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ariahmichelle · 3 months ago

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Fake It Till You Feel It- Part 2

Rafe Cameron x Reader Series

Series Masterlist Here

Summary: You see your ex with a new girl wrapped around him after he told you “wasn’t ready for a relationship” after you had slowly started to fall for him. The betrayal stings. Rafe Cameron is dealing with his own issue—Amelia, a girl who refuses to take the hint that he’s not interested. One night you impulsively pretend to be Rafe’s girlfriend to get her to back off. To your surprise, it works. You also notice Alex looking pissed. This starts to become an unspoken routine between you when either Alex or Amelia are around. Simple right? However, longer this goes on, the more the lines blur between what’s real and what’s not.

••••••••••••••••••••• ••••••••••••••••••••••

Part 3- An Unspoken Routine

The plan—if you could even call it that—hadn’t been discussed, hadn’t been put into words. But somehow, it had started to fall into place on its own.

The morning after Topper’s party, you half-expected to wake up with regret, wondering if you’d taken things too far by roping Rafe into your little act. But instead, you woke up to a text from him.

Rafe: Hope I was a good fake boyfriend last night. 10/10 performance, if I say so myself.

You snorted, shaking your head. Of course he’d find a way to be cocky about it.

You: Solid effort. But I’d give you an 8.5. You could’ve committed more.

A minute later, your phone vibrated again.

Rafe: Committed? I had my arm around you all night, babe. That’s Oscar-worthy.

You: Mm. A real method actor. Next time, try harder.

You hadn’t meant for there to be a next time. It was supposed to be a one-off thing—a moment of convenience, of mutual gain. But by the time another party rolled around a few days later, you and Rafe had already slipped into an unspoken rhythm.

Kelce’s house was packed, the music loud enough to make the walls vibrate, the air humid with the heat of too many bodies crammed into one space. You weren’t sure why you had come—maybe out of habit, maybe because you didn’t want Alex to think you were avoiding him. Either way, you found yourself sipping a drink by the pool, watching as groups of people played drunken games and swayed to the beat of whatever song was blasting through the speakers.

And then, like clockwork, Rafe appeared at your side.

“Your favourite person is here,” he murmured, nodding toward the patio entrance.

You followed his gaze, and sure enough—Alex had just walked in. And he wasn’t alone. The same girl from the last party clung to his arm, her manicured fingers gripping his bicep like she was staking a claim.

You swallowed down the brief sting in your chest and turned back to Rafe. “Great.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with the same easy confidence he always carried, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Wanna piss him off?”

The answer should’ve been no. You should’ve just ignored Alex, let it roll off your shoulders, walked away and proven to yourself that you didn’t care.

But instead, you smirked.

“Obviously.”

Rafe’s eyes gleamed with something sharp and amused, and before you had time to overthink, he took your drink from your hand, setting it aside. Then, his fingers brushed against yours, his hand trailing up to your wrist before curling gently around it.

“Come on,” he murmured, tugging you toward the crowd.

You barely had time to process before he pulled you straight into the middle of the patio which had turned into a makeshift dance floor. People were already pressed together, moving to the beat, lost in the music and the warmth of the night. The moment you were in the crowd, Rafe’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were nearly flush.

It was dizzying—how easily he did this. Like he didn’t have to think twice about it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it should’ve been weird, the way his grip on you tightened, the way your hands found his shoulders without hesitation. But it wasn’t.

It felt… easy.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his lips close to your ear, his voice low enough that it sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, fingers tightening slightly against the fabric of his shirt. “Go big or go home, right?”

Rafe chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s the spirit.”

And then, he moved.

The bass pulsed beneath your feet as you followed his lead, letting yourself sink into the rhythm. Rafe’s hands didn’t leave your waist, and when he guided you, it wasn’t hesitant—it was confident, smooth, like he knew exactly what he was doing. The distance between you shrank, and before long, there wasn’t any left at all.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before you felt a familiar gaze burning into you. You didn’t even have to look to know Alex was watching.

But you looked anyway.

And there he was, standing near the bar, his expression dark as his eyes locked onto the two of you. His jaw was clenched, his hand gripping the cup in his hand a little too tightly. The girl next to him was still talking, oblivious, but Alex wasn’t paying attention to her anymore.

A small, victorious smirk tugged at your lips.

And as if he could sense the shift, Rafe leaned down slightly, his voice just above a whisper. “Is he looking?”

You glanced up at him, ignoring the way your stomach flipped at the proximity. “Oh yeah.”

Rafe hummed, amused. “Good.”

Then, without warning, he dipped his head lower, brushing his nose against your temple before pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear.

It was barely anything—a light, teasing touch. But it sent a jolt through you, your fingers instinctively tightening on his shoulders. You felt his lips curve into a smirk before he pulled back, and when you caught your breath and turned toward Alex again, you could practically see the irritation simmering beneath his carefully blank expression.

Rafe chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “I think that did the trick.”

You exhaled, still a little breathless. “Yeah,” you muttered. “I think it did.”

After the song ended, you and Rafe finally pulled apart, and you made your way back to your friends, grabbing a drink on the way.

Brooke, Mia, and Paige wasted no time swarming you.

Brooke smirked. “So…what exactly is going on with you two?”

Mia leaned in, eyes narrowed. “Because that didn’t look fake to me.”

Paige sipped her drink, grinning. “Yeah, babe. That was convincing.”

You simply raised an eyebrow, smirking as you took a sip. “Wasn’t it?

Brooke gave you a look. “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?

You smirked, shrugging. “Maybe.”

Mia gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. You like this.”

You rolled your eyes, setting your drink down. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

Brooke exchanged glances with the other girls before shaking her head. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see about that.”

You just laughed, shaking off their knowing stares.

Because right now, you were just having fun.

Later that night, after the party had died down and people had started to trickle out, you found yourself sitting on the front steps of Kelce’s house, nursing a fresh drink. Rafe was next to you, arms draped lazily over his knees as he stared out at the dark sky.

Neither of you had acknowledged what had happened inside. There was no need to.

Instead, Rafe took a sip of his beer before speaking. “You know… we could keep this up.”

You glanced at him. “What?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you. “It works. You get what you want, I get Amelia off my back… everybody wins.”

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. It was tempting—too tempting. It had felt good tonight, knowing you had gotten under Alex’s skin. And if you were being honest with yourself, it had also felt… nice, being close to Rafe.

But still. “And what happens if people actually start thinking we’re together?”

Rafe shrugged. “Then let ‘em.” He smirked. “Unless you think you’d get too attached.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But despite your teasing, despite the sarcasm, you both knew the answer.

This wasn’t just a one-time thing anymore.

It was a routine now.

And something told you it wasn’t going to stay just a game for long.

————————————

Taglist:

@rafecameronsbaeee. @drewwhor

@wtfisastiles. @emmafitzzz

@yasmin-oviedo

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littlerequiem · 8 months ago

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we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 1

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Explicit Content, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Switch Levi (WC: 6.7k)

( Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

The first time you see Levi, whispered-about-thug and recently-enlisted Scout, you think he doesn’t seem as scary as everyone paints him to be. Sure, he has a hell of a glare, but that’s not the thing that sticks out.

No, what is most striking is the loneliness.

How alone he looks, shadows like bruises under his eyes.

Levi is lost.

He’s not lost in the physical sense, of course.

Levi very well knows where he is. He has repeated these words to doctors so many times he’s starting to sound like a broken record: My name is Levi Ackerman. I come from Paradis Island. I live in Marley.

No, Levi isn't lost physically.

Rather, Levi is lost in the ways often described in novels. Those cheap-thrill books Erwin liked to read so much, the kind that ensured suspense and chest-clutching moments. Usually, it involved a character going on a journey and finding the thing they lost.

“It’s all a metaphor, you see?” Erwin once pointed out.

But Levi did not see the point of metaphors back then, and he certainly doesn’t get it now.

Levi was a soldier for most of his life: so that he could aid the fight against titans, so that Erwin’s vision to help humanity could come true, so that Hange would not be alone in shouldering the weight of it all, so that the world would not crumble under Eren’s actions.

Now, three years after the Battle of Heaven and Earth, his body is changed, and his mind… well, that's the thing that’s lost, isn’t it? He’s still sane, he knows that, but… there's ways he feels himself slipping.

The first two years after the Rumbling were by far the hardest. There was so much to rebuild, so much to do. Levi spent most of his time in makeshift hospitals and infirmary tents. Refugees all around. People who had lost everything, who were in search of a new home, but who lacked the means to do so (Levi never thought he’d have to witness the sight of starving children all over again).

And then, one day, a new start.

Onyankopon was the one who discovered Mare a year ago. He told Levi that it would be the perfect place to retire from his soldiering days. "Mare," Onyankopon said, "is the town where sky meets the sea."

Levi isn’t sure what to make of that idiom; there’s no such thing as a place where sky and sea connect. Another metaphor, perhaps—another thing that flies right above his head.

But he decided to take Onyankopon's proposal there and then. Levi had been idle for far too long, and there was still fire in him, a will to push on.

To keep going, just as he had in the past.

A month later, Levi moved into his new home—a one-story cottage located by the edge of town, overlooking a cliff that descends into sandy shores. It is far enough from the crowds, just the way Levi likes it, while still remaining close to all necessities—just a ten minutes' walk from Onyankopon's home.

Levi's life, as it were, became ordinary.

Because Levi now has a roof over his head. He has a garden, with a broken fence. A patio, where he watches sunsets. He gets money from Marley for his so-called war accomplishments (accomplishments is a strange word for murder, he thinks). He sees doctors, all kinds of doctors—specialists that didn't exist back on Paradis.

Despite this, his routines have stayed the same. Levi has always been a creature of habit, and that much hasn't changed in his new life.

There’s tea, for one. Despite all the special blends available in Marley, Levi still prefers the tea he drank back in the Underground, made from cheap black tea leaves. Piss water, Kenny used to call it, and maybe the old geezer had a point. The tea is bitter to its core, much too strong for most people to stomach (“I’m going to be on the shitter for days after this,” Hange once declared after trying it.). And yet, Levi likes it this way.

There’s his knife, the one Kenny gave him decades ago. Levi still keeps it in his boot or tucked under his pillow. He doesn’t hold it out of sentimentality per say; Levi just doesn’t see the point of throwing it away.

As for other patterns in his life, Levi keeps busy. He sees his doctor on a weekly basis; he's taken a job at the local carpentry shop. He tries to improve his body on a daily basis, even when his mind fights him against it. His leg hurts some days; it’s at its worst when it rains. Over the last year, Levi's regained some of his mobility, enough that he can sometimes walk using a cane when his legs aren't too stiff, though most days, he uses a wheelchair. It frustrates him, sometimes, his reduced range of mobility—he misses pushing his body to the limit—but the physiotherapist ensures him that he is just where he needs to be. He feels coddled, and that annoys him.

Then, there are the people in his life. Scarce as they are, they are all that is left of his past and Levi clings onto scraps of conversation where he can find them.

Most of the brats of the 104th are living their own lives. Levi is relieved to see that. When the war ended, he worried that they would linger too much, but they never did. They moved on.

Falco and Gabi, rowdy kids they are, travel from Liberio to see him. They tell him how Falco is taking flying lessons, how Gabi is part of a youth association that’s going to make Marley a better place.

Onyankopon is another familiar face—a talkative one at that. Every time the man stops by Levi's house, he brings something new to show Levi. Sometimes, it feels like Onyankopon is on a personal mission to get Levi up to speed with the new world. Coffee, typewriters, vinyl players… there doesn’t seem to be a thing Onyankopon doesn’t want to show him.

All these machines are met with a somewhat lukewarm reception on Levi’s part.

All except one.

Because if there's one invention Levi is inclined to think is useful, even if a part of him equally loathes it, it's the telephone. Onyankopon was ecstatic about it, and his enthusiasm eventually rubbed off on him too. It's not that Levi likes to use it—the sound waves, the grated voices… they remind him of the sound of planes and machines, of war and guns, and that gets his heart palpating to the point where he sweats (because Levi’s learned that with his growing age, his body sweats faster than ever before, so much so that Levi sometimes has to wash twice a day).

But the first time Levi hears a familiar sound—your voice—on the receiving end of the telephone, his breath stops. His clammy fingers tighten around the phone, and he glances at Onyankopon, who only gives him a thumbs up in response, two dimples appearing on his lifted cheeks.

Levi decides then that the telephone might not be so bad after all.

“Levi,” your distorted voice sounds from the other side, “can you hear me?”

At first, Levi doesn’t know what to say. He’s seen phones, of course; he remembers Hange using them to communicate with Zeke and the Azumito clan. But he never thought he’d use them personally, and that makes his brain go blank.

“Shit, I think I lost you,” you say, the sound of crumbled papers resonating across the line, “Jean, I think the tele-thing you gave me isn’t working properly. Can you—”

“Hey.” Levi’s voice bleeds into the machine, rough like sandpaper. “I can hear you.”

“Oh, good, I thought I wasn’t using this correctly. Gee, isn’t this just unbelievable? Onyankopon promised me he’d work to set up a phone line in your house, I’m so glad it worked! I know these things are costly but, you know, at least we get to talk, even if it’s brief. Of course, I’ll still write you letters on top of that! And hey—Levi, are you still with me?”

“Yeah, dumbass. You’re the one going on a monologue.”

“I’m just excited! Can you blame me? I haven’t heard your voice in… a long time.”

Levi's heart stutters, your words pulling something in him. He’s all aware of how long it’s been (347 days, by his account).

“I can’t wait to see you next month,” you add in a lower voice, as if you were trying to whisper into the phone, words only meant for him to hear. “I’ve… missed you, 'Vi.”

Levi’s throat feels thick when he hears your familiar nickname for him. His mind buzzes with words, words he has long thought about, words he wishes he could tell you.

I’ve missed you too. I want to see you again. Please come back to me.

All things he thinks to himself, but doesn’t say out loud.

Instead, he manages a breathy, “Mhm,” because more feels impossible right now, especially with Onkyankopon so close by.

“How are the brats doing?” Levi asks instead.

“Oh, they’re good! Armin cut his hair recently. He looks like a blonde mini-you or err… I suppose he’s taller than you now.” If you were standing by his side, Levi would definitely have glared at you. But you chuckle, oblivious to his souring mood. “Guess he always did admire you a lot; I think he’s learned a thing or two from your leadership style.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, he’s cool. Doesn’t glare at everything that moves like you, though.”

Levi clicks his tongue. “Still haven’t lost your shitty sense of humor, I see.”

“Hey, you always found me funny.”

“I never laughed.”

“But you always found me funny—I could always tell.”

“Delusional thinking can get you a long way.”

“Anyway.” You huff with an indignant tone. “Aside from that, Reiner and Connie have changed a lot too! Reiner is still pining over Historia…”

“Disgusting. She’s a married woman.”

“Yeah… weird, right? I keep telling him to move on, he’s got so much going for him now. But he’s hopeless like that, they all are. Besides that… well, Jean grew his hair! Think he’s secretly trying to impress someone. He’s applying pomade and everything.”

He hears the sound of muffled protest, “I am not, Doc,” blending with your sentence. It is followed by your hearty laugh as you seemingly tell Jean to scram.

“That aside, they’re all good. Growing into real adults, you know? It feels like yesterday I was doing their first medical checks... just stupid teenagers. Your old Levi squad, huh?”

The second Levi squad, he wants to correct.

“Yeah, sounds like they’re still a real handful,” Levi mutters.

You chuckle. A comfortable silence follows, one that reminds of old times—you and him sitting in front of the fireplace; him reading his reports, you drawing. The cracking of the phone lines almost sounds like splitting logs now, and Levi feels warmth spread from his lower belly to his torso.

He hears your breath through the phone, like you were leaning closer. “Hey, so… less than a month, yeah? You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I told you already, didn’t I?”

“Because if it’s too much, you can still say no.”

“Adler, I promised I’d take care of you all, and that’s gonna be the case until I’m buried below ground.”

“Don’t speak like that, Levi! It’s morbid.” Levi hears the sound of your laughter again. He wonders if your eyelids are crinkling, the way they always do when you laugh too loudly. “But, hey, thanks. I really appreciate your help, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder what it is like, your new life.”

“S’nothing special.”

“Sounds to me like you’re still selling yourself short.”

“And sounds like you’re still talking nonsense.”

After a year of not seeing each other, you are finally coming back to Marley.

You are finally coming back to him.

Levi wonders what you will think of all the ways he’s lost.

Section Commander Erwin Smith seeks you out in the infirmary one day. He tells you that there’s a wound he wants you to check, one he supposedly got during the last expedition.

“I have the new recruit’s file with me. You might have seen him around,” Erwin says as you inspect the wound. "His name is Levi."

In lieu of a response, you give him a nod, not thinking much of this passing comment. This is probably just patient small talk.

You should have known better. Erwin Smith isn't a man known for triviality.

“I’d like for you to keep an eye on him.”

You pause at Erwin's words, eyes shifting away from the stitches. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

Erwin leans back in his chair. “Levi's just lost his friends, and that's made his integration... complicated. He's flighty and hot-headed; he refuses to get a medical check. As it stands, that won't do—I need to know that his condition is stable to place him on my squad. I need him operational.”

“With all due respect, most of these duties you’ve listed fall outside my medical jurisdiction.”

“I know.”

You raise a brow. Erwin shoots you an eyeless smile. You finish the stitch. Erwin pulls his hand back, admiring your work, then shifts his focus back on you.

Waiting on your answer.

“I’ll... I'll see what I can do, sir.”

Erwin stands, interlinking his arms to the back. “I should tell you he’s from the Underground. Will that be a problem?”

“No, sir…" You rise to your feet as well. "Though, knowing this, permission to speak my mind?”

“Please.”

“May I ask what’s so… special about him? If rumors are to be believed, you went through quite the trouble to get him out.”

“I didn’t think you listened to gossip, Dr Adler.”

“I don’t. But if that wound on your hand speaks for the labors of your efforts… well, I think I have cause to worry.”

A low hum vibrates out of him. “What’s so special about Levi, you ask?” Something lights up across Erwin’s face. The intensity of the pendulum swinging his way. “I believe Levi is one of a kind—that with him, we may be giving humanity a fighting chance.”

Today is the day.

The morning shines brightly over the little town of Mare, an endless cerulean that speaks of summer and new beginnings. The sun peaks over the horizon, lingering where the sky meets the sea, a ripple of lavender and peach glimmering over the reflection of the water.

At this time of the day, the wind is at its strongest, a breeze that blows the long strands of grass to one side. Beyond the valleys, there's footsteps dotted across white beaches, only to be ushered out of existence as the waves roll in.

Mare. This little town was nothing but fire and dust three years ago. Today, everything has changed. Houses have been rebuilt, trees replanted, and life has begun sprouting again.

Levi spent the first hours of the day cleaning his house from floor to ceiling—a painful undertaking for him nowadays. The cleaning material stings his bad eye; the positions he has to adopt to clean makes his leg hurt. But cleaning has always helped to ground him, and that much hasn’t changed here.

Luckily, he wasn't alone in his task.

“Yo, Levi! You ready?” Onyankopon calls out. The man came early to help Levi get the house ready, and he's now driving Levi to the train station.

“Yeah.”

Levi grabs his favorite cane, an elegant stick made of dark wood from up north. For the occasion, he’s wearing his nicest navy suit, silver cuff-links, and a matching hat—a gift from you, something you bought him the day the Survey Corps first set foot in Marley. You thought it suited him and Levi’s inclined to agree: he doesn’t look half-bad.

The drive to the train station is uneventful and quiet. Onyankopon asks him if he is nervous, which Levi denies. He's not nervous, not really. He just needs silence to gather his thoughts.

After a year of not seeing each other, he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely.

Will you be happy to see him?

It’s ridiculous, really, all this uncertainty. In all his years as a captain, Levi never stopped to linger on hesitations, on regrets. No matter what it was—grief, rough expeditions, political coups—he trusted his comrades, he trusted Erwin. Levi trusted himself.

That it would be you, now of all times, who makes him this agitated, seems a strange twist of fate. Perhaps it is his growing age that has turned him into a sentimental fool, perhaps it is the knowledge that it is you, perhaps it’s because Levi doesn’t quite know what to make of the uncertainty... but Levi feels restless.

It took Levi by surprise, your letter. Three months ago to the day. Can I stay with you, Levi? you'd written. Just for a little while, until I figure out what it is I want to do next.

You were gone for a year, helping the Alliance become delegates of peace. Now, Armin and the rest are ambassadors, and Levi no longer needs you letters—he gets to read all about their exploits in the newspaper.

And yet, you never stopped writing to him. Levi's glad of that.

Following all of this, it was decided: of course you could stay with him. Yes, he would help you. When it came to you, there was little Levi wasn’t prepared to do.

And so, with Falco’s and Gabi’s help, he made sure everything was well-suited for your arrival. He got a bed, a night table, a wardrobe, a desk. All of it was arranged into the spare room in his house.

Levi remembers Gabi teasing him about it. “Is she your sweetheart, Mr Levi?”

Levi had just finished fastening a mirror to the wall when she said this; he scowled at the teenager. “No.”

“S’just, it’s an awful lot for an old comrade.”

“Shut up, nosy kid.”

But Gabi raised a point. What were you to him, exactly?

Levi doesn’t know the answer to that question, not exactly. He considers all the people he’s cared about in his life, and he still falls short in finding the right word to describe what you are. He cares for you, that much he knows—he’s cared for you for a long time. It isn’t the same care that he feels when he thinks of his mother, of Isabel, of Furlan, but it’s just as deep. Love, some might call it, but Levi has seldom witnessed it, so he doesn’t know what to make of his feelings.

He supposes if he had to label what the two of you are, it’s connected. Remnants of an old system, a memory of a past when all that mattered was reclaiming the Walls. Two survivors who carry the legacy of those who sacrificed themselves for the cause.

Not that defining it truly matters. Levi’s long accepted his role as the one to carry the torch. He has found stability and peace this way.

Only, Levi wants more for you... even if it means being far away from him.

Yes, it will have to mean being far from him, won’t it? He knows it will. And yet, it doesn’t stop that tiny wisp of something he sometimes feels in his heart at the thought of you—like air, it fills his lungs, begging to be ignited (if you would choose him, he thinks it might).

But Levi’s life was always that of water, and he fears he will drown you if you come too close.

You glance at the injury on his forearm, gushing red. Those damn cadets, ganging up on the new recruit. Erwin’s gamble won’t pay off if everyone else is hostile to his new prodigy.

“Hey. It’s Levi, right?”

Levi’s gaze flickers to yours. It's the first time you're up close to him. His eyes are striking. Freezing gray, like pale moonlight.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice is deep, slightly grated, but not unpleasant.

You give him your full name. “But I actually prefer to be called by my last name, Adler, if you don't mind.” His face stays blank. You sigh. “Listen, Levi, I don’t want to butt into your private affairs... But I just came to tell you this: any injuries you sustain from now on, come to me directly, alright?”

"Please. Those cowards were outclassed. They only landed a hit 'cause they played dirty."

"Even so. Don't let that deter you from seeking help; it's important to take care of injuries before they worsen." A pause, one where you weigh each thought carefully. "That said... you also have my word. Those cadets will be punished for what they did to you."

“Yeah, whatever.” Levi glances at your hands for some reason— transfixed by the way you press on his wound with a clean cloth. “So, what are you, some kind of doctor? You heal people?”

Your lips tug into a half-smile. “I certainly try.”

The train groans as it comes to a stop. Levi knows you dislike trains; even on Paradis, when Hizuru helped to install train tracks across the island, you blanched at the idea of riding in one.

So Levi isn’t too surprised to see you step out of the train carriage on wobbly feet. He takes a step forward, walking into the smoke hissing from the train, avoiding the throngs of travelers passing by. He removes his hat, just to make it easier for you to recognize him.

As soon as you do, your expression lifts.

That smile.

Levi could see your smile for the rest of his life and never tire of it. He hasn’t seen it in a long time, and it tugs at his heart, like a bird flapping its wings.

That you choose to run towards him—your travel bag swinging against your hip, arms dangling by your sides—is no great surprise. If there is something he knows about you, it is your never ending supply of excitement. It makes him want to smile back, but his mouth slightly parts instead.

“Levi,” is the first word that greets him, that swirls through the air and fills his lungs. You seem to catch yourself just a breath away from him, rooted to the spot in front of him. You dip your head down, coy amusement on your features. “It’s really you.”

Levi swallows loudly. He can hear his heartbeat climbing to his head, and he wonders if you somehow can hear it too.

“Your hair has grown,” you say. In the last month, Levi's only kept up his undercut; the top is getting longer now. He knows he should get a haircut, but he's experimenting letting it grow. “It looks good… it suits you.”

The coil in Levi’s stomach tightens. He shields his expression by tilting his head and placing his hat back on his head.

“Hey, um…”

“Just spit it out, Adler.”

His peripheral catches a crooked smile. “Would it be alright if…if I hugged you?”

Oh.

That certainly isn’t what Levi expected you to ask. No, he expected many things just not... that.

In his stupor, Levi can't think of the right words to say to you, so he manages a nod instead.

(He’s grateful you ask before you touch him—you always ask.)

And unlike your earlier display of excitement, full of frenetic energy, your hands treat him with more care. They interlace gently around his back. Levi feels his chest lock as your fragrance sweeps across his brain. The scent can only be described as one thing... Home. Levi grows stiff, not knowing what to do with his hands, so he just lets them dangle along his body. You stay put just for a few seconds longer, and when you break apart, there’s something akin to relief on your face.

(Relief for what, he doesn't know.)

Your hands briefly linger on his forearms. “Just needed to do that. My brain can’t make sense of the fact that you’re really standing in front of me. Like you’re not a figment of my imagination, you know?”

Levi’s gut reaction is to glance down. He doesn’t want to see all the ways you inspect him, all the ways he falls short of the portrait you have of him.

His face hardens and he takes a step back, sheltering himself. “C’mon, we’ve been standing here long enough.”

“Alright,” you answer in a tone that’s no less bubbly than before. “Show me home.”

As you walk in tandem, away from the train tracks, Onyankopon comes to greet you. He envelops you into a hug where he lifts you off your feet. You chuckle, patting his shoulders, and when Onyankopon’s eyes find Levi’s, there’s a glint in them that Levi swears is speaking volumes of Onyankopon’s thoughts.

A look that seems to indicate: Should’ve hugged her properly, you damn fool.

Levi promptly ignores that look. Instead, he sets his glare in an altogether different direction.

The walk back towards the car is painful and slow. Levi tries not to let it show, but coming with his cane instead of his wheelchair really was not his brightest idea. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation shooting up in his leg; his knuckles turn white the more he leans on his cane.

You take notice.

“Is your leg hurting?” he hears you ask.

Levi dismisses your concern with a one shoulder shrug. “S’fine.”

It’s not fine. Levi overexerted himself with cleaning today. The sun is too strong. His leg is throbbing.

Despite that, Levi has no intentions of telling you all about that, because you have a tendency to care, to shower him with attention he doesn’t want, and right now, he just can’t deal with it.

You stop right in front of him. “Hey, are you sure? I can—”

“I said it's fine, didn't I?”

Levi's ears are ringing as he steps past you. Shit—he didn’t mean to snap. Five minutes in, and he’s already screwing this up.

(It's like there's poison on his skin; Levi wants to peel it off.)

But you don’t even seem to pay his temper any mind; you hum and turn to look at the train station’s newsstand instead. From the corner of his eyes, he watches you purchase three lemonade bottles, a hand-out for this summer day.

The drive back is filled with more words than the journey here. Onyankopon and you engage in easy conversation, talking about all manners of things—how the 104th brats are doing, how the world is looking three years after everything that transpired, how Onyankopon’s husband and family are faring.

Levi sits in the passenger seat next to Onyankopon while you sit in the rear. That doesn’t stop you from leaning forward, your hands resting on the head of the seats as you talk (“Put your seat belt on, Adler.” “It’s on!”). Occasionally, your fingers even tap his left shoulder, a heads up for you to point to interesting things you notice outside. Levi tries to ignore the sparking sensation that’s engraved in his skin.

(Sometimes, Levi wonders if your touch is actually electric.)

“What about you, Levi?” Levi feels your attention settle on the back of his head, drilling heat into his nape. “What do you make of your new home? Mare, the town where the sky meets the sea.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. “The townsfolk are nosy, you’ll fit right in.”

“Consider my interest piqued. I can’t wait to see your new life.” You hum. “I’ve never started over. Not like this. I mean, I suppose I did, once. The last time was when I first enlisted for the Survey Corps a decade ago… phew, that brings back memories. I remember the looks I got from everyone then—they all thought me very strange to enroll.”

“That’s because you were a suicidal maniac, enrolling to save the lives of soldiers who’d soon be titan fodder. Normal civilians usually have safer aspirations, Adler.”

“I’m not sure if you’re one to talk, Ackerman.”

Levi huffs at that. The portrait that flashes through his mind is vivid, as were the words that went alongside them: Him, an ex-thug from the Underground and you, the crazy doctor. A pair of strange misfits, the Survey Corps' gamble in every sense of the word.

“Oh, Walls!” You’re gasping at something behind him, and Levi glances up to see what you’ve seen. It’s the sea—all shades of blue and as mesmerizing as ever. “This is where you’ve been living? Your descriptions in your letters do not do this place justice.”

“What? You expected me to turn into a poet?” Levi grumbles.

“No, but look at this—ugh! It’s everything. The valleys! The beaches! The bay! This feels just like…” you let your voice trail off, not finishing off your words, but Levi knows what you meant to say.

This feels just like the way it was when we first saw the sea.

And yeah, Levi sees your point. The sea here truly does glimmer like jewels, the way Armin always described it, and the breeze does carry that scent of salt that feels like it’s cleaning the air out of his lungs.

Just like it felt to witness it the first time.

“This must be what paradise looks like,” you say.

And just as they pass a curve of the road, something new comes into view: between the soft clouds, a flying boat appears—not one carrying weapons, but instead, carrying with it the tale of a youth whose only sin was a passion for flying.

The medical check is done in silence.

Levi is underweight. His lack of sun exposure has left his skin and eyesight sensitive. You prescribe things to help, though you think some ailments might be a lifelong battle.

When it comes to checking his heart rate, however, that’s when you realize the full extent of Levi’s upbringing. Levi undoes his shirt and your eyes take in the cost of his survival—Levi’s torso, marred with scars. Some of them seem recent, while others are old, stretched-out skin that tells you enough.

These come straight from his childhood.

Just how much violence has Levi witnessed in a single lifetime?

“So?” Levi asks, looking directly at you. He leans his weight against the door’s frame leading to your bedroom, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can redecorate if you like.”

“Why would I do that? This is perfect.”

Levi thinks you might be touched, but he isn’t sure—he was never good at reading your more subdued emotions. Anger, sadness, happiness: those, he can read. Everything in between becomes more complicated.

You continue to step around the furniture of your bedroom, inspecting it like you are discovering details of a new kingdom. Your fingers fumble over the bed frame. “These bed sheets are my favorite color.”

Levi knows. He picked them for a reason.

(He’ll never tell you as much.)

“There’s drawing supplies in the desk drawers,” he says.

He hears it then, the way you suck-in your breath, catching it in the back of your throat. He swerves his attention onto you, only to find you fixing the desk with a stupefied expression.

“You remembered?”

There’s bewilderment in your tone.

Why do you seem surprised? Isn’t this the least you deserve? Levi almost says that there is even more—that he has all your sketchbooks from Paradis, that they were recently delivered by his request. But he abstains from it. He thinks it might be too much right now, though whether it’s too much for him or for you, he’s not sure.

Instead, he just replies gruffly, “It was hard to forget.”

You take a step towards him, eyes softening. “Levi, thank you so much.” You gesture at the room. “For all of it.”

Somehow, those words make Levi want to look away. It isn’t that he doesn’t appreciate you expressing your gratitude, but he’s never known what to do with it served on a silver platter. He prefers to ignore it when he can.

“S’not a big deal.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, glancing towards the carpet on the floor. “Couldn’t let you starve on the streets, now, could I?”

“Hah, I don’t know,” you say softly. You've moved to the windows, your fingers feeling the beige curtains. “You might be underestimating me. I can be very persuasive; I’m sure I’d manage to survive out there.”

“Please. You wouldn’t last a day out there.”

You scoff at him, feigning offense. “And why not?”

“You’d want to help some poor fucker giving you puppy eyes, and they’d just end up mugging you.” Or worse.

“Well, alright. You got me there.” You glance away, raising your fingers to run along the scar on your cheek.

Levi follows your movements, studying the way your hands conceal your old injury. He wonders if it still hurts, if you forget it is there only to be reminded of its existence when you catch your reflection in the mirror.

It happens to him, sometimes.

“Seriously, thank you.”

The gentleness in your tone cradles his ears. Levi takes a step back.

“No need to get emotional on me.” he mumbles.

You chuckle. “Still. Sometimes, it’s good to say things out loud.”

“If you say so.”

Levi turns around, fumbling with the handle of the door.

But just as he’s about to head out, to leave you to unpack, there's a distinct sound that comes from the other side. Levi hears that familiar "Meow," before he sees the tabby cat sliding in between the cracks of the door.

“Oh..." you say, "what's this?”

Right. Levi probably should have mentioned this minor detail in his letters.

“Scout,” he supplies, eying the kitten currently rubbing her head against his right leg, a loud prrr vibrating against his calve.

“You… you got a cat?”

"Yeah."

"Like a pet?"

Levi crosses his arms over his chest, tapping a rhythmic beat of five counts against his forearm. “Do you need to get your eyes checked or what?”

You ignore his surly attitude, the same bafflement still present in your tone. “And you named him Scout?”

“Her. She's a female cat.”

You look down at the cat for a moment, your eyes wide like saucers. Then, with a low, hushed tone, you let out a strangled, “Walls, you're a cat dad,” before pinching your lips tightly, like you were trying very hard not to burst out in fits of giggles.

Levi’s jaw instantly clenches. “Stop laughing.”

“I wasn’t laughing!”

“You were about to.”

“Yeah, alright, I was about to.” And then, as if saying those words out loud gave you the right to do as you please, you stifle out a snort, shooting up a hand to cover your half-contained laughter.

This time, Levi doesn’t bother hiding his glare.

Paying this interaction no mind, Scout looks at you with a quizzical stare, her big, green eyes taking you in. Just like you, the feline creature is now discovering the new room and the furniture that goes with it, and she now seems to want to understand what to make of the new occupant that is to share this space.

And so, with a last parting mrrp, the cat skitters towards you, her fast steps tiptoeing against the oaken floor. In response, you crouch down, outstretching a delicate hand in Scout's direction.

With a combination of grace and suspicion that only cats are really able to muster, Scout sniffs your fingers, her slit pupils observing your every movement. Whatever she was looking for must have pleased her, because not a moment later, she lets out a high-pitched mewling sound and rubs her cheeks against your digit.

A smile forms on your lips.

And when you look back up, there’s a sparkle in your eyes that makes Levi’s heart skip a beat. "Oh, she's cute," you coo, scratching Scout's chin. "How old is she?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask?"

"I don't speak cat, Adler."

"She didn't have an owner?"

"No, she was alone when I found her."

"Oh."

Levi had found the kitten half-dead under some debris less than three months ago; no one in town knew where she had come from, or how old she was. Most likely, her mother had abandoned her, but it was hard to know for sure.

All he knew is that the kitten had been alone, and that was enough for him to want to help the frail thing. Taking her in was only meant to be a temporary thing and yet, here she still was.

"Well," you interrupt his thoughts, head tilting as you inspect Scout, "I reckon she can't be more than four months old."

Levi lets out a grunting sound, not really knowing enough about cats to refute or agree with your observations. Instead, he half-turns away, grumbling parting words, “I’m gonna make us some tea while you unpack.”

“Your bitter old tea, huh?”

He means to ask if you’d prefer something else, but it comes out all wrong, again. “Got a problem with that?”

Shit.

Your eyes lock with his.

And your smile widens. “Not at all. This feels like being home.”

Levi clears his throat, turning away. Home. Is it really like that?

No, of course, it’s not.

Home doesn’t exist anymore.

And he’s not the same man you once knew.

A/N: This story has been in the works for the last year, and it's been a very precious project for me. This fic seeks to shed some light on Levi's life after the war, with its ups and down - but ultimately, it's a story of love and healing <3 Furthermore, English isn't my mother tongue, so you know the spiel - don't hesitate to let me know if you spot mistakes, but pls be patient!

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

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yugsly · 1 month ago

Note

Did ENA inspire your split-face designs?

No, Picasso, Kousuke Sugimoto and Nishioka Kyoudai are who inspired me to draw like that, along with old sculptures. I should mention I was drawing like that before the ENA animated shorts came out ^^; They are great btw! Very much in line with exactly what I enjoy & what I like to do with animation, if you haven't seen my shorts before. Joel G's work is amazing and if you haven't checked out his even older animated shorts you should!

I will say I have shyed away from drawing like that because so many people keep asking me this haha. To me it feels a bit like people are pointing at me like I am copying or something. I find ENA's design funny because she resembles how I drew myself back in the day a bit. Joel G and I have been mutuals & fans of each other's work for longer than I can remember so I wonder sometimes if it's a coincidence or not haha

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mainstreamangel · 1 month ago

Text

NOW THAT WE DON'T TALK

P. Bueckers x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a breakup with UCONN's star player, you lay awake at night wondering if she thinks about you as much as you do her.

Genre: Angst with a sprinkle of fluff maybe

Warning(s): N/A

A/N: This is just my interpretation of the song this isn't totally accurate :) Perhaps I'll do a pt.2 we'll see

WC: 1.1k

Silence filled the room as you laid still in bed. The clock on the wall stares you back as it ticks on by. Originally you had planned to go to sleep about 2 hours earlier but couldn't seem to find it in you to sleep.

You groan and turn over, unplugging your phone from it's charger and turn it on. You decide to scroll on Instagram for a bit, trying to everything to fall asleep.

It's been about 5 months since you had broken up with Paige Bueckers. You two had ended things since you always felt like you put in all the work into the relationship and Paige never knew how to communicate her feelings. It was a mutual agreement but the damage was done.

Your mind goes to autopilot, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself looking at Paige's Instagram. Her latest post consisted of a photo dump of her and her friends at a nearby house party. Posted only an hour ago.

You went to a party. I heard from everybody. You part the the crowd like the Red Sea, don't even get me started.

Her popularity always overshadowed your relationship and your insecurities would bubble to the surface. Like a water leak you couldn't patch it up and time and it all came flooding out. Paige of course heard these insecurities from you and saw the signs but she never knew what to say or how to tell you that she thought you were perfect.

Paige had been at the party for a couple hours after a big UCONN win. She decided that she should get home soon to rest.

Did you get anxious though on the way home? I guess I'll never, ever know. Now that we don't talk.

Paige walked through the sea of people, some congratulating her and some dapping her up. Though she put on a brave face and her extroverted side of her showed, ever since the breakup she always felt anxious that people had too many opinions of her and that she was constantly watched. While she was with you, she always thought that only your opinion mattered and all she had to do was focus on you.

Paige ran her fingers through her hair that had gotten longer since the breakup. She left it kind of wavy for the party and put on light makeup since it was a casual event.

You grew your hair long, you got new icons. And from the outside it looks like you're tryin' lives on.

Paige has shown the media many different sides of her. From funny to disappointed, they've gotten to see her for who she was. Or so they thought. There was only one side that you saw that the media has never caught a glimpse of.

When you were together there was only one thing for you two to do. Show each other your scars and yourself. Paige had only ever shown you her true self. The self that has insecurities and imperfections.

I miss the old ways, you didn’t have to change. But I guess I don’t have a say. Now that we don’t talk

As Paige drove home, all she could think of was you in the passenger seat. Usually at times like these she would be on her way to your apartment, with or without you next to her. Since the breakup she’s found little quirks of yours that never stood out to her while she was with you. These quirks seemed to get louder every time she thought of you.

It haunted her truly and she wanted nothing more than to talk with you. To see you one last time. Paige knew she would never get the chance after she saw how you wanted nothing more to do with her.

*5 months ago*

After you ran out on Paige, you had called your mom in tears. Your poor mother was trying to calm you down and understand you at the same time.

I called my mom, she said that it was for the best. Remind myself the more I gave, you’d want me less. I cannot be your friend, so I pay the price of what I lost.

You took time to grieve and decided it would be best to move back home to the coast. Your parent’s welcomed you home and you took back your old bedroom.

You took the time to enjoy your break by the beach and on the water. You always found a way to connect with the water and how you believed the water could cleanse away whatever fears would wash upon you.

And what it cost. Now that we don’t talk.

*Present day*

What do you tell your friends we shared dinners, long weekends with?

You always wondered what Paige had said to her friends. To your friends, about the breakup. Did she call you crazy? A psychotic bitch? You feared that Paige’s popularity would turn on you and that she would victimise herself against you.

But Paige had only told them how great you were to be with. With a sad smile she told them how she wished you two would be endgame and how she always imagined you would be it for her.

Her friends would only hear good things about you and how your memories would live on in her mind and soul. She would talk about how though forever was never in the cards, she believed in a different life that it would be you and her and nothing more.

Truth is I can't pretend it's platonic, it's just ended.

Sure you missed her and she missed you, but there were other things you were relieved of.

I don't have to pretend I like acid rock. Or that I'd like to be on a mega yacht. With important men who think important thoughts

You wouldn’t have to pretend that all rumours and all the constant cameras watching every move of yours didn’t bother you. Yes you could’ve gotten used to it but you shouldn’t have to. At least that's what your friends said. So you did the only logical thing you could you broke it off with Paige.

Thinking back to it now, seems like not the most logical thing. You missed her dearly and you wished she did too. But it didn't matter, you two don't talk anymore.

While you were still in bed staring at the photos Paige had posted, you didn't realise your finger went limp and liked her post. Jerking up and awake, you sit in bed panicking. You hadn't talked to Paige in months and you didn't want to seem like you needed her.

But truth is you DID need her. You just didn't know she needed you more.

A notification pulled you out of your thoughts.

P.Bueckers: Hey, how have you been?

Guess maybe I'm not better off now that we don't talk.

#wbb #paige x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #wnba

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em1989ts · 4 months ago

Note

five and reader know they’re falling for each other and they’re both super touch/love starved but also don’t know how to demonstrate and give it to each other ? basically two awkward losers in love

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

five hargreeves x reader

word count: 2.5k

masterlist

summary: you and five have always been professional, even though you're the closest partners the commission has even seen. once the two of you go back to 2019, you find out how to ease yourselves into the relationship you both know is just right

author's note: thank you thank you thank you sm for this request, i literally just saw it about three hours ago and it gave me immediate inspiration. this might not be super exact to what you were hoping for but i did my best to stick with it!

not proofread

You had Five had always been far too professional for your own good.

The two of you first met when the Handler brought you both out of the apocalypse and shoved you into neatly steamed suits to begin your brand new lives at the Commission.

You and Five were the only two people left alive after the world had combusted in 2019, yet neither of you had managed to bump into the other while you wandered around for forty five years.

Initially, there wasn't any trust between the two of you, as well as curiosity trapped in private thought bubbles. Both of you wondered what the other’s experience was like.

Did they find it nice to have the world to themself?

Did they have an easier time?

Did they miss anybody?

When the Handler officially made you two partners and sent the two of you off on your very first assignment together, it was definitely awkward. So many questions, so little bravery to make them heard.

You wanted to ask him. You wanted to be friendly. Of course, the apocalypse life took a toll on you, so maybe you could bond over your unfortunately mutual experience.

But he looked so stern, so reclusive, so unwelcoming.

He thought the same about you, with your shoulders turned in and furrowed brow. He thought you just preferred to be private. He assumed if you spoke about your past you would freeze or shut down. He didn’t wish that upon you.

During that assignment, the two of you had to wait in a parking lot for your target to arrive. The mark would be dropped off in a rideshare vehicle up to an office building. Neither of you knew what rideshare was but didn’t think it really mattered.

As you waited in a rental provided by the commission, you didn’t have the radio to fill in the silence, you just sat and stared.

Until you finally decided, what would be so bad?

“Hi,” you turned and looked at him, giving him a wrinkly smile.

“Hello?” he responded out of confusion.

The two of you had indeed talked before, but only once, at your initial introduction, only shaking hands and exchanging names,

“How are you,” you tried to further the conversation with friendliness before he decided it was worthless and ignored you.

“I’m quite alright,” he nodded, still not smiling but he turned toward you more, seemingly interested in conversing.

A good sign.

“And you?”

Your smile grew a bit wider, “I’m doing just fine.”

This kind of conversation might be more commonly heard in a classic American diner, by two old friends in their elderly years, about to order their early bird special. But on this rare occasion, it was being said by two elderly assassins, at the start of the most valuable partnership in all of time.

~~~

For years, the commission has waited for a team like this.

After the two of you returned from your debut assignment, nearly missing your mark as you were so thoroughly invested about discussing your shared accounts with twinkies and their expiration debacle, the two of you immediately requested another task, which the Handler was thrilled to hear.

Once that task was completed, you received another, and another, until you and Five were so caught up in each other's lives you were almost the same person.

For once, the two of you found someone who could truly understand you. You always felt supported and valued in each other's company.

Somedays, when the work got hard, the two of you would take a well deserved day or two off from work, learning about each other's interests and aspirations, refilling your coffee mugs as you talked your day away.

Eventually, the two of you had come up with a plan to try and save the world. What was the point in having time travel powers and only using them once?

Of course, the two of you were scared, but with the support from each other and years of experience and preparation, you had faith in yourselves.

So you took on that last assignment to Dallas, Texas, where you would confirm John F. Kennedy’s assassination. Five’s journal was filled to the brim with math equations, one of which was believed to be the correct one to bring you back to his family in 2019, giving you enough time to stop the apocalypse.

The two of you mustered up as much of your energy as you could and combined it into a glowing blue portal, where you could see a group of people standing in a courtyard.

As you and Five pushed through, you could feel everything change, your clothes felt looser as you fell to the ground.

Sitting up gave your head a spin, but once your eyes focused, they landed on a boy. This boy had dark, messy hair, with the same green eyes as your beloved partner.

“We did it!” you were so overjoyed and proud of yourselves that you tossed your arms around him and encapsulated him in a strong hug.

He returned the hug with just as much joy, never feeling so gratified by someone’s actions.

Even though the two of you had never hugged before, it felt so right.

“Does anyone else see little Number Five or is that just me?”

The voice snapped the two of you out of your moment as you both turned your heads to the group of adults, staring at the two teens huddled together in the mud.

You both looked back at each other, then down at the close distance between you, and muttered apologies as you both let go with a flush. He quickly stood up, lent a hand to assist you, and the two of you headed inside with a couple feet between you.

~~~

You didn’t talk much to his family when you were downstairs, you mostly just watched Five as he explained with little patience everything he decided his family needed to know at the moment. He did gain some valuable information, the date was March 24th, 2019, giving you eight days to figure out a way to save the world.

You were currently standing in the middle of his room, not entirely sure what to do. You didn’t want to touch or disturb anything, you knew how he likes his things a certain way, so you just stood there and waited for him to return.

He suddenly blinked back, trying to keep the skirt, sweater vest, blazer, tie, socks, and shoes all from falling out of his arms.

“The only clothes we have here that’ll fit us right now is the uniform,” he said as lied each item neatly on his bed for you.

“They’re my sister’s but I’m sure she won’t mind you borrowing them,” he turned to face you.

You had only seen what his younger self looked like in his file at the Commission. Initially, you hadn’t seen the resemblance between the bright, sophomoric, superpowered child and the tired, sarcastic, coffee-powered old man. But now, it’s almost as though you can see Five’s past through his eyes. That old grump you know and love hides behind those green irises.

Wait love?

You were snapped out of your daze when you realized his eyes were staring right back in yours.

“I’ll let you change in here, I’ll be just across the hall. We can meet in the hallway when we're done,” he said, cheeks a little pink and avoided eye contact.

You nodded and he blinked out of the room, but before you started changing, you looked around, taking in the atmosphere. You had learned a lot about his life here in the academy, but being here felt a little unreal. His storytelling made you feel like you were there in his memories, it was nice to now see what his life was like.

When you finished getting dressed, you quietly stepped into the hallway.

Unaware of your presence, you watched as Five conversed with one of his siblings.

“So who was that? Your little girlfriend?”

“No, she’s my partner,” Five scowled, his back away from you.

“Oh, like your life partner! You’re married! Yay! Ring the church bells!” his sibling said excitedly, waving his hands in the air.

Five face palmed and turned to you, wide eyed and fully red in the face at this point.

“You must be Klaus,” you awkwardly started, not really sure how to enter the conversation.

“Yes ma’am, welcome to the family,” he smirked as tugged you in for a big bear hug before releasing you and strutting off without another word.

Of course the two of you had dealt with romantic implications before, but back then you two were mature adults and could handle it professionally. Now, you were prepubescent teens who turned pink at the mere thought of someone they liked.

But two of you stood there, silently watching in his direction until he turned the corner.

~~~

It had been well over 24 hours since you had gotten any sleep.

Since you landed in 2019, you have met your partner’s entire family, gotten coffee, been shot at, tracked down the nonexistent owner of an eyeball, found Five’s old apocalypse friend, and got shot at even more. Only during the second shootout did you actually get injured.

Now, you were both dragging yourselves up the stairs of the academy to his bedroom. Him carrying Delores the mannequin, a kind, sophisticated woman, under his arm with the other around you to keep you steady. He himself was far too tired to blink, though he tried so hard to muster up enough energy every time he heard you wince.

You were exhausted to say the least. Blood seeped through your fingertips as you held your hand against the graze the bullet left in your shoulder.

Once you made it to Five’s room, he quickly set Delores down on the floor as he led you to sit on his bed. As soon as he blinked away, you fell back from your upright position and closed your eyes, unable to bear another minute awake.

When he returned, you could hear him run over to the bed and lean over you, grasping your face in his warm hands.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he pleaded, “Stay awake for me, please.”

You had lost a good amount of blood from the deep graze, but you knew you wouldn’t die. You just really needed some rest ever since Five decided it was better to keep moving than take on Vanya’s offer to stay the night.

Once your dazed eyes opened and met his, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek, before quickly moving back to the first aid kit he had grabbed and sorting through its contents, gathering all the materials he needed for your wound.

He helped you sit back up so he could work. This wasn’t the first time one of you had to stitch up the other. In fact, it happened quite frequently as assassins.

But it never felt like this.

Usually you’d be making casual conversation, comfortable with the normality of the situation, and not thinking twice about it. This time however, neither of you spoke. He was focused on stitching you up as gently as possible, though he would catch you staring at him and watch as you looked away awkwardly.

He smiled slightly as he worked. He had grown to care so much about you, but he was always worried he’d ruin what he had with you. Overtime, he had become so used to you being the only constant in his life. The only one he could trust to share things with. Overall, he enjoyed how he could be so comfortable around you, he never needed a guard up when he was with you, but he never knew if you felt the same. But something about now made him feel like he might’ve been onto something.

“Hi,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

You looked up at him, only to see him finishing up your stitches with a knowing smile.

“Hello,” you responded.

“You okay?”

“I’m better now,” you said, watching him as he carefully cut the string to your stitches.

He carefully traced his finger over his work.

“Tired?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” you yawned a bit, giving him a droopy smile.

“Well, let’s get you to bed then,” he said as took off your shoes for you and placed them by the foot of his bed.

After he helped you climb under the comforter, you waited for him to get ready to lay next to you but instead he stayed standing, with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“You can have my bed. I’ll just be across the hall,” he said, almost unsure as he made his way towards the door.

“Wait.”

He turned around expectantly, but you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say.

Would it be weird if you asked him to stay?

“I mean, it’s your bed. I- I can’t just take it-”

“No, no, it’s okay-” Five started.

“We could just, I don’t know, share it?”

No one moved. Eyes wide. Had you gone too far?

On assignments, you always had two beds when you were scheduled somewhere for more than one night. That’s just how it always was. The only time you ever came close to sleeping next to each other was when you had to spend the night in the back of a van, but that was a whole different story.

You didn’t mean to insinuate anything, you just meant that you wouldn’t mind sleeping next to him. You felt safe with him and it would’ve comforted you to know he was with you.

Five understood just how you felt, and climbed in right beside you without another word.

Sharing a twin sized bed meant the two of you were very close with not much room to roll over without risk of plummeting off the side, which you almost did when you tried scooting over to give him more room to get comfortable.

The other thing you could grab onto to save yourself from falling onto your back was him, as he also grabbed you to save you from falling.

The momentum pulled you snug into his chest, which made the two of you nervously giggle before you realize just how much you missed being so close to someone.

You felt it initially yesterday when you first hugged him. But now, the warm touch of another human was all you wanted to know. Subconsciously, you buried your head in his chest as he nestled his above your head. He hadn’t felt this safe in so many years.

You whispered goodnight right before you drifted away to sleep, your breathing regulating to a pace, letting him feel your chest rise and fall against his.

He kissed the top of your head, whispering goodnight into your hair, waiting a moment to test your slumber, before he whispered once more.

“I love you.”

~~~

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 11 months ago

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Hello again everyone! It's time for another Merlin au! This time featuring Uther's propaganda and a healthy dose of misunderstandings and pain! :D

This au was inspired by an idea that I pitched in a reblog of one of @tamaha's amazing posts! (Also, shoutout to my awesome mutual @achillesuwu, since you asked to be tagged when I wrote this! :) ) You can find that original reblog here!

EDIT: You can find part two of this au here!

In canon, we know that Uther had children drowned for using magic, and that most of those children were likely warlocks who were born with their magic. However, we also know that most people in Camelot believe that magic is a choice and that it's impossible for someone to be born with it, so how did Uther justify to his people both the existence of child warlocks and the killing of children for something that they had no control over?

Well, Uther utilized his propaganda to justify killing young warlocks. He found some ancient text that hypothesized that warlocks got their powers from being reborn demons, and he used those very shoddy sources to justify his actions.

He spun stories about how warlocks looked human, but weren't human at all. He told the people that while those warlock children might have looked like regular humans, they would grow into powerful demons that would hunt down regular humans and eat their souls to gain more power.

Uther's propaganda campaign was successful, and soon, warlocks were some of the most feared magical creatures in Camelot. The people were terrified at the thought of a beast that could consume souls and blend in among them, unable to detected until it was too late.

Warlocks were a regular element of the nightmares of all of the children in Camelot, who would jump at every shadow and wonder if it was a warlock, there to devour them. Arthur was among those children, lying awake late at night, trembling with fear at the thought of any person he passed on the street being a warlock who would eat his very soul, denying him any afterlife and instead turning his soul into more magical power for the warlock.

And fast forward to some point after Arthur's become king, Merlin has a pretty painless magic reveal. Arthur and the knights were out hunting, they all get ambushed by bandits, Arthur takes a bad hit that would probably be fatal, but Merlin rushes to his side and, without hesitation, uses magic to heal Arthur's wound.

Arthur was, of course, very upset to learn that his manservant and best friend has magic, and they have a big argument over it, but no one physically attacks anyone (despite Gwaine's threats to kill Arthur and the rest of the knights and run away with Merlin).

So, everyone endures a rather tense and awkward ride back to Camelot, where Merlin is the recipient of many irate glares from Arthur and reassuring looks from the knights. When they reach Camelot, Arthur bans Merlin from his presence until he calls for Merlin again. He says that he can't stand the sight of Merlin at the moment, but Merlin will owe him a full explanation later. Merlin tearfully agrees and holes himself up in Gaius's chambers for a few days, while Arthur makes an ass of himself with his foul mood, snapping at everyone in the castle.

The knights try to point out to Arthur that while, yes, Merlin had magic and had lied to Arthur, he had only revealed it to save Arthur's life. Most of the knights used that point as a tool to comfort Arthur and ease his temper, but Gwaine used that fact to rub it in Arthur's face how terrible of a person Arthur was being towards the man who had just saved his life.

Finally, after the whole castle had to suffer through five days of Arthur's prattish and unpleasant behavior, Arthur summoned Merlin to his chambers, feeling calm enough again to actually hear whatever nonsensical reasons Merlin would give for turning to magic.

You see, what Arthur, the knights, and pretty much everyone in the castle had assumed was that Merlin had probably just picked up on some small useful enchantments and healing spells for Gaius's old study of that material. Arthur was angry at Merlin for turning to magic, but he could understand where Merlin was coming from.

Everyone knew that Merlin cared about his friends to the point of idiocy, so it made logical sense that Merlin, since he had the resources available to him, would resort to learning healing magic in case of an emergency. Arthur understood that aspect of Merlin more than anyone else.

Knowing that Merlin's magic was probably just the result of him being a loving and caring idiot did help ease the blow for Arthur, and truthfully Arthur didn't plan on punishing Merlin at all. To Arthur, hopefully confining Merlin to his chambers for a few days would discourage any future stupidity along these lines, and they could put this entire situation behind them.

So, when Arthur summoned a distressingly pale Merlin to his chambers and demanded an explanation, he expected to receive some stuttered response about learning a few spells from some of Gaius's spare books and to extract a promise out of Merlin that he'd never turn to magic again, and then everything would be fine.

However, when a wrought looking Merlin opened his mouth to explain, Arthur's heart plummeted to the floor. At the very first words of Merlin's explanation, "I was born with it," Arthur's chest went cold, and he took a few staggering steps backwards until his back hit the cold wall behind him, his eyes seeking out his blade.

Merlin was born with magic. That made Merlin a... a...

"Warlock," Arthur whispered, his eyes teary and terrified all at once.

Merlin stopped his explanation and tilted his head at Arthur, a small grin pulling on his lips. Arthur flinched back slightly at the sight of it, unable to form a coherent thought beyond the all-encompassing terror, dread, and sorrow that swirled around his mind.

"Ah, so you do know the correct word for it then! Yes, I am technically a warlock, but the distinction doesn't really matter that much anyways."

Merlin made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if his words hadn't just completely shattered Arthur's heart. Arthur couldn't even listen to the rest of Merlin's explanation through the rush of his heartbeat and breathing in his ears.

The terror gripping his heart shouted at him to fight or flee, don't just stand there waiting for him to decide that he's feeling peckish for souls!

Arthur suddenly registered the pallor of Merlin's skin and the hollowness of his cheeks and came to the awful conclusion that he doesn't have much time, Merlin's already hungry and Merlin was stepping closer there was no time to escape nonono!

Arthur closed his eyes, unable to look at what must have been Merlin unfurling whatever demonic jaws he kept hidden and preparing to eat Arthur's soul...

But the sensation of his soul being devoured, whatever that was supposed to feel like, never came. Instead, he just felt a hand on his forehead, and after a few seconds another one cupped the side of his face.

Arthur hesitantly opened his eyes, almost not wanting to look upon Merlin's happy, friendly face that had always brought nothing but comfort. He didn't want those caring eyes to be that last thing he saw before he died at Merlin's hand!

Slowly, Arthur steeled himself and blinked the tears from his eyes, willing to at least face his death like a true warrior, looking at it head-on.

But, as his vision cleared from the tears, Merlin didn't look like his death, or like any sort of soul-eating monster. He just looked like Merlin, and by god wasn't that the worst part of it?

Merlin slowly smiled at him as his tears dried, coaxing him away from the wall and towards his armchair by the fireplace. Merlin gently guided him over to chair and helped him into his seat, holding Arthur's hand the entire time.

Arthur, once he was sitting, looked over at Merlin, still holding onto his hand and whispering comforting words to him, and Arthur felt like a small, scared child again, freshly awoken from a nightmare and jumping at every shadow.

It took what must have been hours for Arthur to catch his breath, stop his tears, and cease his body's terrified trembling, and Merlin sat next to him the entire time, drying Arthur's tears and comforting him.

Eventually, Arthur looked Merlin in the eyes again, and he could find nothing in them but love and care.

Whatever Merlin was, however hungry he must have been after going five days without being able to hunt for souls to devour, he apparently didn't see Arthur as a target.

Arthur took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact with Merlin. Alright, Merlin might be a soul-eating demon straight out of Camelot's worst nightmares, but he saw Arthur as a friend, not a meal. Arthur... Arthur could work with that.

He just... he needed more information before doing anything else. Merlin was still looking at him with love and concern, and with each passing moment, Arthur became more and more convinced that Merlin was still Merlin, warlock or not. And damn it all, that still counted for something. It had to count for something.

Now that his fear was marginally under control, questions swirled around Arthur's head. How did Merlin even eat souls before this? How often did he need to eat? Did he need to also eat food, or did he sustain himself and his powers on souls alone?

Before he could ask Merlin any of the pressing questions that were on his mind, Merlin had already helped Arthur out of his chair and towards his bed, readying a limp Arthur for bed whilst the king was drowning in his own thoughts.

Before Arthur even knew it, Merlin was pulling blankets over him and snuffing out the candles in his room. Merlin promised to visit Arthur again in the morning to tell him more, and Arthur barely registered his words over the storm of his own thoughts.

When morning came, Arthur couldn't even tell if he had gotten any sleep throughout the night or not, but he woke up exhausted either way. Only a few minutes after the sun had risen, Merlin burst into the room, still looking paler than usual and helping himself to one of the sausages that was supposed to be a part of Arthur's breakfast.

Just the sight of Merlin eating anything made Arthur feel slightly queasy, imaging some terrified soul being devoured at Merlin's hands. Arthur took a deep, steadying breath before getting out of bed, allowing Merlin to dress him as he normally did.

Merlin, much to Arthur's relief, was still acting like nothing had changed, like he was still the same harmless Merlin that Arthur knew him as before yesterday.

If that was how Merlin wanted to act, then Arthur was fine with it. Truthfully, even with all of the questions that Arthur had surrounding Merlin's nature, he found that he didn't really want answers to any of them. Answers would make this new reality, one where Merlin was never harmless at all and where there was a demon hiding under his best friend's skin, real for Arthur. If Arthur didn't have any answers, then he could just... pretend that everything was still fine, like nothing was wrong.

To keep Merlin by his side, he would gladly accept ignorance and pretend like nothing had changed.

However, there was still one issue that Arthur needed an answer to, to confirm that Merlin was still the man who Arthur always thought him to be.

As Merlin was cleaning up Arthur's breakfast plate, Arthur cleared his throat, getting Merlin's attention. Merlin quickly turned around to meet Arthur's gaze, but Arthur didn't feel scared meeting his eyes this time.

"Merlin, I'm willing to let everything that was revealed yesterday be forgiven, and everything can go back to normal."

Merlin gave Arthur a beaming smile at his words, and Arthur continued with a solemn heart.

"However, there is one thing I need to know. You've never..."

Somehow, the words eaten the soul of an innocent person were so vile that they refused to pass Arthur's lips, so he chooses an alternative.

"... hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, right? And you never will in the future? If we are to have any sort of trust between us, you must answer me honestly"

Arthur figured that, if Merlin was indeed forced to eat souls to survive, Merlin was probably feeding on bandits or enemy soldiers that Arthur and the knights would've killed anyways. It was the only explanation, as innocent people didn't mysteriously turn up dead regularly enough in Camelot to indicate that Merlin was feeding on them, and Arthur knew, deep down, that no matter what he was, Merlin would never do such a thing.

Merlin froze at Arthur's words, his smile falling. He lowered his gaze briefly, before meeting Arthur's eyes once more, determination shining brightly in his eyes.

"Arthur, I swear to you, anyone whom I've hurt with my powers were enemies of Camelot. Whatever I've done, I did it to protect you and your subjects."

Arthur nodded, satisfied and relieved by Merlin's answer. Nothing had to change then, Merlin was still his friend and manservant, albeit with powerful magic and an appetite for the souls of his enemies. Arthur could... tolerate that.

As the weeks went on, Arthur found himself thinking about this new side to Merlin less and less. Merlin was still acting exactly as himself, so there was no reason for Arthur to worry, let alone dwell on any thoughts of warlocks.

(And if he had a familiar nightmare from his childhood featuring a warlock, then that was Arthur's business and Arthur's business alone.)

Everything was fine, and months passed without any incidents. That was, however, until Arthur noticed Merlin becoming paler, his cheeks hollowing out again, and his eyes sporting heavy bags. As he took in the changes in Merlin over the past few days, he came to the sickening conclusion: Merlin was getting hungry again, and would need a soul to eat soon.

But Camelot was at peace, there were noticeably less bandits roaming the streets in the past year, and no assassins had come to the castle in the past months. Arthur could see that Merlin's usual... hunting grounds... had been drying up, and he needed to find a solution immediately. Arthur shivered at the thought of what devastation Merlin would unintentionally bring down upon all of them if his hunger ever got out of control.

After several hours of brainstorming on Arthur's part, he finally had an idea. It sickened him to have to consider, but he would do what he had to for the sake of Camelot.

Arthur called for Merlin to follow him as he made his way into the dungeons, where only one prisoner was currently being held. The prisoner was a minor noble who had killed several of his own servants and then used his status as a member of the nobility to cover up his involvement in the murders.

However, the nobleman was sloppy, and there was evidence left behind that proved his guilt without a doubt. He was set to be hanged for his crimes in two days time, as per Arthur's own judgement at the noble's trial, but... if he was going to be executed anyways... perhaps his death may be of use.

(What Arthur didn't know was that the real reason why Merlin looked so exhausted was because Merlin had spent every night for the past week searching for and compiling evidence that the nobleman was behind the murders, as the bastard would've gotten away with it otherwise.)

To Arthur, the criminal's death could be used to ensure that Camelot's only source of magical protection (and Arthur's best and dearest friend) didn't starve to death or go into a hunger-induced rampage, whichever came first.

Slowly, Arthur made his way to the nobleman's cell with Merlin trailing after him, where the criminal was bound to a chair on Arthur's orders. Arthur solemnly opened the door to the cell, gesturing for Merlin to follow him inside.

As soon as Arthur set foot in the cell, the nobleman started begging him for mercy, pleading with him to lower his sentence, not knowing what punishment Arthur truly had in mind for him. Ignoring the soon-to-be dead man, Arthur turned towards Merlin, who was startled by Arthur's intense stare.

"Arthur? What's going on?"

"Merlin," Arthur choked out, his voice rough with guilt, sorrow, and fear alike. Merlin rushed to Arthur's side at the sound, trying to urge him out of the cell, away from whatever issue was causing Arthur such pain.

Standing firm, Arthur cleared his throat.

"Merlin, I need you to... to do something for me."

Concern marred Merlin features as he reached out to Arthur.

"Of course, I would do anything for you Arthur."

Arthur swallowed roughly, trying to force his next words out of his throat. He'd ordered executions before, hell, he'd even ordered this man's execution before, but this was much, much harder than any of the other orders he'd given.

"Merlin, I need you to... take care of this man, as you normally do for enemies of Camelot."

Merlin reeled back with shock, looking somewhere between confused and hurt.

"Arthur, you can't possibly mean for me to..."

"I'm sorry, but yes Merlin, it needs to be done."

Merlin stared at Arthur for a few more moments, before slowly nodding his head and turning towards the bound criminal.

As Merlin stepped closer to the doomed noble, Arthur closed his eyes and turned his head away. Perhaps it was cowardice, but if there were ever a time for Arthur to show such cowardly behavior, it was here. He didn't want to see this part of Merlin.

He did, however, hear everything. There was a scream from the criminal, which was sickeningly cut off by a loud wet crunch that echoes off of the cell's walls, and then there was no sound in the cell except a very loud silence.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes to the sight of Merlin standing in front of a corpse and tried to believe that everything was still normal.

And that's a wrap on this au! Man, that got darker than I expected it to be.

Be sure to let me know if you'd like a continuation of this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

#bbc merlin #merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merlin au #merthur #merlin prompts

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porcelainseashore · 8 months ago

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Darkroom

Pairing: RE4R! Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader

Summary: You're a Sunday regular at the darkroom of your local nightclub, finding liberation through sex with random strangers and spontaneous encounters. One night, you meet someone whose touch feels different, and you connect in ways you never expected.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Smut, porn with plot, implied consent, anonymous sex, group sex, public sex (nightclub), voyeurism, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving), creampie, strangers to lovers, romance, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, drug references, swearing.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing gn! reader as I would like to be more inclusive in my work. I’ve also tried to educate myself on the discourse surrounding darkrooms and hope I’ve portrayed them respectfully, as safe spaces created by the gay community.

Special thanks to @alibellerosetta and @sofmoth for beta’ing this piece—you’re simply the best!

AO3 Link | Playlist

Fingertips trailing across the concrete walls of an old wartime bunker, its labyrinthine structure causing you to navigate by adventure and curiosity when you were new, but now, you had the entire layout committed to memory. You drifted through the haze of smoke and rooms—oh so many rooms—littered with nooks and crannies to engage in the kinds of deeds one would get up to in a nightclub like this.

Brutal, fast-paced techno assaulted your ears, but you welcomed it as you did with the throngs of party-goers passing you by, like swimming through jellyfish and seaweed, in this maddeningly beautiful underwater world. All you could hear was a wall of sound and your own breathing, teeth chattering and chest throbbing as heavy bass reverberated through your body. If you stayed any longer, you would vaporize into thin air. And so, you plunged into the lower depths, down further passageways and corridors to your final destination.

People wouldn’t understand why you do what you do. Why you treated this club like a church—the only one you’d go to religiously every Sunday to get fucked within an inch of your life by complete strangers. Strangers you never saw, and would never meet again.

You didn’t owe them an explanation, but truth be told, you felt far safer here than in most other places you’d been to. Too many close calls and red flags left you running away from that mess. Here, you were spoiled for choice. You could be whoever you wanted to be, without labels or judgment. Fucking was freedom and creativity. Fucking was an expression of yourself. Fucking was a big fuck you to society that tried to break you, moulding you into preconceived roles, telling you what you should or shouldn’t do.

Despite that, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Your PrEP shot was up to date and you tested frequently. Nothing was a hundred percent foolproof, but it was a risk you were willing to take. You were nearly there, following the invisible wisp of a white rabbit to its lair as the sweet, musky scent of lust and arousal grew stronger.

At the entrance of the darkroom, you paused, lifting your hand as a breeze sifted through your fingers. Funny how cold it could get down in the basement. You wondered if the ghosts of soldiers past could see you now—heart racing in your chest, adrenaline flooding your veins, and butterflies in your stomach—every single time without fail as you stood in front of the innocuous opening in the wall, like a gateway or barrier to another plane. What they would think as you stepped inside, agreeing to the unspoken code of conduct, where it was hunting season, and just like everyone else, you were game.

Inside, it was pitch black, so dark that you could not see, but you could make out the distinct sounds of sheets rustling, the shifting of bodies, light moans, and squelching wet kisses as you felt around the room, slowly putting one foot forward, and then the other, like the blind leading the blind. As your eyes adjusted to the surroundings, movements blurred at the corners, amorphous shapes materializing before you like a séance you had conducted.

Sometimes you would catch a look, a nod, a gesture—silent, yet reminding you that what you were seeing was real. Hands passed along your body, and you imagined this must be what it feels like to traverse through clouds—touching, groping, feeling every part of you that you had bared to offer. Shedding clothes like this was so easy, like peeling away the layers of skin you had adorned to protect yourself.

Someone else’s skin.

Someone else’s face.

A thousand masks you reaped and sowed.

Gone, all gone—until you were stripped to the core.

The immense desire to be naked forever and never dressed again bubbled to the surface, burning a hole in your chest and getting caught in your throat.

A sudden smack against the cheek of your ass sent you reeling forward. The beds were damp as you sank upon them on your knees, gasping in sheer delight. The sting of it was buzzing, your ears filled with white noise as your hair was yanked backwards, mouths latching onto flesh, sensitive and bruising like ripened plum under teeth.

The room was warm and humid, sweltering even, but you couldn’t complain. Heat like that never looked bad on anyone. Sweat dripped from the pores of your skin, creating a thin layer of moonlit sheen. Tongues lapped at the moisture, prickly and salty, running over areas you never knew existed until the heady rushes you felt stated otherwise.

You grasped at the silhouette lying under you. It squirmed—wet, whining, and wanting. Breasts quivering, breathing in deep. Almost instantly, the grip on your hair loosened as you lunged forward, suctioning your lips over a peak, your fingers sliding through her folds, curling against her walls.

Eventually, you were pushed on top of her, a heavy palm on the arch of your back, ribs crushing, tongues intertwining, and teeth clashing as other hands gripped her wrists firmly over her head. Your pelvises ground together as someone pounded into you from behind; her breasts bouncing violently against your chest with each thrust. The mattress sagged under your weight as it consumed you—suffocating, drowning—and you surrendered to it all in the darkness until you were nothing. A blank canvas, equal to the rest, finally seen as simply human.

You did the devil’s dance, flitting between partners, just as your parents did before you, and their parents—your grandparents—and their ancestors before them. Though instead of fucking raw, they had their own versions of the dance that they were too embarrassed to admit, leaving them forgotten behind closed doors and repressed memories.

Then, another pair of hands descended on your back, their knuckles caressing your shoulders with a bittersweet tenderness, taking you by surprise. Brushing your hair aside, you felt stubble scrape the nape of your neck, his kiss lingering a little longer than a second or two, as if afraid that by confronting you, you might dissolve between his fingers.

Hot, shaky breath fanned across your ear, “May I?”

A baritone—rich, deep, and weary—with an edge to it like he had been through a never ending war. You wondered why.

In silence, you tilted your head, granting him easier access to your neck. You were his prey; he could bite in hard if he wanted to, but he only nipped—teasingly, playfully, savoring your taste, his large, coarse hands raking your body, gentle and unsure.

This wasn’t his first time; he was too composed for that. You searched for an answer as the tips of his fingers pressed dimples into your skin—temporary marks that spoke of his desire to make you his for the night. His touch ached so badly with longing, you could feel it seep into your bones. It hurt, everything hurt, as he buried his face into your neck, smothering the rest of his emotions along with it.

Someone once said, “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings.”

But imagine if we weren’t? Your hand cupped over his. His breath hitched.

You knew shame like the back of your hand. A sickness and disease, taking root from within, its poisonous tendrils spreading out through every orifice until you couldn’t even scream.

Imagine if we weren’t. Your fingers laced through his. You squeezed. He squeezed back.

A secret morse code between the two of you as others started to gather around. Lying on your sides, he tugged you in closer, so that your back was flush against his chest. You stroked his arm, repeating the motion in cycles like a form of meditation.

He had you. You were his. He didn’t have to worry about that, even when you were being shared.

In return, he planted soft kisses along your spine as a ‘thank you’, causing you to shiver while he palmed your crotch. You felt his dick harden against the crevasse of your ass and you bucked your hips back into his. He let out a hiss, rubbing his erection in sync with your rocking, and you heard the sound of a lid cracking open.

At the same time, another person tweaked your nipples, licking, and sucking on them as you bit your lip and moaned. Lukewarm oil spilled onto your ass in a slow, deliberate stream, spreading like liquid silk. Even though you were ready—so ready—for this, with your hole wide and gaping from the butt plug you had worn in the day, and still leaking from previous use, he felt the need to prepare you. Circling your rim, he slipped one, then two fingers in, allowing the tight ring of muscle to clench around them as he stretched you out. When he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, you nearly sighed in relief, relaxing as he filled you up fully, slowly, and sensually, as if you were making love for the first time.

You melted like sweet, flowing honey in his arms, linked around your waist, hugging you tightly as his ragged breath grazed your cheek. Once you had settled in, it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace. Your hands gripped his the entire time as he pumped his cock harder into you, friction firing up the bundle of nerves, causing you to cry out in wanton pleasure.

It was only a matter of time before you caught a glimpse of another shadow joining from behind him, and felt the head of someone else’s member smear precum along your lips. You opened, submitting completely to the moment, its shaft dipping in and out of your mouth, your tongue swirling over its slit and ridge. Saliva dribbled down your chin as fingers tangled in your hair, grabbing it roughly to shove his cock in further, letting it hit the back of your throat as you choked and gagged. Tears ran down your face, ruining the black liner and glitter you’d decorated it with.

The hands that had been wrapped around yours gave them a long, hard squeeze, as if to ask, “Are you okay?” His worry and concern was your very own personal S.O.S., if you needed it. You brushed your thumb against his knuckles reassuringly, and he did the same, giving you two light squeezes in response, trusting in your decision.

At this, his hips snapped against your ass harshly, balls slapping skin as his thrusts grew more desperate, matching the intensity with which you were being fucked in the mouth, like a wordless competition—one vying for your affection. He slammed into your sensitive spot repeatedly, the sensations overwhelming like never before as your eyes rolled back—demonic and possessed—and euphoric waves rippled through your body.

He continued railing you until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. You felt his eyes shut, his mouth twist into a frown as he muffled his groans into your neck. He tensed and staggered, emptying a thick, hot load into your spent hole, just as the person in front of you pulled out, finishing himself off onto your face.

You coughed, sputtering as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. His dick was still in you, twitching as he rode out his climax, stroking your thighs, your hips, your ribs, before settling back on the curve of your ass. He kneaded it gently as you felt him pull out; his hands coming to rest around your waist. Raising your arms behind you, you circled them around the back of his head, pushing his face into your hair as both of you lay there—still and quiet—panting heavily and covered in fluids, his cum trickling out of your heat. You felt the uneven, taut patches that littered his skin, along with the rise and fall of each other’s chests—an empty space in the cavity growing more deafening with each passing second in the sparse room.

The clock continued ticking until you finally decided to turn around, facing the man who had fucked you so hard you thought you might break. All at once, he drew closer, lips on lips, kissing you like he meant it. You kissed back sloppily, running your fingers through his sweat-drenched hair as he cupped your cheek—grasping, craving, needing more.

You didn’t know what to make of this connection he and you felt. The way his heart beat with loneliness, and yours responding in kind, whispering in a similar rhythm, “I’m here. I see you.” It was far more intimate than any experience you’d ever had in a darkroom. And you panicked.

Breaking away, you spotted a tuft of his matted blonde tresses, his sharp, brilliant blues, and your eyes darted towards the way out. Before he could speak, you got up, his hand catching your wrist, tugging, pulling—please, I want you, don’t go, please—until you snatched it back, and he let you.

You touched his face, thumb brushing across his bottom lip—swollen and weeping, a final ‘thank you’ for something special the two of you had shared. One where you lied to yourself, treating it as a mere passing moment in your life, fearing that anything more would ruin the illusion held together by anonymity. Picking your clothes up from the floor, you slipped off into the light and safety of crowds, ignoring the pang in your chest as the distance between you and him grew.

━━━━━━━━━━━

What if things had gone differently?

What if you had let him talk?

Say the words he wanted to say. Rip his chest open. Pour his heart out into your awaiting cup.

What if it was meant to be more?

What if, what if, all the what ifs.

You sat on your chair, legs crossed and pulled into your chest, thinking back to that encounter over and over again. A cheap desk fan blew hot, desert wind in your direction, its plastic blades rotating sluggishly, hardly helping in the current heatwave. Clumps of hair stuck to your forehead and the sides of your face as you closed your eyes, reminiscing his ghostly touch along your body, sore and aching, fighting fire with fire.

Five nights had passed, and you couldn’t get him out of your mind. It was three in the morning, you had work in a few hours, but he was all you could think about. During the day, you walked around in a vacant daze, and now, you were stoned, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell happened.

You fucked yourself with your fingers, imagining it was him fucking you.

And then, Sunday came.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You saw him everywhere that night—through the tide of music, in the mirrored reflections, blonde locks catching the light, only to be let down. You didn’t know what he looked like, the only memory being a static cloud of darkness before your eyes, but somehow, you knew that you would be able to tell if it was him.

Like a moth to a flame, you made your way towards the darkroom, all the while hopelessly wondering if he would be there where you had found him last, waiting patiently, like a dog to its owner for their return. When you entered, a swarm of hands skimmed along your private parts—foreign and alien as you swallowed your disappointment, losing yourself in others’ company, though you had never felt more alone.

One more.

Another.

The next—

You’d recognize that touch anywhere. His calloused hands across your jaw—tentative, tracing your skin like scorched earth, his yearning fulfilled when you took his fingers into your mouth, coating them with your taste.

“It’s you…” he murmured, his velvety voice, laden with emotion, slipping into your ear, causing you to shudder.

His fingers slid out over the dip of your tongue as he replaced them with his lips, devouring yours fervently as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Knowing him was like a crime, but you gave yourself the permission to want him this way.

A jarring flash of light blinded you, followed by a burst of giggles, rudely interrupting your chance meeting. You whipped your head in its direction, shielding your eyes as you squinted at white powder vibrating on illuminated phone screens.

“Take your fucking drugs somewhere else!” someone yelled.

By the time you turned back, the light went out again, plunging you into utter darkness.

Did you lose your power of anonymity?

Had he seen you for who you were now?

Would he judge you like the rest?

You felt his hand in yours, light brushes against your inner palm in the secret language you shared. No, this wasn’t the right place for what you wanted, and you had to respect that—both of that.

Fuck feeling ashamed of your feelings.

You threw out your inhibitions, dragging him through the opening as he followed you into the light. You saw him clearly now, just as he saw you. Scars of all shapes and sizes across his body, matching the bumps you had felt in the dark—now laid bare and vulnerable in full public view.

You didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to either, clasping your face between his hands as he pushed you back, mouth squarely on yours, teasing it open. He hoisted your legs, hooking them around his waist as he buried his cock into you. Fucking you relentlessly against the wall, rugged concrete chafing skin as you jerked upwards, meeting his thrusts.

It was rushed, frantic, and hungry, like you would vanish before his very eyes at any minute. A new DJ set had started, drowning out your screams as you dug your nails into his shoulders, clawing angry, red marks into his skin. Trembling, feverish lips wet on your chest, sucking and leaving bites in flesh as others watched, or masturbated while they watched—voyeurs to your private scene.

You clung to each other, his grip bruising on the back of your thighs, not wanting to let go—not this time, not now, not ever. Funny how you found it comforting—the way he held your gaze, unflinching and calm, as you reached your high, like he was seeing right through you—melting flesh from bone, prying the cavern open to find a scared little rabbit, and the rage frothing at your teeth.

And you knew that he understood that feeling too.

He came in you soon after, muscles clenching as he pinned you to the wall, ropes of his release filling you deep. His breath escaped in loud rasps, stray strands of his bangs fluttering in the breeze.

“God… fuck…” he gasped, before his eyes found yours again, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile as he laughed.

You laughed back.

He set you down on the floor—your legs wobbly, gaze shy—exchanging soft caresses, oblivious to the rest of the world around you. You leaned in, kissing him spontaneously as you felt his smile against your lips.

“So, you got a name?”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed you once more, exhaling it like a sigh—“Leon.”

And you didn’t feel like the magic was lost in any way.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Endnotes

Fyi, I created a playlist for Darkroom in case you want to check it out. All songs are from The xx and their music contributed a lot to the mood of this piece!

I also saw Timimie Märak, a poet, feminist, and Sámi queer activist, at a literary festival recently, and I really liked what they said: “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings,” which has appeared in my fic above.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #gender neutral reader #resident evil #fic: darkroom #porcelainscribbles

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4urvalidation · 3 months ago

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can you make a story where rafe and reader broke up 3 years ago, but she comes back to Outer Banks only now she has a daughter(who looks just like Rafe) and a husband (Whom she doesn't really love) and rafe still loves her

Oh, why you gotta make the wheels in my brain turn like this 😩 Not a huge expert when it comes to writing anything Y/N related, but willing to give it a go.

Didn't expect to connect to this as much as I did, so hopefully if the inspiration still flows once I'm done with A Case of Limerence I might explore this story further.

As for now, please enjoy this little blurb.

SUMMARY: Three years ago, Kook!Princess and Rafe began a secret love affair that lasted for an entire summer, until her parents found out and forbade Rafe from ever seeing their daughter again. Now, twenty-two years old and somewhat sober, he spends his days working a dull office job at his father's company wondering if he'll ever get to relive the golden days of his teenage years.

That's when she shows up - his first love. His only love. With a husband and baby and Rafe's heart is almost on the brink of breaking all over again until he realizes the kid looks exactly like him.

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of alcohol and drug use; sexual content - nothing too graphic but the implications are strong; Rafe is not a psycho killer, but a drug addicted fratboy;

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⸰ .° ☆ ° ☆ °. ⸰ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The term Kook Princess has been thrown around a lot in these parts, but no one seemed to be embodying it as perfectly as her. She was the golden girl; the good girl. With a pair of rich, uptight parents, designer dog and curfew. Never seen at parties, but always invited and if she were to come, she was always quiet, subdued - soft drink in a red solo cup pressed tightly to her lips; her loud best friend never leaving her side.

Rafe doesn’t know what it was that made him so attracted to her. With her honey blonde hair and soft sun kissed skin, she was light years away from his usual type, but then again, not quite. She was forbidden; out of reach, a conquest if you will and as a man who was never taught the word no, he too saw her as something he simply must get his hands on.

He spent his days scheming how to get close. They had no mutual friends, she rarely left the house and when she did she was always with her stupid best friend or her parents and yes - Rafe was fearless, but not to the point where he would openly embarrass himself in front of two of the most influential people on the island.

Days passed and he forgot about her soft smiles and the way those long legs looked in all those frilly short skirts. That is, until fate decided to butt in.

It was hot - the hottest summer they have had in years and it was his sister’s birthday and he was so sick and tired of her and all her stupid friends but then he saw a glimpse of honey blonde hair and freckled skin and Rafe’s entire world stopped turning. She was smiling: perfect white teeth on an even more perfect face and there were so many girls in the world; so many girls in his backyard in skimpy swimsuits, but at that moment, Rafe only had eyes for her.

He had no idea she and his sister were friends; he had no idea she even had friends aside from that loud, annoying one and yet, there she was: taking his breath away in a bright red bikini.

The following events happened in a blur. He had been drinking since 10 am that morning - perks of having his father and stepmonster away for the weekend - and he’d been laying on his bed, joint in hand when she walked in.

“Sorry,” Her voice filled his room and only when his gaze met hers was when Rafe realized her eyes were hazel and not brown like he originally thought. “I can’t find the bathroom.” He put the joint between his lips; his limbs limp with relaxation and he wanted to stand up; was desperate to move towards her and feel the warmth emanating from her body, but he was too fucking high for all of it.

“It’s okay.” She giggled just then and it was the best sound Rafe had heard in years. “I’ll find my way.”

To say that he was embarrassed was an understatement. He was fucking humiliated and so out of his mind, he could barely think of anything but that. The moment replayed in his head like a broken record of sorts; her soft smile on constant repeat and just as he was about to force himself out of the scenario the door of his bedroom opened again.

This time she had put on shorts: the tiniest Rafe had ever seen and her bright red bikini was blinding and hot and fuck - she was so hot and he was so gone. He’d barely made any conversation with the girl and he could already imagine their entire life together. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Here,” Sitting on the edge of his bed, she handed him a tall glass of water and watched as he drank. Her eyes were insane; the freckles on her face an array of constellations and she smelled sweet like cupcakes or strawberries and fuck fuck fuck he wanted to eat her. Trace his lips and tongue in the crook of her neck; taste her mouth, taste her skin, taste her …

“Feeling better?” He heard her say, her voice quiet and meek just like she had been all those years he’s been aware of her presence.

“Yeah.”

Rafe doesn’t remember how they ended up kissing. How the weight of her body moved on his lap; how she let him run his needy hands all over her body and kiss all that exposed skin. His shirt was off and she was practically naked, in his bed - just like all those times he had fantasized about her, except this was so much better.

His name escaped her lips softly, always in a form of a muffled moan and suddenly all he wanted to do is make her feel so fucking good, she had no other choice but to scream his name. And she did. She was so loud he had to cover her mouth with his hand and feel her lips spread into a grin against the calloused skin of his palm.

He was bewitched.

Charmed.

Fucking obsessed with her and for some reason this perfect, golden girl who could do no wrong felt the same.

That entire summer she had him off balance; sneaking inside her home; always through her bedroom window and straight into her bed where they made crazy senseless love. She was going away after the summer but Rafe didn’t care. He loved her. Sure, he never made it his mission to let her know this, but actions spoke louder than words and boy did he show her just how much she made him feel.

He was going to tell her - Rafe constantly made promises to himself but then she would give him those eyes and every word in the English language would suddenly disappear from his brain.

On the night he finally decided to let her know just how fucking in love he was with her, there sat her father. Sternly, with a pin straight back, he told Rafe to leave and never return. To forget her because she had already forgotten him. What they had that summer meant nothing and will remain nothing because Rafe Cameron had no business being around his perfect daughter.

“I love her.” Rafe said weakly, but it went unregistered. The man didn’t care about that. He could care less about the way his heart burst whenever he was around her; how he was willing to do anything, be anything… All her father wanted was for Rafe to leave his little girl alone.

She was smart, ambitious - with a bright future and big dreams and all he had was a bad temper and drug problem.

It all ended that night.

She was gone without a trace. So gone to the point where not even that best friend of hers knew where she’d disappeared to.

Days, weeks, months passed and Rafe tried moving on; dated girls that looked like her and when that didn’t work he started dating girls that looked nothing like her. He drank and smoked and snorted. He traveled the world and caused havoc and went to rehab and relapsed. He made his father proud and then disappointed him again and again and again and before Rafe knew, three years had passed by and he was twenty two and bitter.

His hair was thinning and he might’ve been a whole year sober, but every now and then he’d be itching for a drink and peruse the liquor aisle wondering which bottle of whiskey was worth enough to ruin his life with. It was this exact thought that had been haunting him one June evening when fate decided to interfere again.

It was his sister’s twentieth birthday and they were having her celebratory dinner at the country club for some reason. She’d brought her useless excuse of a boyfriend and because that wasn’t awkward enough, his father decided to invite one of their new hires: a software engineer named Marjorie that clearly had the hots for Rafe, but he was far too desperate for a drink to pay any attention to her.

And then she appeared.

Her laughter - that rambunctious, delicious sound - was the first thing Rafe heard before actually seeing her. And when he finally did it was like all pieces of his long ago broken heart finally fell into place. Her hair was gold and her legs were long and sure, she might’ve ditched the frilly skirt for a pair of sensible white shorts, but she still looked just as perfect as he remembered.

His gaze followed her as she sauntered into the room; her parents behind her and a man and a child and there was Rafe’s heart breaking all over again. She hadn’t seen him and it was probably for the best, but then Sarah turned slightly and suddenly, she was all his sister could see.

Smiling, Sarah had called her entire fucking family over. The scowl on her father’s face was unmistakable and in a matter of seconds there they were: having awkward small talk and introducing significant others and she was married.

The diamond on her engagement ring was blinding, just like her smile and when she finally looked at him, it was like that very first time in his room when she begged him to kiss her and he couldn’t dare say no.

“Hello.” She nodded at him like they used to be coworkers, but her gaze lingered - drinking him in like the whiskey he was so desperate to taste again.

“And who is this young lady?” He heard Sarah coo at the small child hiding her face in the crook of her husband’s neck and the word made Rafe sick.

“This is Phoebe. Phoebe… baby, don’t be shy. Come now, say hi.” The tone of her voice softened and silently he watched her pet her daughter’s head until the kid was ready to face the audience. And when she did, a pair of wide, curious blue eyes were looking straight at him.

Fuck.

It was like looking in a mirror.

A tiny, chubby cheeked mirror.

Even the way their hair was thinning is the same.

Rafe swallowed.

She was looking at him, those hazel eyes dancing on his face expectedly as if waiting to see whether the realization has hit him yet. All those years ago… she didn’t disappear because she had stopped loving him or because her parents found out…

She was pregnant.

He had gotten her pregnant.

He looked at her and then at his daughter…

His daughter.

He has a fucking daughter.

A tiny little girl in a baby blue dress and pigtails.

Their eyes met again and it’s as clear as day - she knows he knows and Rafe watched her answer his silent question with a single, curt nod.

He is a father.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #request #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron smut #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x oc #writing

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theoddest1 · 1 year ago

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Let's Actually Talk About The Issues With Vivziepop

Okay, first off, hello you beautiful people! Sorry about this foreboding title, but I needed to catch y'all attention on this so I can break down the issues that I and many have with "Hazbin Hotel" and "Helluva Boss" creator, Vivienne Medrano. Now I am sure you all on here are already aware of at least a couple of the controversies that revolve around this particular creator and if you have seen my posts floating around already, some have been greeted with the problems surrounding her social media presence and just her overall as a person. I know seeing another callout on her seems very very tiring at this point, but I felt that a lot of the current callouts missed key details that were not at all addressed or properly delved on. I plan on shedding light on my issues with her and I hope you get where I am coming from when I say that she sucks.

BULLYING

Okay, I am starting off with Vivienne's blatant use of bully mentality, her agreeing or encouraging her fans to call people who see flaws in her works sub-humans or harass those who find issue or simply jest about her works trademark cussing and and overcrowded designs. She has had this issue for YEARS and refuses to grow up and act her age despite many telling her, even her own fans at times, that she shouldn't be acting so unprofessionally. Clearly, she doesn't care and thanks to her fanbase caring more about her feelings than her being better she feels as though she doesn't need to change or do better. This goes for her friend group as well, who defend her tremendously and act as though she is never in the wrong. Name one time a friend of hers called her out for acting childish, I'll wait.

Now, you're probably wondering, "Wtf could they have done to warrant such a response?"

Criticism...That's all they did. (White Text is random peeps they would speak with or maybe mutuals)

Keep in mind...they used to be a fan as well. They were also a minor at this point

But, Viv doesn't care, this person's critical yet harmless tweets about her shows is what lead to her painting them in a horrible light and making them out to be someone who has attacked her personally and as "nasty".

Rich coming from Viv since she is completely fine doing exactly that for "Ava's Demon". Not only does she criticize it, she takes a shot at the creator as well, but GOD FORBID others do the same towards her.

And according to someone who knew her well, it's all cause they felt creeped out by her.

Her hatred for criticism is so prominent that Ima makes that a section of its own. But let's get back on the topic of bullying.

Vivienne has a fanbase filled to the brim with pushy and overall annoying individuals who have harassed, threatened, disrespected, and wished harm on many people, all cause someone had a negative thing to say about Vivziepop's mid af show. One of the earlier known instances is the one revolving around a MEME of all things.

This was what started it all, and it led to both parties blocking each other and people being mad pushy and calling them an idiot and the like over their opinions. Now look, their take and you're opinion on said take is fine so long as you stay respectful and humane about it all, but don't dogpike someone all cause they think HH sucks. And while Viv can not control her fanbase, for they are not a hivemind (some of y'all act it tho, ima keep it real) she is seen here ENCOURAGING the behavior. Tell me how someone who doesn't even like your trash ass show has the sense to tell people not to harass others, someone with a smaller following, but not your grown damn near 30 year old ass?

Oh, but people wanna act like she can handle criticism, is a sweet person, and grew from her past experiences. Fam, she was 27 in this screenshot [December 16, 2019] and has shown no change from 2013 to fucking 2024. Over a decade of the same petty ass behavior, and keep in mind, according to several of her old friends and workers, she is worse behind close doors. WORSE. She's already acting like she got no damn sense out in the open, imagine behind closed doors.

Last but not least, a glimpse into her outright blatant slander towards Dollcreep, a once good friend of hers that she even visited and spoke with frequently!

She stated that they fetishized pedophilia yet according to the victim and friends of the victim who were once friends with Viv as well, Viv actually threatened to end their friendship if he hadn't drawn NSFW art of her character and his character having sex [Addi was 15 at the time this was drawn]

On top of that, she liked the post, something she didn't need to do. The art also depicted things she had regularly drawn on her own. Addi being tied up forcefully, being sexualized, being harmed to some degree through bondage, etc. The claim that she forced DC to draw this out is backed up by her own art depicting similar elements. Also, if my memory serves me well, Viv and Doll were 17-18 years old [Doll was 17 Viv 18] and have a 1-year age gap. The way Viv frames things here is as if DC was way older and imposed some sort of power over DC, which sources say otherwise. If anything, Viv had a LOT of control throughout all of this drama, which deserves its own section.

I'll be making posts that talk about the different issues regarding Viv, so one post isn't too long (this one is already lengthy enough) and that you can just pick at one post targeting certain issues around this creator.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivienne medrano #vivziepop critique #anti spindlehorse #anti vivziepop #viv get a grip #vivziepop #hazbin #hazbin hotel #call out post #analysis #creator analysis #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin critical #hazbin critique

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mylovesstuffs · 1 month ago

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You Only Miss Me Now — Kim Mingyu

Genre: Non-idol au, modern au, angst and drama

Pairing: Mingyu × fem!reader

Content: Unrequited love-to-second chance romance (?), reader has feelings that they have kept suppressed for some time, both withdrew from each other not fully understanding the other's intentions, missed chances to make things right, regret and reflection, loss and acceptance, things may be too broken to fix, heartbreak, emotional conflict, unresolved feelings, they meet again but the timing is off, their past relationship is the central theme, unresolved end, mingyu dealing with feelings of being ‘second choice’

Word count: 1049 words

A/N: Big shoutout to the amazing Tiya @gyubakeries beta reading this and helping me find some perfect pics for the banner! 🖤 We had a whole convo on which layout and pics to choose, with Yuki @eclipsaria and Rae @nerdycheol offering their suggestions and opinions [seriously, I couldn’t make up my mind]. After going back and forth, we decided to turn to the true decision-makers, where Ema @hannieoftheyear and Eunha @svtiddiess voted for the banner that's now up! Couldn’t have done it without all of you—thanks for helping me out, you guys are the real MVPs! 🎨✨

Happy Birthday to dearest Mingyu! I love you so so much! Please take care of yourself 💕

You haven’t seen him in months. Not that you ever expected to, but you had thought that maybe you’d run into him again at some point. A party, a mutual friend’s gathering, or maybe even in passing at the café you used to frequent together. The thought of him didn’t haunt you anymore, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t missing him.

But you never acted on it.

Instead, you stayed away. You told yourself it was better that way; the way things ended between you two left a bitter taste in your mouth, and a knot in your chest that didn’t loosen no matter how many times you told yourself you were fine. You stopped chasing him, stopped reaching out, stopped waiting for him to come back, but now you can’t help but wonder if it was all a mistake.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to end this way.

You thought you were moving on, thought you could handle it, but then one night, there he was. Standing just a few feet away from you, looking exactly like he always did—just a little bit older, a little more worn, and yet, the same Mingyu. The same Mingyu you couldn’t help but fall for.

It’s late and you’re standing at the counter, eyes scanning the crowd, when you see him. It takes you a moment to process, but when you do, your heart skips a beat.

He doesn’t see you at first, but you watch him—your eyes tracing the familiar outline of his face, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead, the warm smile that still dances on his lips. He’s talking to a group of people, laughing at something, but you can see the way his eyes flicker around the room, and you know, he’s looking for you.

You never thought this moment would come. It’s only when you turn to leave, the mass of the memories beginning to settle heavy in your chest, that you hear his voice.

“Hey.”

Your heart stops, but you still turn slowly, your mouth suddenly dry. His eyes lock onto yours. You notice the way his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed into his pockets. There’s something different about him now. He’s more cautious, as if he’s not sure what to say, or maybe, it’s because he’s afraid of what you’ll say. And you realize, suddenly, that you’re both terrified of this moment.

“You’re here.”

It’s barely a question, but you nod anyway, your gaze flicking away. “Yeah,” you say softly, unsure what else to add.

For a second, there’s an awkward silence between you. He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the floor before meeting your eyes again. “So... how’ve you been?” he asks, the words coming out a little too casually.

You laugh, but it’s not a happy one. “I’m doing fine, I guess.”

You both know it’s a lie, but it’s easier to say than the truth. Another moment of silence.

Mingyu shifts again, taking a step forward. You can see it in his eyes now, the conflict, the longing he’s tried to bury. He doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to confront you after everything that happened, but he can’t help himself. He’s here, and he’s finally speaking to you.

“I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he admits to you. “I should’ve called. But I... I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.”

You swallow, your pulse quickening. “Why would I want to hear from you?” You don’t mean it harshly, but the words still sting.

“I—” Mingyu stops, his jaw tightening as he looks at you. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to talk to me after everything.”

You nod slowly, feeling your chest tighten. “I wasn’t sure either.”

He doesn’t move, but his eyes are searching yours now, waiting for something, he says, “You only miss me now that I’ve stopped chasing you.”

The words hit you like a punch; it’s true.

You’ve thought about him too often, but you never reached out, never let him know how much you missed him, how much you wanted to try again. You were the one who stopped. You were the one who gave up first.

You swallowed the feelings, convinced it was for the best. But now, standing here, in front of him, you can’t deny it. You had missed him more than you thought possible.

“Why didn’t you—” you begin, but your words fail you.

“Why didn’t I chase you?” Mingyu finishes for you, his voice hints of bitterness. “I don’t know. Maybe I thought you’d come back. Maybe I thought you’d see how much I cared. But in the end, you didn’t. You didn’t come after me, not once.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. You don’t know what to say, how to make sense of everything that’s happened.

“I thought I was just... tired of waiting,” you murmur, the admission slipping from your lips. “But maybe I was wrong.”

“Maybe we both were.”

The quiet hangs in the air between you, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. The distance that used to feel like safety now feels like a chasm you can’t cross.

“I should’ve fought harder,” his voice said. “I should’ve fought for you.”

You shake your head, your eyes filled with tears that's trying to escape. “I should’ve fought too. But I didn’t. And now... now I don’t know what’s left to say.”

He steps forward, slowly, afraid to get too close. “Maybe it’s too late,” he says, his voice equating a whisper. “But I’ve never stopped caring about you.”

Is it too late for you too? You think to yourself. Now, for the first time in months, you feel that familiar ache in your chest. You want to reach out, to close the gap between you, but you’re afraid, afraid that the distance has become too much to bridge.

Mingyu looks at you one last time, his eyes filled with regret, and then he turns to leave. You don’t stop him; you never did, afraid of holding on when letting go seemed easier. And maybe you’ve both learned the hard way that sometimes, the things we break are too fragile to ever be mended again.

⌦ ♈ © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year ago

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The Eye of the Hurricane [20] - Nightclub

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Business deals are open to negotiation.

Word Count: 2600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself, scratching at Alpine’s head with one hand while holding your phone with the other, your eyes skimming the lines. “Seriously…”

Bucky sipped his coffee. “Care to share with the class, Charm?”

You heaved a sigh and shot him a look, holding up the phone so that he could see the screen.

“Clint leaves the city for a couple of days and HYDRA immediately attacks his territory?” you asked and Bucky hummed.

“I mean he had his people covering it,” he said. “Just because he wasn’t here, doesn’t mean it was open to any attack.”

“Which makes it worse,” you told him with a sigh, then reached out for the jar of peanut butter to dip a spoon into it. “How many sources do these guys have?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bucky said, reaching out to run his fingers through Alpine’s soft fur as she meowed at him. “You’re coming to the club tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Your phone buzzed in your hand and you took a look at the notification, then licked your lips.

“Buck.”

“Hm?”

“So you know how our therapist said open communication is very important?”

“I don’t trust the therapist.”

“Shocking,” you deadpanned. “Anyway, I’m meeting Ethan today for lunch.”

Bucky let out a groan before he threw his head back. “Charm…”

“This is me openly communicating.”

“This is you throwing a knife at me and calling it communication,” Bucky corrected you, making your jaw drop.

“It’s not!”

“I will ask this question once again; why are you meeting your ex who wants to fuck you?”

“That’s not—I know the idea isn’t familiar to you, but some people can be friends with their exes.”

“So it’d be fine if I met up with one of my exes for lunch?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders, trying to ignore the unpleasant flip your stomach did.

“If you can find an ex who doesn’t want to kill you?” you said. “Go ahead.”

He scoffed. “Not all of them hate me.”

“Is the ex who doesn’t hate you in the room with us right now?” you asked back and he made a face.

“I don’t know who fed you those lies, I’m guessing Becca—”

“Becca is very objective when it comes to your exes,” you pointed out. “And how terrible you are in relationships.”

“I’m not terrible in relationships.”

“Did you stay friends with any of your exes?”

“Yeah!”

“Give me a name.”

He blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat. “…Dot.”

“Dot hates your guts, Buck.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know she dumped you,” you said and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“It was a mutual decision.”

“It really wasn’t,” you said. “You do realize that I’ve been best friends with your sister since I was in kindergarten? I know everything about your terrible relationships.”

“To repeat, they’re not—don’t change the subject,” he said as you sipped your coffee. “Your ex?”

“My ex does not want to kill me like your exes or fuck me like you seem to think.”

“Oh he wants to marry you then?” he asked and even though you knew he was being sarcastic, your stomach did a flip. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, I beat him to it.”

You clicked your tongue as you dipped your spoon in the peanut butter jar again.

“As much as I enjoy you referring to me like I’m the last piece of cake,” you deadpanned. “I will make sure both your dick and you regret it the next time you do that.”

He blinked a couple of times and you gave him a bright grin, then popped the spoon into your mouth, then pulled it out to point at him with it.

“See?” you asked him. “Open communication. Therapy works wonderfully for this relationship.”

“Tell me I didn’t make you wait for long,” Ethan said as he rushed into the café and you let out a laugh, then stood up to kiss his cheek.

“I just got here, no worries,” you said. “Ordered your coffee though.”

“You know my coffee order?”

“Yeah,” you said and made a face at him. “Terrible order but yeah. Burned into my mind.”

That made him smile as he sat down.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was going to come sooner but—”

“Let me guess, your boss?”

“One of these days, that man will get in an accident that I’ve been hoping and praying for,” he told you, making you laugh.

“That’s doable,” you said. “I told you before.”

He heaved a sigh. “Stop. Right now, I feel like taking you up on that offer.”

“You can.”

He frowned, then shook his head.

“No no,” he said. “I’ve watched too many movies about this.”

“I’m not going to put a horse head in your bed, Ethan.”

“No, not that!” he said, letting out a chuckle. “Power corrupts.”

You shrugged again. “Nah it doesn’t.”

“It would corrupt me,” he told you as the waitress brought your coffees. “How about you? How’s uh…how’s marriage?”

Your eyes snapped to his and you cleared your throat, shifting in your seat.

“Ethan, if it’s going to lead to yet another—”

“It won’t,” he cut you off and offered you a small smile. “Don’t worry. I got the message.”

A silence fell upon you. You could feel your stomach doing a flip at the implication of what he had said and even though you actually wanted to talk about it, you knew you couldn’t.

Now to think of it…

You weren’t sure if you could even get together with him after your divorce. The idea was tempting yes, but you weren’t sure he could handle the life the job brought with it. While you and Bucky could torture an agent of HYDRA and then get takeout afterwards, doing the same wasn’t possible with Ethan and—

Strangely enough, you found yourself wondering whether you could still do it with Bucky after you two would get a divorce.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up and you cleared your throat, then smiled at him.

“Sorry,” you said. “Blanked out for a second. You were saying?”

Opening night of a club, especially if it was in Barnes, Wilson or Rogers territories, was always so much fun that even when you were teenagers, you and Becca would sneak into them, most of the time to get caught by Steve. Now that you were a grown up, you still enjoyed them but you also knew what was happening in the background.

It was the perfect time to make deals.

The crowd, the music, the alcohol, it all served its purpose to make better deals without getting the weapons or threats involved. Not to mention, getting invited to the opening night showed respect to whoever was a part of any negotiation.

You took a sip of your drink and leaned back on the sofa, keeping your eyes on Mr. Clifford. He was one of the new players in town, but powerful enough to be invited to your -well, Bucky’s- VIP booth tonight. If this deal worked, he could make the shipments to your territory much smoother but the problem was, neither you nor Bucky could decide whether you could trust him or not.

He had good references, but he was still sort of a mystery.

“I wasn’t aware you would be here as well, Mrs. Barnes,” Mr. Clifford said. “So the word on the street is true?”

“What word?” you asked and he smiled.

“That you’re…not just a guest?”

Bucky raised his brows and shot you a small grin while you shrugged your shoulders.

“No, I’m not.”

“She’s the only one I trust,” Bucky said and you smirked, reaching out to hold his hand. Mr. Clifford nodded.

“I see,” he said. “And um—if you don’t mind me ask, will it affect any deals I may make with your father?”

“You will have to ask my father that,” you said. “I hear he’s not open to any new deals but you can try your chances.”

He hummed. “And his heir, Ian?”

Your jaw clenched but you managed to keep your expression flat while Bucky squeezed your hand as if trying to assure you.

“Ian hasn’t been named yet,” he said. “And either way, if you’re making deals with heirs, I may have to rethink my decision to do business with you. Are you that much of an amateur?”

“Bucky.”

“No, I’m not going to do business with him if he’s making deals with people who can’t sit at the grown-ups table.”

“I assure you, that’s not the case,” Mr. Clifford said. “I was just voicing my curiosity, that’s all.”

You downed your drink and leaned in to whisper into Bucky’s ear.

“I’ll be right back,” you said. “Don’t shoot him?”

“No promises,” he murmured and you tried to bite back your smile, then grabbed your purse and stood up to make your way through the dance floor to the bathroom. When you stepped out again, your eyes fell upon Ryan who was by the bar and you smiled to yourself, then approached the bar as well.

“I think you’re the only person who drinks water at a club opening,” you said, making him turn his head and he blinked a couple of times as if he was surprised to see you, then looked down at the glass in his hand.

“Ma’am,” he said, taking a sip of his water and you tilted your head.

“Let me guess,” you said. “Ian told you to be completely sober just in case?”

“It’s my idea, ma’am.”

“Where’s he?”

“In the VIP room there,” he motioned at the closest room and you pulled your brows together.

“And he sent you away?”

Ryan sipped his water in silence and you heaved a sigh.

“Does he know that keeping his right arm out of deals is a terrible idea?”

“I’m just his bodyguard ma’am, nothing more.”

You pursed your lips together and cleared your throat.

“You might as well dance with someone, you know,” you joked. “If he’s going to be there alone, no need for you to get bored.”

The look of complete terror on his face at the suggestion was almost funny. He was a huge guy, and you were pretty sure he could crush someone’s skull with his bare hands if he wanted to, but he looked absolutely terrified at the idea of dancing with someone at the club.

“I’m a great wing-woman,” you told him, making him blink a couple of times. “Anyone caught your attention?”

“Ma’am I—I wouldn’t—” he stammered and you waved a hand in the air.

“And how many times should I tell you to call me Y/N?” you asked and he licked his lips, staring at you.

“I don’t mean disrespect.”

“I don’t think it’s disrespect,” you told him and out of the corner of your eye, you saw the waiter leaving your VIP room mutter something at one of Clifford’s bodyguards by the door before walking away. You frowned.

“Excuse me,” you said as you made your way to the fire exit the waiter walked into. You looked over your shoulder and pulled the small pistol out of your purse, then pushed open the door quietly to step into the hallway.

The waiter was too busy to notice your presence as he pulled a gun out of the cleaning bucket in front of him, but he froze when he heard the sound of you cocking the gun.

“Hi,” you said and he gritted his teeth, raising his hands. “Put the gun down.”

He slowly put the gun down and you smiled.

“There you go,” you said. “Good boy.”

“What are you doing?” he asked as he turned to you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I mean I’m trying to enjoy my night to be honest but…”

“Just walk away.”

You scoffed.

“Right,” you said. “That’s gonna happen.”

“If you walk away now, you’ll benefit from it,” he said. “Mr. Clifford says if Barnes dies, you could take over his territory, his business. It’ll be your right.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well yeah but also if Bucky dies, I’ll have to wear black and I can’t really pull off black dresses,” you said. “Becca says it has something to do with my undertone—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when he lunged to throw a punch at you but you caught his hand and twisted it, making him cry out in pain. You headbutted him right in the nose, hearing the crack of the bone before you grabbed the bigger pistol on the floor to slam it against his head, causing him to drop to the floor unconscious.

“This night is getting more and more fun,” you murmured as you shook your head, then pushed your pistol back into your purse. You made your way to the door again to open it, then approached Ryan to tap him on the shoulder.

“Can I borrow you for a moment?” you asked and turned around without waiting for him to answer, but he followed you anyway until you got to the hallway and opened the door. Ryan grabbed his gun from his waistband the moment he saw the unconscious guy lying on the floor, then turned to you.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked, stepping into the hallway with his gun ready, checking for any threats. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not at all,” you said. “Keep an eye on him until I get back.”

His back straightened immediately like he was a soldier and you were his commander. “Yes ma’am.”

“And if Ian says anything,” you said. “This happened in Barnes territory, he’s our hostage. No one else’s.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You nodded your head and took a step to the door, then turned around.

“And thank you, Ryan,” you said, making him pull his brows together in confusion as if he wasn’t used to hearing it. “I appreciate it.”

He swallowed thickly, then nodded.

“Ma’am,” he said and you pushed open the door, then made your way to the VIP room Bucky was in.

“As I was saying, our price isn’t…” Clifford stopped talking when he saw you walk inside. “Ah Mrs. Barnes, welcome back.”

You shot him a fake smile, then leaned in closer to Bucky so that you could whisper into his ear.

“He’s trying to kill you.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to yours when you pulled back and he heaved a sigh as if he was exhausted, then ran a hand over his eyes.

“Great,” he muttered. “Do you want to stay and watch, sweetheart?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.

“I got one of his men, I’ll be by the fire exit,” you murmured. “Come there when you’re done?”

“Sure thing.”

“What’s going on?” Clifford asked and you turned to shoot him a glare before pecking Bucky on the cheek.

“Have fun!”

“I will,” Bucky said and motioned at one of the bodyguards. “Paul, escort my wife to where she’s going.”

“Yes Mr. Barnes.”

“And Hannah,” Bucky’s voice was completely calm. “Lock the room down.”

“Mr. Barnes, please—” Clifford’s voice was cut off when the door shut behind you and Bucky’s bodyguards started dragging Clifford’s men away while you turned to Paul with a sigh.

“How fucking rude, right?”

“Ma’am?”

“I mean honestly…” you muttered while you walked to the fire exit with Paul following you. “Sending an amateur to kill him? People today have no manners.”

Chapter 21

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littlerequiem · 2 months ago

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we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 4

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use (WC: 4.1k) A special thanks to @sixpennydame for her help on this chapter.

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

Your eyes lock with his. Amber light kisses half of his face, placing the shadows under his eyes in the spotlight. They seem more present the nights before expeditions.

He raises a brow, as if asking, ‘what demons are you running from?’

“I draw,” your voice fills the silence. “Nights before expeditions. It helps me clear my head.”

The first memory Levi has of his mother is him combing through her long, black hair.

Not many could keep long hair in the Underground. The lack of sun exposure, for one, made it hard to keep healthy hair. And if not that, the lice usually did it. When it struck a brothel, women and men either found a way to kill those nasty fuckers or they were forced to shave their hair and wear cheap wigs instead.

And yet, his mother did manage. It was one of the things that drew men to her—Olympia and her hair that shone like midnight.

Kuchel’s hair was black, and it did, at times, seem to be made of darkness itself. Only, it was none of the misery found in the shadows of the Underground. Instead, it felt more like the darkness found in the night sky. Liquid starlight. Levi remembers running his fingers through her hair, marveling at the contrast of it against the paleness of his skin.

Yes, Kuchel Ackerman’s hair was beautiful. Elegant, even.

When she died, people often told Levi he was her spitting image. He doesn’t know about that—he often wonders if people only said this out of pity, a handout to somehow assuage his grief, or if they truly meant it. But Levi supposes that if he inherited something, it is his mother’s hair. He has a decent amount of it, thick and dark, and when he runs his hand through it, he feels a little part of his mother in him.

Beyond that, he is different.

Levi has known for a long time that he is nothing special to look at. He’s boyish, nothing like the people Levi’s met over the years—men and women born with the right set of genes under the right set of circumstances. Levi isn’t like that, and that’s fine. He’s not a self-conscious man. He knows his worth.

Still, the question begs to be asked: knowing all of this, why do you choose him as your subject today?

Levi looks up from his reading, considering this very question. Early morning is in full bloom, and Levi’s sitting around the table on the porch, enjoying his first tea of the day while reading the newspaper—two activities he’s neglected these past minutes.

He’s been too busy pretending not to see you hiding your sketchbook.

What are you even hiding it for? You’re not fooling anyone. If your seated position—knees pulled in under a blanket, tools tucked behind both—wasn’t a dead giveaway, your face is. It always carries an intensity to it whenever you draw. Tight, puckered lips, like you were extorting all the pressure to the center of your face. A crinkling of concentrated brows. Vivid eyes, sharp with focus.

Levi reels all his restlessness in his fists. He should not interrupt you. He will not.

This is, as far as Levi is aware, the first time you are picking up a pencil in the last three years. The first time you show an interest in getting back into drawing at all, in fact, in the time since the Rumbling.

Which explains why Levi’s frozen like a statue, scared to pop this moment.

Don’t say anything, he tells himself. Don’t fucking ruin it for her.

Levi remembers the first time he caught you drawing like this. It was an evening before an expedition, one of the first ones that followed Isabel’s and Furlan’s deaths. Everyone huddled around the campfire, but you sat alone. He’d approached you then, the loner he was, seeking your presence like a moth to a flame. He remembers that look you wore when he caught you—wide eyes and parted lips. You thought he’d come to judge, to call you a creep for drawing others.

Instead, Levi asked if he could watch.

(Later, he would even tell you the hard truth—to keep on doing what you did, because this was the only way to immortalize every face, that many men and women in your drawings would not come back.)

From there on, Levi would often catch you drawing here and there. Cadets, squad leaders, horses—no subject seemed out of reach. He remembers Hange even trying to convince you to draw titans on a particular expedition (“Unfortunately, Hange, I think drawing a real-life titan, while also on a moving horse, would end in my untimely death.” “Boo…”).

You loved to draw and Levi loved to watch.

They say an artist’s gaze is alluring, and while Levi can agree your eyes have this magnetic way of pulling him in, there’s another thing Levi loves to watch.

It’s your hands. With them, you draw lines on paper. With them, you bring tenderness and kindness. With them, you heal people.

Recently, Levi's started to wonder how your hands would feel on him. The memories of last night are still on his mind; Levi remembers just how close you got to him.

“Hey, what do you think Erwin and Hange would be doing if they were with us?” your voice cuts through the silence.

Levi’s fingers twitch against the newspaper in his lap. For a moment, he wonders if he misheard you.

But no… you really asked.

And Levi has no answer.

This is the first time you’ve brought up this subject—brought them up. It isn’t that Levi doesn’t want to talk about Erwin and Hange, but he doesn’t remember the last time he could talk about anyone from his past. He thinks the 104th sometimes walks on eggshells around him, as if bringing names up might summon a curse best left forgotten.

But he supposes, if anyone would want to talk about the Survey Corps veterans, it would be you.

He’s grateful that it’s you.

“Erwin,” Levi clears his throat, “Erwin would bury himself in knowledge. That know-it-all would probably run the local library by now.”

You perk up, eyes bright. “Ohh, good one. See, I would have bet on him becoming a teacher, but now that you mention that, well, I change my mind.”

Levi grunts in agreement, imagining Erwin following in his father’s footsteps. Fitting. "He’d do both. Read a book while lecturing you about another one."

“He totally would.”

An excited smile graces your lips then, just as you focus back on your sketchbook. The low morning light catches the scar on your face, and Levi thinks he would love to trace over it with his fingertips, to bestow softness where there was once pain.

Instead, he watches as you turn back to your sketchbook.

“Erwin would have books from everywhere, I’m sure of it,” you muse. “He’d have an entire collection of it.”

“Yeah, his home would be a mess.”

You snort, raising a brow at him. “You’d help him sort it out, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck no, I'm not his fucking maid.” Levi scrunches his nose, remembering how often he used to clean after Hange and Erwin. “Erwin would need to learn to clean once and for all. Until then, I’m not stepping foot into his house.”

“Tough love, huh? Well... that just means he’d have an excuse to come here then, to enjoy the porch the way we are now.”

Levi makes a non-committal noise.

“What kind of book do you reckon he’d be reading?”

Levi shrugs, throwing an arm to the back of the chair. “You’d know better. You were a member of his book cult.”

You roll your eyes. “It wasn't a cult, 'Vi.”

“At one point, you met every Sunday evening. Sounds like a cult to me.”

You tilt your head, amusement gleaming in your eyes. “You know, some might call knowing so much about a bookclub you’re not a part of rather creepy.”

“Please.” Levi shoots you a look. “You wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“That’s because we always hoped you’d join on your own. We all considered you our non-official member, you know.” Amusement flashes across your face as you seemingly scour past memories. “Like... a grumpy mascot, or something.”

Levi clicks his tongue, shaking his head dismissively.

Silence falls. Levi takes to watching the horizon. This side of the house with the porch faces the ocean; from here, it’s just a few minutes walk to the beach. Levi can tell that the waves are calm today, that the tide is low; he can’t make out the sound of water.

“What about Hange, then?”

Levi’s gaze focuses back on you as you ask this question; you’ve placed your bare feet on the chair, one arm looped around your knees and propping your chin on it.

“I think Hange would’ve poured themselves into modern inventions,” you say. “They only got to see some of Marley’s technology, but Kopon’s nation is more advanced, so I’m sure they would have wanted to go there... or at least see what remains of it.”

Levi thinks if Hange’s life hadn’t been cut short, that they would have followed in Onyonkopon’s footsteps and ended up working on those damn flying machines. They showed such an interest for trains and moving vehicles—something Levi could never understand. Flying seems like the natural next step.

He tells you as much.

“Walls, you’re right," you say. "We’d look up at the sky and see one of their inventions. I’m sure about it.”

“Yeah,” Levi suspects there’s fondness in his tone just about now, “we would.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, where Levi can just admire the sky and the clouds and you. He thinks this exact view would make a nice subject for a drawing—if he could draw.

It might be this realization that causes him to speak up, “Hey…”

“Mm?

“What are you sneaking around for?”

Your eyes fleet up, at first surprised, before melting away into a sheepish expression. You lift a hand to scratch the back of your neck, like Levi catching you hiding your sketchbook was somehow shameful.

“You noticed, huh?”

“Hard to miss,” Levi mutters, brows scrunching low, “you’re shit at hiding.”

“Hey!”

“Face the truth, Adler. I’m half-blind and even I noticed.”

“You say that like you’re not one of the most perceptive people I know... I’m pretty sure you’re still leagues above everyone else.” You take to tapping the eraser side of the pencil against the arms of the seat. When you glance back at him, your expression softens. “Fine, you caught me. I was drawing you. But... well. It’s just that you’re easy to draw, Levi. Drawing you feels… natural, I guess. Always did.”

At that, Levi doesn’t have a reply. There’s a burning sensation forming in his belly, a flutter that’s close to panic, only he knows it is not quite that.

“Sorry,” you say, “does it... does it bother you? I can stop.”

“It’s fine…” Levi exhales, heat prickling at his cheeks. His fingers tighten on his knee. "Though I don't know why you bother."

A light breeze picks up his bangs; he gets a whiff of salt and sand.

“I guess I never told you before, but… you’ve always been a good subject,” you say. “See, everyone always thought of you as this no-nonsense soldier and, sure, you were that, too, but... I don't know. Those evenings when you’d sit by the fire and read, or stare into the flames, there was... something that slipped through the cracks.”

“Something.”

“Yeah. Something.”

“And now? Why draw me now?”

“And now… and now it seems like the easiest thing. Muscle memory, you know? My emotions are easier on paper than they are in my head.”

A ball forms in Levi’s throat. He wants to ask you about what sort of emotions you’re trying to make sense of, but saying those words seems unwise right now. Impossible, some might even say.

“Keep on drawing, then,” is all he manages.

For the rest of the morning, Levi sits in the quiet, watching you draw—something he never thought he’d get to experience again.

“Stay safe,” you tell him by the stables. You’re geared up for the expedition, your horse’s reins in hand.

Levi says nothing, but he squeezes your shoulder to convey his own words: Don’t die.

“Marigolds, periwinkles, carnations. These flowers will go right here, here, and… here. What do you think, ‘Vi?”

Levi squints, trying to ignore the glare in his eyes cast by the sun. He follows your delicate finger, pointing to spots in the garden, filled with different colors and scents.

“Looks like flowers in dirt,” Levi mutters.

You chuckle, placing a marker beside each plot of turned soil.

As promised, Levi is helping you decide what to plant where today. Ever since lunch, the two of you have been treating the space like a canvas that’s yours to fill—sectioning the land, preparing the soil, uprooting and transplanting potted flowers out of their containers, assigning them to specific spots of dirt.

“I picked these flowers because they’re supposed to be good for beginners.” You roll your shoulders back as you shrug off your stiff crouching position. “I wonder if they’ll thrive.”

Levi makes a noncommittal noise in response, not knowing the answer to that question. He shifts his weight from one leg to another, trying to ignore the way his shirts clings to his skin.

On account of the warm weather today, Levi has rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He’s currently trying to ignore the urge to scratch at his forearms—rashes from an overexposure of sun. Levi knows he ought to go back inside, but he stays rooted to his spot. He tells himself it’s because he promised to help, though he knows you’d chastise him if you noticed the state of his skin.

He slides his sleeves back down before you notice.

“They look like every other flower to me,” he finally declares, eying the delicate petals between your fingers, “fragile.”

“Well, flowers are more vulnerable than other plants, I’ll give you that. But you gotta trust in the process, right?”

“S’not about trust,” Levi places a hand on his hip, attempting to fan himself using the edge of his shirt, “just don’t want you getting all mopey if they die.”

You snort. “I won’t. We used to grow herbs near the infirmary back on Paradis, remember? Sure it’s not much different.”

Levi isn’t so sure about that, but he doesn’t say a thing. What does he know about growing things, anyway? All he’s ever seen of flowers is how they’re laid on graves.

From the corner of his eye, he catches you looking at him. Something soft lingers in your expression, like you want to say something, but you don’t. He looks away before you can. There’s dirt smudged across your cheek, he realizes. He should tell you. Or wipe it off. But he does neither.

“Hey, did you know flowers have unique meanings here in Marley?” you say, breaking the silence. “That each color and species is symbolic of a specific emotion?” You point to a cluster of yellow petals. “The girl working in the library, she explained it to me. Yellow marigolds represent passion. Purple periwinkles serenity. And pink carnations are all about gratitude.”

Levi studies each one, committing the names to memory without really knowing why. “So you use them to express feelings and shit?”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds like a pain.”

“Maybe. But some people like the poetry behind such gifts. Others like the game. And sometimes, people are just too shy to say the words out-loud, so they find comfort in finding other ways to express themselves.”

“Is there a flower that says you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Not that I know of.” You quirk a brow up at him. “Is that one directed at me?”

“Who else?”

That isn't the whole story. If flowers really meant something, you’d need a whole damn garden for everything he doesn’t say. No flower could say it all. But Levi doesn’t quite say that, either.

Instead, he gestures toward the porch stairs. “What about those?”

You follow his line of sight, spotting the blue flowers you planted your first weekend here.

“Oh, that’s technically a herb,” you say. “Myosotis. The forget-me-not flower. It represents... love, in many ways.”

Levi watches the forget-me-nots shift with the wind. In the distance, Scout lunges at a butterfly, and misses. He exhales through his nose, watching her try again. Stubborn little thing.

“Hey, can I ask for your help?” You shift beside him, adjusting your grip on a bundle of flowers. “I’m having a hard time digging this hole. I think there're pebbles blocking the way, but I’m scared these flowers will get all tangled up if they're not held properly.”

Levi peers over the edge of the garden plot. You’re planting carnations, holding them with one hand as you attempt to shovel a hole with the other.

He grumbles something beneath his breath but walks closer anyway, his cane digging against the turned soil. With a slow, careful movement, Levi lowers himself onto the grass, shifting onto his uninjured leg before dropping onto his ass with a dull thud. He leans his cane against his knee and reaches for the flowers.

With a parting smile, you move back to your task. You shift your weight by pressing onto your knees, using the small shovel to push stubborn roots and obstacles aside.

Incidentally, it also gives Levi the perfect view of your ass.

And fuck, if your gardening outfit (worn-out denim overalls with a white t-shirt) didn’t already make his mind swim, this view now certainly does.

Not for the first time since you arrived, Levi has to wonder about the questionable fashion choices from Marley, and why it's having such an effect on him all of a sudden. Levi’s lived through war, through hell, and yet here he is, losing a battle against a damn pair of overalls.

His fingers tighten slightly around the stems in his hand before he can help it, but he forces them to relax.

What a pain.

Levi knows human attraction is perfectly natural; he's experienced his share of it across his life. But human attraction hasn't mattered to him for a long time.

He’d be lying if it didn't matter now.

Because, not for the first time since you arrived—Levi finds his mind wandering. He imagines leaning back into the grass, his hand pressed on your lower back as he helps you stay balanced crouching. He tries to envision the texture of your overalls under his fingers. Would it be rough, or would it be soft—soft, like what he pictures your skin’s texture to be? How would you even react if he touched you? His touch would probably repulse you, right?

And yet, last night, he swore—

Levi closes his eyes, groaning inwardly.

This is ridiculous.

Is this really all because of last night, when he thought he saw you leaning in? Fuck, for all he knows, everything he saw was just a figment of his imagination. A trick of the light. He’s only able to see from one eye—should he really be relying on his sight to make judgment calls?

Sweat trickles now down his back, thick like honey.

“Oi,” he blurs out, desperate to derail his own thoughts. “After all this shit grows, what then? Gonna run a flower empire or what?”

“Hm... I’m not sure if I’d make for a very good florist.”

“You'd learn.”

“Maybe, but I’m afraid my motivations are more... selfish, in that regard. I guess I just wanted to experience what it was like, to tend to a garden. Do things normal people do, you know?”

Levi stays silent. Scout meows in the distance, missing her butterfly again.

“And I figured you might like something nice in your home,” you add casually.

At that, Levi has to click his tongue, the sound sharp against the wind. He looks out at the horizon. “I’m not much for pretty things.”

(That’s not entirely true. There’s you, and he’s certainly into your prettiness, as exemplified by the way his body is reacting in your proximity.)

“Who ever needs pretty things?” you point out. Levi frowns, turning his attention to you again. The sight of you surrounded by a myriad of flowers is like something straight out of a painting. Enchanting.“That’s the point of prettiness. It’s there to bring people joy, it’s there to be admired and inspiring. It may not be needed, but it’s appreciated, right?”

Levi's suddenly reminded of his mother, of the way she used to keep the house clean, of the way she used to teach him to drink tea.

He remembers asking her why she bothered. In his memories, her voice is soft like a feather. “Because it is pretty and elegant,” his mother answered, “and you are all those things, my Levi.”

“Are you aware that even animals like pretty things?” By now, you’re a little out of breath from all the shoveling. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. “Take pigs, for example. We think of them as dirty animals because of how they’re kept by humans, but... out in the wild, they’re pretty clean. They even like to decorate their homes with things they collect.”

“Tch. Are you comparing this to a pig’s sty?”

You laugh. “'Course not. But what I’m trying to say... what I’m trying to say is that this garden feels like planting something… I don’t know, hopeful. Not because we need it for anything, but because it just... it just exists.”

Levi doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his hand test the soil between his fingertips. He thinks about how he used to hate the feel of dirt under his nails—how it reminded him of crawling his way out the Underground, of survival. That sentiment hasn’t changed here, only he finds himself being... willing to be in this state.

“S'not so bad,” he murmurs.

Later, when Levi finally reaches out to place his handkerchief in your hand, telling you there's dirt on your face, he’ll come to another realization: that for the first time, he doesn’t have to worry that it’s blood you’re wiping away.

Just a bit of dirt.

It’s like blood rains from the skies that day.

The expedition is declared a disaster.

A few days later, when Levi comes home from work, he finds another gift waiting for him on his dresser.

You’re not home tonight; you’ve volunteered to help with the preparations for the upcoming festival, so he doesn’t get any opportunities to scold you for spending your money on him—again.

Instead, Levi unravels your letter.

Levi, Mark my words, you’ll see that flowers have their use-cases, even for a tea-maniac like you. I hope this suits your taste. -A

Levi unwraps the gift, guessing already what its content might be. He isn’t disappointed. The bag contains loose tea leaves, filled to the brim, along with tiny white buds that remind Levi of snow.

Elegant cursive adorns the note on the satchel, its reading clear as day:

Jasmine flower tea.

I hope you enjoyed this update. The plot is going to start picking up from next chapter onwards, so I hope you can look forward to that ^^ If you have time, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments as they really keep me going. Take care!

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axelsagewrites · 2 years ago

Text

Obreyn Martel*Duty

Pairing: Obreyn x f!reader

Kinktober Day twenty-eight: mutual masturbation with Oberyn Martell – you always heard that the dornish were more sex positive than most, but you hadn’t expected Oberyn Martell of all people to show you just how good it could feel

Word count: 1550

Warnings: arranged marriage, innocent reader, making out, neck kisses, mutual masturbation, talks of sex, praise, one bite, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

You knew that the Dornish would have different customs and secretly you were excited to explore them when you realised being a woman was not seen as a punishment there. However, what you hadn’t expected was how welcoming and how open they were. The kisses left on your knuckles had been a kind gesture, but you would flush at the casualty of skin at court.

You supposed it was just due to the heat and your own dresses soon became thinner as you waited for your wedding night. While your family worried for their alliance you worried for your husband. You’d heard many rumours about Oberyn Martell, that he was as smart as a whip and deadly as snakes. The Dornish handmaidens had told you he was kind, but the anxiety lingered till you finally met him. He was gorgeous and sweet words slipped off his tongue effortlessly. When he would escort you through the gardens his hand would rest on your waist, and you wondered what the glint was behind his eye. Then the wedding night came. The day had been beautiful. The tables were lined with spiced cakes and deep red wines. The music echoed in your mind still as you recalled how the dornish danced like free spirits. Obryen had been kind, whispering in your ear who was who and making sure to introduce you to all his friends. It could not had been more perfect. That did not stop your nerves however when you remembered the bedding. You were relieved to find out they did not believe in the bedding ceremony however your ladies’ words of encouragement struck fear in you. “It wont last long,” “Just close your eyes and dream of something else,” “It will hurt but you cannot let him know,” Shudders ran down your spine as your ladies finished undressing you. you were left in a thin shift however when your ladies left you soon wrapped a robe Oberyn had gifted you around yourself and sat on the bed.

“Wife,” Oberyn’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. You smiled at him as he crossed the room. His hands cupped your cheeks softly as he brought his lips down onto yours. they tasted like sweet wines and moved like water against yours. When he pulled back your lips chased him, and he chuckled as your face flush. “Oh, sweet wife,” he mumbled, his thumb stroking your cheek before he stood. “I will only be a moment,” he said as he began to take off his jewllery, setting them to the side. You nodded, internally bracing yourself as you took off the robe. You sat it down gently beside the bed before slipping beneath the sheets, laying down waiting as your ladies had instructed you. when Oberyn turned around, now in just a thin undershirt and his trousers, he smiled, “Are you tired my sweet? I suppose the day has been long,” “No,” you said quietly, your cheeks burning as he moved to sit on the bed beside you. you leaned up slightly, eyebrows creasing in confusion, “Arent you supposed to well,” you began to stutter out as he sat above the sheets beside you, gazing down at you in confusion. A wash of relisation covered his face, “Ah yes, forgive me,” he chuckled making your skin grow hot, “I didn’t think you would wish to do that so soon,” obryen moved to lay beside you, still on top of the sheets as you grew more confused. “I thought we had to,” you said, “It is my duty is it not?” Obryen smiled softly, brushing the hair from your face sending shivers down your spine, “I suppose some may call it that though I confess in time I hope you do not view it as such. What else did your ladies tell you about it?” he asked. You paused for a moment before turning to lay on your side facing him, “They said that it hurts but it doesn’t last very long. is that true?” you asked, growing frustrated at the way he laughed.

“It doesn’t have to hurt no,” he said, smiling, “Their husbands are just impatient. Sex is,” he said, noticing how your eyes fell in embarrassment as he spoke, “a beautiful thing. Its something to be enjoyed, by both parties,” he said, his hand slowly moving up your arm, “There is no reason you should not enjoy it,” His hand moved to cup your cheek while his eyes gazed into yours in a way that made your mouth grow dry. A few moments passed before he whispered, “May I kiss you?” he asked. You nodded yes and his face dipped down to meet yours. It was soft and tender, but you could not help feeling a growing excitement in your stomach. “Have you ever done anything like this?” he asked, his nose brushing against yours as you shook your head no. “Have you ever touched yourself?” “I-uh- “you stuttered before finally answering, “Yes,” you whispered, skin flushing hot. “Good,” he mumbled against your lips, “Do it now,” “What?” you began to question only for him to cut you off. “Trust me my sweet. I want you to feel good,” he mumbled, pulling you in for another sweet kiss, “Let me show you how good your duty can feel,” he whispered making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Okay,” you mumbled back, your lips brushing against his as you leaned up to capture his lips this time. your hand slipped beneath the sheets, slowly moving towards your wettening cunt as Oberyn’s lips began to move. He kissed your check before trailing his kisses along your jaw. You whimpered when he began to suck soft spots under the corner of your jaw meanwhile your fingers ran up your slit. “Are you doing it?” he mumbled against your skin. Pressing up further, your finger slowly moved up till it was rubbing soft circles against your clit, “Yes,” you breathed out, glancing down to notice the bulge straining against his trousers. “Are you going to…?” you asked, voice trailing off as your eyes flickered back to his face. Oberyn chuckled, seemingly understanding your words, “How could I not be tempted by such a pretty sight?” he asked, his lips moving to kiss a line down your throat as his own hand slipped beneath his trousers. Your fingers sped up, rubbing fasted circles into your clit as your thighs clenched together. with his free hand Oberyn pushed the hair off your neck, allowing his lips to move down to the crook of your neck, sucking on the soft skin lightly making small moans leave your mouth.

Seeing him stroking himself at the sight of you gave you a small boost of confident as you moved your hand to slowly press two fingers in, curling them preciously as Oberyn moved his kisses to your collarbones. Your free hand moved up till your fingers were circling your perked nipple over your shift, catching your husband’s attention. “May I?” he asked, slowly moving the sheets down. You nodded, your eyes locked with his as he pulled the sheets down, “Such a pretty little thing,” he praised, his hand running lightly over your clothed breasts before suddenly squeezing one making you gasp. “Please,” you whined, your back arching slightly as your body craved his touch. Oberyn’s eyes locked with yours as he slowly pushed your shift down past your shoulders, exposing your nipples to him. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive buds before he suddenly took one into his mouth. You moaned as he began to suck the sensitive bud, his tongue flicking over it as his hand sped up beneath his trousers. You felt your fingers speed up, a warm feeling growing in your stomach as you began to approach your peak.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to tighten, your toes curling as you felt your body tense. Oberyn had clearly felt it too as he mumbled curse words against your skin, and you felt him speed up his pumps till you wondered if his hand would fall off. Moans left your lips as you felt yourself tumble over the edge of your peak, moaning his name lightly. Oberyn buried his head into your chest, his breathing becoming heavy as he chased his own release. “Fuck,” he gasped, his teeth briefly sinking into your skin before pulling away as he swore one last time as his body stiffened. Gasping, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, “I’m sorry my love I don’t know- “ “Its okay,” you assured him, your hand moving to hold his arm gently. Oberyn smiled at you, leaning over to press a kiss on your cheek before he quickly got up to change into fresh sleep trousers. When he came back to the bed he slipped beneath the sheets, pulling you into his chest which you gladly accepted, “I know it was not the wedding night you imagined,” he said, trailing circles on your hip with his thumb. “It was better my love,” you said, noticing Oberyn’s wide grin at how you copied his words, “As long as in time you give me a proper wedding night,” you joked. “Oh, I can promise you I will,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @valeskafics @asgards-princess-of-mischief

#oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn martel x reader #oberyn martell smut #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martel smut #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones smut #game of thrones #prince oberyn smut #kinktober

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