#the only second choice for isabel

[colins-bridgerton]

kate's 365 days of ships:

day 56: kyle valenti & isabel evans roswell

[toasted-valentine]

@pyrotechnicarus was right, that tv can fucking glow.

[amywritesthings]

in the wrong. / levi x f!reader

for @levievent #levimonth24. (day one: pre-canon, first time)

pairing: gang leader!levi ackerman x military police!reader word count: 2.4k summary: You're Military Police. He's public enemy number one. Getting involved with one another is wrong.

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, in the canon of 'a choice with no regrets', smut, enemies to lovers, military brutality mention, first time, bottom!levi, virgin!levi credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

And so it goes—

There’s no disputing if waiting here in the dead of night is right or wrong.

Leaving your post, forcing your colleagues to pick up the slack — it’ll catch up with you eventually.

Military Police stationed within the Underground City is about as much of an oxymoron as it comes. You see the irony of walking these streets as the symbols of order when it’s a place that thrives in disorder. 

Your superiors don’t wish to save these people.

You — your squadron — will do nothing here.

(But he could.)

Meeting with the leader of the most notorious gang in the city started out as an accident, really. 

You’d minded yourself down here, still trying to do your job when you could: helping elderly people walk their rotting groceries to their door; aiding a young child who found themselves lost, only to witness the dilapidated home they came from; smuggling your own rations down from the surface to feed the sick.

In their eyes — wrong.

In his — confusion.

If you ever came into contact with the perpetrator known as Levi, then you were meant to engage.

Albeit fast on his feet and even faster with a weapon, his ever-growing group of goons were the Military Police’s biggest enemy.

You’d just spotted a redhead doing her best to creep up one of the staircases towards the surface, assuming no one was watching.

There are people up there, you remember saying.

Her wide eyes stared back at you with uncertainty, like perhaps getting her attention was a trick to set her up, but you’d managed to grab her by the scruff of her dirtied vest.

The small girl made a noise of protest, but you did your best to press a finger to your lips:

Silent.

Pulling her back into the shadows with you had been the smart move — the unit at the top of the stairs trudged down the stairs and into the Underground pathway, presumably to cause trouble.

They always did.

You held onto the stranger until the unit disappears, letting go only once the place is clear. 

The girl turned around, seemingly breathless. “You… why?”

You didn't know.

“I don’t know,” you confessed, blinking between her face and the pathway. Paranoid. “Those two are pieces of work. Nasty. Would’ve had your damn head on a platter.”

“So you saved my life?” she asked, and the musical naivety of her voice squeezed your aching stomach.

“It wasn’t that noble,” you promised softly. “Just… be more careful.”

She realized as seconds pass: you’re letting her go.

There’s nothing to arrest her for.

The people down here suffer enough.

When she left, you thought it was the last time you’d ever see her.

.

.

— —

.

.

  It isn’t.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “The hell is an MP doing here, Isa?” 

You can’t say. You’re not sure.

The redhead, a common recurring figure in your time patrolling the Underground, seems to have taken a liking to you when she surely shouldn’t.

Isabel Magnolia, you learn, is her name.

Talking to you about her life, asking questions about the surface, wondering if there’s a better life up there—

She’s a part of a found family she definitely shouldn’t be telling you about.

You explain that, while the sun is beautiful, the surface isn’t much better sometimes.

If there’s a better life, then clearly you wouldn’t know it.

You’re stuck down here, too, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

Perhaps by choice — you enlisted for a reason — but nonetheless stuck.

She’s so cheerful. Trusting. 

You hate that for her.

(Someone could take advantage. Doesn’t she know that?)

Yet when Isabel grabs your hand one day and excitedly pulls you down an alleyway, telling you she has to show you something, you wonder if this is the moment where your stupidity catches up to you with a final blow to the head.

So it begs the question while you’re standing in an oddly pristine, clean-to-the-edges apartment in the middle of the city where two boys stare at you like you’re the devil incarnate:

What the hell is an MP doing here?

An ashy-haired boy yelps from his spot at a round dining table, catching a second dark-haired boy’s attention. He whips around, the whites of his eyes growing while he stares directly at you.

Immediately you recognize the cold stare, the raven-black fringe sweeping against them.

A smaller frame for a man but nevertheless daunting.

Billowing white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His hands are busy scrubbing dishes at the sink of their quaint kitchenette.

The one they call Levi.

“This is the girl who saved me a few months ago,” Isabel chirps like it’s nothing, happily tugging you further into the apartment.

Your uniform feels constricting, like it’s threatening to choke you out.

“You never said it was a goddamn MP, Isa,” the lankier boy whisper-shouts as he stands from the table, his head whipping between the other two. “Levi? The hell do we do?”

Levi’s silent, observing you.

“Isabel, I should go,” you murmur to your odd friend, looking over the ginger warily. “They’re right. I shouldn’t be here.”

“But why not?” Isabel asks with confusion. “You’re not like them. Furlan, she’s really not, she’s actually really—”

“You’re the one who saved her ass from MPs?”

Levi’s voice, smooth like honey and deep like a rumble, cuts through your panic.

You turn your chin to regard him, lips parted with an apology you shouldn’t owe.

“She was getting too close to the stairwell,” you confess softly to him, clenching your fists at your sides. “I know how the MPs treat people down here. I didn’t — I couldn’t let something happen to her.”

“Why?” he asks abruptly, eyes narrowing.

Isn’t that the question of the hour:

Why are you trying to get yourself fired and tossed down here with the rest of them?

“Because it… was the right thing to do.”

He makes a noise, something of a tch, before picking up a fourth tea cup.

.

.

— —

.

.

  If your colleagues knew you spent the better part of your shifts in the Underground talking to their number-one public enemy, with your backs against adjacent brick walls — you facing the street, him in the shadows of an alleyway — they wouldn’t hesitate.

Execution style, side by side.

You confess the routes of your brethren.

You warn them of the dangers of different colleagues that want nothing more than to hurt people, to use their position of power for worse.

It takes time — months upon months — but eventually his group grows stronger than your unit.

They could very well kill you themselves, if they wanted.

Maybe you’re like Isabel with the desperation to connect.

Maybe you find yourself hating the animals your colleagues become under the guise of an endless night.

Levi meets with you weekly, if not daily, by this point.

For the good of his friends, he claims. Nothing more.

You don’t blame him.

(Yet the more you talk to him, learn about what he’s built, what he’s about, the less you feel like returning to the sun.)

.

.

— —

.

.

  He likes tea.

That much you’ve gathered in your time sitting in the living kitchenette of their apartment.

You’ll never forget the change in his expression, usually so stoic and emotionless, when you produced a small bag from under your emerald cloak late one evening.

“The traders down here don’t carry these blends,” you tell him, pushing the bag towards him.

His eyes squint, observing the brown pouch with confusion, before reaching to delicately unravel the tie holding it together.

Levi lets out a gentle huff when the aroma hits him, face smoothing with recognition.

Fresh leaves. 

“Why?”

It’s a question you’ve even asked yourself.

You get things for Furlan and Isabel all the time, their requests for surface goods fairly frequent, but—

“Because you never ask for anything,” you confess. “And it’s the least I can do.”

“But why?” he questions again, softer this time.

His gaze flickers to yours.

Your throat clenches with the truth.

“I don’t know.”

A lie.

.

.

— —

.

.

  You’re meant to be patrolling the streets of the Underground City in the dead of night.

Another lie.

All you’ve learned to do is hide, steal, and lie.

Yet nothing feels closer to the truth than Levi letting you into the small, cramped apartment.

Opening his home to you.

The enemy.

“Furlan and Isabel are elsewhere tonight,” he confesses under his breath when he closes the door.

“Elsewhere?” you ask him quietly. “Are they safe?”

“You would know if they weren’t.”

You step forward, anticipating the same song and dance you’ve played for over a year now.

Instead of dancing with you, playing the game, Levi stays put. 

It forces you chest to chest, eye to eye, and suddenly you realize just how blue those gray eyes really are.

Stormy, like a sky he’ll never see.

Something shifts in his expression. Something lighter, tangible, as he takes a slow inhale through his nose.

You shift on impulse, angling closer, until you feel the heat of his face.

“Can’t,” he states, like you know what he’s saying.

By now, you do.

“I know,” you whisper, and those eyes dart lower.

Cheeks.

Nose.

Lips.

“Shouldn’t,” he argues to no one but himself when he leans closer. 

His breath tickles your face.

“Wrong,” you agree, accidentally brushing your lips to his.

A single act opens the floodgates.

Both pairs of hands jump as your lips smash into one another’s.

His palm cradles the back of your head while yours guides his cheek closer, directing the angle of the kiss.

With a purposeful push, he slams you into the front door, caging you in and causing stars to flash behind your eyelids.

You’re already undoing the straps of your uniform with haste — he may have stolen ODM gear in the time you’ve known him, but you’re not confident he knows how to disrobe a military uniform.

He seems grateful, because he grunts against your lips and flicks his tongue against your lower lip in thanks. You part your lips obediently.

Can’t, but you’re still hopping up into his arms the second you free your lower half of white uniform trousers.

Shouldn’t, but he catches you with ease, digging his free hand into the flesh of your ass while he pivots and walks with you in his arms.

Wrong, but he drops down to his couch anyway, letting you sit in his lap.

There’s no time for decorum.

His hand blindly dips down your lower belly and slips under the fabric of your panties, groaning when he realizes you’ve been wet since you saw him.

You make the tiniest noise, a strangled moan at best, and you feel it right against your lips:

A smirk. 

Brief and fleeting, but you felt it.

Lazily dragging his fingertips in a circle around your clit, your breath becomes stagnated. Shaky.

Your bare thighs clench around his, trying to keep your wits about you, but his hand only proceeds faster to ruin those efforts.

“Off,” you weakly state, reaching between you to pathetically tug at his own trousers.

Levi pulls away from your mouth, staring up at you in his lap. “That’s—”

“What I want,” you interrupt, and you see his throat bob with a swallow.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, and it feels like the closest you’ve ever gotten to knowing the essence of him.

“You don’t have to,” you promise. “I do.”

Once, fumbling at the cadet barracks.

It was awkward and quick and unremarkable.

Yet the way Levi’s eyes widen with recognition, you already know this is what you want — him, every fragment of him, hidden away from the world.

Pushing him to the couch cushions, you raise your hips to help him push down his trousers and underwear.

His cock springs free and his hisses at the contrast of the cool air and his hot skin.

You take advantage of the moment, wrapping your hand around him.

The way he whines when your hand leisurely pumps will be burned into the back of your skull.

“Are you sure?”

His question manages to weave itself through the hazy maze of your mind.

Glancing down at him, you note how flushed his cheeks have become; how his chest rises and falls under that flowing white shirt. He looks utterly wrecked without having to do much of anything.

“Are you sure?” you ask in return, giving your answer rhetorically.

Panting, the dark-haired boy nods.

Certain.

So are you.

“Just touch me,” you tell him, and Levi leaps at the damn opportunity to do so.

He raises up from the couch to loop his palm around your neck, dragging you down with him into a searing kiss. You moan into it, gently nudging the tip of him to your entrance.

When his hand returns to your clit, eager to draw those noises out of you, it only makes it that much easier to slowly push yourself down onto his length.

Both of your mouths drop open, wide with a soundless shout, as you ease him fully into you.

Wrong.

Over and over, the word plays in your mind.

Levi groans as you drag your body up, then down, beginning a tentative rhythm.

Wrong.

Nothing fills you like him.

Nothing fills you like this.

He lets you set the pace as you fuck him on his couch, the sounds of your pleasure mixing in the midnight air.

Faster.

Harder.

His hand grips your hip so hard it could leave a bruise.

You don’t care.

He groans a semblance of your name, something he rarely does, and squeezes harder.

Close.

If he’s never done this, then you know he won’t last long.

With your own climax coming at you with a vengeance, you can’t find a reason to care.

Suddenly you feel it — the wave rises so fast and falls that you don’t have time to warn him.

Within seconds you cum around him, violently shuddering around him as you cry against his mouth.

The sheer force of it causes Levi to gasp sharply, hips slamming abruptly into you so he’s buried deep—

He doesn’t have time to warn you, either.

He cums just as hard, sealing the loud moan with a kiss to your lips.

You still your hips, spent — his arms catch you when you crumble against his chest, desperately trying to catch your breath.

You’ve passed it: the point of no return, forced to confront a choice with no regrets.

The aftermath, euphoria clouding judgment, hasn’t quite hit yet.

Wrong.

(Neither of you care.)

.

author's note:

Thank you so much for reading! This one shot was unbeta'd and written in two hours so I hope this insane "I woke up with this idea and really wanted to participate" story made you as sweaty as it made me this morning.

[d1xonss]

Older

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Suggestive (oop)

✧ Word Count : 5k

AN ~ …This one might need a part two, that’s all I’m going to say.

“Stop.”

Your mouth parted a little in shock that he had interrupted you, embarrassment filling your entire being as you could feel the heat rising up to your cheeks, no doubt leaving a red hue on your skin. You attempted to read him, trying to figure out what he was thinking just by his face and body language, but you were left with nothing. His expression was neutral, his arms were crossed over his chest as they always were, and his eyes didn’t even give you a flash of indication of what he planned to say next. Though somehow you had a feeling you knew it was something you would dread.

It had been years now that you had been crushing on the older man, from Atlanta to all the way here in your new homes in Alexandria, you had always felt these very strong feelings for him. And though you knew the age gap was definitely something to recognize, you never cared in the slightest as your fondness for him over the years only seemed to grow.

Daryl Dixon was a very serious man, though he mostly kept to himself, no one could deny that he was also a very kindhearted person. He was constantly putting others before himself, protecting nearly everyone in the group even if that meant his life was on the line instead, he did it as if it was just second nature to him. Like he didn’t even have to think before he acted. That’s what you admired most about him, only causing you to fall deeper than you already were, digging yourself further into the hole you couldn’t seem to escape.

It was hard for some to believe, but you truly tried to push these feelings aside, mostly because you thought there was no way in hell he would ever feel the same way about you. But it was growing to be unbearable, the secret you had been keeping to yourself for so long beginning to eat you up inside.

So you finally decided to bite the bullet and just tell him. You didn’t know what exactly compelled you to do so since you had such a huge fear of rejection from him and didn’t want him to see you differently, but still you just threw yourself into the lion’s den it seemed like. But there was a little hope you had when you approached him to confess. The soft smile playing on his lips was enough for you to spill everything, seeing that there was a small chance he might’ve felt something similar. It wasn’t a secret that he had grown to care for you too, so you guessed you could really take that chance.

But now all your hope diminished instantly when he interrupted your sentence with just one word. One single word that caused your stomach to flip. You felt yourself begin to panic a little as you stood there, seconds after pouring your heart out and laying everything out on the table, and he wanted you to stop. You suddenly wished you could take everything back in that split second, tell him you were joking or make something else up on the spot. Anything to escape from this sudden situation.

He then sighed heavily as he raised his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Look…yer a really sweet girl and I care bout ya…but…ya can’t be sayin all this. M’ way too old for ya.”

Your heart seemed to drop upon hearing that, knowing in the back of your mind, that little aspect would be the thing he brought all his attention to. You had to admit however that it was a pretty big difference, twenty years to be exact where you stood at twenty-four while he was already pushing forty-five. But still, you were an adult and felt that you could make your own choices when it came to something like this, something that he wasn’t willing to listen to any longer.

Daryl noticed your silence, seeing the look you had on your face and he grew almost sympathetic as he looked at you. “Look ya can’t be…fallin for me. It ain’t right.”

That sentence seemed to break you out of your trance. Annoyance began to brew inside you as he was now starting to almost talk down on you as if you were a kid, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration. “Who are you to tell me what isn’t right?” you asked with furrowed brows.

He noticed your change in mood and only sighed to himself again, “I just mean that…” he trailed off as he never wanted to hurt you or deny you, but honesty was more important to him. And this was something he knew he needed to be blunt about. “I ain’t the guy for ya, no matter how ya feel. We’re just too far apart.”

“That’s not true.” you were quick to defend.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed the smallest bit, “It is true.” he said a bit more sternly, “Yer so young and m’ a lot older…besides I ain’t what they call boyfriend material…it would never work.” he claimed.

Your eyes narrowed even further, “I’m not just some kid Daryl, how old do you even think I am?” 

He scoffed to himself as he looked at you a little longer, “I dunno…” he spoke as he didn’t want you to really know the age that popped up in his head. If you were really as young as he thought, it would be disgusting to even think about being with you.

“I’m twenty four.”

His eyes widened slightly as he thought about your words for only a moment, before he went back to scoffing to himself, “Well if I didn’t know any better I’d say yer lyin.”

Your frustration only began to build up further as he didn’t believe you. Though maybe he did. Maybe he did believe you, he just didn’t want to believe you. He didn’t want to admit or accept that your age wasn’t as bad as he originally thought, he just put up a wall to defend himself like he always seemed to.

But you were prepared to call him out on his bullshit. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were scared.”

“Scared?” he repeated, his lip turning up into an amused smile, “And what am I scared of?”

“Scared of your own feelings.” you said with little to no hesitation at all, stating the obvious and seeing right through him.

The man’s expression remained the same, but something in his eyes flickered with something more, and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself once you caught it. He stayed silent for what felt like an eternity, pondering over your words as he desperately didn’t want you to see his hesitance as he stood there with a straight face. But you had clearly caught on.

After almost minutes of deafening silence, he finally spoke again in a sarcastic tone, “So ya think ya got me all figured out then, huh?”

You could see his exterior cracking the smallest bit and decided to take a chance. You began to move forward slowly, closing the remaining space between the two of you from the opposite sides of where you stood in his living room. His eyes widened ever so slightly as you got almost uncomfortably close to him, your chests nearly touching as you looked up to him with big doe eyes.

“Yeah…yeah I do.” you answered barely above a whisper.

Daryl subtly sucked in a soft breath at your words, your close proximity, everything that just seemed to draw him in. He desperately wanted to take a few steps away, wanting to tell you something harsh so you would stop being so damn persistent, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength. He stood there almost completely frozen as his heart began beating rapidly, questioning if you could hear it in the silence with how close you were to him.

You could feel yourself smirk slightly as he grew completely silent again, nodding to yourself as you decided to stop tormenting him. At least for now. “Well…since you made your intentions clear…I guess I’ll just see you around then…” you said quietly before turning on your heel to leave his house, to leave him to his now racing thoughts.

His tongue seemed to be tied into a knot as all he could do was watch you leave through the front door, a heat blooming on his cheeks. He began questioning to himself if all of that really just happened, if he was really as transparent as you claimed he was. His mind began to spiral with thousands of thoughts, but not even he could deny that small spark he felt in his chest, one that he had never felt before.

The next day wasn’t any better for him, his mind constantly flooding with the thoughts of that small interaction, not stopping himself from thinking back to your confession as a whole. There was no way he could feel such a thing for someone as young as you…could he? It all felt very wrong and twisted in a way, but he couldn’t stop thinking of you constantly throughout the entire day, how complicated everything seemed to be. He didn’t pull away. Why the hell didn’t he pull away? It was almost as if he liked your closeness, being able to almost feel the warmth of your body…almost as if he craved it more than he realized.

Over the few years he had gotten to know you, he couldn’t deny that he thought you were very beautiful from the start, but he didn’t dare let his mind linger there for long. There was no way he could be with you, it all seemed so wrong to him in his mind and he had to put a stop to those thoughts immediately once they entered his mind. But with everything that went down yesterday, he couldn’t help but be reminded of those familiar feelings he once seemed to have long ago, seeing them rise back up to the surface before his very eyes. 

He needed to see you. He couldn’t help but think about you throughout the entire day as if you had somehow put him under a spell, compelling him to eventually crawl back. He didn’t know what he planned to say, he didn’t even know if he should even try to speak about this hovering matter anymore. But he physically needed to see you again. Even if it was just for a few minutes. He needed to feel that spark again.

So after his long patrol, he found himself heading straight towards your house the second he was finished, walking at a fast pace down the streets all the way up until he could see your familiar house just around the corner. His breathing was almost heavy in anticipation as he got closer, hopping up the porch steps in a flash before he hesitated when he was face to face with your front door. He hesitated for a long moment, longer than he was willing to admit, before he finally gave it a heavy knock.

You were inside cooking yourself some dinner when you heard a loud knock coming from your front door, your brows furrowing in confusion at who it could be as you quickly cleaned your hands off with a towel. You made your way closer towards the entrance with a little anticipation weighing in your heart, the sound of the firm knock sounding like it was something urgent. But the moment you looked through the peephole and saw who was standing on the other side, you immediately smirked to yourself. You almost couldn't believe he was actually seeking you out.

You opened the door after a moment or two, leaning against the frame with a smile as you looked at him with a smile, “Hi Daryl.” you greeted with a hint of flirtation to your voice.

Your tone surprised him slightly as he stopped for a moment to take you in, his nerves resurfacing the moment you looked him in the eye. But eventually he cleared his throat a little and sent you a small smile, “Hey.”

“Did you need something?” you asked sweetly.

You were playing with him now, both of you knew it too. He didn’t exactly know what he came over here for, almost as if he didn’t really know what he wanted, but all he could feel was that same feeling rushing over him again once more at the sound of your voice. It was almost comforting to him, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and his heart began to beat even faster once he realized just how much he needed more of it.

You tilted your head at him expectantly, and it was then and only then he realized he didn’t answer your question. He shook his head a little to rid of his loud thoughts before finally mustering up a response. “Nah…I don’t need anythin. Just…just wanted to see ya.”

He could see your eyes soften as you looked up at him through your long eyelashes, the sight bringing a warmth through his chest, settling at the bottom of his stomach as he looked at you. “Aw…that’s so sweet.” you said as you placed a hand over your chest.

His eyes widened ever so slightly as he heard just the smallest bit of praise from you, if you could even call it that. But he found he liked the sound of you calling him sweet, and he found he loved the idea of you calling him other things. He felt himself slip almost as your words seemed to affect him well, almost a little too well, feeling himself swallow thickly as he tried to figure out what to say to you next.

“Do…do you mind if I come in for a bit?” he mustered up.

Your face dropped a little bit upon hearing that, though mentally you almost felt yourself light up at the sudden opportunity to turn the tables around on him. “Oh…I don’t know…” you trailed off as you eventually let the smirk return to your face, “Wouldn’t that be…wrong?” I asked with a hinting tone.

The man was stunned a little as his only response to you was silence. He stood there almost completely still at the sound of you throwing his own words back up at his face like that, but then again you had a point. He did say those things to you, he made it very obvious and certain. Yet he couldn’t help but silently smirk to himself at the game you seemed to be playing now.

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea…” you continued on.

He hears his own phrase being used against him again and damn did it feel better than it should’ve. He found himself growing a little excited as you continued on, leaning himself against the doorway a little as he looked down at you with almost hungry eyes.

“Well…maybe I like doin things that are wrong.” he stated.

You clicked your tongue in response as you shook your head, “That’s not what you said the other day, I heard you…I’m just following the rules.” you said as you moved to shut the door.

But his hand came up and quickly caught it before you could shut him out all the way, pushing it back open a little with a raised brow. “Now what’s with you and all these goddamn rules now, hm? Who even made em?” he asked as he felt himself falling right into your trap, flirting right back with you like you wanted.

“You did.” you said simply, watching his face drop a little at your response, “You made it very clear, and I understand...” you said simply before moving to shut the door right in his face.

The man was stunned to say the least seeing the door almost touching the tip of his nose, his expression flustered and his heart hammering. He groaned to himself in annoyance as he slowly turned on his heel to leave, his irritation not directed at you per say, but how you made him feel. 

It was far too complicated, but you were playing him like a damn fiddle and he knew it. He supposed that maybe he deserved a little of the shit you were giving him seeing as he turned you down in the first place, but how much were you willing to drag this on for? He was growing attached, too attached, and now he was wrapped around your little finger instead of the other way around. He saw how desperate you looked in the beginning as you confessed everything to him, he saw that look in your eye. But now you had completely flipped the script and made him out to be the one growing desperate. It was frustrating…but in the most captivating way.

A week seemed to pass by in a flash just like that, the two of you going back and forth, leading to you teasing him to no end. He knew there were plenty of times where he could’ve just walked away from the situation, but he was so tempted to keep playing along in the game you entertained. And it was working more than he was willing to admit, his mind not being able to stop thinking about you and slowly feeling himself break. He didn’t want to cave and admit how much he had been thinking of you, how much he wanted you, but it was getting harder and harder every time he saw you. Every bat of your eyelashes, every flash of your small and perfect smile had him absolutely crumbling.

And what he seemed to be dreading the most now was a bonfire being hosted by a neighbor in the community, everyone being invited to the event. 

At first Daryl debated on going at all, knowing that you would probably be there taunting him in the best way you knew how. But he couldn’t help but want to feed into that temptation, just looking for another excuse to see you again. Though in all honesty he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. How much longer he could hold out as you played with him until he would completely break right in front of your eyes for you to see. He hated to admit it even to himself, but he was growing more and more desperate for you, which he knew is exactly what you wanted. But he didn’t care at this point. He would let you do whatever you wanted to him if he knew he could finally have you.

You on the other hand however were looking forward to the event. You took your time picking out your outfit, settling on a shorter skirt and a black top that left just enough to the imagination, almost not being able to contain your excitement and mischief when thinking about seeing him again. In all honesty, you didn’t expect him to continue to feed into what was supposed to be just a little teasing, it surprised you beyond repair to see him playing along as much as he was. Though you knew he had grown to like it, he had grown to fall for you more than before. And you loved it.

Once the day was finally over and the stars just began to rise into the sky, the time came for everyone to attend the little get together as the bonfire was beginning to light up Alexandria with its orange glow. People began to arrive in pairs and groups to the get together, greeting one another politely with smiles and hugs, but Daryl found himself planted in the corner of the small party. His eyes kept scanning around for you subconsciously, his nerves only growing as he convinced himself not to fall apart for you, to not fall into his desires.

But then he caught sight of you finally arriving, seeing the things you were wearing, and he immediately seemed to lose his train of thought right then and there. He was now reminded why he so desperately wanted to give in, why he wanted to give away every part of himself to you as he watched you smile and greet a few people passing by. You knew how to get to him, how to make him nervous, knowing exactly which strings to pull to get him all hot and bothered. It’s all what made you so absolutely alluring.

He watched you from a distance for a while with his arms crossed over his chest, not being able to approach you as you always seemed to be speaking with someone. His patience was growing thin and his destress was building as all he wanted was to talk to you, to see you up close. The way you were dressed, the way you wore your hair up only to have a few stray pieces aligning your face, it was beginning to drive him crazy.

But then an opportunity seemed to open up right before his very eyes as he saw you walk away off by yourself, just close enough towards the fire to feel the warmth, yet far enough from everyone else so he could finally approach you. He swallowed thickly at the thought of the things he was easily getting himself into, but he couldn’t help it as it seemed like his feet had minds of their own, practically floating right over to you. His steps were quiet as he approached you from behind, not wanting to scare you, but wanting to catch you off guard for once.

When he was finally close enough just to hover over you, it was only then that he spoke, “Hey.” he said quietly.

But you hardly even flinched, as if you knew of his presence approaching the whole time as you turned to look at him with a smile, “Hi Daryl.”

God the way you said his name drove him almost to a point of insanity, wanting you to say it over and over again as you voice was sweet and warm like honey. It’s almost impossible to resist you in this moment in time, taking in your appearance up close and getting a whiff of your intoxicating perfume as a gust of wind blows by was enough to send him over the edge. Leading to a point of no return. 

But still, he somehow managed to keep his composure, “You look nice.” he commented sweetly, a small smile crossing his lips.

Your eyes practically lit up at the compliment he gave you, subconsciously smoothing down your skirt as you looked up at him, “You think so?” you subtly flirted.

His mouth parted to respond, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words. But he does think so, in fact he’s thinking almost a little too much about how amazing you look in front of the glowing fire.

A smirk was brought to your face as he didn’t respond to your question, diverting his attention to your body once more as your voice quieted down to a whisper, “You don’t think my skirt’s too…short…right?”

His eyes seemed to trail back down just as you wanted them too, eyeing your legs for a dangerously long time at the brief question that fell from your lips. His mouth was agape as he found he couldn’t look away, the feeling bubbling inside him almost being too overbearing as he desperately tried to swallow and lubricate his dry throat.

Though he eventually found himself shaking his head as his gaze trailed back up to your eyes, “Nah…it’s fine.” he breathed.

“You sure?” you asked again playfully, “I can always go home and change if you think it’s too much-”

“N-No,” he interrupted quickly, “I kinda like it actually.” he blurted before his mind even had a chance to stop him. Though he feels the embarrassment wash over him the moment the words left his mouth, coming to the realization of what he had just said.

But much to his relief, he saw you smile a bit wider, “I’m glad you like it…” you admitted as you suddenly leaned in further to him to whisper in his ear, “...I wore it just for you.”

Daryl’s body went rigid and his mind seemed to go completely blank, his heart beating twice as fast as it was before. Just for him? You wore that pretty little thing just for him? His mouth became very dry once again, his knees feeling weaker, especially when you laughed lightly to yourself at his speechless state, pulling back a little to stand next to him normally before anyone could notice. Oh god, it hit him, what if anyone noticed. 

His eyes then did a quick scan around the sea of people, but none of them seemed to catch onto the interactions he was having with such a young girl. That sent a wave of relief through him, bringing his attention back towards you as you hadn’t stopped staring at him the entire time it seemed like.

“So…are you enjoying yourself?” you ask him with a seductive tone to your voice.

The older man sucked in a breath at your tone, seeing that twinkle in your eye that was nearly impossible to resist, “Yeah…I am.” he finally responded.

You smile to yourself as you heard his confirmation, “Good.” you nodded.

He then quietly groaned to himself, almost as if he couldn’t take it anymore, turning to face you better as he collected himself and looked you in the eye, “Why ya always gotta tease me like that?”

You physically felt the wicked grin cross over your face, “Because it’s fun.” you said simply, slowly venturing out to tease him further as you reached out to trail your finger up and down his clothed, toned arm. “But if you don’t like it…I can stop.”

His breathing then became shaky as he nearly quivered under the small ounce of your touch, only imagining what it would be like if you touched him even more. But then it hit him that you threatened to stop playing with him as much as you were, breaking him out of his thoughts as he could still feel your touch burning through the fabric of his shirt.

“...Never said I didn’t like it…”

Your gaze looked back up at his face as your movements stopped completely, your faces only inches apart now it seemed like in such a public setting. “Are you sure…? You can be honest if you don’t want this anymore.” you teased again.

He almost caught himself groaning again as you stopped touching him, not even imagining any scenario where he could ever say no to you. In fact, all of this was just slowly feeding more into the desire and lust that continued to build.

“No, no…I want this.” he assured quickly, in fear that you would completely pull away if he didn’t answer you fast enough.

Seeing him near his breaking point, so close to dangling over the edge, you wondered if you could get him to admit it out loud. You fully took your hand away then, leaning in further to whisper. “Tell me what you want.”

Daryl’s mind goes on some kind of frenzy as he could only think of you. Your voice, your touch, everything. He only wanted you.

“I want you…” he finally broke.

Though upon hearing his answer, he saw your eyes forming into almost sympathy as you stared at him, similar in the way he looked at you when you confessed your feelings for him. “Oh…but you know that’s not allowed.” he hears you say with a sigh.

All logical reason leaves the man’s mind in an instant it seems like as he watched you deny him, feeling as if you were going to pull away fully and reject him for good. He felt defeated as all he wanted now was for you to give it up, stop toying with him and finally give in to let him have you. He learned his lesson, that much was certain, now all he needed to do was convince you somehow.

“Please…”

The moment you heard his plea, you nearly shivered in anticipation seeing how much he was falling apart now, not being able to handle it anymore. But still, you didn’t cave right away. “You said I was too young.” you gently reminded him.

“I don’t care.” he whispers without a second thought, his voice barely being able to come out at all. He found he didn’t care anymore, all he could think about was you. How much he wanted you, needed you. Now.

Your eyes widen in the smallest bit of surprise at his sudden desperateness, “But you do care. You told me so yourself.” 

He shakes his head almost frantically, “No, no, that was then. This is now. Nobody even needs to know…we can keep it between us…”

Shock is evident on your features at his suggestion, something about it making you want to finally give it up and give into his requests. That is what you were trying to do since the beginning, making him realize how much he truly wanted you, and now you had it. All you had to do was say the word.

He sees the look of consideration on your face, a feeling of hope filling his chest as he leans closer to you, “Please…” he whispered once more.

You swallowed a bit thickly as your prepared to open your mouth to respond to him, but another voice quickly cut into the silence between you two, causing Daryl to practically jump away from you suddenly as if he was just burned.

“Y/N!” Carol’s voice called out as she approached, completely oblivious to what was just happening moments ago, “Come on, there’s some new people I want you to meet.” she said eagerly as she took you by the arm, and dragging you away from the man.

Daryl huffed in irritation as he watched you get pulled away, collecting himself quickly as he looked around and licked his lips in annoyance. The older man was now just stuck there alone as you were taken elsewhere, left to ponder over the things that was said between you two. It’s almost a painful fate he was placed in, but yet it’s the one he deserved for playing along with you in the first place.

~ Thanks for reading!

Part 2!

[majesty-madness]

Within the Cover of Night - Arthur Morgan x reader (sfw)

Summary: At first, she thinks it’s nothing but her imagination; that because of the life she lives, she’s letting her paranoia get the better of her. And then she’s snatched up in the dead of night by a pair of unfamiliar hands. 

Word Count: 3500+

Warnings: established relationship between Arthur and Y/N, horror themes, kidnapping, stalking, violence, blood, injury, cursing, pissed off Arthur, crying, attempted rape, mentions of sexual assault, panic attack, attempted murder, serial killer, hostage situation, brief escape, comfort 

a/n: Not proofread. This is a very intense part two (and final), if you couldn't tell from the tags. However I will say that whenever I write something, I make sure to list the content in the warnings because I do not want anyone to be surprised (which has happened to me several times in my years of reading fanfiction, unfortunately). So if you do not see it explicitly mentioned in the warnings, it is not contained in the story at least when it comes to more serious or dark themes such as this. Just an FYI.

Main Masterlist

Commissions are available so don't forget to check that out!

HOUR ONE

HOUR TWO (final)

There’s a pressure, a pounding assaulting her temples. 

First there’s only darkness, what looks like an infinite void of nothing but slowly, the dark seeps away to give way to an orange flickering light. The blurriness of her vision gives way to clearer sight as the seconds tick by, and when she gathers the strength to lift her head, she sees him. 

It was the man from Strawberry.

Y/N lets out a gasp that echoes in the cave around causing the man to swoop forward from his sitting position, inching closer to her. 

“Shh, shh, shhh, everything is okay. You’re alright.” 

She attempted to scoot further away from the man but the thought quickly escaped her when her back collided with the rock wall behind her. The man stopped a few feet from her, eyes cascaded darkly by the single lantern before them.

“Let me go, you bastard! Let me go!” 

Even as the words fell into silence, Y/N could sense the malevolence shrouding him like a cloak. Especially, the moment that a smirk crested against his lips. 

“My my, you are beautiful. Compared to the others, you are a goddess.” 

His choice in words caused her to pause, contemplate. “Others?” She hated the way her voice quivered when the words left her mouth. 

“Oh yes. Don’t misunderstand me, they were all beautiful but it was in an…” He stopped, pondering what word he wanted to use, his face twitching in thought. “eccentric way; unique to each of them. Though I can’t say that was a bad thing.”

The pit in her stomach sank deeper with a cold chill pointedly reminding her this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. There had been other women, others that he had done God knows what to. But the way he was speaking about them made it seem like they were-

“Like my first, she was pretty. She had this long black hair softer than satin, and reflected the light like no other. Despite that, she had a speech impediment so I had to keep her gagged.” He stood from his slightly crouched position to begin pacing back and forth. 

Y/N watched him while he continued his monologue.

“Oh! And a few months ago, there was Isabell; blonde hair, fair skin, thin, perfect lips. She was a gift from the unsuspecting eye, but when I finally got her down to her chemise there was a rather unappealing birthmark across her collar.” He scoffed, “Didn’t like that.”

She felt the tension within her body rising, her muscles clenching and shaking with anxiety, the tips of her fingers turning cold from the nerves, and heart thumping at a bruising pace against her ribs. 

What kind of man; human could say these things?

“Though, Mary-Ann, she was special. She had a way about her, the way she carried herself; she had fire that girl. Not surprising, she had the reddest curly head of hair I ever did see. That’s not to mention those emerald dipped eyes.” In the midst of his description of this woman’s eyes, he jerked his head over to Y/N, enjoying the shell-shocked expression on her face. 

“And all those girls felt soo…good.” He ran his hands fully over his face, drifting promiscuously down his chest to his hips; his rolling back of his eyes and the sharp inhale of breath left little to the imagination of what he did to them. 

What he forced them to do.

He paused for a moment, letting the eeriness fall in and permeate the air with a suffocating weight. Then without warning, he whipped his head back to her, now taking slow methodical steps toward her. 

“Unfortunately, they didn’t love me enough. Didn’t appreciate me enough, but they were failures; the trials to my final prize.” Once he’s only mere inches from Y/N does he crouch down on one knee, extending his hand out to grip her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

Her skin crawled, prickling with the sensation of being dirty, covered in grime.

“You. You’ll love me. I can tell, you’re different.” With his manic eyes, he caresses her cheek with surprising gentleness. “You’ll love me, right?” 

No. Is what flashed to the front of her mind, but her mouth uttered something else. 

“Of course.” She breathed inside a heavy exhale she didn’t realize she was holding in. 

The words felt disgusting, wrong as they left her and hovered in the air. No matter how much her body wanted to scream and curse him out to set her free, her mind flipped the script and decided that the best way to escape was to placate him in his sick game. 

Y/N watched as the man unnervingly grinned and hopped up to a full standing position. “Wonderful. First things first, we need to get you some clothes. It’s proper for a woman to wear more feminine attire.” 

He gestured to her riding pants and button up shirt tucked into her waistband as he sauntered off into the darkened cave. 

Bastard. 

Y/N silently swore, eyes drifting from what she assumed was the entrance of the cave and the environment around her. She skimmed all around for any kind of sharp object that could be used to cut her free, but none existed. It seemed that he was more thorough than she originally thought. 

And now that she was looking around she paid more attention to what was actually contained with this, mining shaft as it were. There was the lantern still sitting in front of her, but there was also a second one in a near corner and it illuminated a padded bedroll with a pillow. 

The mere sight of it caused a bubbling in her stomach and burning sensation inside her throat. Her mind began to imagine the most horrible things if she let him take her to it. 

Thoughts of him forcing her to lay down, tearing her clothes from her body, all the while he’d trail poisonous kisses against her flesh making her flesh feel as though it were rotting and his hands caressing her skin with sandpaper before he did the unthinkable.

“No! No, that’s not gonna happen.” Y/N pleaded to herself, shaking her head briefly to wave the vulgar thoughts away.

Snapping her from those thoughts were the sound of footsteps echoing through the mine. 

Her eyes whipped over to the sound, gulping down the saliva gathering in her throat, trying to steady the heart that beat so wildly inside her ribcage. 

The man turned the corner with an obvious outfit in hand, a simple white blouse and plaid skirt. “This should do you very nicely.”

He walked over to her, setting the skirt onto the ground and throwing the shirt on top. 

Y/N shifted uncomfortably as she set the trap. “Can you take these ropes off me?” 

“Excuse me?” He said incredulously, raising a brow at the suggestion. 

“Well..” Y/N tilted her head, bit her lip, as she tried to appear more docile. Innocent. “I can’t change in those clothes, if my hands are tied up. Don’t you want me to be pretty for you?”

In his moment of contemplation, Y/N thought he’d flat out refuse. His lip quirked up, and he clicked his tongue like it was a difficult question. However, to her surprise, he let way to a smile. “Of course, darling. You make an excellent point.”

He leaned down and yanked her up with one swift motion. “As long as you promise to behave for me, dear.”

Y/N nodded slowly and without hurry for fear that any expression of emotion would upset him. 

Softly, he untied the itchy ropes from her wrists leaving her standing awkwardly in front of him. It took a second before he gestured to the clothes. “Well?” 

Arthur suddenly flashed to her mind, giving her the false presence that he was with her right now and she silently hoped that he would forgive her for what she was about to do. Hesitantly, she began to unbutton her own blouse followed shortly by her pants leaving her in her bloomers. 

Once she got the fabric off her, the heat of shame flowed through her cheeks from standing so exposed in front of a man she didn’t know. The reality of it almost sent her to tears, but she hardened her resolve to appear calm for she needed him to let down his guard for her escape. Although she could sense the hunger in his eyes even if she tried her best not to look at him.

She started on the blouse first, and it was on in less than a minute so she switched to the skirt. The skirt itself was by no means complicated, but it took some adjustment to get it around her hips and it was in the middle of doing so that an idea popped into her head. 

Instead of methodical tugs on the garb to fit, Y/N tugged hastily, and with seeming difficulty around her body (not to mention a few puffs of air to sell her plight).

“What is it, my love?” 

Y/N huffed again, pouted almost. “I’m..having some trouble. It doesn’t seem to want to-” 

Without warning, she fell forward; tripping on her own feet and into his arms. The man’s arms instinctually extended out to break her fall and Y/N’s hand inconspicuously smoothed over his waist to feel for a weapon. 

No gun, no knife. She concluded, moving onto her next move. 

“Clumsy.” He uttered condescendingly causing Y/N to dip her head back to gaze up at him and give him the best doe eyes she could muster. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

He chuckles as he brings a hand up to cup her cheek. “It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me.”

From his waist, Y/N brought her hands to rest on the back of his neck. “Oh yeah?” She tugged him a little closer to her and smiled. “Well, that’s too-”

She brought up her right knee in an upward motion, managing a single blow to the man’s groin. “Bad!” 

A choked moan from his mouth punctuated the dark cave and he fell to his knees and when he did so, Y/N gave him one quick jab to the side of his jaw and made a run for it down the same way he had returned. 

Her rapid footsteps reverberated off the stony walls, along with her shallow breaths for oxygen as she sprinted for the exit. In the first few minutes of running, and she only kept seeing the rock surrounding her, Y/N worried that they were a lot deeper inside than she suspected which devolved into the thought that this could be a maze. 

Those thoughts were dashed once she caught the night of the starry sky. 

It was cool outside despite the hot sun during the prime hours of the afternoon. The open air cold water against her burning lungs, the sound of trees rustling in the wind a sweet symphony, the light of the full moon a beacon of hope. 

To her immediate right, there was a well traveled footpath leading, maybe, ten feet until the drop off to the solid dirt floor. She wasted no time hiking down the trail. Y/N was in such an adrenaline fueled hurry that she ended up actually tripping the last few feets and rolled on the forest green grass below her. But she crawled her way from the ground to begin in a mad sprint toward the trees where a populated trail would more than likely be. 

She burst through the shrubbery, avoiding many rocks, fallen logs, and dirt holes in the process. 

It took several minutes (though it felt like hours) before Y/N caught a glimpse of a road just beyond the treeline. 

A glimmer of relief surfaced from the depths of her fear and repulsion of that man. 

So close, she was so close. 

Just then, a brutal force from behind tackled her to the forest floor.

She knew who it was, she didn’t need to look and with that retaliation, the panic flooded her veins and she let out a blood curdling scream. 

“Shut up!” The man shouted over top of her screaming. 

They tussled with each other on the grass, Y/N attempting with all her might to pull away from him and the man pulling her under him and pinning her hands above her head. 

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastard! Just let me go!” Y/N continued to screech and now, beginning to cry, for the fear became too much to contain. 

With her plea, the man ripped the front of her shirt open to expose her to the open air. “You should’ve done what you were told, you little slut! Now, I’m gonna show you who you belong to!” 

He leaned down to harshly kiss her neck, running his tongue along the pressure point all while Y/N kicked and screamed and cried and begged for him to just stop. 

“HEY! You get away from her, you son of a bitch!” The growl of a voice shouted from somewhere. 

Y/N opened her eyes to witness the man being yanked off of her and thrown to the ground again, only this time someone was on top of him, and this time, met with the fury rage of another man’s fists. 

Through the bleary tears, she saw the back of a familiar tan jacket along with a familiar black hat. 

Could it be?

The touch of someone’s hand made her jump, almost recoiling from the sensation. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re alright.” 

She recognized that voice. 

“Charles?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. Everythings’ okay now. Let’s get you out of here.” He gently coaxed, lifting his hand out for her to take. 

In a daze, she took his hand in her’s in order to let him lift her from the ground. Once she was standing, he tried leading her away from the man but she stopped. 

“Wait, I want to see.” 

Charles offered no rebuttal or suggestion, opting to let Y/N do what she wished and turn back to the event unfolding in front of them. 

Before her, Arthur, the man she loved so dearly, was beating the life out of the man that had threatened her mere moments ago. By this point, the man’s face was covered in blood and one eye was horribly swollen, turning shades of purple. 

The sight of it was awful, downright brutal as Arthur brought down blow after blow to the man’s more than broken cheekbone. Yet seeing him in pain as Arthur wore a pure predatory expression sparked the slightest bit of satisfaction in her gut.

After what that man had done, not only to her; kidnapping her, and attempting to have his way with her, but what he did to all those other women, he would pay for it. And perhaps the law would have caught him someday, who knows? But that didn’t matter, not now, not to an outlaw who had nothing to lose except the love of a woman who he’d thought he never deserved.

In a split second, Arthur had stopped punching the man in order to begin choking him to death. He gasped, sputtered for air as his hand desperately grabbed Arthur’s jacket sleeves to somehow loosen his grip. It quickly proved useless especially when the man’s eyes finally closed, and the rapid breathing of his chest slowed to nothing. 

Arthur pulled his bloodied hands away, stumbling back as he came back to standing. His body contracts with the stuttering breaths of heightened exhaustion. 

“Arthur…” 

Barely a word, a whisper really, regardless it draws his attention. The hardened expression full of a white hot rage softens to one of unadulterated love. 

“Y/N…” 

He rushes to her, nearly colliding with her but once he takes her into his hold, she wraps her arms around him tightly fearing that if she let go, he would disappear along with her hope that she had survived. 

“Oh Arthur..” The beginnings of a deeply wounded sob burst from her mouth, tears rolling down her face. 

Arthur cradled the back of her head and held her back, whispering sweet words into her hair. “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here, I’m here. I gotcha.” 

He proceeded to press kiss after kiss into her hair, temple, and cheek while he gently rocked her back and forth. 

“He..he was gonna-” 

Y/N started but Arthur quickly cut her off from her train of thought. “I know, I know, you don’t gotta say it. But he ain’t gonna hurt you ever again nor anyone else, I promise.”

She cried harder at his loving proclamation causing him to hug her tighter.

Charles, who had been standing off to the side, carefully took a few steps toward the couple. “Arthur, we should go.” 

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to meet Charles’ and nodded before gently tugging Y/N away to look at him. “Let’s get outta here, okay?”

She simply nodded, saying no more as Arthur led her to his horse nearby. He got up on the saddle first, then extended his hand down to Y/N which she happily took and resided to sit behind him, letting her arms wrap tightly around his waist and bury her face in his back. The smell of smoke and gunpowder with a hint of the earthy forest filtered through her nose, soothing over her every nerve. 

His distinct, musky aroma brought her back to the sweetness of his love and adoration for her; a sense of being that brought about the comfort of undeniable safety. 

Before she knew it, they were in motion; the familiar bouncing of being on horseback allowed Y/N time to readjust back to reality. The entire ride back to camp was a long, tired one. Once the surge of adrenaline had worn off, her body began to feel the effects; particularly the urge to sleep. 

She had such a difficult time keeping her eyes open that she barely noticed when they’d finally gotten back and Arthur helped her down from the horse. 

As soon as he escorted her to sit on his cot, she snapped out of her sleepy state.

“You with me, darling?” 

Y/N finally looked up at him out of her daze, “Yeah, I’m with you.”

He nodded, suddenly pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing it against her cheek. 

“What’s wrong? Is there dirt on my face or something?” Y/N asked, pulling her head away. 

“No, but you got a cut on your cheek; bled quite a bit.” Arthur softly answered as his hand hovered in the air, waiting for her to let him help. 

“Oh..” She uttered, leaning back to let Arthur wipe off her, unknowingly, bloody cheek. 

A couple of quiet minutes passed of Arthur focusing hard on wiping away the blood, and Y/N watching him. Her eyes first observed on his own green-ish blue eyes then down to his lips, then to the old scar on his chin; the one she’d spent days memorizing, and eventually to his wickedly bruised knuckles, obtained when he beat her would be rapist to death. It got her wondering.

“How did you find me?” 

“Uh…” He breathed for a moment, startled from his deep thoughts, “It wasn’t too long after you were taken that Charles and I followed the tracks left behind. It was actually Charles who had realized something was wrong. He woke up everyone in camp and then we started after you.”

“In the dark?” Y/N asked surprised. 

More often than not, she was advised against hunting or tracking at night. It was nearly impossible to track at that time especially with moonless skies, and it was also more likely that you'd get lost or start following your own tracks so to hear that Arthur and Charles followed her through the forest at night shocked her. 

“Of course.” He huffed as if the answer was obvious, “After you told me about that little confrontation in Strawberry, I wasn’t about to wait ‘til morning.” 

She watched as Arthur swiped the handkerchief across her cheek one final time before setting it on the table nearby, figuring he’d probably wash it when he got up tomorrow. He stood from his crouched position in front of her to instead sit beside her on his cot. 

“Thank you. I mean it, Arthur. I-I don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t been there in time.”

“Don’t go worrying about it,” He reassured, “It didn’t happen and I won’t ever let it happen. Not as long as I’m with you.”

Y/N nodded, then leaned down to rest her head on his shoulder. He brought one arm to settle around her shoulder while he used his free hand to take her small hand in his much larger one. They enjoyed the silence of the night, the gang already having gone back to bed once they saw Y/N was alright and the hidden crickets all around providing a lolling symphony 

“Would it be alright if I slept in your tent again tonight?” Y/N asked, a hopeful fluttering residing in her stomach. Though, she pretty much already knew the answer.

Arthur playfully scoffed, kissing the top of her head. “After today, sweetheart, I ain’t never lettin’ you sleep alone again.”

Y/N smiled fondly. “I look forward to it.”

[sunflowerwinds]

this love | chapter two [h.c]

summary: you never thought a knight could make you so tense. thanks to a shared love for literature, you finally grow the confidence to speak more than a few words to hazel. you get to meet a special friend of hazel’s while showing her the garden. the queen and king share some news.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: baby gay in the making, slight angst, fluff. just pure princess and knight fluff. isabel again being the sweetest girl and friend to reader. the king and queen are a warning of their own, soft little gay touches.

word count: 3.7K

a/n: i wanted to treat you guys to chapter two early…. the relationship is brewing.

‘this love’ master list

Your parents weren’t being vague about Hazel watching over you.

It had been two weeks since she had first arrived and you’ve seen her from when the sun first peeks from the horizon to the depths of the midnight sky. She had to be in the room when you apologized to both Prince Jeffrey and his mother before they had to begin their journey back to their kingdom. It was utterly humiliating for you as you had to tell Prince Jeffrey that your reasoning was that you weren’t ‘properly trained’ as your father insisted.

Trained. You weren’t a pet. You didn't need to be trained. You needed to be respected by those ridiculous princes.

The intimidating knight had to see you in such an embarrassing state only two days into her job.

You swore you had seen more of Hazel in the past week than you had your own reflection. Instead of just Isabel in your corner for etiquette lessons, it was Hazel and Isabel.

The two of them seemed to be getting along quite nicely. Every time you caught them talking to one another, you saw Isabel smiling and nodding to her words.

That was one thing you were unadmittedly jealous of. You haven’t gotten the gall to make more conversation. She had mostly just been lingering around every corner to make sure you were doing what you were supposed to be doing.

You can talk to her. It shouldn’t be that hard to just talk. What would you talk about though?

It was just past breakfast time, Hazel following you to the library that your parents had but completely ignored. It was one of your safe spaces to just have some moments of peace.

Your parents weren’t constantly pressuring you about which of the unbearable princes to choose from. You weren’t being compared to Moira. If you could just sit in that library — or the garden as your second choice of comfort — and read a good book, you’d be content.

Your eyes followed to Hazel’s side profile, opening your mouth to start a conversation. Hazel shifted her eyes a little too fast for your liking when she noticed your change in movement. Your mouth clamped shut just as fast as it opened and you continued walking in silence.

Small talk is not easy, you’ve come to realize.

Why was this so hard for you? Every time her vision locked with yours, it made your entire body stiffen.

As you finally approached the library’s grand doors, Hazel sped up her pace so she could open the doors for you. She stood with her back against it, waiting for you to pass by into the secluded area. It was a rather minuscule library as not many people in the palace read books.

You were pretty sure you and Isabel were the only ones that visited the abandoned area. Well, you, Isabel, and now Hazel.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you pass by her, stepping into the room.

“Of course, princess,” Hazel replies, nodding at you with respect.

There that feeling flushed over you again. It was every time she had referred to you as ‘princess’. Everyone in the palace calls you princess as much as you insist for them not to. Hazel was the first person you didn't mind calling you ‘princess’.

Your eyes dance from cover to cover, figuring out where the exact book you were looking for was located. Hazel’s heavier boots echoed behind you, an anxious shiver crawling up your spine to cling to your ears. Your fingers traced the spines of the hardcovers until you landed on the book you were searching for.

You dig your fingertips into the top of the spine, tugging the book out of its place. You place it onto your palm, running a hand over the cover.

“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand,” Hazel speaks up from behind you.

You jump slightly at her sudden words, turning around to face the knight.

“I’m sorry?” You ask her as you half heard what she had said.

Hazel’s eyes flickered to the book in your hand then back up to your eyes.

“Frankenstein. It’s one of my favorites.” She adds.

You didn't even know she was watching you so intently to see what book you had chosen. Well, you suppose that’s her job as your knight. You released a chuckle that was so shaky, you wanted to stuff the book into your mouth and down your throat to shut you up.

“Right, I’m sorry. I hadn't fully heard what you said.” You tried to play it off, keeping eye contact for probably the first time since she’s arrived.

“Oh, I didn’t intend to scare you, princess.” Hazel chuckled as well, taking a few steps forward.

“No, no, you didn’t, Hazel.” She raises her eyebrows at you, knowing you are lying straight through your teeth. “Okay, you did but that’s only because I didn’t realize you had even seen what I had grabbed.”

Hazel shook her head as she was now only inches from your body. Her captivating eyes shone bright from the mid-morning sun rays beaming in through the library's white-paned windows. You counted the different shades of blue that decorated her iris’.

You counted four.

“It’s the king and queen's orders to keep a close eye on you.” Hazel hummed, tilting her head as her eyes flickered to the book.

You nod, clearing your throat. “Of course.”

“What are your other favorite books?” Hazel hummed, now staring into your soul.

Your eyes flicker from the slope of her nose to the cupid's bow of her top lip.

“It’s a bit more recent but I did love Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.” You admit, surprising yourself with how good you were doing so far with talking to Hazel.

“Oh, I’ve never heard of that one.” Hazel furrowed her brows.

“Isabel had found it at a bookshop in town and brought it to me. It’s somewhere in my room still but when you have the time, I would recommend it.” You smile at the thought of Isabel thinking of you as she went out as you weren’t allowed to leave the palace.

Hazel only nodded at your words, grinning at your smile. You hoped she took notice of your subtle invite to ask her for the book one day.

“What else do you enjoy doing other than reading?” Hazel spoke up, moving a few steps back.

You wondered why she did so.

“Truthfully, I’m not allowed to do much within these walls. If I’m not in etiquette lessons and getting scolded for my apparent hunchback, I’m having to endure the utterly incompetent excuses for princes from other kingdoms that my parents hand-select.” You grin sarcastically, sighing out as you shake your head.

Hazel’s figure is walking away now, not sure as to what to say to what you had just admitted. You realize how venomous your words sounded and regret settles in your chest.

Too comfortable.

“Other than that, I enjoy visiting the garden. It’s quite beautiful there. Maurice and Hemmings, the gardeners, do a brilliant job at mending to the plants and keeping them alive.” You ramble, picking at the spine of Frankenstein.

Hazel is facing you now, just a few feet away. You suck in a deep breath, hoping she won't bring up how you just admitted you didn't want to get married.

“And where’s the garden?”

The garden was someplace that you probably could live in if it wasn’t outdoors. There were tall bushes that looked as if the tree's leaves were growing outwards from the trunk. In the center is a stone fountain with crystal-clear water. The much shorter bushes held in the midst of them beautifully bloomed petunias.

If you looked above, wisterias dangled from the tall trees on either side of the garden. You wanted to trap yourself here on most days and pretend there wasn’t anything else going on in the world.

“This is the garden.” You grin as you’re staring at the wisterias.

Hazel, too, had been admiring the way the flowers above framed the entirety of the garden. A faint smile spread onto her lips as the sunlight beamed in through the spring leaves.

“I can see why you adore this place so much.” Hazel glanced over at your elated expression and couldn’t help but absorb your radiance.

You drop your head as you lock your eyes on hers, watching her lips twitch into a smile. You’ve never seen her full smile until today; teeth and all.

It was a look you’d love to see more often. When she had to keep that knightly emotionless expression on her face, it felt more just like ‘ knight’ and ‘princess’. Right now, it felt like more than that.

Deeper than that.

“At this time in spring is when the wisterias appear the most beautiful,” Hazel states as she looks back up at the dangly flowers.

“And why is that?” You hum, wanting to hear her voice for the rest of your life.

“They’ve fully bloomed, showing their entire selves to us. That’s what’s so beautiful.” Hazel explained as she trekked around the fountain to make her way towards you.

You feel that familiar tension in your chest as she looks at you while moving closer. You were just fine. What was happening to you?

“I wasn’t aware that you were an expert on botany.” You teased as you avoided her gaze at all costs, sitting down at the fountain.

You turned to sit facing her but you were dragging one of your palms through the warm water. You wanted to look at her. You were quite liking it until she began to walk towards you.

“You have no idea how many things I expert in, princess.” Hazel quipped back.

Your cheeks flush scarlet as you continue to distract yourself. It was entirely too hot outside all of a sudden. You had to move locations as much as you’d love to stay in the garden.

“It’s about mid-day. I have go to the stables and feed my horse.” Hazel stated, adjusting her belt once again. “I can escort you to whichever room you’d like before then, princess.”

You finally looked up at her with a tight smile.

“Whichever room?” You question.

Hazel nodded, a faint smile spreading onto her lips. “You are the princess.”

“In that case, is it alright if I accompany you?” You ask her with a hopeful tone.

This didn’t seem to be something that Hazel was expecting from you. There was a moment of shock covering her features before she simply nodded curtly.

Hazel hesitantly replied; “If you wish, princess.”

You frowned. “If I’m intruding—“

If you wish. Why did that bother you so much?

“No, no, no,” Hazel’s tone had changed completely, a lot more gentle this time. “Just… okay, it might smell a bit. The stables, I mean.”

You nod along to her words.

“I know, Hazel. I haven’t been completely kept inside.” You try to lighten up the mood, anticipating to see Hazel’s smile lines once again.

Hazel chuckles to herself, looking down at her boots. A laugh. Even better than what you were hoping for.

“Alright, princess. Follow me then.”

You do so, taking this time to take in her back profile. You’ve never seen it as due to her knightly duties, she always has to stay behind or next to you; never in front.

It sent a shiver down your spine to be breaking the stupid rules with Hazel. Isabel was right.

Maybe you could be friends.

As you approached the brick stables, an instant deeper and pungent smell filled your senses. You pushed past it as you were entirely too excited to see the horses up close. Hazel grabbed onto the metal handle on the smaller door, tugging on it.

Once it had opened, you had seen a dark horse's head peak out. You slowly inched your way towards him, Hazel had reached into a cloth bag that was on her hip that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Aren’t you a gorgeous horse?” Your voice heightens as you approach the deep-colored horse.

Your parents never really allowed you to get into the stables as they were only meant for the staff and knights. Claimed it was only meant for those who had to be there. As you were standing in front of Hazel’s horse, you hated how you missed out on this because it was ‘too dirty’ for a princess.

Hazel was right behind you now, her hand gripping the handful of hay that she was going to feed him.

“Isn’t he?” She hummed, approaching him with a soft smile.

You nod as you watch her horse gently lower his head to allow her to smooth down the fur on his head. Hazel whispers something to him that you can’t understand.

Whatever she had whispered to him, he seemed to accept the hay instantly. She smiled with contentment, patting the side of his neck.

“What’s his name?” You question, watching him carefully gnaw at the hay straws.

Hazel glanced at you, clearing her throat. You wait patiently for her response, confused when she begins to turn away to search for something.

“Hazel?” You question once more.

“Yes, princess?” She replied, raising her brows at you from her hunched-over position.

Don’t get distracted. She’s supposed to call you that.

“What’s his name?” You raise your brows, focusing on the stallion.

“Peanut,” Hazel replies slowly, wincing slightly as she awaits your reaction.

A sudden laugh left your lips before covering it with your palm. You glanced around the open area around the stables, hearing the birds flutter away from your unexpected laughter.

You stare at Hazel with a straight and teasing smile.

“Peanut?” You tilt your head.

“It’s supposed to be ironic.” Hazel defends with a chuckle. “He’s big, tall, and strong, and well, a peanut is tiny.”

“It’s cute. It suits him very well,” you examine his muzzle and forehead.

You lean in closer, watching his eyes lock on you. He huffs and neighs rather loudly, causing you to back up just as fast as you approach him. You didn't know why or how it had happened but you were latched onto Hazel’s right bicep.

Your grip was tight out of fear that you’d angered him. Hazel’s left hand is carefully placed over your own, keeping your hand there.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hazel mutters to Peanut, her hand that was attached to the one you had a grip on gently caressing his forehead.

“I-I didn't mean to.” You reply, shaking your head.

“He’s okay. I promise. That was my fault for not warning you. He was a war horse before he was mine. It took some time for him to warm up to me. Nearly snapped my arm off the first time I attempted to ride him.” Hazel assured you, keeping one hand on your grip and the other on Peanuts’ head.

Guilt floods into your veins as you watch Hazel calm him down. He had been through so much.

“Oh, poor thing.” You notice he has a scar right underneath his right eye.

You turn your head to look at Hazel and realize you’re still gripping onto her bicep. You release it, muttering another apology as you tried to push away how you noticed the muscle in her upper arm.

“It’s alright. Nothing to worry about, princess.” Hazel assures you with a grin, glancing down at your hand that was once on her body.

“He’s okay?” You ask, worriedly staring at the horse.

“He is. Here.” Hazel clears her throat, pointing to your hand. “May I?”

One thing your mother was right about was Hazel’s professionalism. You rather impulsively latched onto her while she was asking to touch your hand.

You don’t utter a word just lifting your hand to allow her to take it into her palms. A heat rose to your chest as she carefully moved to hold your wrist. You blamed it on the sun’s aggressive rays beaming down onto the back of your head.

“Don’t be sudden with your movements. Be gentle.” Hazel instructs as she carefully places your hand over Peanut’s forehead.

Her voice was just above a whisper, just a few inches away from your ears. You try to focus on how nice his coat of hair felt; not the sudden shivers traveling down your spine from her words.

“Wow.” Hazel spoke up, sounding rather shocked.

“What is it?” You question softly, continuing your movements with Hazel’s more careful grip still on your wrist.

“He usually would be freaking out by now,” Hazel replied, looking down at your wrist. “You really are a special one, princess.”

Special. Princess.

Her words echoed in your mind and rested in your thoughts.

“I am definitely not special. More lucky,” you dismiss her words, wondering why it made you feel both thrilled and uneasy.

“I disagree.” Hazel quips back, eyes locking with yours. “Respectfully, I disagree, princess.”

“Well we’ll just have to agree to disagree.” You grin flatly, wanting the conversation to end.

Before Hazel could mutter anything else to you, you spot Isabel walking into the direction of the stables. You both separated from one another, Peanut becoming completely disregarded.

“Isabel?” You question, smoothing down the front of one of your everyday dresses.

“The, uh, king and queen have requested your presence.” Isabel states, sucking in a deep breath.

“Right, well, I’ll be there.” You nod, giving her a kind smile.

“I’ll escort the princess. Thank you, Isabel.” Hazel nods to your friend.

Isabel’s eyes flicker from you to Hazel, an unfamiliar expression in her face. You scratch at your wrist where Hazel’s warm palm was as she walks away. Hazel gives Peanut one more reassuring pat on his neck before carefully shutting the top-half of the door.

“After you, princess.” Hazel moved to the side and bowed out of respect.

Back to knight and princess.

You begin to trek forward as you notice a few guards holding the doors open for the three of you. Isabel was walking right by your side, silently watching you. She wanted to say something. You know it.

“I see you and Hazel are becoming friends now.” Isabel hummed, glancing at the guards to nod in their direction.

“I suppose. She’s become more… open.” You reply back.

You were hoping that the charming knight hadn’t heard your words. She was merely a few feet behind you so you tried to keep your volume low.

“That’s good. She had told me you—“

“What did she tell you?” You didn't mean to seem so eager but considering Isabel flinched, it was entirely too much.

“That you hadn’t spoken to her other than ‘yes’ and ‘thank you’. She thinks you think she’s not paying attention to you.” Isabel reveals to you before looking at you once again. “She wants to get to know you.”

“Yeah, I’ve… realized that now.” Your mind flickers from the few shared moments no more than two hours ago. The library, Frankenstein, the garden. Special princess.

As you approach the throne room, you spot more than ten guards carrying luggage. You spot your mother and father instructing these guards out the front entrance of the palace.

“Mother? Father?” You call out to them, confusion written all over your features.

Your father turns in his place, eyes locking on your shorter figure. He glances behind you on Isabel and Hazel.

“We’re going to be traveling across the waters to a new kingdom to see if there are any other princes who you haven’t completely degraded. It’ll be three weeks time, at most a month before we return.” Your father motions to all of the heavy wood suitcases.

The words settled in and you weren’t as angry as you would have been. This is usually when you and your father would have a screaming argument about how they were wasting their time leaving.

“Oh, well, have safe travels. I hope you both come back healthy and well.” You simply reply, folding your hands respectfully.

“Ah, well, it seems like Dame Callahan has been a good influence on you this past week.” Your mother’s tone was rather shocked with how you weren’t starting a screaming match with your father.

You bite your tongue at the looks your father and mother were sending you. All it took was for a ‘safe travels’ for them to not be angry with you for a moment?

“I trust Dame Callahan will keep you in line. You know you mustn’t leave the palace gates, indoors by sundown, and you must be attending those etiquette lessons once a day except for Saturday and Sunday as Mrs. DuBois is home.” Your mother quickly explained the rules but all you heard was ‘a month without you guys breathing down my neck’.

“Yes, mother. I will be here.” You sigh to yourself, waiting for them to be on their way.

“Well then, Dame Callahan?” You hear your father address Hazel.

“Yes, your majesty. I won’t let the princess out of my sight.” She states calmly but you were more than calm.

You were over excited for their leave. You walked over to very stiffly hug and bid them goodbye. Physical touch wasn’t something you received from your parents often. Only orders and scoldings.

The carriage at the entrance of the palace was piled in the back full of your parents' luggage. You, Isabel, and Hazel stood on the very top step to wave them bye as the driver yielded for the horse to go onward.

“You seem happy.” Isabel hummed, a grin forming on her face.

“Me? No. I’m absolutely heartbroken that my parents will be leaving for the next month.” You reply in a flat tone, turning to her and smiling at the end of your sentence.

You’re about to be forced into marriage as you knew you weren’t going to have much say in this next suitor. You might as well try to make the most of the next month before then.

“And what do you plan to do for the next month, princess?” Hazel’s voice causes you to jump and flush as you had forgotten she could hear you.

You clear your throat with a smile, nodding your head.

“You wouldn’t tell my parents, would you?” You question Hazel.

Her eyes lock on yours with a small shrug. That wasn’t a no nor a yes. You’ll take it.

“I still have to look after you, princess.” Hazel replied.

“You’ll be there as well, Dame Callahan.”

You were sure of it.

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[theawkwardanglophile]

My Headcanons For Tim's Houses

I was so thrown for a loop with Tim's new house in 7x04. I fully expected them to create a set that looked like Tim's S4 house. And maybe the owner of that house didn't want them to copy it? I have no idea how all of that works (but also, why wouldn't you want your house to be Tim Bradford's house? Anyways....)

So, I spent time trying to rationalize within canon why we've seen 3 houses. Here's what I came up with. Again, this is all my own speculation:

1st House (S1 & S2): While the scenes with Rachel in Tim's bedroom aren't confirmed to be the same house as the 1x07 cold open, it definitely feels like they could be, and that's always been my assumption. I believe it was the house he shared with Isabel. Maybe when Rachel decided to move to New York, it really got him thinking. He considered moving across the country but knew that wasn't the right choice. But perhaps he figured instead of making a giant move like that, he could at least make a small move and get out of the house that undoubtedly had painful memories from his marriage falling apart.

2nd House (S4): My headcanon now is that this one was a rental. He moved quickly in the 2-month span of S3, and this house has the least amount of decor in it. Which, yes, goes with the sleek, minimalist look of the house, but after seeing the 3rd house with all its knick-knacks and busier decor, it's interesting the middle house has none of that. I just wonder if the second house was always meant to be a stepping stone, so he just never bothered to do much with it. This one is probably my fave mostly because of just how fresh and bright it is.

Another thought that just came to me is he didn't have a spare bed to offer Lucy in 4x01, which could be because he'd just moved, or could be because it was just a 1-bedroom rental.

3rd House (S7): My headcanon is he bought this after he and Genny sold their childhood home, and after he got into Metro. I think Lucy not only helped him pick out the house, both thinking one day it would be theirs, but she helped him decorate as well. The yellow throw pillows?! Come on. She helped him take all his knack-knacks out of storage and found a place for them, making it seem a lot more like the first house. I'm not totally sold on this new house yet, but it seems homey and lived-in, more than the previous one, and I'm curious what else we're going to see happen in it.

Feel free to share any thoughts you have!

[vetteltea]

Daniel Ricciardo and Trying to get a Family Photo [no warnings]

Day 12 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

Note: This one was such a pleasure and so, so fun to write and it is solely dedicated to my soulmate, @a-distantdreamer. It is a genuine pleasure to speak to you every single day; thank you for having a whole notion board with me, dedicated to Danny Ric, Baby Badger & Bingo. I love you so, so much.

The sand of the beach felt warm underneath your feet, the Australian sun dancing across your features. Christmas cards were portrayed with layers of snow across quaint little villages, a stark contrast to the scenery which you were currently standing in. 

It had been a whirlwind choice to attend the holidays alongside the Ricciardo clan; having barely been dating four months, official for two and public to the world for zero, your stomach had originally dropped at the idea of being so far away from home for Christmas, instead surrounded by faces you had only briefly interacted with over a FaceTime call. 

Daniel would never have forced you to come, hands cradling either side of your face and dark eyes boring into yours, making you promise him you were okay with coming home for the holidays. He knew the risks; even though his parents were adamant you were such a lovely girl and were crawling the walls more than him to meet you, it meant traveling the world publicly; the followers were far from stupid, the moment they saw a beautiful young girl stood alongside him, everything would fall into place. 

Standing on the soft grains of Leighton Beach now, you couldn’t understand why you had been so nervous; Grace’s arms had pulled you so tightly into her chest when arriving to the family home, Issac tugging at your arm, insisting he had to show you his new bed because ‘Uncle Daniel had already seen it!’

You’d found out on Christmas Eve, whilst Joe was packing up one of the people-carriers, that it was a Ricciardo tradition to spend Christmas Day on the beach, with presents in the evening and tender kisses when Michelle and the children traveled to be with her husband’s family on Boxing Day. You’d been quick to jump up and assist with packing up the car, the patriarch of the family passing a loving comment that you had slotted into the family perfectly already. 

The fact was only highlighted further when you had been curled underneath a blanket alongside Daniel later on in the family room, glasses of wine held by most whilst you listened intently to the stories they felt you had to know. 

Come Christmas Day, the sun was glowing across the horizon, Daniel’s fingers had barely unlaced from yours, his family knowing he had never been this smitten from his previous partners and they could not seem to find a single fault with the wonderful girl he had brought home as his partner. 

“Everybody stay put!” Daniel’s voice had struck you from the traces of memory you had from the past four days. He stood further up the beach than the rest of you, attempting to set his camera up on a makeshift tripod, determined that after last years’ lack of a family photo, he would make up for it now. 

He’d planned it oh-so-meticulously; Grace and Joe stood in the middle, their new puppy that his father had gifted his mother sat at their feet. Michelle stood on one side, her husband’s arm wrapped around her waist. Issac and Isabelle stood either side of the new puppy, fighting every will they had not to bend down and cuddle the new family member. 

You had stood just out of frame, unsure of whether it was overly pushy to place yourself alongside the family; after all, it had only been a few months, the relationship wasn’t even public to the rest of the world. If Daniel had the desire to post this to the public, it would open an entire new world for you. Besides, even if your heart melted at the idea of being nestled into the family, there was no way-

“Timer is set! We’ve got ten seconds!” 

Your head snaps upwards, seeing a mass of dark curls and a gaudy Christmas shirt, identical to his father, nephew and brother-in-law sprint at you. A tanned hand snatches at your wrist, pulling you clumsily across the grains of sand and slipping into the gap on the opposite side of his sister. Daniel barely has time to adjust himself, wrapping both of his arms around you tucking you neatly underneath his chin, his grin sparkling as the shutter snaps, both of you smiling as if your childhood-self had found a room stocked with an infinite supply of candy. 

The moment after the photo is taken, the children are chasing after the puppy, Grace turning to Michelle to continue their previous conversation. Daniel’s hands are hesitant to unwrap from your frame, instead opting to look down, seeing your widened eyes and mouth slightly open. A look of concern laces across his face, one hand gently reaching down to trail against your cheekbone, taking in your appearance. 

“All good?” He cradles you closer, brushing the hair out of your face oh-so-delicately. “I didn’t…you’re all good, yeah?”

“Yeah-” You’re quick to respond. “I just…I didn’t think you’d want me in with…y’know, the family photo-”

 There’s zero chance of you finishing your sentence when your boyfriend leans in, pressing a hard kiss against your lips, almost as if he could convey everything he had felt for so long into one action. He’d never believed when his mother had told him he would know. That feeling never came with the previous girls he had bought home. It had lingered when he first set eyes on you, and now stuck like adhesive when you had slept in his arms for the first time. 

When he pulls away, his tanned forehead rests against your own, content as your breathing patterns synchronize, his grin returning, voice low; his next sentence is to be treasured by you, and you alone.

“You are family.” He murmurs. “You’re my family.” 

There’s no words that can fall from your lips, instead letting him pull you back into his chest, feeling him press a butterfly kiss to the top of your head, both of you tilting your gaze when seeing the two children sprint into the sea after the new puppy, his sister beckoning you over to come and look at something, Joe patting a hand onto his son’s back. Only 365 days until the next Christmas with your family.

[stxrr-strxckk]

Something I noticed about I Saw the TV Glow that I haven't seen anybody mention yet

I saw this movie in theaters back in early may when it was released (Twice!), and it's been lingering in my head ever since then. Something I noticed on my second watch through: When Owen (and the audience) first see the Pink Opaque, we see Tara and Isabel in this sort of 90s nostalgia light, and I always thought they looked quite similar to Maddy and Owen. For example: Here is Owen and Isabel next to each other for reference.

While it's not entirely the same (Owen has softer features and is warmer toned, Isabel is more sharp and cool toned), they do look like they'd at least be related, cousins at least?

Same with Maddy and Tara, though not as much. (They looked more similar after Maddy's haircut, but I'm too lazy to change the photo)

But then, at the end when Owen is rewatching Pink Opaque? It's completely different. That nostalgic effect is gone and all of a sudden Tara is nowhere to be seen (Since Maddy left the world they were trapped in), and Isabel is completely different. Instead of being the confident, strong, WOC we see her as originally, she's just the same boring white protagonist of every little girl's show we grew up on.

And of course Owen is panicking, realizing that he lost his chance: He buried Isabel; she's dead underground, without her heart and instead of being who he truly is where he truly belongs, he's just... Owen. Stuck in suburbia, living the hell of being a queer kid growing up in the suburbs. Except now, he's an adult living a lie, knowing what he could have had is gone and he's stuck.

And another thing: I think the choice of the fun zone being where Owen works is deliberate. Sure, they could have kept him at the theater, but the theater shutting down is not only accurate (sad but true- please support your local movie theaters!) but shows how everyone is moving on from that experience of going to see a movie (and also from the joy of childhood and into adulthood while Owen is still stuck that awkward teenager!) in person- choosing streaming instead.

And we also notice this change in the Pink Opaque when Owen is watching it streaming. This is a reflection of how media felt more special growing up when it was in a physical form. Cds, vinyl, Dvds, casettes, film reels, even game cartridges, we've always had some physical object that bonds us to the worlds of creativity in which artists express themselves. And whether you've noticed or not, it's a special sort of feeling that just... Dies with streaming. Its like you own a piece of the media. Like saying: "This is mine, it's my personal piece of media that belongs to me and only me." and that's always made it feel special. Sure, there may be multiple copies, but this one belongs just to you. Not to mention the ritual of actually putting in cds, dvds, casettes into a player, or playing vinyl on a record player. There's this action you have to take to consume this media that's familiar and sort of gets you to anticipate what you're about to watch (much like Owen and Maddy's ritual of Maddy taping the show then leaving them around school for Owen to find) whereas now, you're just on a streaming service that lots of people own, and you're just mindlessly scrolling through hundreds of options.

Another thing: What do we see when Owen cuts his chest open in the final few minutes? TV static. Like when a tape finishes and you don't take it out of the player. His tape is over, Isabel is dead, and all that's left is the static of his fake life as he slowly rots in this husk. Now with streaming, you don't get that static. His connection with the Pink Opaque stems from his friendship with Maddy, the nostalgia of his favorite childhood show, and of course: his own queerness.

It's no secret this movie is about growing up queer and feeling like something is wrong. Like some part of you missing, the part that makes you normal. I've seen many reviews on IMDB that clearly missed the point, so I really want to spell it out here: THIS IS A MOVIE ABOUT QUEER PEOPLE FOR QUEER PEOPLE. And I've never seen a movie so perfectly encapsulate that feeling more than this one.

From my experience as a queer POC growing up with little to no representation I know this feeling all too well of seeing someone and realizing: "Wow, that's me." And projecting who I wanted to be onto that person. Even though they're not queer, they're not a poc, they're just a character. We try so hard to make them into who we want to be that the image of this character becomes so distorted you barely recognize them. Then, later revisiting that media to realize that a: you've become them, your true self, or b, in Owen's case: that you've buried that person alive and barely recognize yourself now.

It's really such a unique experience that I've never been able to put into words before. These scenes gave me such a visceral feeling and I almost cried in the theater. The scene of Owen in Isabel's dress is just the cherry on top. I myself am lucky enough to not need to transition and growing up I didn't feel as much dysphoria as my other trans friends, but this reminds me of a good friend of mine who used to dress in heels, makeup, skirts, and dresses to try and lessen the dysphoria she felt growing up in the wrong body.

I also love how the movie shows being queer in school.

Like how Maddy asks Owen if he likes girls or boys, and he replies with: "I think I like TV shows."

Avoiding the question because you either don't know the answer, or are so afraid you're gonna get bullied even more for being who you are.

Growing up, there weren't many queer kids in my school. So when we found each other, we stuck together. But for most of school, we were alone. No groups, not many friends, no space at the lunch table for us.

And seeing Owen, I just felt this connection to him almost immediately. Alone, not part of any group, until he finally finds Maddy. They don't have anything in common except the show, which is really the only reason they're friends, but it keeps them together, They're bonded.

For me, I see this as finding another queer kid in a mostly straight school. You may not have much in common, but that identity means you two will stick together, no matter what.

TLDR: I love isttvg, it makes me cry, everyone is gay and fuck imdb.

[heyyypuddin]

Withering Petal (Armando x OC) Bad Boys Chapter 8

⚠️Trigger Warning ⚠️

This chapter does contain mentions of violence and strong language as well as horrendous crimes. Please heed if you’re sensitive to mentions of those.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 8 

The next few days fly by like a breeze, nothing exciting happening. Amora’s been working on another big art project for a different client, so she’s been keeping to her office, and Armando has been basically living in her home gym. 

Every time she goes to see what the fugitive is up to, she finds him in there working away. Sometimes she goes sneaking peeks whenever he’s shirtless or making rather loud grunts, thinking she was being sneaky, but unbeknownst to her, he sees her every time. 

The week flew into the next, and Amora was in the room with Armando checking over his wounds. 

““You’re healing pretty well, which is great to see they were looking real nasty when you first came,” she inspected his shoulder, moving over to his side before backing up to change out the bandages. 

He hummed in response, comfortable in the silence they usually have while being in each other's presence. He fixed his position as she started putting on the bandages, scanning over her. He noticed she changed her nails to a light pink with clear textured designs, her toes matching the color. 

‘How cute’ he thought; he always found it so cute how she kept up with herself. It reminded him of his mother; she never liked going anywhere underdressed; she even found it disrespectful when women would come near her not dressed well.

He closed his eyes, feeling an ache from the thought of his mother. It made him want to run away. Even with everything she's done, he missed her. She was the only physical parental figure he had growing up, and even then, he barely got to see her. Another ache hit him, and he looked for a way to avoid the uprooting emotions. 

“Why is Victor looking for you? You mentioned it a couple times but never explained it.” came the question. It’s been bothering him for a while, but he never spoke on it, and it helped take the spotlight of his memories stabbing at him.

Amora's hands stilled on the second wound she was working on and she let out a sigh. Finishing what she was doing, she sat next to him. Looking at him with sad eyes, part of him felt bad for brining that look to her face, but he knew he wanted answers. 

“After my parents' murder, he took me with his cartel. "He-he” she stuttered, taking a few shaky breaths before continuing. 

“I was under his control for 12 years before escaping 4 years ago.”

“mierda” 

“Yeah, tough, right?” she breathed out in an empty chuckle. 

”Obviously people know that he’s a drug lord and was a mercenary, but most people don’t know that he was also involved in human trafficking.” 

This really caught Armando’s attention, his eyes enraged at the assumptions going through his head.

“Are you saying that you were….?” he trailed off, not really wanting to say the words. He may have killed people and dealt drugs, but he never put women in harm's way. In fact, in the Aretas Cartel, all the men respected the women highly, especially when Isabel Aretas was the leader; they had no choice, and if they thought differently... well, his mother would show them why they called her “La Bruja.”

Amora shook her head quickly

“So... he did it differently. Victor Ortiz is a very possessive man; he would make deals with these men and would trade the women, but before the other party could get too far, he would have them killed and bring the girls back. He always made it seem like it wasn’t from his group so that he could keep getting deals.” 

She took a deep breath in, glancing at Armando, seeing him fully locked in. She breathed out, feeling her hands begin to shake, clasping them tighter. Seeing her shake, Armando reached out, covering her hands with his.

""Listen, if you don’t want to continue, you don’t have o." She shook her head in reassurance. 

“Thank you, I’m okay; it’s just—I'm okay. Uhm, so, for me, I was favored by Victor ever since I was little. I’m not too sure why, but wherever he went, he made sure I was there by his side. He traded me a few times but mainly only did them as punishment; he would do it with the vilest men. Thankfully, before they could really touch me and do horrendous things, he would ‘‘Save me,” she scoffed at the thought.

“I won’t lie, I had it better than most women there. I tried to use my advantage by helping women escape, but often we were caught, and he would either trade them or kill the women in front of me. Sometimes he would." Her voice hitched, taking a higher pitch, trying to get the words out but was choking up. 

“S-sometimes he would--I'm sorry.” 

“No, its okay." She felt Armando’s hands caressing her, trying to bring comfort, but she knew she didn’t deserve it, not from all the horrendous things she did. 

Taking a deep breath, she rushed the words out.

“Sometimes he would even force me to pull the trigger or choose who would die,”

she choked out, her eyes turning red from the tears streaming out of her eyes, remembering times when victors' hands were gripping hers painfully around the gun, her trying to struggle out of his grip aiming at different women, some she got close to, but it was futile.

“Eventually I gave up on trying to help, and I only focused on myself. I tried three times, and after the fourth time, I finally escaped and found myself in Miami City. Sometimes I felt like he allowed me to escape; it felt almost easy, and I was right.”

She softly pulled her hands away from Armando, wiping the tears away from her face.

“After being away from him for a year, I tried to live a normal life; I felt it was long enough, and I was finally free. I met this guy, and he was so sweet, seeming so protective and genuine. We dated for about a year and a half, but it turns out he was working with Victor. He promised him two million in return for me,” she spitted out, feeling herself become angry over the hurt and betrayal on the day she found out. 

~~~~~~~~~Flashback~~~~~~

Amora came bouncing in the apartment with a happy smile on her face after coming back from a self-care day of getting a message, her hair and nails done. She couldn't wait to show Jay her new hairstyle. She decided for the first time to get knotless braids in a honey blonde color. 

“Baaaaaaabe, I’m hoooome." She called out, putting her purse on the couch, taking off her sandals, and walking through the apartment going to the bedroom. 

She found the man she was looking for, lying on the bed in nothing but black basketball shorts, her eyes scanning over his tall, dark brown body, and up to his face, his sharp jaw clenched shut, one hand twisting his curls and the other holding up his phone, texting, looking too serious. 

She got an idea in her mind and quickly jumped on the bed, crawling over his legs, straggling him, and snatched his phone, putting it up above his head, giving a teasing smile. 

“Notice anythi—.”

A yelp ripped from her throat at being pushed roughly off his lap and onto the floor, immediately snatching the phone back out of her hand.

“What the fuck you think you doing, Amora?” she cowered into the floor out of shock and fear at his outburst. She tried to play it off by laughing even though she was petrified by that reaction. He's never had a reaction like that with her, ever.

"Geez, what got you so serious? I was only trying to show you my hair,” she told him, getting off of the floor and going to the far opposite edge of the bed, trying to create as much distance from the raging man as possible. 

She watched him tower over her, glaring with seething black eyes, his pierced nose gleaming from his flaring nostrils. She felt as if she was in a ring with a raging bull charging right at her wanting blood. 

“Don't do that shit again,” he threatened harshly before storming out of the room, slamming the door. She flinched at the sound and blinked at the door, eyes wide, breathing quickly, trying to hold back the tears pricking at her eyes. 

Her breathing got quicker and choppier as she started hyperventilating at that familiar, dreadful feeling from when she was trapped. She stayed at the same spot, not following him, afraid of what might happen if she did. 

A couple of days past, Amora kept her distance from him, thinking he was going to apologize for his behavior, but he never did.

Eventually she rolled it off, thinking maybe he was just having a really bad day and she made it worse; ‘it was childish of me’, she thought, and decided to apologize to him for her actions, thinking it was going to get better. 

Except it didn't; in the blink of an eye, he changed. He was getting ruder, to her being more evasive. Yelling and cussing at her, sometimes she thought he was even going to hit her.

“Maybe he found someone else,” she thought, and the thought of that crushed her. ”Did I do something wrong? How could I fix it?” Some of the thoughts were going through her, but she continued on pretending she wasn’t going in pain. 

It wasn’t until one night that he fell asleep while they were watching a movie that she got a chance to see what was going on. 

He left his phone unlocked. 

Looking quickly at the phone and back to Jay, she whispered his name, seeing if he would wake up. 

“Jay, hey Jay." She even poked him, but he didn’t stir. So, she lightly reached out, picking up his phone, trying to be as still as possible, and when it reached her, she looked at him and saw he was still sleeping. 

She gave a sigh of relief and went to open up his messages, feeling that relief being ripped and replaced with a fear so tight it was like time froze. 

Victor Ortiz

Her shaking thumb hovered over the name before tapping on it to show the recent messages. 

Sunday around 8 p.m., you'll have her—Jay. 

Will you have my money? - Jay 

Are you questioning me? - Victor

No sir- Jay

Everything felt slow, her vision going blurry. She was going to throw up. She dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, throwing up everything she ate that day. After a last hurl, she slid back on the wall, shaking. Everything felt cold but hot. Feeling pain in her throat, making it harder for her to breathe, she ended up lying on the floor, curling into a fetal position, when her breath finally rushed out of her, but streams of tears took its place. 

She sat there for maybe 4 hours before getting up, legs shaking but a determined look on her face with a plan of getting out before she came face with that devil. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Flash back end~~~~~~~~~

Coming back out of her memories, Amora felt herself start to shatter, one crack at a time, until it all came bursting out like a dam.

She felt herself getting picked up and freaked out.

“It’s okay, Amor. I got you. I’m not going to do anything.”

When Armando's warm voice was brushing over her ear, she felt herself get placed in a warm lap, feeling strong arms wrap around her, his head nuzzling in the crook of her neck. 

She allowed herself to remain still in comfort, unsure of what to do, but the more he rubbed her back, the more she relaxed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. Squeezing her eyes shut and practically slapping the tears off her face, she sucked her teeth, wanting to control herself so that she could finish her story. For the first time she could freely speak on it to someone. 

“I was so dumb and naive, I ignored every single sign there was, thinking the best of him in hopes of living that fairytale life... but I should've known better. That doesn't happen for someone like me,” she whispered out, hardly hearing her own voice zoning out again until she felt Armando's head shake bringing her back.

"Uhm, so that night I set up a plan and I drugged his drink.” Feeling Armando look at her in surprise, she quickly brought up her hands, shaking them, denying any accusations he could've been thinking.

”I only drugged it enough for him to fall into a deep sleep; I didn't kill him or anything!“ 

“Maybe you should've." He couldn't help quip, wiping away some of the tears falling down her round cheeks, and went back to rubbing her back.

A quick giggle slipped out of her lips at that and she whispered a quick thank you for his attempt at lightening the mood before continuing.

“I didn’t know where to go, so I just drove as far as I could. I found this abandoned house and found out who owned it, asking them if it was for sale. It was an old couple, and they just gave it to me. I took that as a good sign and blessing and immediately started to try to make money to make it livable, and this is living where I've been living for the past three years.”

“Where you've been hiding,” he corrected. She looked at him, slowly nodding her head.

“I try not to go out often, but I do when it’s necessary or when I need a little bit of normalcy. But when I do, I go disguised as Desirae and not Amora. It’s a small town, so I take extra measures, especially when it's for my fighting classes that I take every three months.”

He looked at her deeply, going over the events he had with her. Connecting dots in his head It explains a lot about her paranoia, especially when they first met, all the concealed weapons she had around, the fighting skills she practices, her alarm system, even her dog. She's just surviving, waiting for something to happen to her. That's the saddest thing he could think—such a waste for a woman like her to be hiding away from the world. Letting her become a shell, not fighting back, only letting fear whisk her away in life 

"Yep, so that's the story of Amora Johnson,” she muttered sarcastically. She knew it was very pathetic, seeing the look on the man's face. He was a man who was none of what she was. 

On days they both had nothing to do, she listened to the stories he told her of his past; he was a brave man, relentless, and didn't let anything get in his way when he was doing something. She admired him; she thought it was attractive, but she envied him, wishing she could be like that.

“Why didn't you do anything when you escaped, like go to the cops and report him?”” he asked her, curious of why she didn't take more action, why she just chose... to run and not fight back?

“I did... I went to the police station and saw familiar faces that worked at the station that would also be at the cartel, so I left before anyone noticed me not wanting to get caught, and I told Jay—my ex—but he lied obviously about helping me, so yeah. I didn't have friends either, one of the things that I allowed Jay to limit me from; he told me it wouldn't be safe that I couldn't trust anyone,” an empty, cold chuckle fell out of her lips.

“I was a damn fool,” she hissed, looking out eyes unfocused and glazed over.

It was silent between them again, Amora lost in her thoughts and Armando not having anything to say. For a bit, she sat in his lap with him still caressing her back until she snapped out of her daze and slowly got out of his lap.

Very quickly she missed the warmth and comfort of him, but knew she needed to head to her empty bed where nothing but nightmares waited for her, but she didn’t want to be weak in front of him anymore.

“Thank you... for consoling me,” she expressed weakly to him, head looking down, her hair covering her face. 

“Amora...” he spoke, but his words got caught; he didn't know what he wanted to say or if he meant anything, but he did feel for her; he knew that. 

“Yes ?’ She looked at him hopeful but scared of his reaction; it was the first time he called her by her real name, and she was fearful of whatever was going to come out of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” he spoke. A quizzical look crossed her face at the random gratitude. He gave a low chuckle at the adorable expression.

“Thank you for allowing me into your space and for trusting me with your story. I know we started off on the wrong foot, but you still gave me a chance and have gone out of your way for me. I just wanted to make sure you knew I appreciated it." His smooth voice was flying to Amora's ears like music. 

Amora's voice hitched at the appreciation. Emotions bursting inside of her but kept her self-calm.

“Just...don't make me regret it... or I'll have to kick your ass,” she tried joking with him, but she meant her word on not wanting to regret anything. She doesn't think she can handle another betrayal. 

“You won't,” came the serious answer. Their eyes were holding each other until Amora looked away, hiding the small smile on her face. 

“Good night,” she whispered to him before slowly walking out the door, giving him one small glance over her shoulder and shooting him a smile before she softly closed the door. 

His eyes followed every moment of her, until she was gone. He huffed out a deep breath, plopping back on the bed, reflecting back on the woman and all he learned tonight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hey puddin! So this chapter went a bit darker, and it will probably be the last time that it does, so expect the next chapter to have fluff.

Also I see other people create links to their previous chapters to be easier to navigate, would you appreciate if I do the same, I’m new ish to Tumblr but I can figure out if it helps.

Anyways I hope you enjoyed it! 💕💕

[sabokunsmalia]

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒; levi ackerman featuring: levi ackerman x thug fem!reader synopsis: you've known levi since his underground days, always by his side and making sure, he feels good before sleeping. content warning: smut, p in v, pet names, choking hi it's malia: no regrets made me do it, just know that.

One leg wrapped tightly around his waist, you allowed him to reach deeper with his harsh thrusts. Tonight, a mission failed because Isabel acted too careless with one of her maneuvers. Instead of bringing back another pile of food, they kept the smallest amount which fit their pockets to save the girl from being captured, and probably murdered.

Among the underground folk, Levi did not trust many people. Trusting the wrong person blindly, could be the easiest death sentence possible. So, Furlan and Isabel enjoyed a close friendship with a talented, young man, who taught them the movements with ODM gear. And then there was you, his most entrusted person, his girlfriend. "Feels so good, Levi," You moaned, almost too loud for th thin walls of the small apartment the group rented.

Face hidden in the crock of your neck, his warm breath fanned along the side of your throat. Puffs of air exhaled against the soft spot underneath your ear, adding another reason to feel like being brought straight to heaven. "Fucking hell, you are so tight," Levi's voice was a mess of raspy tones, the words muttered against your skin inbetween the quiet groans.

But the sweet and adored intimacy did not last long, as Levi pushed his body off yours. A flat hand placed on each side of your head, balancing his weight, he withdraw his hips until only his soft pink tip was left inside your warm cunt.

Corners of the mouth twitched, his lips turning into a satisfied smirk at the sight, you already presented him after such a short time of sex. Oh, how much you loved Levi's kind of genuine smiles. Sadly as the days passed, they vanished more and more from his face. His face was so close but yet so far, as you moved an arm to reach out to him. Slender and soft fingers caressed over his flustered cheek and along the sharp lines of his jaw. "I love you so much,"

You whispered with swollen lips and glossy eyes. The view enough for Levi to feel his dick twitch, and almost making him cum while being halfway inside of you only. The answer you've gotten from him, was a harsh thrust, bullying his entire length inside of you again, without warning. Such words from you released a chained animal inside of him. Eyes, blown-out with lust on both ends, connected in the heated mid-air, as Levi kept on with the relentless pace and deep thrusts, he just started.

Oh, the thief did not know how he deserved such a valuable present. One day, you marched through the underground, beautiful coat wrapped around your slim body while the men around you drooled over your clean appearance. A gang of three tried to jump you that same evening, when Levi and Furlan were around and safely escorted you towards their apartment with the help of ODM gear.

For the first time, you felt safe and a taste of freedom while flying through the air. And since that day, you haven't left Levi's side.

"You take me so good, princess," His words were a simple praise, you have heard more than once by now. But those easy choice of sylabelles had a promising effect on the way your body responded to him. Walls clenching, bottom lip quivering.

It would be insane for anyone from the underground to say that Levi had a sweet or soft side, hidden underneath the cold glare he usually wore. But you knew how much he changed as soon as the door closed. A young adult boy, who simply tried to find his place in this world, and maybe enjoy a second or two of the rebel behavior.

While you expected the unyielding harshness and never faltering speed tonight, after the glare he sent you earlier while entering the apartment, Levi's pace faltered once again. Three to four particular strong ones until he has gotten slower, more sensual. "Look at me," He demanded, leaning on his underarms to be closer to your face. It was one of those moments, where he questioned the world, questioned the future and had to switch his thoughts off.

The best way to do such thing was always to share longing gaze into the beautiful color swirls of your dilated pupils. Enough to keep him in the moment, anchored to the world of reality. But the on-going eye contact weakened your restrains of keeping the control over your orgasm for longer.

Levi memorised in which way his swollen lips had to trail along the span of your prominent collarbones. Following the path of the bone until the soft, unblemished valley between your breasts awaited the sensual kisses of the promised love.

"Shit, you're holding me like a fucking vice," Levi grunted, bathing in the warming grasp of your walls while convincing himself to steadily roll his hips. You haven't given him a signal yet.

Not a scratch of your nails sharp enough to announce your orgasm.

Not the sweet swords tumbling out of your mouth in stutters while the drool escaped the corner and dribbled down the side of your face. But your body offered him the signals he needed. As your breathy screams reached the mellow air stuck in the bedroom, Levi's grunts became slightly louder.

"You're so fuck," He could not finish his compliment, the way you tightened deliciously around his length blew the air out of his lungs in a deep groan. Soft pillow grabbed between his slender fingers, Levi felt how your core milked him without wasting a second. Hips rolling against each other, his somewhat stronger than yours as the ecstasy aftermath vibrated through his spent body.

"So fucking pretty," He muttered between the heavy breaths. Lids closed, the strands of black hair which loosely hung across his eyes, were glued to his sweaty forehead. Panting filled the calmness of the bedroom, the aftermath settling in as Levi offered you a small, but satisfied, smile.

[finnlongman]

I've been thinking about this passage from The Butterfly Assassin. In context, this is a conversation about trying to be better than the worst version of yourself (and, for those who haven't read the book, "the worst version" of Isabel is a literal contract killer, so the stakes aren't low here). I think of it often in the context of choosing to nurture your kinder instincts, your second thoughts, your better choices, even when they don't come naturally, but it struck me that it works too when thinking about the world.

The world often -- at the moment, and always -- feels like a black hole. There is so much bad in the world. There are so many awful things happening that I can do nothing about, that you can do nothing about, that hundreds of people making a concerted effort can do nothing about. That is devastating and disempowering and the apparent impossibility of reducing the amount of awfulness in the world can make us completely disinclined to try.

We cannot, it seems, make the black hole smaller.

But can we light a candle? A torch? A single lightbulb?

Perhaps we can't subtract badness from the world. Can we, though, add goodness? Can we create some small lights, whether that's being there for a friend or making life easier for a colleague or doing a job that, ultimately, helps someone we'll never meet -- even if what we do is far behind the scenes without a clear sense of the direct impact? Can we make somebody smile, and remind somebody they're not alone, and be a friend to someone desperate for connection?

These candles, lit one by one, will not shrink the size of the black hole. But they will make it a little easier for people around you to see.

I think, over recent months, that I have found myself so focused on what I couldn't do that I lost sight of what I could, especially when what I could do seemed mundane and tiny in the grand scheme of things. But the grand scheme of things is not the only measure by which we should look at these things. A single candle to the darkness of the world might be a lighthouse to the one person who sees it.

The small goodness matters. Even if it doesn't change the world or fix anything or even save lives. There is never a situation in which putting more goodness into the world is a bad thing, however inadequate it may feel in scope or quantity. It is hard to take time for the candles when I'm focused on the black holes, but I'm trying to shift my focus to them, because I've felt so lost and helpless amidst the big picture and I've lost sight of the personal. Perhaps in this, I've been so focused on the forest I can't see the tree that needs watering.

There are a lot of big things I don't have any power over. There are a lot of small things I do. There are a lot of big evils I cannot stop, and a lot of small goodnesses I can choose, every day.

There's a reason I often write light another candle in copies of TBA that I sign for people, but I think I need to start listening to my own advice.

[wolffellerblog]

Scene: St. Patrick’s Day – Peter & Isabelle at the Club

The club was a mess of flashing green lights, bodies pressed too close, and music that pulsed through the floor like a heartbeat. The air was thick with alcohol and sweat, a haze of spilled whiskey and crushed clovers clinging to the atmosphere. St. Patrick’s Day in Beacon Hills had turned into a wild, chaotic excuse for drunken revelry, and Peter Hale hated every second of it.

He sat in the VIP section, a glass of top-shelf whiskey in his hand, untouched. His usual predatory grace was on full display—shoulders relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the leather booth, a picture of casual dominance. But his sharp blue eyes never stopped moving, tracking, watching.

And then there was Isabelle.

She was standing near the edge of the dance floor, illuminated by the flickering neon green lights. The emerald dress she wore clung to her like sin, short enough to tease, sheer in places that left just enough to the imagination. A delicate gold chain adorned her throat, a quiet claim beneath the glitz and chaos of the club.

Peter’s jaw ticked as he watched a drunken fool inch closer to her. The man leaned in, saying something in her ear that made her stiffen, her polite smile faltering for just a second. Peter knew that look—knew she was seconds away from deciding whether to deal with it herself or wait for him to handle it.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Peter was up and across the room before the idiot even knew what hit him. One firm grip on the guy’s wrist, and suddenly, the drunken bastard was rethinking his life choices.

“Touch her again, and you’ll be drinking through a straw for the next six months.” Peter’s voice was soft, almost pleasant. But his fingers dug into the man’s wrist with just enough pressure to make his point.

The guy yelped, stumbling back with some slurred apology before disappearing into the sea of green-clad partiers. Peter barely spared him another glance before turning to Isabelle.

She arched a delicate brow. “That was subtle.”

Peter smirked. “You wanted subtle?”

Isabelle let out a breathy laugh, stepping closer, her fingers trailing lightly over the buttons of his dark green dress shirt. “I didn’t say that.”

Peter hummed, gaze flicking over her, his hands finding her waist. “Good. Because I’m not in the mood for games tonight.”

Her lips curled in amusement. “You sure? You came to a St. Patrick’s Day club.”

Peter leaned in, lips ghosting over her ear. “I came because you wanted to be here.”

The music pounded around them, but in that moment, all Isabelle could hear was the low timbre of his voice. Her breath hitched as his fingers tightened on her waist, not enough to hurt—just enough to remind her exactly who was in control.

“Come dance with me,” she murmured, a challenge in her tone.

Peter exhaled through his nose, amused. “I don’t dance, little beta.”

She smiled up at him, the neon green light casting wicked shadows across her face. “You do tonight.”

Peter let out a slow, dramatic sigh, but the way his grip on her shifted—the way he pulled her flush against him—told her he wasn’t actually resisting. Not really.

“You’re lucky I tolerate you,” he muttered, leading her toward the dance floor.

Isabelle grinned. “I know.”

As the music pulsed and the crowd moved around them, Peter pulled her in, his hands keeping her exactly where he wanted. And despite the chaos of the club, despite the flashing lights and the sea of green, there was only one thing he was focused on.

Her.

His.

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter 13.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: flashback three - a look at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, then finally - your eighteenth birthday, when everything changes

Warnings: depictions of violence, sparring, furlan is my baby boy, isabel is my light, alcohol, partying, mention of vomiting (doesn't happen), hurt/comfort, pinning, sensual themes, levi's in deep shit now

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 13 - FLASHBACK: THREE

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. they are my interpretations of the material. please watch those episode first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

“All those years of street fighting and that’s the best you got?”

“Oh shut up, Ackerman.”

You’re getting pretty sick of tasting an invasion of dirt in your mouth every time Levi Ackerman harshly slams you into the ground, demanding surrender. Forget seeing stars — you’re mapping constellations every time you go toe-to-toe in his sparring sessions.

Whether it’s from a sweep of your legs, an arm popping behind your back, a head-butt out of a grapple, this hurts.

Yet you still show up during downtime anyway.

Maybe the years of running recklessly with Furlan’s crew has helped you lose a couple of brain cells along the way.

.

.

.

.

Fifteen comes and goes in a flash.

That first night, the choice to escape the clutches of your adoptive keeper, was met with little to no thought.

Levi held out his hand to you, and you chose to never look back.

When you arrived at Levi's apartment, you're surprised to find an unassuming apartment with a set of stairs leading to the second floor where he lives with Furlan Church. You carried burdensome baggage through the building’s threshold, as the only things you had to your name were the clothes on your back and the bruising on your skin.

Eventually the bruises lightened, and Levi keeps his promise:

No one comes after you.

No one dares — not when you were under his wing.

Much to your surprise, Furlan Church was excited for your arrival. Thrilled, even, that Levi could get you to agree to joining their budding heist team.

When you first stepped into the apartment, you were greeted with the presence of a lanky boy sporting a lopsided smile and soft, spiky ash-blonde still wet from an evening shower. He wore similar clothes to Levi: a button-down hung wide open to display his chest and slacks a little too big for his frame.

Furlan was so much different than what the streets claimed he was: most suggested he was cunning and angry, a force to be reckoned with, but what stood in front of you that night was simply a teenager just like you looking to change the hand that starves him.

While bringing someone else into the mix meant the apartment lost a little space, it was more comfortable than anything you had ever experienced in your life.

They gave you your own room. A bed to sleep on. A small dresser for the possessions you don’t own. Towels. Food in your belly.

Given his smaller frame, you were forced to rely on Levi’s old clothes until you were able to find — more like steal — threads of your own. The only gotcha was the promise to keep them clean, neat, pressed and folded.

He wouldn’t let you abuse what little he owned, and you learned quickly just how much of a clean freak this mirage of a boy really was.

Spotless. Pristine. Scrubbing here, sweeping there—

Every day and every night.

And you were expected to contribute, so you did.

For weeks the three of you coexisted under the same roof.

Furlan was funny. Levi won every card game.

It felt like your own version of family.

(Something that wasn’t twisted, gnarled, from darkness.)

After some time had passed, the boys would finally let you in on their most precious secret:

The reason Levi Ackerman and Furlan Church were so successful in comparison to the other gangs floating around this godforsaken city.

“So it’s true.”

You sit on the dilapidated couch while you watch Levi clean the nooks and crannies of the boxy silver gear lying on the table.

Furlan beams on the opposite end of the table, arm lazily draped against its surface.

“Ch’yeah. Kind of amazing, isn’t it?”

Omni-directional Mobile Gear.

The shit you can only get from the military.

Your brows knit with curiosity. “How’d you manage that?”

“Ha — it wasn’t easy,” Furlan tells you, re-crossing his legs. “Took weeks to plan.”

“And you know how to use it?” you ask, but it’s not to him.

Levi never pauses his motions, but his eyes flicker up when he detects your vocal direction. “Well enough,” the dark-haired boy provides. “If the pigs can learn how to use it on the surface, then it wouldn’t be so hard to teach ourselves.”

“Damn…”

Leaning over, your forearms press hard into the tops of your thighs.

“When people said they thought they saw some of our own zipping around the Underground, I thought they were maybe drinking from sewage.”

“Sorry we couldn’t tell you sooner,” Furlan laments, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s nothing against you—”

“But it’s a big secret,” you finish for him, nodding in understanding. “I get it. It was smart.”

“And now we’ll teach you.”

Furlan glances to his left when Levi speaks with certainty.

Levi takes a minute longer to linger his eyes on you before going back to the gear. He continues to address you.

“We needed a fighter who knows how to stay on their feet.”

“Ah, so that’s why you got the shit beat out of me — to see if I can handle ODM gear?” you ask sarcastically, directing your gaze to Furlan. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“What? It was only fair, code is code. I couldn’t give you special treatment!” Furlan yelps. “C’mon, just because Levi endorsed you—”

“Oi,” Levi interrupts, narrowing his eyes to the other boy.

You slowly grin. “Endorsed? This is news to me.”

“Drop it,” Levi warns.

“Dropped,” Furlan promises.

You want to keep pushing, but instead you stand to your feet and walk to the table where the stolen ODM gear lay.

You run a finger over a metallic edge, noting just how hefty the equipment must actually be.

“What’s so tough about this shit, anyway?”

“Well, it’s…” Furlan starts to speak up, but he grimaces with an unspoken apology. The two exchange looks, both in the know — and you’ll soon be, too. “A little jerky.”

“In what way?”

“As in you have to use your core and keep your balance. It’s harder than it looks.”

Furlan’s not fucking kidding.

Your first attempt at harnessing into ODM gear is rough. Wall into wall into wall — the recovering shiner on your forehead now sports fresh purples and blues in the second try; the third, the fourth.

Levi uses the equipment seamlessly, flying around the cavernous walls of this hellscape like it’s a natural gift.

Furlan’s just about as good, consistently leaving you in the dust.

Day in and day out you follow their instructions and practice until every muscle is sore in your body; until the feel of the equipment on your hips, in your hands is an extension of yourself; until things just click.

Zipping from buildings, increasing velocity, landing on your two feet.

It brings you that much closer to a power so few Underground City citizens possess.

Little by little, you learn about the mirage of a boy with your life in his hands. Levi Ackerman is a fully actualized person, with quirks and aspirations and feelings — though you’d be hard pressed to know them yourself, as he keeps everything close to the vest.

He is stoic, calm in even the worst situations, and particular. He fights with clean brutality. You eventually find out that the man who trained Levi wasn’t his father, but Kenny the Ripper — a boogeyman you and your siblings had heard about in passing without fully realizing you’d ever crossed paths.

None of the scary stories about Kenny the Ripper involved a ward in his possession, so Levi is just as much of a ghost as you are.

Although the story of his upbringing passes through blurred lines and inferred details, you come to learn that most — if not all — of Levi’s swift tricks are passed down through meticulous training and trials by Kenny himself.

(No wonder he’s so ruthless.)

After a few weeks, Levi’s willing to show you some of his best hand-to-hand tricks himself.

Although you two possess completely different fighting styles — one erratic, the other calculated — it culminates and meshes somewhere in the middle, where ferocity and strategy marry.

Fighting becomes fun, whether either of you admit it or not.

A stress release after a long day.

A constant in an eternal night.

You never ask how Kenny taking him under his wing came to pass, but he never asks about your history with Mother, either.

It’s better that way. Not talking about it dissolves the impact Mother had on your life.

It lessens both of your former guardians authority.

(As for Mother, she never tries to find you. Even when you walk the old paths where street fights continue, you never see her face in passing. Rumors spread that her drinking problem got the best of her. You imagine Levi has something to do with her expiration, whether he'll ever admit it or not.)

Petty theft, money heists, intimidation — you rack up the offenses against your name and double the notoriety of your trio.

The citizens of the Underground look twice when you walk by. They never once try to touch or attack you again.

Church, Ackerman, James.

Always together. Always in sync.

It’s paradise.

.

.

.

.

  Sixteen is a slow burn.

Complicated heists mean complicated teams, and Furlan puts himself in charge of divvying up the goods while Levi investigates potential candidates. A team of two turns into three, three turns into four, and soon enough there is a network of reliable bodies willing to lay their lives on the line for a chance to work with the three of you.

Sometimes the job requires Levi to leave for days, but he makes it a point to come back to this cramped apartment with bags full of food and goodies for your hard-working gang.

(You’ve noticed he is particular about smuggling tea back home, particularly the leaves only available to purchase on the surface. It’s ballsy, but he gets it done.)

In a strange way, you miss when he’s away.

And when he's away, it's usually just you and Furlan — until it isn't.

Because Isabel Magnolia, a short and spunky ginger-haired menace, becomes an unexpected fourth addition in the leadership squad.

In a testosterone-fueled household, the younger woman is a breath of fresh air for you. Idealistic, brave, and bold above all else — Levi and Furlan stumbled into her while she was in the midst of an escape from Military Police.

Something about making unauthorized trips to the city stairwell, illegally ignoring the tolls to do some of the most ludicrous shit that only a teenager would do.

Like save baby birds from the surface, as if they’d somehow survive down in the Underground.

(That bird did. Furlan swears it’s the magic of Isabel’s optimism.)

Isabel ends up sleeping in your room in a makeshift cot on the floor, squawking your ear off in excitement to the point of a headache.

Still, it’s nice to have company, especially when the boys are recruiting or completing deals.

The four of you as a unit feels right. By now you’ve come to appreciate Furlan’s jokes, admire Levi’s seriousness, partake in Isabel’s dreams; they’ve each played a part in cracking your own hardened shell, shaping you into this —

Not the James your Mother created, but the James your friends accepted.

You’ve even told them your first name, the real name you were born with. They keep that name like a sacred oath, something special those three (and only those three) can say. It becomes something of a last name for you, something to be respected. The rest of the gang know you solely as James, yet you've grown to no longer loathe being called such.

(Not when it’s on their lips.)

And you like her — this person named James.

You like that she’s capable of being reliable to a team of people with their own strengths.

You like that Isabel gives her hope in the middle of her babbles at the stroke of midnight.

You like that Furlan discovers what her real laugh sounds like — straight from her belly and up to her chest — and it’s loud and obnoxious and genuine.

The sound even gets Levi to crack, if only for a twitch at the corner of his lips.

Shit.

Levi.

You like that he’s particular with his teas and trusts you enough to share the reasons why.

You like that he puts his hands on your hips when you’re practicing ODM gear.

You like that he isn’t afraid to touch your sweat-matted hair after a spar to tuck it behind your ear, like you’re nothing dirty to him.

And you realize the James you’re becoming will do just about anything Levi Ackerman asks.

.

.

.

.

  Seventeen is complicated.

Messy is a better word — Yinter’s massive fuck-up on the South Region heist puts a halt on any and all jobs for the rest of the year.

One of the newest recruits, Yinter, panicked in the midst of his attempt at robbery, causing the rest of his squad to almost get caught by meandering Military Police.

Cleaning up the tracks of an inexperienced team took several weeks of tireless labor and moving supplies around, but the gang managed.

What once ran as a worried whisper in the Underground is now loud and on the tips of the MPs tongues, placing a target on the backs of four cocky teenagers leading the charge.

All of you should have known navigating the crime world by the skin of your teeth was risky.

At the beginning, the idea of a lawless gang was beautiful.

However, Furlan’s a little more of a dreamer in the sense that he sees the unattainable and runs with it. Sometimes his head is so far up his ass that he thinks none of this will blow back onto any of you.

Maybe it can damage some of the runts, sure, but he thinks leadership’s plans and aspirations are fool proof.

You disagree. Loudly.

Now you’re certain Furlan’s sometimes pissed that Levi ever suggested they recruit you with your constant pushback of his ideas. Levi never seems to express any doubt towards you, but that doesn’t stop him from being the Devil’s Advocate thorn in your side.

Sometimes you and Levi Ackerman bicker.

Sometimes it's a lot of bickering — about the little things like team preferences and heist plans, times and locations.

Yet more often than not, the two of you always land in the same archaic loop: fist-to-fist sparring, taking out your frustrations in the most natural way you know how. Ducking and dodging until your tempers simmer and you run out steam.

Until frustration turns into playful, heated banter.

A secret language for two.

(You'll never stop fighting, you realize too little too late, but neither will he.)

You kick and you punch and you watch Levi slam you into the ground again and again and again — the scrawny teenager always ends up on top of you, wrists pinned to your head, declaring your surrender.

Glare to glare, out of breath and spent, the fight ends when you burst into laughter from how scrunched his nose gets when he’s hell bent on winning.

It used to be funny.

Yet with each passing week, each dying month, warmth surges through your belly when he pins you down.

It would be easy, you think, to do something stupid.

You can’t afford to be the stupid one of the group.

.

.

.

.

  Last week marked your eighteenth birthday.

A party is reckless, but Furlan wants to celebrate something after the Yinter accident with the spoils of the last successful heist: booze, food, rationed cigarettes, the works.

You aren’t naïve to what partying means, even if you’ve never partaken in the act yourself. The Underground is full of red-light districts if you know where to look: people piss away their money to eliminate their troubles in the arms of others, in the bottle of a stolen vintage whiskey, in the spices that can ascend far past the surface into somewhere better.

Levi is sorely against the idea.

Furlan, for once, pulls seniority.

Which leads to why Levi’s so damn determined to kick your ass right now — if he can’t vocalize how annoyed he is, then he sure as hell will exert enough energy to pass out before the event even starts.

“All those years of street fighting and that’s the best you got?”

“Oh shut up, Ackerman.”

A nonchalant boot digs into your side, bringing you back to the Underground.

“Get up.”

You grit your teeth, counting down the seconds. “Actually, I kinda dig it down here.”

“Seriously—?”

It’s enough of a distraction to earn yourself much-needed time to reset and win.

Pulling as hard as you possibly can, you use your core and sweep his leg. Levi makes a noise of surprise as he’s airborne, only to crash beside you in a nasty thud.

You crawl up the young man's body to press your arm into his windpipe, daring him to fight back. Your knees cradle his hips, trapping him beneath.

“Dirty trick,” he spits, gritting his teeth, but it doesn’t feel as if he’s trying to escape very fast.

(A phrase he's picked up from you like a bad habit.)

You shrug a shoulder, pressing harder onto his windpipe. He sputters, but his face remains just as neutral as ever.

“What’s got you so pissy today?”

“What?” Levi asks from beneath you. His hands curl around your elbow and fist, but he doesn’t push your forearm away just yet.

“You’re particularly moody.”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

He narrows his eyes. “And I’m letting you win.”

“Are not.”

“Wanna bet?”

Easing up on his windpipe, you crawl off of him and extend a hand to help pull him up to a seated position.

Levi begrudgingly takes it, hoisting himself up on the flat of his palm. "Thought we didn’t do draws."

“I don’t wanna look like shit before the party, so I’m calling a draw.”

“So you’re admitting I was winning?”

You roll your eyes into the back of your head, swatting his hand from yours. Levi uses the momentum to prop himself up with his palms behind him, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. You stay with your legs folded like a pretzel, hands idle in your lap.

“I’ve never drank before,” you murmur with an excited melody to your tone.

Levi grimaces. “It’s disgusting.”

“I won’t know until I try, right?”

“Can’t you take my word for it?”

“But your taste is so awful.”

It’s a lie, but the immediate scowl sent your way is worth the dramatics. You smile it off.

“I mean, Furlan seems to think it’s fun.”

“Furlan is a dumbass,” Levi replies. “I thought you already knew that.”

“I do, but I still want to at least try it. If I hate it, then you can tell me I told you so. Deal?”

“And if you love it, then that means I’m on babysitting duty.”

"Babysitting?”

“Yeah. I don’t need your drunk ass fighting new recruits.” His scowl deepens. “Or ruining the fucking furniture if you get sick.”

“So pessimistic,” you tease. “Levi, you don’t have to take care of me.”

The conversation dissipates.

Levi keeps his eyes on you for a second longer before turning a chin to stare straight ahead.

You continue to watch him, taking in the sharpness of his nose on his profile.

At nineteen years old, he’s grown into his once sullen face with high cheekbones and a sharp chin. His thin arms are toned under the white button-up he sports, torso cinched by the auburn vest. His fingers have small cuts, but they’re slender. Strong.

You see the way girls look at him when he passes.

He never seems to notice.

.

.

.

.

      “Ja-haaaames!”

A shrill and slurred attempt at your last name brings you back to the rowdiness of the room.

Despite Levi’s best efforts, the party goes without a hitch. A dozen, maybe two, have shown up to enjoy the spoils stolen by the Military Police: at least a crate of wine, a few half-polished bottles of whiskey, and a multitude of cigarette cartons pass through the hands of the hard-working legion that made it happen.

The lack of food in this area makes it easy for people to get sloppy on next to nothing. Within a shot or two — cheered to your name, as if eighteen years of your life in the Underground mean anything at all — half of the crew is loud and rowdy.

Laughing.

Horsing around.

Kissing.

You don’t remember when it is you dissociated from the noise, but it’s Isabel’s voice that guides you back to this cramped little apartment full of people.

“Hello, welcome back,” she greets with a giggle, handing over a tiny medicine cup of a clear liquid. “You’re out, and I need you to be on my level.”

Except you are on her level — where Isabel gets louder and more rambunctious on alcohol, you’ve become quiet, contemplative. You haven’t been able to feel your nose in at least an hour. Everything is warm, deliciously so, and your muscles don’t ache like they usually do.

“Should you even be drinking that stuff, Isa?”

“What, this? Yeah, I’m good.”

“But you’re only—”

“What do ya think about the party so far? Here.” Interrupting her own question, she places the tiny cup in your hand and taps it with her own. “Cheers to you, oh fearless one.”

“Oh stop,” you moan, taking the tiny shot with ease.

The first shot almost made you spit up the drink before it could pass down your throat. The second you forced down, clenching your teeth to air out the burn on your tongue.

Furlan was right: it gets easier every time.

“How many is that?” Isabel asks, flopping back at the wall you lean against.

“Four. Five. I don’t know, I lost count,” you answer honestly, peering down at the empty cup with scrutiny. “I feel like this is going to bite me in the ass.”

Isabel cackles, bumping her shoulder with yours. “That day is not today! C’mon, sis, don’t hide. We already have a party pooper, so you can not join Levi.”

“Levi?” you ask, blinking over to her. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Exactly. Bro’s avoiding everyone like a scaredy cat. God… Levi and James. James and Levi.” Isabel groans into her cup, sipping in contemplation. You already hate where this might be going. “That’s a topic I have wanted to—” She hiccups, taking your medicine cup. “—bring up for a while now.”

If you weren’t so preoccupied at the sound of Levi’s name, then perhaps you’d have sobered up from the neon red sign telling you to avoid this conversation at all costs.

Isabel talks over the volume of the room.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” you repeat.

“You’re going to make me say it?” For a second, your blood returns to your body. It’s spiked with an anxiety you cannot verbalize. “You two were gone for pret-ty long time this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” you quickly solve. “It was sparring hour. We always do that.”

“Not usually for that long, though.” Under a curtain of eyelashes, the redhead blinks up at you with a hope that seizes your head. “So….?”

Oh.

Oh, no.

“We’re friends,” you blurt. “Colleagues, actually, which is a step below friends.”

Isabel blows disappointed raspberries. “Furlan said you two go way back.”

“We do, but—”

“Levi hand-picked you to join the gang.”

“Not really, he—”

“All he ever does is hang out with you.”

“That is not true,” you snip, itching to run. “I mean — okay, some of it is true, but I’m not the only person he talks to. Shit, Isa, I’ve known him since I was a kid. He pulled me out of a bad situation and we — no, it’s nothing like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Isabel mimes zipping her lips closed with her thumb and index finger, only to toss the invisible key somewhere in the crowd.

“Isabel.” You turn towards her, eyes widening in a desperation that even surprises your drunken state. “Get the — get that fucking key back, we aren’t—”

“We aren’t what?”

A deeper voice breaks the moment of insanity, causing Isabel to stare behind you with rounded eyes and a dropped jaw.

You stare back at her, cursing her stupid ginger mop of a head with every crude word under the sun.

Then she does about the worst thing she could do at a time like this.

“Hi, bro! Gotta go!”

“Isa—!”

Too late.

She piles in with the rest of the sloppiness, leaving you to deal with the man over your shoulder.

When you turn, Levi is there — eye-level in height and frowning, brow quirked with mild interest. The shirt he usually has so neatly aligned is popped at the collar and buttoned down to his sternum.

“You’re drunk,” is all he greets with, and the tinge of red on your face only increases.

“A little,” you admit.

To your horror, you see it: the way his lips part while he waits for an explanation, the fall of black strands over his eyes, his expanse of his naked chest—

You’re friends. You are two people who found each other in one fucked up place. You work together, live together, survive together.

So why would Isabel feel the need to open a door that you had no clue was unlocked?

“Oi.” Squinting, Levi leans in to study the drain of color from your face. “Are you—”

“I don’t feel so good.”

You don’t wait for Levi to register your interruption, instead curving past him towards the open door leading to the dead air of the Underground City.

Walking until there aren’t any bodies to stifle your next breath, you round the corner for a sense of privacy and breathe in deep through your nose.

Drunk. That’s all Isabel is — babbling and silly and drunk.

“Maybe pull your hair out of your face if you’re going to puke.”

Shit, did he—

Craning your chin over your shoulder, your worst nightmare is confirmed: Levi Ackerman stands a mere few feet from where you’ve hidden yourself, facial expression dripping with annoyance.

His arms cross over his chest once your eyes connect.

“I’m not doing it for you,” he adds when you say nothing.

The nausea dissolves in an instant, leaving you with a very heavy weight on your shoulders.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I just…”

Unable to find the right words to explain yourself, you twirl and smack into the cobblestone wall. Inch by inch you drop in height, dragging down its cold surface until you’re seated on the ground. Levi’s brows fly high, but he doesn’t move.

“This is all really surreal right now.”

Levi bites. “In what way?”

“As in I never thought I’d make it to my tenth birthday, much less my eighteenth birthday, and here we are celebrating it. No one in our house actually knows it’s a real accomplishment,” you admit in the haze of the liquor. “Everyone is happy to have us, and I’m happy to have us, but I feel this… this butterfly anxiety in my stomach every time someone says 'to many more years' like we have guaranteed years and it’s—”

The sound of his boots gently tap closer until something presses against your arm. When you lull your head to look in the direction of the sound, it’s Levi sitting beside you.

In the dirt.

A beat passes.

“You’re gonna get dirty,” you mumble.

“Don’t remind me.”

Drawing your knees to your chest, the two of you sit in silence for what feels like an hour.

You can’t pretend to know what’s going through his head — if he heard an ounce of what Isabel said, if he can hear your heart beating wildly in your chest, if he even understands the gravity of what he did.

What he’s done through these last few years.

“Why did you do it?”

The question is barely audible, but you feel Levi shift to watch you.

Head bowed to your knees, you catch your wrist between your thumb and finger and squeeze.

“Do what?”

“You gave me a second chance, Levi.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did,” you argue firmly, “and I never understood why. I’m glad you did, because I thought— I didn’t even see myself ever getting out of that hell, but it—”

“James.” You quiet at the soft snip of your name. “Don’t spiral. It’s the alcohol talking.”

“It’s me talking, Levi,” you argue firmly. “We always skirt around this shit. We… fight it out or whatever so we never have to bring it up. Someone has to finally say something.”

“If I give you your present early, then will you knock it off?”

You perk, chin lifting from its perch on your arm to stare at the other boy like he’s grown a second head.

He scowls, hand buried deep in his trouser pocket.

“My what?” you softly ask, and for the first time, Levi deflates.

At first it’s physical: inch by inch his body lessens its typical intensity, from shoulders to chest, arms to legs. He slumps beside you, head bowed with cascading black bangs covering his eyes.

He continues to fish around in his pocket before producing his open palm to you.

In the center lay an unassuming box, brown and thin, without labels or bows.

“Your present,” he reiterates like it’s painful.

“You got me a…”

“It’s your birthday.”

“I know it is, but you didn’t have to—”

When your eyes connect, you see it: the nerves that settle in his eyes, at the corners of his lips, as he waits with this damn box in his hand.

“What?” he asks, flat.

The walls start to build brick by cautious brick.

The window of vulnerability is closing.

Abruptly you lean forward, grabbing his hand to keep him from retreating.

Levi sways with the sudden movement, breath hitching at the way your other hand closes on top of your joined hands, trapping it.

“Don’t.”

Don’t run, is what you want to say.

Don’t hide, when you know it’s what he wants to do.

Levi stills at your command, and you slowly slip the box from his palm.

“What is it?”

“Isn’t the point of a shitty gift to open it as a surprise?” he rhetorically snaps, throat bobbing with a swallow.

Eventually you loosen your grip and free his hand. He draws it back into his lap before his hand can touch the dirt below.

You sit straighter, mindful of the way you remove the lid of the rectangular container.

Fragile, because you have no idea what Levi could possibly—

“Oh.”

Silver.

Dainty and small but more beautiful than anything you’ve ever witnessed in the Underground, you stare slack-jawed at the silver necklace nestled in a blanket of tissue paper.

Even in the forever night of the city, the jewelry gleams — and at its sloped apex sits a gemstone, smokey and small —

“If you hate it—”

“Hate it?” you interrupt in a gasped bark, stunned Levi would suggest anything of the sort.

For once, emotion shows: his eyes widen, lips parted with an apology he cannot find as you rip the necklace out of the box to hold it to your chest in a balled fist.

“How could I hate it?”

“I didn’t know if you liked silver,” he admits lamely, caught off guard.

“How the hell did you get this?”

“Bought it.”

Now it’s your turn to stare like a deer caught in a lantern’s light.

“I knocked the guy’s lights out after, so don’t look at me like I’m some fucking saint.”

He didn’t steal this.

With his own earnings, he bought this — for you?

“Why go through that trouble? This is… it has to be surface made, right?”

“A while back, you said you don’t own anything,” Levi explains, the tips of his ears turning a shade of pink. He reaches to smooth rogue baby hairs away from his face and settles his elbow on a raised knee. “Nothing proper, anyway. Now you do.”

You don’t own anything.

He’s right. You hold the necklace like stardust in the palm of your hand, studying every centimeter of its gleam.

It’s such a thoughtful idea, such a beautiful gift, that your throat closes up with budding emotion.

All of this trouble — for you.

“I might cry,” you tease, but it isn’t entirely untrue.

Levi groans like he saw that inconvenience coming.

“For fuck’s sake, do not cry.”

Then something otherworldly happens.

You both stare at the other and smile.

Although his is microscopic, it’s there: upturned corners and a crinkle in his eye, face exposed with his hair out of the way. You bite your lower lip to avoid grinning too hard, enamored with the sight before you.

The party feels so far away when Levi’s looking at you like this.

All you hear — all you see — is him.

“I might need help,” you murmur, pinching the chain between your thumb and index finger to hold out the small piece of jewelry to him.

“You think I know how these things work?”

“You’re smart. Figure it out, Ackerman.”

You hold your hair higher and turn your back to him, mimicking the things you’ve seen women do in the illustrated books Isabel’s smuggled from the surface people.

It feels right, especially when his fingertips brush along the slope of your neck.

Before you can stop yourself, a small gasp bursts from your lips. Levi either doesn’t hear or ignore it, because he’s reaching around to lay the necklace lightly on your collarbone without comment.

His fingers continue to touch the nape of your neck, careful not to pinch or scratch.

(To think hands like his can be soft.)

“That okay?” he asks behind you, his hot breath peppering your skin.

You glance down at your chest, touching the tiny gemstone with adoration.

“Perfect,” you say.

It really is.

(And it's yours. It's all yours.)

When you turn your chin to look at him, you don’t expect the proximity of his face — Levi’s nose is so close that you can see the gentle faded freckles that would have thrived with the sun.

He doesn’t slink away, doesn’t move a muscle, and you’re trapped staring at his mouth expecting an insult, a name, anything.

Nothing comes.

Instead you both remain here in the heat of two beating hearts, too afraid to run.

(Too afraid to ruin.)

Furlan said you two go way back.

“We should go inside.”

Levi, albeit strained, murmurs between you. His breath tickles your lips.

The silver around your neck shifts when your head gently shakes.

“It’s too crowded in there,” you argue without much fire.

From this angle, you can’t see his eyes. He’s too busy staring down at your mouth.

“It’s cold.”

“I’m not cold,” you tell him honestly.

“No?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Must be the alcohol,” he surmises.

“It isn’t.” You’ve never been so serious in your life. “I feel sober now. Just…”

“Just what?” he asks a little too quickly.

You miss his gaze a second too late — when his eyes raise, yours drop to his lips.

His boots become one with the ground beneath you, stuck in place. You swear you hear his breath grow heavier, contemplative, and you know — know that you’re about to do that one stupid thing you’ve thought about for years.

“Tell me."

He whispers, and it shatters the glass barrier between you.

You bridge the gap and press your lips softly to his.

Levi's stiff as a board, as if his brain realizes what you've done before his body has. Eventually his chin dips forward, his lips fluttering across yours as he finds his breath.

Then he moves like a starving man that’s found his oasis.

His knee knocks into yours when he pushes, deepening his mouth’s position on yours. You fumble backwards, shoulder blades hitting the wall with a gasp. Both of your limbs fumble to grab the other’s face first, but his reflexes outshine yours.

Slow and deliberate, experimenting with the sensation, Levi kisses you. He kisses you.

You match his exploration, trembling with your hand curled around the back of his neck. He inhales sharply when your nails scratch gently against his skin, causing him to push against you more.

Like he’s drowning.

Like he doesn’t care if he ever breathes again.

Your body burns when his left hand drops from your cheek to lightly run along the gemstone at the cusp of that glittering silver necklace.

You gasp for air as your noses knock together, both silently eager to find a rhythm you can both sing to. A whimper escapes your throat when something wet runs along your lower lip. His hot breath mingles with your tongue, the sensation shooting straight to your lower belly.

Then Levi pulls away like he’s somehow hurt you, gray eyes wide and — scared.

Fearful, like he’s crossed a line.

Delirious from the high, you shake your head and run your hand through the buzzed undercut at the nape of his neck. “I wanna keep doing that.”

As if his eyes could get any wider.

Levi looks wrecked. He opens his mouth to say something, as if to find any good reason to dispute your request but closes it.

He simply nods.

Inching forward, Levi captures your lips with a tenderness you’ve never considered he could possess. He’s careful, caging your head in with both of his hands now and thumbs lazily stroking your cheeks.

You hate that you must taste like the very thing he despises.

Except Levi groans, body shuddering, and when he shifts you feel something hard against your hip. It’s fleeting, but it snaps your eyes open in surprise.

Levi’s eyes are squeezed shut. Focused.

(He doesn’t even look this determined when he’s flying around on stolen ODM gear.)

You sigh when he presses further into you, eliminating the space between, and kiss back with feverish intent. Levi drops a hand to steady your hip — whether to keep you still or to keep himself from suffocating you, you’re not sure.

Then your tongues accidentally touch again, and you can’t help but moan. “Levi.”

He grits his teeth, pulling away. “Don’t say it like that.”

Your heart seizes with uncertainty. “Say what?”

He must be in pain. His eyes are screwed shut. Then he shifts again, gliding his thigh between yours, and you know now.

Levi Ackerman is rock hard, fighting every demon in his body.

“My name,” he croaks, finally opening his eyes. His pupils are practically blown black.

“But I like your name,” you reason innocently, and he drops his forehead onto your shoulder.

“Fucking shit…” He must feel you expand your lungs to ask a question, because he stops you before you can start. “I’m fine. Just… give me a second.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, hand still buried in his hair.

His head instantly picks up, searching for your face. Studying. “For what?”

“That.” His brows move a microscopic fraction higher. “If you didn’t… I mean, I haven’t…”

“I haven’t either,” he confesses without ever explaining what he means.

Now it’s your turn to widen your stare.

Your first kiss was his first kiss, too.

Something giddy floods your system. Something stronger than any hard liquor can conjure.

“Do you regret it?” he asks under a murmur.

You adamantly shake your head. “Do you?”

It takes a breath, but he shakes his head back.

Your mouth burst into a bright smile, high on the adrenaline of the point of no return you’ve both crossed in the midnight.

Cheeks tinged with a pink hue, all Levi can do is stare — then he chuckles, breathless and bewildered.

His hand drops to take yours, tugging the both away from the wall. You follow with little resistance, squeezing his palm.

You both linger in the dark for a second longer.

Then he lets go, taking the lead back to the apartment.

You follow.

(Door, now and forever, unlocked.)

.

author's note: imagine sitting on this exact chapter since march 2023. i have been dying to post this shit. chapter 14 is taking a lil longer to write so i'll keep you posted if itll be next week or in 2 weeks.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @vigilancio

[emeryhiro]

I over analysed the new TBOC Teaser and Sneak Peek

There's so much to cover here, and I'm so happy right now because of all the content we've gotten today! I'm going to focus the analysis on the new things we see in the teaser and trailer since many of the things shown today have already been discussed on here many times.

So please grab yourself a cup of tea or your morning coffee and bear with me through this post. It might be a little long, but I'd love to hear your takes on my timeline theory at the end. ♡

The Teaser

I'm starting with the teaser because that's what I got to see first.

Firstly, we see in the below photo that Daryl has finally gotten himself some arrows, which means we're finally going to see him with a bow (excluding that one time he used a crossbow in twd:dd 01x02). These definitely don't look like crossbow bolts, which implies that this shot is pre-reunion.

I also want to break down the dialog here:

Isabell: Tell me a story Daryl: There was this guy, he left home looking for something, and he couldn't get back.

I'm focusing on the part where he said "he couldn't get back" because he didn't say "he didn't go back" or "he didn't want to go back"; he said he couldn't; he's not there by choice.

~~~~~~

Secondly, we have this shot of Carol and her crew on a mountaintop. What stands out here is that it's not just her (on the right) and Ash (on the left); there are two other people there with them (middle).

Making notes of who these people are, here's a breakdown of what we can see about them.

There are two people.

First one: seems shorter with longer brown/black hair and wearing a beige coat.

Second one: seems taller, shorter auburn hair and wearing a black coat with a faux fur collar.

Unlike Carol and Ash, neither of them is visibly holding a weapon.

Also unlike Carol and Ash, they both seem to have bags/supplies.

They must trust each other at this moment because Carol and Ash don't seem to have their weapons drawn or their guards up.

The last three points make me think that the two in the middle might be locals from wherever they've landed in France and are helping them find their way. Additionally, to the local's guess, there's no way that the plane (image/model below) C/A flew in could have fit more than 2 people.

Beechcraft S35 Bonanza:

~~~~~~

Next, we see Carol (looking amazing as always) holding/shooting the crossbow, killing the walker we see below.

What's interesting here is that this walker is covered in moss and what looks like fungus growing out of it, which would happen to walkers who have been around water and/or in humid environments. The walker is also wearing winter clothing, which aligns with the snowy mountains in the background.

The only other place I remember seeing a walker like this, in France, was on the way to Normandy Beach, where Daryl looked over at the walker that had similar moss on it with trees growing through it; however, if I had to guess I'd say that's not relevant to the location of this new scene.

If the filming location accurately reflects the actual location of Carol/Crew, based on the surroundings and lake in the above shots, my best guess is that they are near the French Alps, somewhere around the area highlighted in red, OR the Spanish Alps highlighted in blue, since the rest of France is relatively flat and does not feature any large mountain scapes like we see in the photos.

It is also possible that these photos of Carol and Ash in the mountains are pre-France, set in the US while they were planning their departure via plane, with the only reason being that I don't think I've seen any photos of Carol or Daryl with the crossbow in France (that we know for sure were set in France). However, I'm still leaning towards it being in France because I don't see why Carol couldn't have taken the crossbow with her if they managed to take the rifle along.

Carol is later seen in a clip at Chantier Naval de la Passagère (purple mark on map), placing her right next to Daryl/Crew at Mont Saint-Michel (green mark on map).

~~~~~~

The Sneak Peek

The first thing to note with the sneak peek is that it looks like these images from the first teaser (below)...

are not at the same location as Daryl/Crew fighting in the sneak peak (below).

Another thing to note that's different is the people present with Daryl during each fight, which brings me to the next thing I've noticed.

~~~~~~

When the back of the truck is opened in the sneak peek, we see three people sitting in the back. After playing with the image a little bit, it becomes a little easier to guess who we're looking at.

To me, it appears that it's Fallou and Emile on the right, and the guy on the left resembles the man highlighted in the image below (from the first teaser).

All of this leads me to believe that somehow/somewhere, Fallou, Emile, and the ??? Man are taken by Genet and her people. This would explain Daryl's desperation during the sneak peek fight to stop Genet/Crew and get to whatever/whoever is in the back of the truck.

However, it gets a little complicated with how the timeline of these two fights relates to the below scene with Carol/Fallou/Codron.

I have two theories about how the timeline can go, but for now I'm just going to break down the one I think is the most feasible.

Firstly, we know that Fallou and Emile leave Daryl/Crew in 01x06, potentially heading back to Paris. On their way, they run into Codron, who's been badly hurt/tortured by Genet, along with Carol, who has tracked Daryl to Paris at this point.

From here, after resting, resupplying, and with the new information that Codron and Fallou gave her about Daryl's whereabouts and what he's been going through to try and get back to her, Carol leaves the Paris group and heads out to resume her search for him.

Sometime after Carol leaves Paris, the Paris group/base could have been attached, leading to Fallou, Emille, and ??? Man being captured.

This leads us to the fight we see in the sneak peek between Daryl/Crew and Genet/Crew, which results in Fallou/Emile/??? Man being rescued and joining up with Daryl and the Nest Crew again.

Here's where I think it gets interesting: Now that Fallout is back with Daryl, he tells him everything he knows about Carol, how they ran into her, how she's been looking for him, and how, right before the attack on that Paris base, she left to resume her search for him.

This would light a fire under Daryl, realising how much danger she could be in because the areas between Paris and Mont Saint-Michel are swarming with Genet's men, and Carol could very likely be unknowingly walking into an ambush that wasn't meant for her.

Knowing that Carol is somewhere between Paris and Mont Saint-Michel, Daryl can now easily track her to Maison Mere, where she happens to be trapped in a car with Ash, surrounded by walkers (image below).

This leads us to the scene from the first teaser, where we see Daryl, Fallou, Isabell,??? Man, and a few others from the Nest, are searching through what we've said appears to be Maison Mere.

In the first teaser, We see the walkers surrounding Carol's car get killed by something/someone that's not visible to us, other than the lone hand we see on the back of the windshield, which we have all agreed strongly resembles Daryl's (image below).

Leading us to our long-awaited life-changing reunion!!

Thank you so much for sticking with me and getting through this post ♡. I really hope reading it made sense like it did in my head.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on any of the above and specially on things that I've missed.

I'm so happy we'll have Caryl back in a few short months!!! Our wait is almost over ♡♡♡

[brunolover808]

Homelander x reader ||Biggest Fan||

Hockey player reader.

Cancer night was something most of the people you knew raved about. You personally loved raising money for cancer treatment, but you haven't been to the event held in New York. You were actually a player that was picked to draft to the New York team. So this was going to be your first Cancer night in New York.

Gearing up in the locker room you were wrapping fresh grip tape on the end of your hockey stick. The locker room was heavily quiet as though the game meant something more than just raising money. It's almost like their lives depended on this night. It made the silence feel deafening until the coach came in.

"Alright, we have to win this game for home. It has been requested we win."

Confused, You speak up. "So we have to win?"

The whole team looked towards you before they turned back ignoring your question. So the coach continued on like normal, laying out all the plays they can do and who will go out on the ice first. There was something odd, it seemed that you were only going out once half way through the game.

Once again you were confused and tried to address this, but the whole team ignored your concerns. Not only were you picked by this team to be a part of it, but now you were being excluded. It was baffling as you could have rejected their offer and stayed at home.

So as everyone was getting their stickers and helmets, you were getting up to speak with your coach. Before you could, the assisting coach grabbed you and pulled you aside.

"What the hell is going on here?" You asked frustrated as you should be.

"I understand that this is different from your home team. But we have certain rules, we strictly keep new players off the ice for some of our bigger games. Now you are getting on the ice-"

"Yeah! For just a few seconds before I am switched out." Cutting the assistant coach was already drawing the line, but you were pissed that they weren't even going to showcase the new player.

"I understand that, but this is Cancer Night. You cannot be on the ice any longer if we are to win. We have to win."

"What do you mean we have to win?! That isn't how this works."

"That is how it works, for tonight only. Now stop it with the questions tonight. Everything will be explained tomorrow. Now get your helmet on and follow the rest of your team out there or you are not playing. Make your choice. "

That was the end, there was no way of convincing or pushing further. It was like no one was wanting to admit something. So the best thing was to get ready to watch.

It seemed like any normal game. The introductions of the teams had gone over, then the pledge, and then the puck drop. The only real difference was the occasional announcement to donate and buy a shirt for Cancer Night. Usually the tickets were the main source of raising, but then there were the sponsors that were to double the amount of tickets sold. In this case they were doubling tickets and shirts being sold.

It wasn't till half way through the game there was something noticeably going on with the coaches. They seemed to be stressing out as your turn to go on the ice was next. The puck looked to be traveling around to the opposing team's goal. Meaning as soon as you were on the ice, your team should score. So then you would get to play defense till the 2nd ending was over.

Seeing your team mate quickly skate over to the benches you prepare yourself. As soon as their skates were off the ice you were jumping in. You held your stick tightly as your blades sliced through the ice with ease. The familiar grip and smoothness of the ice fueling your energy as the house formation began on the opposing team. It was a square formation that was taken to protect the goal and keep any shots out. There was only one way to get a goal and that is to break that formation.

Already one person on your team had the puck trying to guide it around from left to right. This makes them all love while the rest of the team finds their place to have a secure hit. The only person left out was you, no one is paying attention to someone new. Your skates move easily as though you are running along the surface. You slide by the one with the puck and catch it from their stick. At first panic sets in for your team. You, a rebel against the plan, were taking the lead fast. Since it looked like no one was expecting it, there was a clear opening. It was for a split second but you hit that puck and landed it straight in the net over the right shoulder of the goalie.

The horn sounded and you had made the goal. Raising your stick up you smiled proud and even slid along the rink to gently smack your stick against the plastic protectors. It wasn't till you looked at your team that they weren't celebrating. How could they not celebrate with a score? Was it shock? No...

It was the fact that your coaches were now trying to write plans down for now. The team looked like dead fish out of water. Annoying you moved to the four other players to snap them out of it. You make a game plan immediately and convince them to get ready. Though reluctant, they agree. You skate the way for them. As soon as the puck was back on the ice you zoomed around with them. It was at first a back and forth from each side. It felt like hours till you were able to make another goal.

Once again you celebrated and this time a few of them were celebrating with you. Then you were pulled off the ice. Of course it was to let others shine, but as soon as you were off you got an ear full from the coaches. You practically handed them two goals, but they were ungrateful. So you sat on the bench for the rest of the 2nd ending.

Currently your team was winning by two points. The points you gave them. So on this break the teams were returning to the locker rooms to rest. Only person who didn't go back was you. You decided to stay in the hallway to the ice, that way you were out of view, but you got to watch the break entertainment.

On the ice was an all familiar set of people. The seven had shown up to the game for raising funds. Well it wasn't the full seven. It looked to be Homelander, Starlight, Queen Maeve, Black Noir, and A-Train. It looked like all of them were trying to hit pucks into a goal using their powers. A-Train kicked it, but all that got was a spinning puck. Starlight tried her light, but only got her a small push towards the goal. Slowly sliding along while Maeve went up next. She couldn't do much except hit the puck with her arm. It got in the net, but not impressive. Black Noir just took a hockey stick and hit the puck straight into the goal. Which seemed to not phase anyone. Then lastly was Homelander who used his strength to kick it through the goal off the boarded walls and straight into the crowd. Thankfully it hit so much it slowed down to not horribly harm someone.

You scoffed at just how absurd this way. Then they started to exit towards your direction. You didn't know what to do so you just leaned against the wall acting cool. They seemed to not care except Starlight who stopped to tell you that you did amazing. You thank her only to be interrupted by Homelander.

"You are the one who scored two goals in just 3 minutes of each other." He said while pointed a gloved finger at you.

"Yes, I am surprised you were watching us."

"Of course not, I was watching you. Your team has been the same for years now, but you...you are new." That sentence was almost Starlight's cue to leave. As she left Homelander stepped in front of you. "I think your team needs more players like you. "

"Are you a hockey fan or something?" You asked believing he originally liked baseball.

"I am not a hockey fan, I am your fan. Well- I am your biggest fan." Homelander smirks before putting a hand on the wall next to your head. He had you pinned in place even if you wanted to leave you had to move him out of the way.

"You are now? Well as my biggest fan, if you stay for the whole game. I promise you will see more of me." You smirk back as you weren't scared or even shy by his tactics.

He waited thinking about it before speaking. "No, how about if you win, I will give you an award for saving this game."

"Is that a promise?" You snap back.

He groans low in his chest from your playful snaps. "Promise."