?” Insane how badly she wanted it. “She knows you!” Ruby’s heart was slamming in her chest, blood pounding in her ears. She had read enough fan fiction to know this could only end badly. Friends who pretended to date either ended up married or with an imploded friendship, and as much as she wanted the first thing she couldn’t chance the latter. “I couldn’t ask that of you. You know what she’s like, and she’s coming up to DC for Thanksgiving in a few weeks and there’s no way you could talk your way out of being there.” That was enough of an argument, right?

“So I have a meal with you and your mom,” he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. He’d forgotten about the holiday, but figured he could wiggle his way through it. As soon as the idea had come out of his mouth, he was convinced it would work. Ruby would get a little time off from her mother’s constant set ups and he’d get his friend back. There was no way this could backfire, right? “It’s better than Chinese take out and Christmas movies, which is what I had planned for myself until now.”

“Marcus--” she was ready to come up with a new argument when her phone rang. A photo of her mother lit up the screen and before she could stop him, Marcus had snatched her cellphone off the table and accepted the call. In this moment she seriously regretted have left her mom a voicemail about the failed date.

“Hey, Mrs. Stevens!” His voice was bright and chipper.

“Marcus, NO!” She tried to grab the little electronic away but she was too late, and he was sticking his tongue out at her in victory. She could hear her mother excitedly babble on the other end of the line - Ruby had told her mother ages ago that they were working together again.

“Oh no, we’re just out for pancakes,” he grinned at Ruby and batted her hand away when she tried to grab her phone back a second time. “The date?” His grin turned evil - this had gone from terrible idea to possibly okay to Definitely Going to Happen in about two seconds flat. “I wanted to talk to you about that, Mrs. S--” he stopped when she cut him off on the other end. “Annabelle, right. I wanted to talk to you about those dates. I wondered if you might hold off on scheduling another one? Maybe let me have a chance at taking your daughter out instead?”

Ruby glared daggers at Marcus as he chatted casually with her mother, smirking at her like a demon. What the hell was he doing? Pretending to be her boyfriend was a silly idea when it was just hypothetical, but Ruby’s mother knew how she felt about Marcus. She’d known before, and invited him to family parties in an effort to get them together. She knew Ruby had feelings for Marcus. And now Marcus was surely about to expose her secret.

Whatever her mother was saying to Marcus, she sounded excited as hell, and Marcus was nodding like a bobblehead while he listened to her. “Oh, she’s right here.” He said finally. “You want to talk to her? Sure, Annabelle. Yep. Good to talk to you again, too!”

She snatched the phone out of his hand with a huff and scrambled to put it to her ear. “Mom, listen--”

“Oh, Ruby Jean, I’m so excited for you!” Her mother was squealing with absolute joy. “You’ve been in love with that boy for so long. I’m so glad you finally told him.”

“I didn’t.” Ruby desperately hoped Marcus couldn’t hear what her mother was saying. “This is...uh...it just sort of happened.” That was a damn understatement.

“I want to hear everything.” She told her daughter firmly, with all the air of a Southern gossip. “I gave Marcus my permission. You two have fun!”

Her permission. Ruby wanted to disappear. “Okay, Mom. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, honey!” The line went dead, and as merciful as that was, it meant that she was now going to have to address what had just happened.

“Don’t be mad,” Marcus insisted, watching her face screw up in frustration. We’ll send her some photos and stuff over the next couple of weeks and after Christmas we’ll tell her that we decided to stay friends.” He already knew it would hurt when that day came, but he would make the sacrifice if it would help Ruby. Annabelle was a sweet woman dealing with a loss, and his friendship with Ruby was something he was going to be glad to rekindle. It would hurt like hell, but at least this heartbreak was one he would see coming. He was doing this one to himself.

Ruby sighed. She slumped back into her seat and scrunched her eyes closed before scrubbing one hand down her face. This was going to suck so hard when it was over. She was going to have all the heartbreak of a real break up and she knew it. But...for six weeks she would get to pretend to date the man of her dreams. And when all was said and done, she was desperate enough for that fantasy that she was willing to mourn a relationship that had only ever been real to her. “Alright, Marcus Pike,” she flicked her eyes up to him when they opened. “Where are you taking me on our first fake date?”

Taglist: @bison-writes, @pixiedurango

#marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x f!oc #Marcus Pike #Ruby Jean stevens #Marcus x Ruby #the mentalist #mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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otterskin · 3 years

Text

I didn't like the LOKI show, no matter how hard I try, and it's messing with me.

My mother died at the end of December. A lot of other bad things happened as well, like the severe brain injury of my father.

I didn't cry. There was so much to do. I did it. And even then, when there was nothing left to do, I didn't cry.

I found distractions.

Today I went to see the Green Knight after a tough week at a new job that had me leave my father in another province even though he still needs help. I was trying to get back to the life I'd dropped.

I loved the Green Knight. The Arthurian Legends are as dear to me as Norse Mythology, and my copy of them had the Green Knight on the cover. The film was truly excellent, evoking the feel of the story whole still doing something unique and very A24. I cried at one point, like I did when watching the first THOR, because of how much it meant to see something I'd loved since the very first years of my existence finally make it to the big screen and be...right. It's own thing, it's own artistic product, but right.

Then I opened a tab in a browser and saw I had some messages on a website I comment on. It was just some minor criticism of the LOKI show I'd posted beneath an article and how it handled certain things.

I was downvoted. Berated. Hated. Lumped in the ad hominem twitter users who attacked the director and writer (I'd never, ever!) Told I was biphobic because I wanted to see more of a queer lens (I even addressed how difficult it is for bi people in queer cinema and society in general in my criticisms of the romance, but even that wasn't good enough - just disliking it was 'bad'.) I was told I just wanted my 'fanfic' made (I never made any laundrylist of plot points I demanded). I was accused of being a begrudged shipper (ha! If anything I'm an anti-shipper). I was told that I should love the show, it was awesome, and I was bad for not thinking so.

And I started to cry.

I don't cry. Only at movies. Not at real life. I didn't cry at my grandparents's funerals, I didn't cry when I was left with the body of my mother in the hospital room and my brother cried on my shoulder. I didn't cry when working through my dad's severe new disabilities as I realized how much he had lost. I didn't cry while realizing how messy my parents' finances were. I didn't cry when my mother's friends called me in the middle of the night and cried into the phone. I didn't cry when saying goodbye to my dog and going back to a rundown apartment with a terrible smell so I could go to work in a dark room for hours at a time.

But now I'm crying and writing this.

I've realized why. During everything, I looked forward to the LOKI show. The first THOR is deeply nostalgic to me and I watched it often in my first year of Uni when I was away from home. It tied in thematically to what I was going for. Thor 2 came out before I went on exchange, and while I disliked it overall, talking about it was a welcome distraction from my anxieties. Thor 3 was nerve-wracking, but it also came out during my first major job which I was struggling with, and I saw it so many times in theatres...it was such a huge comfort.

Looking forward to LOKI wasn't just a distraction. It was like a promise. A promise that I'd make it till then and see it and maybe it'd give me some comfort.

That's on me. That's a personal thing. It's an unreasonable expectation.

But I needed it, all the same.

Then it came out.

I tried. I really tried to like it, to forgive it, but the problems are things I've criticized for too long in so many other things. I always try to be respectful about, I never go ad hominem and attack the creators, only critique their work and I always mentioned what I liked but...

I didn't like it.

I have no urge to rewatch it.

And the Green Knight...the Green Knight was everything I wanted and needed it to be. It didn't let me down, though I've been anticipating it about as long as the LOKI show. They're very different, obviously, but in my heart they share the same compartment.

And after a very trying day...I realized how badly I needed to rewatch a Loki show I liked. But I can't even enjoy THOR or Thor:Ragnarok anymore. It's like everything I did like has been poisoned.

This thing that got me through immense pain is causing me pain. I don't want to be toxic. I'm sure it's in me. I try so hard not to wallow in disappointment, but to not even be allowed to talk about my problems without being lumped in with abusive online monsters...

I can't do it. I just can't.

This is supposed to be an escape, not another trial.

I needed the LOKI show to be good, so I could come out of the dark into the light, or at least walk through the night with a lantern ahead of me. And instead it was just more darkness, and it's not even entirely its own fault. It's the online discourse. It's the uncalled for harassment of Herron and Waldron. It's the taunting jabs at people who didn't have a good time as if we're all jerks. It's having people roll their eyes when you point out things that made you uncomfortable in the story, it's feeling slightly gaslit when you find something gross that the story intended to be gross and then being told it's not gross, actually.

I'm sorry. I don't want to cause pain. I just...

I needed it to be good. And unlike Thor 3, which delivered me respite in a dark time...it let me down. Worse, it's hurt me.

I said I don't cry, only at the movies. Something about them lets me cry in a way nothing else does. I can't cry at a funeral, but I can cry in a movie theatre at the drop of a hat. It's a release valve, a way for me to process things.

I think I was waiting for LOKI to give me permission to cry. To give me something that could release this pain in me. And instead, it just gave me more.

I never should have given it that power. I didn't want to. But I had to, to get through this.

I'm putting away the few THOR pieces of tat I have. I feel foolish. I always knew it was a capitalist piece of art, chucked from creator to creator with no creative shepherd, which in itself was stressful.

The fandom is no sanctuary for me either, since I'm primarily interested in the family dynamics and I'm sick of 'Odin is an ABUSIVE MONSTER' stories or even unrelated fics and posts just dropping in hate for him that's not at all canon but seems to be very popular to the point where people think it is. Especially since I often read these stories when I need to think of home and my father. Or, most pleasantly of all, when I get called an abuser or abuser-enabler because I say I like Odin as a character. I also can't really bear to deal with anything to do with Sylvie, whom I had high hopes for as someone who wants more female tricksters, but instead I got this...this Mary Sue that's very hard to criticize without being yelled at. I swear I'm coming at her writing as a feminist and I don't hate anyone, I don't, I just...sigh. She's just personally frustrating to me and not being able to discuss it without being called names sucks.

Not to mention I'm asexual, and I always struggle with romance in media being pushed as the 'ultimate relationship more important than any other'. Part of the reason I liked THOR so much was that romance was not the main feature of THOR and definitely not THOR 3 (while my disliked Dark World was all about it, and so is LOKI). And when I criticize the romance, I get called a prude (guilty, I guess), a troll, or, my favourite, just 'a hater'.

I don't want to hate. Who wants that poison in their veins? I'm here because the Thor series HELPED me because I LOVED it. And now I look at the things I used to love and I...don't, anymore.

So much is asked of me right now. I can't willingly invite this painful thing to sit on my chest as well, especially since the world is already shoving it into my face without my doing anything, in ads, in news, in everything.

I suppose that's why I've leaned even more into Odin lately. He was untouched by the LOKI series (though not the Simpson special, which worries me). He's a trickster, he's queer, he's nuanced, he's 'misunderstood' (that old cliche, but he's misunderstood and misrepresented by the people always yelling about how this or that character is misunderstood, which amuses me, except when it gets to me), and he's in many ways free to make my own.

I still have some stuff I'm going to publish that's practically finished. Finnesang has a lot more written for it but needs some major sit-down time for re-writes and edits. Lokabrenna is practically done, just needs tweaks and Beta. I'll be here a little longer.

But I think I'm going to have to step back for now and put my passions into other things.

I will be back. After all, after Thor 2 came Thor 3. Maybe Love and Thunder will right the ship and Thor can still be awesome, and maybe eventually a creative I love will come to work on the franchise. Really, that's the key for me - I loved Branagh before THOR, and loved Waititi before Thor, and disliked Waldron's work (though I gave him every benefit of the doubt and hoped and prayed to be wrong - sadly, it was what I expected.)

But...if LOKI season 2 is more of this, more romantic tropes I hate and Loki being an afterthought in his own show and his family being devalued for new characters...I can't do it. I can't watch something I used to love just throw that all away for something I dislike.

My tears are finally drying. I wrote a lot of this while the screen was blurry, so I hope there's no grammar or typo too embarrasing. I'm not sure I have the strength to re-read it. Sorry for the rant. It helped me feel better.

Thank you all. I hope I feel differently someday.

#loki show #loki 2021 #meta #loki thoughts #personal #update

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destiniesfic · 4 years

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Folktober 02 — for @jurdannet/@jurdannetrevels. Jude was never taken to Faerie and grew up in blissful ignorance of the fair folk — mostly — until the night they tried to steal her twin sister away. (CW this chapter for drugging via faerie wine.)

“Bring her here,” says Cardan.

I am still squirming, but Valerian lifts me clean off my feet and carries me around the bonfire. Nobody cares about my shrieking, either, and despite my earlier threat we’re probably too far from the road for anyone else to hear. I try to make eye contact with the guitar player, but he stares through me, plucking at his strings.

Valerian deposits me at Cardan’s side, on the same soft red blanket he sprawls atop. I try to scramble away, but Valerian puts his hands on my shoulders and holds me in place with what seems like very little effort. Cardan doesn’t lift a finger this entire time, just watches me with his black hole eyes. He is obviously in charge here. Hadn’t Locke called him a prince?

“Look how frightened it is,” snickers Valerian. “Look how it trembles.”

It’s true: I am shaking, even though I desperately wish to stop. Being so near to them is terrifying. Up close, everything about Cardan is sharp and dangerous, nature’s way of saying “keep out!” He’s beautiful, too, but in the same way those tiny, brightly-colored frogs in the pages of the NatGeo magazine my parents got when we were kids are beautiful. Basically, touch at your peril.

“What are you going to do?” I ask him, trying to shake Valerian off without much success. “Are you going to eat me?”

The blue-haired girl, Nicasia, throws her head back and laughs. “You should be so lucky, mortal girl.”

Her companion, Locke, frowns. “You don’t mean to keep her as a pet, do you?”

“Balekin has plenty of moral pets,” Cardan says. “Surely he won’t begrudge me one of my own.”

I don’t like the sound of that.

“You have to let me go,” I tell him. “My parents will notice I’m gone by morning. They’ll worry. And Taryn— we have homework. And I’m waiting for my college applications to come in. And—”

“I don’t have to do anything.” He looks me over. His eyelashes are so long and thick that they cast fleeting shadows against his cheeks. “It’s a shame. You’re amusing like this, but too difficult to manage. Open your mouth.”

I blink. “What? Why?”

“You belong to me now, and you dare question my orders? Open your mouth or I’ll pry it open myself.”

Somehow, I get the sense that he’s showing off for his friends. I weigh what’s left of my dignity against my desire to make him struggle, and decide I should save up my defiance. I’ll need it.

God, I hope Taryn gets home safe.

I open my mouth, but only a little. I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. He’s so pretty that about ten percent of me almost wants it, which must be how they get you. At least the other ninety percent is keeping her head. If he kisses me, will I die? I wish I’d read more about faeries. I wish I paid more attention to my parents.

Cardan rests a beringed hand against my jaw. Then, before I can jerk my head away, he pours a little of his wine into my mouth.

I rear back, coughing. I can hear them all laughing now. Valerian lets go of me, and I wipe at my face, trying to sop up the wine that spilled from my lips. I know I swallowed some; it lingers, overly sweet, on my tongue.

“What was that?” I snap, but it doesn’t have the venom I’d like. I am already feeling lightheaded. What was that rule? Don’t eat or drink anything?

Oh no. No no no.

“It’s a revel,” Cardan explains. “A small one, but a revel still. And you were of no mind for revelry. A taste should be more than enough to remedy that. Tell me, how do you feel now?”

I blink a couple of times. I remember being afraid, but fear feels very far away now. Like I’ve woken from a nightmare. It lingers, but is quickly shaken off. In its place is just… ease. Elation. My body feels free. Even the aches from my last sword practice with dad in the backyard are gone.

“I feel great,” I say honestly, grinning at him. “Wow, your face is close.”

He grins back. “Better. I have much I would ask of you, mortal Jude. Why not come a little closer?”

I lean toward him. Maybe he’ll kiss me now. I don’t know why that was such a bad idea ten seconds ago. His mouth looks soft.

But instead of doing any such thing, Cardan slides two long fingers down my sweatshirt collar and pulls it aside. A brief look of triumph flashes across his face as he fishes out my string of dried rowan berries. “You do know something of our ways,” he murmurs, and I am pleased by his satisfaction. “Locke, what do you make of this?”

Locke moves as if to get up, but Nicasia shifts so that her head is on his lap. He peers across at us instead. “Were you sent by someone?”

I shake my head, bewildered.

“Who gave you the rowan berries?”

“My mom,” I say, smiling at him. There doesn’t seem to be any harm in saying it. Besides, I want to help these beautiful strangers. I want them to like me. “She says to always put them on when we’re venturing out. Taryn doesn’t wear hers anymore, though.”

“And there is the difference between you and your sister. I imagine you’ll have questions for your mother, should you see her again,” Cardan says. He slips the berries back down into my collar and gives my sternum a pat, as if tucking them in. I don’t bother to question why he phrases it like that.

“This is dull,” Valerian complains, sitting by the fire and making one of the hikers pour him more wine. “Are you going to tumble her or not?”

I let out a nervous giggle, because that hadn’t occurred to me, but why not? Wouldn’t it be fun? They’re all so pretty. Cardan’s eyes narrow, though. Apparently he doesn’t agree that it would be fun. “What, here? In the dirt? Certainly not.”

“What would be the appeal of cavorting with a mortal?” Nicasia asks loudly. “They’re such dirty, short-lived things.”

“Really?” There is something odd and tense in Cardan’s voice. I cock my head toward him, trying to pick it out. Like pulling a loose thread on a scarf. “What had you and Locke planned for the sister, then?”

Nicasia sputters, and Valerian laughs. The words wash over me. I barely mark them.

“It is said they have a certain earthy charm,” Locke remarks, unruffled as ever. “Although I myself would not know. Would you, Cardan? Your home is filled to the brim with mortals.”

“No,” Cardan says. Something has upset him. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he looks at me like he forgot I was there.

“I would know,” says Valerian, although no one asked him. “The charm is in reminding them where they belong. Beneath us.”

“Now, that is dull talk,” Cardan sighs. He drinks deeply from his goblet then flops back onto his cushions. “Come, Jude, lie back with me and we shall watch the stars until midnight.”

I do as I’m told. It’s nice, being close to him. His body is so warm, and I haven’t had the chance to just lie next to a boy before. Or anyone I wasn’t related to, really. Mom and Dad and Taryn and Vivi and I would pile onto the same couch to watch movies, back before Vivi went away to college, but of course that isn’t the same as this. There’s familial intimacy, and then there’s a night alive with possibility, and the body of someone pretty beside you.

I bury my face in Cardan’s shoulder. He smells sweet, like apple blossoms, like cinnamon on morning toast, like all the good things. “What happens at midnight?” I ask him. I don’t want this to ever end.

“Oh, Jude,” he says on another sigh. “At midnight, we go home.”

---

Tagging people who said they wanted a part 2 (in comments or tags): @lilithsaur @highqueenofelfhame @fantasyfox101 @emeralddaydream13 @b00kworm @amandlas @gellavonhamster If you want to be tagged in future posts, let me know!

#jurdannet #jurdannetrevels #folktober2020 #jurdan #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #tfota #mine: fic #fic: folktober

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artblogofanekophile · 3 years

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Thank you so much for the tag, @jhoudiey!

This looked like a nice, simple enough thing to fill in (though knowing me I will needlessly complicate matters), so I decided to do this as a way to ease myself back into posting.

Firstly, here's the blank answers for ease of use:

Veggies VS Meat

Spicy food VS Non-spicy food

Sweet VS Salty

Noodles VS Rice

Mint VS No mint

Singing VS Dancing

Cold weather VS Hot weather

Dog VS Cat person

Big spoon VS Little spoon

Extrovert VS Introvert

Actions VS Words

Thin-skinned VS Thick-skinned

Movies VS Series

Comics VS Books

Good liar VS Bad liar

I believe the intention is to simply bold the answers... But because I'm extra, I'll be providing an explanation where I feel necessary. You may fill it in as you so please!

Without further adieu...

Neko

Veggies VS Meat

Miss Neko is a feline beastwoman, and cats are well-known to be obligate carnivores. However, in being a beastwoman, she also needs some form of a human diet as well. Her preference is absolutely meat, but she stopped begrudging the need to eat vegetables at about age nine.

Spicy food VS Non-spicy food

Cats are well known to have sensitive tongues, and Miss Neko is no exception! Anything more than mild spice and the poor thing will be sneaking ice-cubes out of the Mostro Lounge freezer for days!

Sweet VS Salty

She has a bit of a sweet tooth! Especially cake.

Noodles VS Rice

Rice is generally less messy, and there's nothing more irritating than ending up wearing most of your food, especially for a proud pedigree such as herself!

Mint VS No mint

I imagine mint will have the same effect on her as spice - it's less of a refreshing treat and more like a cold burn.

Singing VS Dancing

Miss Neko loves to sing! Whether she's good at it or not, well... That's up for her company to decide. Even then, it won't stop her.

Cold weather VS Hot weather

While she can manage the sun in small enough doses, Neko dislikes excessive heat. She learned the hard way to apply sun-lotion to the skin of her ears when she was but a kitten! The cold weather is so much more accommodating to her natural tendencies. Ah, a cushioned window-sill, a woolen sweater, a warm drink and the sound of the gentle rain hitting the window...

She could just... nod off right... there...

Dog VS Cat person

"Nya? Surely you jest! Can't you see from these adorrrable ears and this elegant tail that I am nothing less than a pedigree kitty? How silly~"

Big spoon VS Little spoon

Both! I was initially going to say it depends on who I ship her with, but even if she was dating one of the taller characters, I don't think she would shy away from curling in around them and purring against their shoulder to soothe them to sleep. Relationships are about give and take, after all!

Extrovert VS Introvert {It's... complicated}

I think that Miss Neko is an introvert that disguises herself as an extrovert. She displays a veneer of charm and natural charisma, putting forth the impression of a very confident person. However, her sense of bravado hides away a rather vulnerable side to herself, a part of her with insecurities and vulnerabilities that she doesn't want to readily share with just anyone.

Actions VS Words

Words can so often be empty. Actions, no matter how small, can say as much as a thousand words could. Although, if you wished to pair said actions with pretty words...

Thin-skinned VS Thick-skinned

I think it does depend somewhat on the situation, but I think that Neko doesn't allow things to pierce her very deeply unless they come from someone she holds in very high esteem. Working as a server in the Mostro Lounge has perhaps taught her how to let thoughtless words roll off her back... most of the time.

Movies VS Series

If you ask her to sit through much more than 90 minute movie, she might just doze off.

Comics VS Books

Both! Though she definitely gets through comics faster, unless the book she's reading is incredibly interesting.

Good liar VS Bad liar

A good liar to those who don't know her heart.

Persephone Amaryllis

Veggies VS Meat

Persephone finds it incredibly rewarding when meals are made using produce from her own garden! You can really taste the difference in quality.

Spicy food VS Non-spicy food

She's more adventurous with foods than others! She's always keen to try anything at least once. Kalim seemed delighted when she seemed to enjoy the dishes from his homeland despite the intensity of the spice. Even if a few others looked at her as though she'd grown a second head...

Sweet VS Salty

Sweet treats are great! Especially when you incorporate fruits and berries into a dessert.

Noodles VS Rice

Being someone who likes to work in the dirt when tending to plants, she doesn't really care much if she gets her clothes dirty from slurping noodles. Keeping her clothes spotless aren't a huge priority for her - stains just bring back fun memories.

Mint VS No mint

A little can go a long way, bringing a dish together to feel light yet fulfilling. Easy to overdo, however!

Singing VS Dancing

Being a rather animated person, she often has a lot of pent up energy! Who cares if you look silly, so long as you're having fun?

Cold weather VS Hot weather

Warm weather is Persephone's element. There's no better time to go for a long walk outside and take in the beauty of nature, wading through long grass, sitting in the shade of a tree, watching the gentle breeze sway the budding flowers to and fro. The soft caress of the sun as it cascades over your skin... what could be better than that?

Dog VS Cat person

Both animals are wonderful as far as Seph is concerned! They both have their own unique characteristics as a species that make them charming, though perhaps a dog might suit Persephone a bit more as a pet because dogs tend to match her energy more, and she could take a dog out on her adventures with her. Fancy getting a cat that isn't Neko into a harness!

Big spoon VS Little spoon

She has a protective and nurturing side to her as well. Sometimes all you need is someone to hold you close and be present with you in that moment. Seph may be a high-energy person, but she also knows when to mellow out and simply let a moment pass comfortably with peace. Nothing need be said, only felt. I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere.

Extrovert VS Introvert

And extrovert, through and through! She has no qualms about going up and introducing herself with confidence and enthusiasm. Anything new, she will readily and cheerfully throw herself into it. She tends to be quite open and upfront about her positions and feelings on matters and people... there are few things that she feels the need to hide, but that's the same for everyone, isn't it? No one is entitled to her deepest secrets, it makes the version of her she shows to other people no less authentic.

Actions VS Words

Growing up, she learned that people liked to excuse their actions with words. She thinks it's best to let your actions and the way you treat others do the talking for you. Small gifts, body language, physical touch, small acts of service... That's her love language.

Thin-skinned VS Thick-skinned

There is nothing you could say to her that her mother or herself hasn't already. You'll have to try pretty hard or be pretty close to hurt Persephone Amaryllis.

Movies VS Series

Movies have so little time to really explore the world and characters! A series can offer more insight at a far less rushed pace than movies can, and you get so much more growth in a series than in a film. They feel more satisfying to Persephone.

Comics VS Books

There's just something so satisfying about the sound of a page turning, the scent of paper and ink, and a typewritten font...

Good liar VS Bad liar

Strict mothers make convincing liars.

Robin Redfearn

Veggies VS Meat

It takes both to make a wholesome, hearty meal!

Spicy food VS Non-spicy food

Robin is used to her grandmother's traditional cooking, where sadly the most spicy seasoning is probably pepper...

Sweet VS Salty

There's nothing like a nice trifle after dinner to hit the spot.

Noodles VS Rice

She prefers white rice because it soaks up the sauce in a dish, giving it more flavour.

Mint VS No mint

A little bit of mint is fine. Just not so intense that it makes her eyes water!

Singing VS Dancing

True to her namesake, Robin loves to sing and has quite a nice voice! She often sings while she does chores or schoolwork. If you make it known that you're listening, though, she'll trail off, turn red and quickly go back to her business but in silence.

Cold weather VS Hot weather

Many a winter night was spent cuddled up on her grandma's knee in front of the fireplace as it crackled and roared, the falling snow faint through the frosted windowpanes, the dog at her feet. Her grandmother's soft voice humming her a lullaby as she fought sleep but always eventually succumbed. These memories hold such a special place in her heart.

Dog VS Cat person

She's fond of dogs because of her grandmother's Scottish Terrier!

Also she's shipped with Jack, how can she not like dogs lol

Big spoon VS Little spoon

I don't think poor little Robin could be a big spoon if she tried... though the idea of her trying to spoon Jack is kind of hilarious. But no, I think that she would feel safe and content being in the arms of the person she loves, feeling his breath against the nape of her neck as his warmth envelops her. Lured into a secure, peaceful sleep, much like the roaring fireplace back home...

Extrovert VS Introvert

Robin is quite shy and timid at first, and while she does work on becoming more confident and assertive... she still can't quite manage to be as outspoken and energetic as Persephone. She likes smaller social gatherings, and if asked to attend larger ones, she generally sticks with a small, familiar group and tries to have a good time!

Actions VS Words

Both are necessary. Communication is an important part of any relationship. Telling someone she loves them, though nerve wracking to start, will eventually come to be as natural as breathing to her. She also shows love usually through cooking or baking. She'll purposefully make more than she needs to so she can give others what's left over, and omurice with a heart-shaped squirt of ketchup? You'd best believe it.

Thin-skinned VS Thick-skinned

Admittedly, she can be pretty easily discouraged and hurt. It's something that she knows is an issue and she's working on not taking things to heart so much. Easier said than done.

Movies VS Series

She doesn't really watch much TV. She gets more absorbed by books.

Comics VS Books

Having lived a rather sheltered life before she somehow ended up in NRC, she often found escapism in the form of fantasy books. Who would have thought that she would be walking amongst wizards and magicians, not unlike the ones in those childhood stories? Certainly not Robin!

Good liar VS Bad liar

Honestly if she had to lie she would probably just do it by omission or being very selective about the information she shares. Her grandmother had this look that always somehow managed to make a confession spill from her lips in mere moments... Sometimes Robin wonders if her Grandma might have been a magician...

This was fun, if not a bit long-winded... my apologies. I just get so into it! I hope it's not bothersome to read.

Tagging: @mopotatoes, @shadowwalker593, @goudsreblogzone, @junowritings, @kotobukicutie

And anybody else who would like to participate! To those I have tagged, please don't feel pressured to fill this out (certainly not in the amount of detail I went to) if you don't want to. I'm just interested to see what your answers are for your characters. If you're not comfortable sharing, that's totally fine. No pressure at all. <3

#tag game #twst ocs #robin redfearn #neko #persephone amaryllis #three in one!

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