#will update this as i read/watch more things :)

[stylesispunk]

The soldier in the armour | part iv

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: Acacius put his plan on march, starting by sending you away with a sealing promise of returning back to you, but you cannot bear the thought of him fighting alone, and some plans are destroyed.

wc: 7k (lazy)

warnings: angst, age gap, mentions of miscarriage, blood, violence against women, power imbalance, kissing without consent, mentions of death. The events of this chapter happen on the same night.

a/n: Sorry for being so lazy about writing and updating lately. I'm just a teacher on her summer break. This one will be intense. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"Hold my hand," Acacius said, extending his arm toward you. You were sitting by the fountain, feeding the fish. The last couple of days had been torture for you, and he wanted nothing more than to shower you with acts of love from the deepest part of his heart.

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet determination that melted the tension in your chest. The cool breeze rustled the leaves above, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. He gave a gentle squeeze, as if trying to transfer some unspoken strength to you.

"Come," he whispered, his voice a balm against the chaos of your thoughts. "Let me take you somewhere…”

You hesitated, glancing back at the rippling water, watching the fish dart beneath the surface. But the pull of his presence was stronger. You stood, your fingers still entwined with his, and allowed him to lead you away from the weight of the past few days.

He led you through a narrow corridor you didn’t recognize, its walls lined with ivy that crept in through tiny cracks. At the very end, hidden behind a heavy wooden door, Acacius paused. He glanced back at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No one else knows about this place,” he murmured, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “It’s just for us.”

He pushed the door open with a soft creak, revealing a hidden courtyard tucked away from the rest of the villa. It was small, intimate, overgrown with wildflowers and shaded by an ancient olive tree whose twisted branches reached out like protective arms. The air smelled of lavender and sun-warmed stone, and the only sounds were the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant song of cicadas at dawn.

Acacius turned to you, his expression softening. “I come here when I need to feel... whole again.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, it could help you too.”

There was a strange tone on his voice, as if he was lingering to your presence before slipping away from you, but you decided to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"I know you're worried” you whispered, looking up at him to meet his gaze, smiling softly “but I’m gonna be fine. I’ll recover from this someday.”

“Can I confess you something?” He asked almost ashamed of the question

You nodded, inviting him to speak his truth.

"This is embarrassing for a general but I'm really scared."He confessed, “I…I have someone to lose this time"

Your breath hitched and sudden wave of anxiety crept into your bones.

"You won't lose me" you reassured, caressing his checks with your fingertips.

"From all the battles I fought. Falling in love with you came easily to me...I thought it was going to be difficult for a man like me to be deserving of someone like you.

"This sounds like a goodbye and I don't like that tone in your voice." You said, voice breaking at the thought.

“You know things could go wrong-“

“They will not.” You interrupted, reassuring him once again.

“Allowing myself to know you and love you has been the bravest thing I've ever done," he whispered, his voice trembling just enough for you to hear the depth of his fear, and his love.

Before you could respond, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you gently but urgently toward him. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender, as if he were pouring every feeling inside on it, every hidden feeling into that single, breath-stealing moment. The world around you seemed to dissolve, the rustling leaves, the distant cicadas, all fading into the background as the warmth of his mouth ignited something deep within you.

Your heart raced, the anxiety still humming in the edges of your mind, but his touch grounded you, as always. You let your fingers trail through his hair, pulling him closer, as if anchoring him to this promise you both silently made.

You won't lose me. We won’t lose each other.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, hearts pounding in the same rhythm, at the same time. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to memorize this moment, to etch it into his soul.

Then, without warning, he kissed you again, this time with a raw urgency that stole the air left from your lungs. His hands slid from your jaw down to your waist, gripping you as though he could mold your bodies into one. His fingertips dug into your skin, tracing every curve, every inch he could reach, as if committing the feel of you to memory.

You responded in kind, your hands roaming over his shoulders, his back, clutching at the fabric of his tunic like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. The heat between you was electric, a fire burning bright against the looming shadow of what was to come.

When he finally pulled back again, his breath was ragged, his lips lingering against yours for a fleeting second longer. His hands framed your face now, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks in contrast to the urgency of moments before. His gaze was heavy, filled with a thousand words he couldn’t seem to say.

He leaned in, pressing one lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

"My heart, my body and my soul belong to you in every lifetime." He whispered, nosing your neck, savoring the taste of your skin.

"My heart, my body and my soul belong to you in every lifetime. Since the day you saved me from the bathtub and sword you would love me." You whispered the same words back because you meant them.

He smiled against your neck, feeling his eyes watering already. For a man of a thousand battles these shows of affection tended to seen as a sign of weakness. But by your side he learnt about the vulnerability that it came when you loved someone.

You smelled like calm lavender, and your souls interviewed in an unbreakable thread destined to meet in every single lifetime.

You were his person; the best Rome had ever given him back for all the duty and sacrifice. It broke his heart to send you away.

He didn’t fear death anymore, but not seeing you again broke him.

Acacius helped you up, his strong arm supporting you, your heart still ached with the lingering sensation of his words, his love, his devotion. You walked together, the world outside the villa seeming quieter. His hand remained gently wrapped around yours.

When you reached back to the villa, the air felt heavy, as if something was waiting for you there. The grand doors opened to reveal Lucilla standing near the font, her hands trembling slightly as she stood motionless, her gaze distant. Her expression was clouded with worry, yet there was an undeniable sorrow in her eyes that you couldn’t ignore.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” you asked, stepping forward, concern flooding your chest as you glanced between her and Acacius.

Lucilla turned her head slowly, her eyes brimming with tears.

"They are here" she said, painfully ignoring your questions as she looked at Acacius.

"It's time" he said, painfully, avoiding looking at you for a moment, then he glanced at you "Look. They are some of my men. They are here to take you out-“

"I don't want to leave" you protested, coming to Lucilla, "Mother, please don't do this again. Come with me"

 You stepped back, your heart twisting painfully as you listened to Acacius, walking to your mother.

"I don't want to leave," you protested again, your voice trembling. You reached for her, the distance between you growing wider with every passing second. "Mother, please don't do this again. Come with me."

Lucilla’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looked as though she might give in. But the sorrow on her face deepened, and she shook her head gently. "I cannot, my dear. I failed Lucius once." Her voice cracked as she spoke his name, a deep, haunting sadness settling over her. "I won’t fail you too. Not again."

You felt the sting of her words like a dagger in your chest. She was leaving you, just like she had left him. The memories of her absence in the darkest moments of your life, when you were fighting for survival, flashed before your eyes, and the thought of repeating that same pain was unbearable.

"So, you're failing me now?" you asked, the sharpness in your tone betraying the hurt you felt. Your breath was ragged as you held back tears, frustration and confusion bubbling up inside you.

Lucilla stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for you, but she stopped just short of touching you. "Oh no," she whispered, shaking her head. "I cannot bear the thought of losing you to this. If you're away, Geta won’t be able to use you as a tool against Acacius or me. I can't risk you being taken from me as he was."

The words stung, but in them, you realized the depth of her fear. She wasn’t abandoning you, she was trying to protect you, to keep you safe in a world where everything felt uncertain and dangerous.

"But I don’t want to be safe without you," you said softly, your voice breaking. "I can't go alone.”

Lucilla looked at you, her gaze softening for a brief moment, but the fear in her eyes remained. "I love you too much," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And I can't watch you suffer here.”

Acacius stood behind you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. His presence was a steady anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. He knew how hard this was for you, but his silence spoke volumes. He understood what it meant to love and lose, and now, he was offering you something that felt like the only way forward.

Lucilla’s voice quivered as she took a step back, her hands clenched at her sides. "I cannot go with you... but I will wait for you here. And I will pray that one day you come back to me. That we both do."

You felt as though your heart was being torn in two—torn between the woman who had given you life and the man who had become your lifeline. The conflict swirled in your chest, but all you could do was nod, unable to find the right words.

"I love you," you whispered softly to her, your voice breaking as the tears finally fell.

Lucilla gave you a sad, bittersweet smile. "I love you too, my darling. Always."

You turned to Acacius, your heart sinking at the pained expression that crossed his face as his gaze shifted from you to the three men who had appeared in the distance. His posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing as they approached with purposeful strides.

The moment felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. His soldiers had arrived. The plan was set in motion. The urgency of the situation weighed down on both of you, but there was something else, something unspoken in the way Acacius held himself. His pain, too, was palpable. As much as he had sworn to protect you, he knew what this moment meant. The time for goodbyes was closing in, and there was no turning back.

"Acacius..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached for his hand. But he stepped back slightly, his jaw tightening as his men neared.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes full of regret and determination. "You need to go. Now."

The men stopped in front of him, their faces unreadable but their posture betraying the tension of the moment. Acacius addressed them with a tone that brooked no argument, his voice firm but clipped.

"Prepare the horses," he commanded, and one of them nodded before heading off to carry out his orders.

You looked at Acacius, pain flickering in your chest as you realized that the next few moments would change everything. The world you had known was slipping away, and there was no going back to the life you had before.

"You’re leaving me, aren’t you?" you asked, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

Acacius looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his gaze softened when he saw the hurt in your eyes. "No. I’m not leaving you." His voice was low and full of certainty, though there was a storm of emotions raging behind those words. "I’ll never leave you. But I need you to trust me now."

You nodded, though the uncertainty in your chest remained. His men were getting ready, and you knew that there was no time left to hesitate.

"Promise me you’ll come to get me back," you said quietly, the words more of a plea than a command.

Acacius stepped closer, his hand brushing the side of your face, his thumb tenderly tracing over your skin. "I swear," he said, his voice raw and filled with emotion. "I’ll come back for you. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure we’re together again."

The words were like a lifeline, but the storm of emotions raging in your chest made it hard to hold on to them. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but the world was so unpredictable, and you knew better than to expect anything in these dark times.

As Acacius turned to give orders to his men, you felt the weight of the world crashing down on you, the finality of this moment settling into your bones. You wanted to run to him, to beg him to let you stay, but you couldn’t, because deep down, you knew what he was doing was necessary.

This was bigger than the two of you.

Acacius cupped your face once more, his eyes soft but heavy with the weight of what was to come. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, one that spoke of promises and unspoken fears. His touch was tender, like it was the last thing he could give you before everything changed.

"Be safe," he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and full of urgency. "No matter what happens, remember that I will always love you."

Your heart ached as his words sank in, the depth of his devotion resonating through every fiber of your being. You nodded, though your throat tightened, unable to find the words to express what you felt. His love, his promise, were everything you had left to hold on to in this fleeting moment.

He stepped back slightly, his hand still resting on your cheek, and without another word, he helped you onto the horse. His movements were swift and precise, his touch strong but careful as he steadied you in the saddle. His gaze never left yours, filled with a quiet desperation, as though he could somehow will the situation to change with just his stare.

As he stood next to the horse, his hand resting on the reins, he gave a final, lingering look, as though imprinting you into his memory. Then, with a slow exhale, he spoke again, his voice filled with finality.

"Trust in me," he said, his eyes intense. "No matter what happens, trust that I will find a way back to you."

His men began to move in the background, preparing to take you away. Acacius placed one last kiss on your forehead, a soft, lingering touch that felt like it was marking the end of a chapter. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his presence, remained with you, even as he pulled away and nodded to his soldiers.

With a final glance, he stepped back, his face a mixture of sorrow and determination. His hand reached out toward you one last time, as if he wanted to pull you into his arms, to hold you just a moment longer. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

"Go," he said quietly, the word almost a command, but it carried so much emotion that it cut deep.

As the men took the reins of your horse and started moving you away, you cast one last look over your shoulder. Acacius stood there, still watching you, his face a mask of stoic resolve but his eyes betraying the pain that he had hidden behind his duty.

And then, as you were carried further away, the world around you began to blur. The sound of horses’ hooves pounding against the earth, the rustling of the wind, it all faded as you focused on the one thing that remained clear.

As the path beyond you seemed to haunt you, you tightened the cloak around your shoulders, its coarse fabric doing little to shield you from the chill that seeped into your bones. Every step away from the villa felt heavier and suffocating, each one pulling you farther from Acacius, your mother, and Lucius. The road stretched ahead, but your mind remained trapped in the past, tangled in memories and regrets.

You couldn’t shake the image of Acacius’s eyes, the way they softened when he looked at you, or the feel of his lips pressed against your forehead. The smell of lavender on his neck that seemed to lullaby you into sleep every time he wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart ached thinking about your mother, her face etched with sorrow and strength as she pushed you to safety. And Lucius, your brother, the rightful emperor of Rome, forced to live as a slave under a name that was never his.

As Acacius's men guided you through the winding paths, the weight of your separation grew unbearable. You were being secured by Acacius’s army, hidden away from the dangers that loomed, but it felt more like a prison than protection. You were trapped in the middle of something larger than yourself, and the distance only amplified the helplessness curling in your chest.

Meanwhile, back at the villa, Acacius stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the direction you had disappeared. His heart clenched painfully, the hollow ache of your absence settling deep within him. A single tear escaped down his cheek, betraying the stoic facade he tried to maintain. The emptiness in his chest felt insurmountable, as if a piece of him had been torn away.

You were the Achilles heel on his life, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being away from his protection.

Lucilla, seeing the turmoil etched across his face, stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong, like her father” she whispered, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her own eyes. “And you will find your way back to her.”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his hand coming to rest over Lucilla’s in silent acknowledgment. The touch sent shivers down his spine; it wasn’t love but understanding. The both of you letting go your heart away.

His eyes never wavered from the path you had taken, his heart silently vowing that no matter what, he would find you again.

Beneath the cloak, you knew you hadn’t far away from the villa. Just one bold movement and you could go back.

There was a weight that became heavier to bear. Acacius would risk his life to free an empire from its tyranny, and perhaps the power would go back to your family while your mother would get stuck in the middle and Lucius real identity would display.

Suddenly, the weight of it all became unbearable. Without thinking, you yanked on the reins, bringing the horse to a skidding halt. The men guarding you shouted in alarm, but their voices were distant echoes compared to the roaring in your ears. You leapt off the horse, your feet hitting the ground hard, and before they could react, you were running, running back towards the villa, towards the people you couldn’t abandon.

"Stop! Come back!" Acacius's men called after you, their voices laced with desperation. But you didn’t listen. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t let them risk their lives while you hid away, blind to whatever horrors might unfold.

you couldn’t turn your back on them. Not now. Now after all.

You were stronger than that. You were the daughter of Maximus Decimus, a man of honor.

You wouldn’t let them risk their lives while you hid away, blind to whatever horrors might unfold. The wind tore at your cloak, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your feet pounded the dirt path. Every step closer to the villa felt like shedding a layer of fear, replaced by a fierce, unyielding resolve.

The villa loomed in the distance; it brought a strange comfort to your heart. Your mind raced faster than your legs, what if you were too late? What if Acacius or your mother were already in danger? The thought spurred you on, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the aching in your legs.

Behind you, the shouts of Acacius’s men grew fainter, their figures shrinking against the horizon. But your heart was set, you belonged there, in the thick of it, facing whatever fate awaited alongside those you loved. As the gates of the villa came into view, your heart pounded not from exhaustion, but from the sheer force of your determination.

You were almost there.

"Acacius!" you shouted, breathless as you reached the entrance. As soon as he came into view, you crashed into him, and he caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that felt like home.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was hushed, desperate, his hands moving to cradle your face, as if he needed to be sure you were real.

"I can't-" you gasped out, struggling to steady your breath. "Don't ask me to run away while you stay here. Please, don’t."

His fingers traced your jaw, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhaled shakily. "I can’t put you in danger," he whispered. "I won’t."

You closed your eyes, your breath mingling with his. His warmth surrounded you, grounding you, but the ache in your chest only grew stronger.

"How?" you whispered, searching his eyes. "How can I leave when you will be here fighting?

Acacius’s jaw clenched. "You know what will happen if you stay—"

"And you know what will happen if I go!" You pulled back slightly, forcing him to see the determination burning in your eyes. "I grew up in a world where privilege was handed to me until it wasn’t. My heart was humble until it wasn’t. I never realized how greedy I could be until I met you, until my heart started beating for you. I want everything that comes from you—your words, your breath, your smile, your heart, you. And if there is a chance, they take you from me, then I’d rather meet the spirits myself than live in a world where you don’t exist."

His breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw something break in him. A vulnerability so raw it threatened to consume you both. His hands trembled against your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t make this harder for me."

Your heart twisted painfully. "Then don’t make it harder for me, either. You already know how voiceless women are here. Let me make my choice for once."

His eyes darkened with conflict, with love, with fear. And then, without another word, he crushed his lips against yours. it was a desperate, aching plea. A promise. A surrender.

When he pulled away, his breath was ragged, his hands still cupping your face as though afraid you’d disappear.

"Then stay," he whispered. "And if the gods are kind, we will survive this together."

But you were afraid the gods had never been kind to lovers like you.

Lucilla watched the exchange in silence before stepping forward. "My child," she said gently, "I know you are willing to risk your life for those you love. But this is not a fight you can win with your heart.”

You turned to her, desperation burning in your eyes. "I know this villa better than anyone. I grew up here. I know every passage, every hidden corridor. If I can get to Lucius, I can free him. We can hide. We can escape and Acacius and his army will free Rome."

"No," Acacius said immediately, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

"He’s my brother!" you argued.

"And what happens when you get caught?" Lucilla’s voice was softer, but no less firm. "You think Geta or Caracalla will show mercy to you? He’ll use you against us, just as he always intended."

Acacius tightened his grip on you. "You are the only thing keeping me from turning this entire city to dust. If something happens to you, I won’t stop. I won’t care about the cost."

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. "Then let me help you. Let me help Lucius."

"The best way to help is to stay safe," Lucilla insisted. "We will find a way, Acacius-“

“Lucius will refuse Acaciu’s help.” You interrupted, “He took the city he was in, but I’m his sister.”

Acacius's jaw tightened, his eyes dark with frustration and the fear it came when danger seemed to follow you. He shook his head. "That’s exactly why you can’t go. You think he’ll just follow you? Lucius is stubborn. He won’t leave. He won’t abandon his pride, even for you."

"He will if I make him see reason," you pressed, your voice trembling with conviction you wanted to believe. "If I remind him who he is, what he stands for. He’ll listen to me."

Lucilla exhaled sharply, stepping between you and Acacius, her presence like a steady force in the eye of the storm. "And if he doesn’t? If he refuses, what then?”

You flinched at her words. The weight of this pressed down on you, but you refused to let it break you. "Then at least I’ll have tried," you whispered. "At least I won’t sit in hiding while the people I love fight for their lives."

Acacius turned away from you abruptly, running a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath before spinning back toward you. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you’re asking me to do?" His voice cracked, raw and unguarded. "You’re asking me to send you straight into the lion’s den. To just…juts let you walk into danger while I stand back and watch."

"I’m asking you to trust me," you said, your voice fierce despite the tears burning your throat. "I have spent my whole life being protected, shielded from the ugliness of this world. But I am not some delicate thing to be tucked away. If we are to have any future at all, we must take risks."

Acacius closed his eyes, as if trying to drown out your words, to quiet the war inside him. Lucilla placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "She is her father's daughter," she murmured, her gaze heavy with understanding. "You cannot change her mind when it is already set."

He let out a shaky breath, his hands curling into fists before he finally looked at you again. "If you go, you do not go alone."

Your breath hitched. "Acacius-"

"You do not go alone," he repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I will not let you face this without protection."

Lucilla nodded. "I know someone who can get you into the cells unnoticed. But you must understand-this is your one chance. If something goes wrong, there will be no second attempt. No coming back for you."

Your heart pounded as the full weight of the decision settled in. There was no turning back now.

"Then I will not fail," you promised, meeting Acacius’s gaze.

But even as you said the words, you knew that fate was a cruel, unpredictable thing.

“I will wait for you at the end of the dungeon” He explained, “Once you free Lucius, both of you, especially you will come and going to go away. Then when tomorrow came, I’ll get everything settle for what’s coming.”

Lucilla’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes something like resignation. "We don't have time to argue anymore," she said finally. "If you're going to do this, you must go now."

Acacius stepped closer, his hands gripping your arms as if he could anchor you to him. His touch burned, searing into your skin, branding you with the weight of his worry. "Promise me," he murmured. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t hesitate. The moment Lucius is free, you run."

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you weren’t sure if you could keep that promise.

Lucilla moved toward the entrance, glancing over her shoulder. "I will send word to the one who will take you inside. Wait for him by the servants' passage near the western wall. And keep your head down."

Acacius leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "Be careful," he whispered. "I need you to come back to me."

You lingered there for a moment, memorizing the feeling of his hands on you, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he looked at you as if you were something worth fighting for.

"Mia vita" he called out, stopping you on your tracks to kiss you softly, the pulled back slightly “Please don't let this to be our last kiss"

"We still have a life to live together" you smiled against his lips, peeking his lips once more "at peace this time"

"I will find you" he promised, peeking your lips once again, savoring every single second of this. "I'll be waiting for you at the end of the dungeon."

You nodded, feeling shivers down your spine. He kissed your lips again as if couldn’t let go because of the fear, tasting the sweet flavor of fruits on them, lingering to the feeling that in a few hours he would free Rome from the tyranny and escape with you to a happy ending, a happy life.

"Be careful, love" he whispered as you walked from his grasp.

Then, with one final look, you turned and disappeared into the shadows.

And as you did, Acacius stood still, watching you leave, his fists clenched at his sides.

He had never felt so powerless.

The night stretched long and cold as you moved through the villa’s outer corridors, keeping close to the stone walls. Every shadow felt like a threat waiting to cut you in half, every sound a warning. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself forward. Your mother’s contact was waiting near the western wall as promised, a hooded figure who barely looked at you before motioning for you to follow.

"This way," he whispered, leading you through a narrow passage. "The guards are fewer tonight, but that won’t last long."

You nodded, pressing yourself deeper into the cloak wrapped around your shoulders. The passage led downward into the lower levels of the coliseum, where the scent of damp stone and burning torches thickened the air. With each step, the reality of what you were about to do settled heavier in your chest.

Finally, the man halted near a rusted iron gate, peering around the corner before motioning for you to stop. "Beyond here, you’re on your own. You already know where the cells, be fast my lady.”

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself before slipping through the gate. The corridor was dimly lit, flickering torchlight casting shadows along the stone walls. You kept low, moving carefully. Every instinct screamed at you to hurry, but you couldn’t afford mistakes.

Then you saw him.

Lucius sat in the farthest cell, his head down, his hands bound in front of him. His tunic was dirtied and torn; his face shadowed with exhaustion. But he was still alive.

"Lucius," you whispered urgently, pressing yourself against the bars. His head snapped up, eyes widening at the sight of you.

"By the gods," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"Freeing you," you said, already fumbling with the lock. "We don’t have much time, Acacius has a plan, but we need to go now."

Lucius let out a short, breathless laugh. "Acacius? And here I thought you had come to your senses and abandoned him.”

You shot him a glare, your fingers working as quickly as possible. "Do you want to fight about this, or do you want to walk out of here alive?"

Before he could respond, footsteps echoed down the hall. Your breath caught.

The guards were coming.

You barely had time to think. With trembling fingers, you worked at the lock, gritting your teeth as the iron refused to give. Lucius shifted impatiently behind the bars, his gaze darting toward the approaching footsteps.

"Hurry," he muttered.

"I know," you hissed, forcing yourself to focus. The crude metal bit into your skin, but finally, with a sharp click, the lock gave way. You got the door open, and Lucius stepped out, shaking the stiffness from his limbs.

"We need to go," you whispered.

Together, you slipped into the shadows, pressing yourselves against the cold stone walls. The guards were close now, their voices carrying down the corridor. You gripped Lucius’s wrist, pulling him forward as you sprinted through the winding path of the dungeon.

Your breaths came fast and shallow, your heart hammering with every turn. The torches flickered wildly in the drafty halls, casting distorted shapes that sent chills up your spine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached the end of the dungeon, the meeting place Acacius had promised.

But he wasn’t there.

You came to a sudden stop, chest heaving as your eyes darted around the empty space.

"Where is he?" Lucius whispered harshly.

You didn’t answer. He should be here.

He said he would be here. You thought.

A cold feeling crept up your spine. Something was wrong.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Think. Think faster. Acacius wasn’t here. That meant something had gone wrong. That meant-

“We have to move,” you whispered, gripping Lucius’s arm.

He gave you a sharp look, but didn’t argue. You took the lead, slipping through the dimly lit corridor, your body tense, ears straining for any sound. The dungeon air was thick with dampness, every breath heavy in your chest.

Acacius had told you to wait. But waiting was a death sentence now.

He could be in trouble. He could be dead.

No. You forced the thought away. Acacius was strong. He was waiting for you somewhere else. He had to be.

Lucius kept pace beside you, his voice low and urgent. “Where are we going?”

“Out,” you said, scanning the hallway. “I know another way.”

A narrow servant’s passage was carved into the farthest wall, one you had used as a child to sneak out when the world inside these walls had felt too suffocating. You yanked open the hidden door, pushing Lucius through before slipping inside yourself. The stone closed behind you, sealing you both in darkness.

The passage was narrow, forcing you to move single file. Your fingers trailed the rough stone as you navigated through the twisting tunnel, the air cool and stale. You could hear Lucius’s uneven breathing behind you, but neither of you spoke.

You reached the end and pressed against the wooden panel that led to the outside. For a long moment, you hesitated.

If Acacius wasn’t here, it meant something had shifted in the plan. But you had no time to figure out what.

You had to keep moving.

Bracing yourself, you pushed the door open and stepped into the night.

The night air was a fleeting whisper of freedom before it was ripped away.

The moment you and Lucius stepped beyond the hidden passage, torches flared to life, illuminating the ring of imperial guards waiting for you. The glint of their drawn swords was the only warning you had before rough hands seized you.

Lucius struggled, his fury a silent storm beside you, but he was outnumbered. A soldier slammed the hilt of his sword into his stomach, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

“Lucius!” you shouted, lunging toward him, but another set of hands wrenched you back.

A grizzled guard stepped forward; his expression smug beneath his bronze helmet. “Did you really think you could slip away unnoticed?” he sneered.

You twisted against their grip, but they held you firm. “Where is Acacius?” you demanded. “What have you done to him?”

The guard chuckled darkly. “Worry for yourself, little dove.” He leaned in, his breath rank against your cheek. “Emperor Geta will not be fond of you after this treason.”

Your stomach twisted. Geta. He knew.

The guards yanked you and Lucius apart, dragging him in the opposite direction. He thrashed violently, eyes burning with desperation as they pulled him away from you.

“Stay strong,” he shouted. “Don’t give them what they want!”

Then he was gone.

You fought harder, but it was useless. The last thing you saw before they forced you forward was the blood-red banners of the empire swaying in the cold night air.

The throne room was suffocating with tension, the air thick with the scent of oil and burning torches. Acacius and Lucilla stood before the imperial dais, their bodies rigid as Emperor Geta lounged with lazy arrogance in his gilded chair. Caracalla stood beside him, his fingers curling and uncurling as if barely restraining his temper.

The moment Acacius learned you had been captured, something inside him had snapped. His presence alone carried a storm, his jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides, the veins in his neck straining with suppressed fury.

“Where is she?” Acacius demanded, his voice like thunder cracking through the hall.

Geta smirked, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Who?” he mused, feigning innocence. “Oh, you mean your wife.” He sighed dramatically. “A shame, really. I expected more from you, Acacius. But in the end, even the great general is brought to his knees for a woman.”

Acacius took a menacing step forward, only for Lucilla to press a warning hand against his arm. “You do not want to do this,” she whispered, though even her voice carried the edge of a threat.

Caracalla’s lip curled; his rage barely restrained. “You made a mistake, Acacius. You should have fled with her when you had the chance.”

“I will get her back,” Acacius growled. His eyes snapped to Geta, cold and unrelenting. “Emperor Geta, torture me if you want, but don't dare to lay a finger on my wife.”

Geta’s expression darkened at that word.

His knuckles went white around the goblet before he set it down with deliberate slowness. “But I will,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. He walked towards Acacius, stepping closer, his grin cruel. “Now, I’m going to see her.”

Acacius lunged, but the guards were already between them, forcing him back as Geta strode from the room. The moment the doors slammed shut behind him, Acacius let out a roar of frustration. He whirled, striking one of the marble pillars with his fist hard enough to crack the stone.

Acacius’s chest heaved with each ragged breath, but when he turned to face Lucilla next to him, his eyes were filled with something worse than fury.

Desperation.

His hands clenched into fists again. “I will kill him. I swear it.”

The cell was damp and smelled of rust and decay. You hit the ground hard as the guards shoved you inside, the impact jolting through your knees and elbows. The cold stone bit into your skin, but you barely felt it, your mind was reeling, heart hammering in your chest.

"You should have stayed where you belonged," one of the guards sneered from the other side of the iron bars. "Emperor Geta will not be fond of you after this treason."

You lifted your head, eyes burning with defiance. "I still have you to make him beg for mercy."

The guard scoffed but did not reply. He only smirked, slamming the barred door shut with a loud clang before disappearing down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the darkness.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sit upright. Every part of you ached, but pain was the least of your concerns.

You exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to your face as tears threatened to spill. But you wouldn’t cry.

Instead, you allowed yourself a moment to gather your strength. Tomorrow was coming, and with it, the arena and whatever fate awaited Acacius. Whatever happened, you wouldn’t let Geta break you.

Then, a sound.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

A chill ran down your spine.

You knew who it was before you even saw him.

The door creaked open, and there he stood.

Emperor Geta.

The first thing he did as he took glance of you was grabbing your face forcefully with his hand, forcing you to spare him a glance. He wouldn't even dream of seeing you like this, is disbelief, with your hair a mess, and bloody. You weren't made for a life like this, but now under these conditions, this was the closest he had come to have you.

"Escaping with that slave, my dear lady? You marrying Acacius felt less insulting than this." He said, looking dead into your shining orbits.

"Marrying you would an insult to myself. I would rather eat shit than be tied to you." You spatted.

Geta's smile widened as a cruel laugh escaped his lips as his studied your features. Your before soft skin seemed dirty by drops of blood and dirt. You were a delicate doll, but now smashed and crumbled.

Geta’s expression twisted, his smugness evaporating in an instant. His jaw clenched, and his eyes burned with rage. Before you could react, his hand lashed out, the sharp crack of the slap ringing through the chamber.

The force of the blow snapped your head to the side, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the floor. Your cheek stung, the pain radiating hot and angry, but it was nothing compared to the cold fury swelling in your chest.

Geta loomed over you, his breath heavy, his hand still trembling from the strike. “You will not speak to me that way,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “You forget who holds your life in his hands. You forget who I am. I'm the emperor and you're just a prisoner granted privileges because of your mother and Acacius" his face got close to you, "but now you're a mere slave accused of treason."

You spit on his face. The anger and loathing consuming like a fire burning your body.

Geta took his hand to his face, cleaning your spit with disgust written on his face. You had ended with his patience and he couldn't bear it anymore.

Just a few hours ago you had been secured on Acacius big arms, surrounded by the faint scene of laurel and lavender that seemed to calmed you down.

Now the stink of dirt and humidity rusted your nostrils. You wanted to close your eyes and feel the lavender on your nose, Acacius lips on your temple. You wanted him to save you, you were pleading the gods.

"Please stop this...let me see him" you begged, your voice broken. "Don't hurt him."

Lifting your gaze to see if by chance there would be a tiny bit of sympathy dancing on his eyes, you face the coldest gaze you had ever seen.

"Acacius' life is on my will, your mother's...even that beloved gladiator of yours." He got closer once again, looking directly to your eyes, you felt his wine breath on your face, "Test my patience once again, my lady and I will snap my finger like this" he snapped his fingers in front of you, getting closer to your lips you can almost feel his on your and it felt repulsive "and all of them will be dead. All of them!"

You gritted in protest, the repulsion of his touch filling you with an instinctual fear that made your skin crawl. The air between you felt suffocating, and the words he spoke echoed in your mind like a distant nightmare, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, forcing you to remain still as his lips lingered too close to yours. The stench of wine and bitterness clung to him, every part of him an invasion to your thoughts, to your soul.

"Don’t you dare," you hissed, your voice trembling but filled with defiance. You refused to let him have the satisfaction of breaking you.

“You have no idea what I could give you,” Geta began, his voice low and smooth, carrying the weight of his authority. “Power, wealth, freedom to rule by my side as my wife. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of could be yours if only you’d open your eyes and choose me.”

You hold your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips pressed forcefully against yours. The taste of wine and greed made your stomach churn, and every inch of your body screamed in protest. This was not love. This was a sick obsession, an attempt to break your will and twist your bones. You clenched your fists, refusing to let him see the fear creeping at the edges of your resolve.

"I would rather die than choose you," you spat, your voice full of venom.

“I don’t care what you want” he said, pulling away just to stand up, smiling cruelly down at you on the ground. "Chain her to the wall." He ordered the guards

Your despair filled the dirty dungeons "No, please. Don't" you squirmed under the men's hold "Let me go!"

The cold stone wall bit into your skin as the guards’ iron chains wrapped around your wrists, pulling you taut against the damp, dark dungeon. The echo of your cries was swallowed by the silence of the place, but inside, your fury burned with an intensity you had never known. You clenched your teeth, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, determined to stay strong.

"Goodnight, my princess," Geta’s mocking voice lingered in the air long after he was gone, a cruel reminder of his power over you.

Your screams followed geta's steps as he walked away from you. You were left there to drown in your own tears as you curse and whatever plan his Machiavellian mind has.

Your fingers tightened into fists, nails digging into your palms as you whispered a curse under your breath, a spell woven from the ancient words passed down through history. Soon the future of Rome would be defined and you were going to take charge of it.

Tags 💌: (if you want to be removed feel free to tell me. I'm super shy when it comes to tags. By the way I couldn't tag everyone)

@greenwitchfromthewoods @joeldjarin @picketniffler @sptbear @heartpatch @immyowndefender @nobodyssfool @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @idkwhylou @jasminedragoon @ro-nahime-things @hduuc56 @mamustreads @itsafullmoon @tuquoquebrute @ccmoonshine @fvispunk @here-briefly @elisha-chloe @geekandbooknerd @guelyury @dlwrish @legoemma @scrappyskin @orcasoul @kluvspedro @onlythehobi @stormseyer @spideybv28 @spacelatinos4life @hduuc56 @foledean @negrita2345 @capswife @missadangel @spencercmlover @leahwwinchester @areyoutheretoru @nosebeers @discowitchyy

[kiwriteswords]

My Funny Valentine [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 1.9k|| AN: I have been binge-re-watching The Nanny for the first time since I was a teenager and got to the episode where Fran buys a billboard for Mr. Sheffield after thinking he was her secret admirer. I had to do this for Hotch and Reader!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, BAU reader, will they won't they relationship, Valentine's Day, mentions of Haley, mentions of a creepy police officer, based off an episode of The Nanny, fools in love.

Summary: Given your undeniable chemistry and attraction for one another, when an unsigned card with flowers and a teddy bear shows up on your desk, you assume it's from Hotch. After making a grand gesture for what you thought was in return, you both soon realize the truth.

Ever since you joined the BAU, your interactions with Hotch have been a mixture of professional respect and undeniable chemistry. Over the years, the flirty banter had evolved into a dance of “will they, won't they,” much to the entertainment--and sometimes frustration--of the team. 

Everyone could see the mutual attraction except, it seemed, the two of you.

Being Hotch's subordinate, you treaded carefully, harboring feelings you dared not confess, always secretly hoping he'd be the one to break the professional boundary.

You were younger--not inappropriately so (maybe just a little)...well, enough to make you question if this chemistry was all in your head. Enough questioning to allow these feelings to remain at a standstill--or at least until he broke first. 

This Valentine's Day seemed like any other day at the BAU, but when you arrived at your desk, you found a bouquet of pink carnations and a teddy bear holding a card. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the flirty message. 

"To the one who captures my thoughts as easily as she profiles unsubs. Happy Valentine's Day."

You couldn't help but think it was from Hotch. Carnations and a teddy bear? Not what you would have imagined Hotch picking out, but nonetheless, thoughtful. Unexpected. Thrilling. 

He was finally crossing that line drawn in the sand. The one you blurred and blurred but ultimately never swept away. 

Excitement bubbling up inside you, you rushed to share the news with Penelope Garcia, your go-to confidante for all things romantic and dramatic. The one who had been arguably rooting for you and Hotch more than anyone. 

Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in her, or maybe…just maybe, the proof was there in plain daylight with the way you and Hotch played your games with one another. Like a tennis match of back and forth--over and over. 

“My gosh,” Penelope squealed, looking at the card, “I mean…I can’t believe it. What are you going to do? What are you going to say!?” She leaned forward, capturing your arm, almost to steady her own excitement. 

“I want to do something for him…something nobody’s ever done for him before.” You thought carefully. 

Many would argue that you were…of the dramatic kind. Maybe that’s why you and Penelope got along so easily. Hotch would argue that you were dramatic the most. You often used it to your own advantage with him. 

You knew--although you’d both never admit it--you had Hotch wrapped around your finger so it was easy to use those puppy dog eyes when you didn’t feel like completing a case assignment or if you wanted the bigger room at the hotel. 

“You know,” Penelope pondered, “Now that I think of it,” She scrunched her face, “All of these years here, I’m not sure anyone’s ever left Hotch a Valentine. I mean…I gave him a pink fostered sugar cookie once, but even Haley…I don’t think there was anything here for him.” 

You smirked, raising an eyebrow, “He doesn’t seem like the type that’s going to like a velvet heart-shaped box filled with fruit-filled chocolates.” 

“That man is a closet sweet eater,” Penelope pointed at you, “But to your point, you’ve gotta do something…something grand. Something that will knock his argyle socks off.” 

You snorted, then really thought. Grand. Grand? What would be grand? Then it came to you. 

“I have the best idea.” 

The two of you giggled and brainstormed extravagant ideas to win Hotch's heart, finally settling on a grand gesture that no one could ignore--a billboard confession. You found the idea so wildly romantic, the perfect way to tell Hotch how you felt.

With Penelope's enthusiastic encouragement, you commissioned a billboard on Hotch's route home.

“Be My Valentine, Aaron Hotchner! Love your Y/N” 

However, as you prepared to leave work that evening, you received a call from the local police department asking if you enjoyed the flowers. Your stomach dropped as you recognized the voice--it was the overly friendly officer from your last case, the one Hotch had given a look to the entire time. 

The cheesy teddy bear. The cheap carnations. The corny card. None of that would be Hotch. You wanted to die. Crawl into a ball and die of embarrassment and stupidity, but not until after you got rid of that billboard!

Frantic, you rushed to find Rossi, Derek, and Spencer, blurting out your predicament and the mistake you’d made. They erupted into laughter but saw the urgency of the situation.

"We’ve got to get that billboard down before Hotch drives home!" you exclaimed, your face burning with embarrassment. You paced around the bullpen, looking up to Hotch’s office, then to them, then back up. You ran your hand over your face, stressed. 

Rossi, Spencer, and Derek gathered around you, each wearing an expression that meant business. Derek leaned against his car, arms crossed. "You know, you could just leave that billboard up. It's about time one of you made a move."

Rossi nodded, his wise eyes fixed on you. "We're all tired of the dance, kid. It's not just you suffering from all this uncertainty--Hotch is right there with you. You both need to take that leap."

Spencer chimed in, "Statistically, the likelihood of mutual feelings being reciprocated in situations like these is quite high. You might be pleasantly surprised."

You appreciated their support, but the thought of Hotch seeing the billboard without understanding the context terrified you. You grabbed your car keys and headed to the nearest hardware store. "I just need to fix this before it gets worse," you muttered more to yourself than to them.

At the hardware store, you picked up a bucket of paint and a roller, your hands trembling slightly at the thought of climbing up the billboard. Heights had never been your friend, but today, they seemed a lesser evil compared to the embarrassment of Hotch reading your unintended public declaration.

With the sun setting, you parked your car by the billboard and stared up at the looming structure. Steeling your nerves, you looked up toward the tall ladder that led to a ledge where the freshly painted billboard sat. You wished the service you paid earlier was available after hours to come and take down the work they had done so quickly. 

Each step up made your heart pound louder, but the fear of making a fool of yourself pushed you onward.

Once you reached the top, you positioned yourself to start painting, but a sudden wave of vertigo hit as you peered down. The can of paint slipped from your grip, tumbling down and splattering the ground below with white paint.

You looked up to the sky and raised your hands with defeat and tears forming in your eyes, “Is this some sick joke?!”

Climbing down was even harder, with your hands shaking and tears of frustration starting to blur your vision. Just as you reached the last few rungs, a pair of steady hands gently guided you down. You almost jumped out of your skin, only to turn and see Hotch, his face filled with concern.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, keeping his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

You took a deep breath, wiping away a stray tear, turning as you took your last step off the ladder. He steadied you on the last few steps down, his touch reassuring.

"I'm so sorry, Hotch. There’s been a huge misunderstanding," you began, your voice a mix of embarrassment and relief. "I thought those flowers and the teddy bear were from you, and Penelope and I--we…I just got carried away."

Hotch gave you a small, understanding smile. "Emily and JJ told me there was a surprise waiting for me on the freeway home. I left early to see what it was." The last thing you expected was Hotch’s calm voice breaking through your flustered apologies. 

Your heart sank, imagining what he must have thought seeing that message. "I was trying to cover it up before you could see it. I didn’t want you to find out like this." You gestured up to the brightly colored billboard with what felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world displayed for everyone and their mother to see. 

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” His gaze softened as he looked up at the message, then back to you. "I saw the billboard," he admitted a hint of awe in his voice. "Nobody has ever done anything quite like that for me. It was...unexpected, certainly, but kind in a way only you could manage."

Your heart fluttered, surprise etching across your features. "You liked it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if your ears were playing tricks on you.

"I loved it," he corrected gently, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders. "You have a knack for the dramatic, but it’s one of the many reasons I..." His voice trailed off, and he hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. The pause was palpable, every second stretching longer than the last until finally, he continued, "It’s one of the many reasons I love you."

The world seemed to stop spinning as his words hung in the air. "You love me?" you repeated, your voice a mix of hope and disbelief. Hotch reached up to brush a stray hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His hand lingered, cupping your cheek gently. Your hand reached up to cover his, leaning into his touch. 

Hotch nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him, as if it was common knowledge, like you should already know it--or maybe he realized he should have already said it. 

"Yes, I do. And I think it’s about time I said it."

Emotions swirled within you--relief, joy, and a love that had been quietly simmering for too long. It all bubbled to the surface as you stepped closer, reducing the space between you. "I love you too, Hotch," you confessed, your voice steady with conviction.

His smile was all the encouragement you needed. You both leaned in and under the soft glow of the streetlights and the shadow of the billboard, your lips met in a kiss that sealed the confessions of the day. The kiss was gentle at first, exploratory as if both of you were still gauging the reality of the moment. But as certainty took over, it deepened, affirming the years of unspoken feelings and flirtatious banter.

As you both pulled away, Hotch's eyes twinkled with a mixture of contentment and mischief. "Next time," he said with a playful grin, "I'll be the one buying flowers; you’ll know they’re from me. I wouldn’t dare buy you carnations, and they won’t come with a cheap teddy bear."

Your laughter filled the air, light and free, as you both made your way back to your cars, the billboard forgotten but its message now etched in both your hearts.

The next morning, as you walked into the BAU, you stood surprised. There, on your desk, stood two dozen long-stem roses in a vase, their crimson petals vibrant against the mundane backdrop of your office. Attached to the vase was a card, Hotch’s neat handwriting spelling out a message that was both flirty and utterly him: 

"For the record, I prefer dramatic gestures that involve flowers on days other than just February 14th. Here’s to many more, just the way we like them. --A."

The smile that spread across your face lingered long into the day, as did the warmth in your heart, knowing the dance of “will they, won't they” had transformed into a harmonious “finally, we did.”

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

[beemovieerotica]

What is up with Congress going "What Trump and Elon are doing is illegal!!!" And then still obeying them and letting them continue to do said illegal shit like ??? Do they just not give a fuck? Is it ragebait publicity and what's going on is actually normal ???

The above is a really helpful site to keep bookmarked during this time. At present, there are seven groups who have filed legal complaints regarding the executive order on birthright citizenship, four groups that have filed complaints on DOGE's right to operate, multiple individuals fighting the orders on various trans rights, and the Society of Friends is fighting back against the order that would allow ICE to invade houses of worship. Some of the entries have updates regarding pauses / restraining orders to Trump's demands.

These are all non-Congressional entities - unions, churches, activist groups, Jane and John Does - that are taking a stand, and they're worth supporting.

On the other hand...

Democrats in Congress are laser-focused on 2026...and they're not going to help with much else. They have explicitly stated that they are dropping "culture war" issues - they won't be engaging on trans rights or mass deportations, because according to exit polls, it was a big reason they lost the election. The average American does not care about trans people or immigrants. People want two things: 1) Cheaper gas. 2) Cheaper eggs. They do not read the news. They have no idea that Obamacare and the ACA are the same thing. They genuinely believe life was better under Trump because they got a check for $1000 in the mail. Our civics education and political literacy is in the fucking toilet.

So Congressional Democrats are bending to the right to accommodate the oblivious centrist voter, and my faith in them has expired. I don't trust the people on Capitol Hill - I'm an ex-Californian who had to watch as a 90-year old Dianne Feinstein shambled her way around Congress and refused to make way for younger politicians who don't have dementia. So I'm very strongly of the opinion that Washington will continue to be run by old money, lobbyists, and geriatrics, and the actual fights are going to be won at a local level, where we'll be working to make individual cities and states into havens. We are already essentially a patchwork of safe states versus not - I anticipate we'll see the lines bolden even more in the next few years, and I'm focusing my political energy on my immediate neighborhood and city for the time being.

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer To Home IV

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.7k

Synopsis: The storm changed everything. A week spent trapped together, moving around each other like it was second nature. Mornings spent wrapped in his warmth, nights spent unraveling under his hands. And now, the words you’ve been swallowing for months are fighting to break free and you don’t know how much longer you can keep them in.

You love him. And he knows it. But love has never been easy for Bucky. And if you say it—if you let yourself finally speak the truth—will it pull him closer, or will it send him running?

Trigger Warnings: Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels. Surprisingly no smut this time around... but their chance will come!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Author’s Note: The words are out... now we can focus on their other shenanigans. Loving to see your thoughts about this story and my ask box is always open if you wanna know more. P.S.: There'll probably be more updates this week, but I'm not setting it in stone. B xx

--

“Just kiss me. Keep my mouth shut, will you? Do it until I forget my name.”

The kissing had worked. The slow, lingering press of his lips, the desperate way his hands had explored your skin like he was learning you by touch alone—every moment had distracted you from the pressing truth of your feelings. And when he finally took you, when he split you open at your very core only to put you back together again with every roll of his hips, every whispered praise against your lips, it had done its job.

You hadn’t said it.

Those three little words that kept haunting you, lingering on the tip of your tongue every waking moment since Bucky Barnes had stepped into your life.

I love you.

They could cement everything you had built together or crumble it into dust. And yet, they pressed behind your teeth, growing heavier each day, aching to be voiced, desperate to reach his ears.

You loved him.

God knew when it had happened. Was it when you first read his files, when he was still just a name and a tragic history? Or when he first looked at you—really looked at you—after you were assigned to work alongside him and Sam? Maybe it was the day he effortlessly picked up the stack of reports you had been struggling to carry, flashing you that small hesitant smile he wouldn’t normally share with anyone.

Or was it that first night he offered to walk you home?

No. Who were you kidding? It had happened long before then.

It had crept in through stolen glances over mission briefings, through late-night talks over cups of coffee you always made for him without asking, in the hopes of stealing just a moment of his time. It had settled in the quiet, in the routine of his grumbled, "Morning, doll," when he found you in the communal kitchen, in the way his tired eyes softened when you gave him that worried look as he walked in, battered and bruised from a fight.

And now, it was torture.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The snowstorm had come and gone, the city slowly crawling back to life after nearly a week buried in ice. You and Bucky had spent those days together, and you had been blindsided by just how easy it had been—how natural it was to cohabitate. As if this was something you did all the time, as if domesticity had always been woven into the fabric of your relationship.

In the midst of unspoken feelings and a push and pull you actively ignored, you learned things. That he liked to watch you cook, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, incapable of hiding he was mesmerized. That he didn’t mind washing the dishes afterward, sleeves rolled up as he worked in comfortable silence, so long as you kept him company. That he’d rub your ankles while you lounged on the couch after hours spent bustling around the house, his strong hands kneading into your skin with practiced ease, relishing in the way your breath hitched when he squeezed just right.

He was the perfect boyfriend.

Except he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Because you couldn’t call him that. Could you?

You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, your head dropping onto your desk. Hours had passed, and you still couldn’t concentrate on anything. Your mind was consumed by the what-ifs, spiraling around the impossible tangle of your relationship with a 1940s super soldier who carried more trauma than you could count on both hands.

Fantastic. Just great.

The faint scuff of boots outside your door jolted you back to reality. You lifted your head just as Sam Wilson leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He held a file in one hand, but the amusement in his eyes told you he had other priorities.

"Well, did I just catch you napping on the job?"

You snorted, leaning back in your chair. "I wish. And good morning to you too, Sam. How can I help you?"

"Mission stuff," he said, tossing the file onto your desk. "Figured I’d go over it with you before Barnes shows up to derail our day with his useless questions. Also, wanted to check in—how was your week harboring a former assassin cyborg in your apartment?"

You pressed your lips together as memories of those days surged through your mind—his touch, his warmth, the way his eyes held you like you were something he never wanted to lose, the hunger in them when you straddled him. You hesitated, caught up in the memories, which was enough to set Sam off.

"Did you talk about it yet?" he pressed.

"About what, exactly?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I don’t know—your big ol’ feelings? The fact that you two have been dancing around the subject for months? Did you ask him to be your boyfriend yet?"

With the playful lilt in his voice and the mischief dancing in his eyes, it was hard to believe this man was a war veteran—let alone Captain America.

You rolled your eyes, tapping your nails against the desk. "Don’t you have aliens to fight, Cap? Kittens to rescue? Children to kiss?"

"I’m Captain America, not a politician," Sam shot back, dragging out a chair and dropping into it with a pointed look. "So, that’s a no?"

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temples and urging the flush on your cheeks to go away. "We didn’t really… talk much. Not really."

Sam let out a long whistle, shaking his head. "Damn. Didn’t think Barnes had it in him."

"Sam—" you groaned.

"Oh, come on. You spent a whole week holed up with Terminator, what do you expect me to do? Just sit back and not pry?"

"You are way too invested in my love life for someone who has yet to offer a single useful piece of advice."

Sam grinned, leaning forward. "Alright, spill. What happened during the storm?"

You hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure Bucky was nowhere in sight. When the coast was clear, you exhaled, shoulders sagging. "We stayed at mine for most of it, but one night, we went to his place, and… I kind of lost it."

Sam’s smirk faded. "Lost it how?"

You swallowed hard, fingers twisting together. "I broke down, Sam. Full-on sobbing, ugly crying—everything. He wanted to know why, and I just—" Your voice caught, and you forced yourself to push through it. "I told him. That I know about Hydra. The torture. And... I saw the way he lives, like he’s punishing himself. Like he doesn’t think he deserves anything good. It wrecked me."

Sam’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed level. "And how did he handle it?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "I didn’t give him the chance. I was about to say ‘I love you,’ and I panicked. So instead…" You sighed, dropping your gaze. "We slept together. More than once. And now everything’s a mess because I’m—" The words caught in your throat, heavy and terrifying. "Because I’m in love with him. And he knows. But I haven’t said it to him yet."

Sam blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. Maybe I should start brooding—chicks love it."

You shot him a glare, but your heart wasn’t in it. He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. So you’re in love with him. What’s the problem?"

"Everything," you whispered, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. "I love him, Sam. And I haven’t told him because… I don’t even know if I should."

Sam’s teasing faded, his voice softer now. "Why not?"

You swallowed hard, staring out the window as if the answer was somewhere out there. "Because I don’t know if he’ll stay. He’s lost so much already. People, time, parts of himself. What if I tell him, and it’s too much? What if it pushes him away? Or worse—what if he doesn’t feel the same?"

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "You really are in your own head about this."

"That’s helpful," you shot back, voice thick with sarcasm.

He leaned forward, forearms braced against the desk, voice steady and certain, that way he usually got when he was about to drop some wisdom. "Look. This is Bucky we’re talking about. Yeah, he’s been through hell. More than anyone should have to survive. But you know what else? He’s still here. He’s choosing to be here, with you. And if you love him, and he already knows—because trust me, he knows—then saying the words isn’t going to send him running."

Your chest ached, emotions clawing their way up your throat. "How do you know that? Because this… this is eating me alive, Sam. I just want him to stay. I want to love him. And I’m terrified he won’t let me. There have been so many times I almost said it, but I had to choke it back because…" Your voice cracked, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. "Because I know this will either be everything or it’ll be the thing that breaks us. And I don’t know if I can face it if it’s the latter."

Sam’s expression shifted, his voice unwavering yet gentle. "Maybe you should let him decide that."

“And what if he decides it’s not worth it?” The words barely made it past the lump in your throat. You dropped your gaze, unwilling to let Sam see the way your lips trembled, the way your hands clenched into fists against your lap.

“He’s had enough people deciding everything for him to last a lifetime,” Sam said, his tone edged with something firm. “Don’t be another one on that list just because you think you know what he'll do. Maybe, if you actually ask him about his feelings, he’ll surprise you.”

“You sound awfully sure of something you know nothing about,” you muttered, but the usual fire in your retorts was absent. It was just exhaustion now, doubt curling into your bones.

“Who said I know nothing?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Sam... What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly, the picture of innocence as he shrugged, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Samuel, I will call your sister.”

Sam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, but you caught it. He clicked his tongue, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, about that—maybe don’t. You know Buck had a thing for her back when we were in Louisiana, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “He what?”

Before Sam could respond, heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway. You barely had a moment to process the revelation before Bucky strode into your office, his expression mildly suspicious, his vibranium arm clutching a pastel pink bag. The contrast of the bag’s soft color against his all-black ensemble was so stark it nearly gave you whiplash.

“There you are,” Sam boomed, standing with a grin as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “What’s in the bag, Barnes? Something sweet for your sweetheart?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look before his eyes landed on you, and his features softened instantly. “Breakfast. For her, not for you,” he clarified, lifting the bag slightly. Then his brows drew together, scanning your face with quiet concern. “Why are you crying? What did he do?”

“I’m not crying,” you rushed to say, though the evidence of your damp cheeks begged to differ. “It’s allergies,” You quickly wiped them with the back of your hands, forcing a smile. “What did you get?”

“I got you a bagel from that place you like,” Bucky said, stepping closer, his voice laced with something almost hesitant. "They didn’t have coffee, so I got you, uh… a strawberry matcha? The girl at the counter said you'd like it." He shifted slightly, as if bracing for your reaction.

You froze for a second, staring at him. The idea of Bucky—gruff, no-nonsense Bucky—standing at a café counter and listening to drink recommendations was almost too much. But then the weight of it settled in your chest: he’d gone out of his way. Remembered your favorite bagel. Chosen something new just because he wanted to bring you something—God, you were in too deep.

“That’s really sweet, Buck.” You pushed yourself up from your chair, unable to stop yourself from leaning in, rising on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, his stubble rough against your fingers. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“I wanted to,” he murmured, echoing something you had said to him so many times before it almost felt like second nature now. For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, his blue eyes tracing your face like he was trying to decide on something. Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he shifted slightly, tilting his head, and brushed a kiss against your lips.

It was soft—so soft it almost didn’t feel real. But it was enough to send your mind reeling, your breath hitching in your throat as a jolt of electricity raced through you. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, and you were too stunned to speak. Your fingers gripped the paper bag, anchoring yourself to something, anything, to help you process what had just happened.

And then Sam’s voice shattered the moment.

“Ah, look at the two of you. My favorite couple,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Your entire body stiffened. “Sam,” you hissed, heat flooding your cheeks.

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Right, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly, a tell tale sign of his annoyance that only you seemed to notice.

“Sam, we haven’t even—” You started, grasping at some semblance of control over the rapidly unraveling situation, but Sam cut you off with an exaggerated groan.

"For the love of God, Barnes, put her out of her misery already," Sam groaned, nudging him with an elbow. "Tell her she’s your girlfriend. Tell her she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Do us all a favor."

You wanted to die. Right there. Spontaneously combust and vanish from existence.

“Anyway, that’s my cue to leave,” Sam said, grabbing the file he’d initially dropped on your desk.

“But we haven’t even discussed—” You started, grasping at the one thing that could spare you from the awkwardness sinking into your chest.

“We can discuss it later. Right now, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone to talk.” Sam said with an infuriatingly knowing look before turning toward the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Oh, and by the way… I told her about Sarah.”

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling in a long, put-upon sigh. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, annoyance now evident. “Sam…”

“Consider it payback for flirting with my sister. And what’s a little jealousy? It adds spice to the relationship,” Sam teased, stepping just out of Bucky’s immediate reach.

Bucky turned fully toward him, which only made Sam laugh, hands up in mock surrender. “She threatened to call her, man! I had no choice.”

Bucky turned back to you, groaning softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, he lives to torment me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “So… Sarah?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

His head shot up, his blue eyes widening, genuine worry flickering across his face. “Nothing happened,” he said quickly. “With Sarah, I mean. There’s—there’s nothing to tell.”

You bit back a grin, warmth curling in your chest at his obvious distress. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Relax, Buck. I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m just shocked you had any interest in anyone besides that waitress before I threw myself on you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as your words landed. “You didn’t force me into anything,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. His thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“Good,” you teased, pulling the pink drink bag closer to you with a smirk. “Now let’s try this strawberry matcha you so lovingly procured for me.”

You did it. You got over the awkwardness by skillfully dodging the subject. You nearly sighed in relief—right up until Bucky let out a noise, half scoff, half laugh, before his amusement faded into something else as he stepped closer.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he mumbled, moving behind you with a calculated slowness, his presence looming but never overbearing. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you back against him, and your breath hitched as his chest pressed against your back. “And it won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice unsteady .

Bucky held you in place, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Why were you crying?” he murmured, low and insistent, his lips trailing down to press the faintest kiss to the curve of your neck.

Your knees felt like they might give out, your eyes fluttering shut involuntarily. You sent a silent thank-you to the universe for the secluded corner your office was tucked into, sparing you the humiliation of anyone catching you like this—being thoroughly undone by your super soldier.

“Sam told me I suck at my job,” you lied, barely managing to string the words together.

Bucky chuckled, the vibration of it reverberating against your back. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, finally twisting you around to face him. His arms circled your waist, holding you securely, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to.

“And your interrogation tactics are crap,” you shot back, trying to mask your flustered state with sarcasm. Your hands instinctively slid up to rest on his shoulders, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll see about that,” he warned, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering as it flicked over your face.

You took a moment to really look at him, letting your eyes trace over every detail—the softness in his gaze, the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the roughness of his stubbled jaw that you knew would scrape deliciously against your skin. Your heart raced as you took him in, suddenly overwhelmed by how effortlessly gorgeous he was. “God, you’re handsome,” you blurted, your voice quiet but sure. “It’s unfair.”

His smirk deepened, though his expression remained serious. “Compliments will get you nowhere,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I will make you tell me.”

You considered his words, tilting your head as you let your nails trail lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe,” you said, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Maybe we can do it over dinner?”

Bucky’s brows raised slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face before he recovered, the smirk returning in full force. “Are you asking me out, or is this another attempt to dodge the question?”

“Maybe both,” you quipped, tugging him just a little closer, your noses nearly brushing.

His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Dinner,” you confirmed, your heart thundering as the word hung between you.

The look in his eyes told you he was already on board, but his voice stayed teasing as he finally replied. “Fine. Your place. I’ll bring the food. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his, but your insides twisted with the promise of the conversation that awaited you. 

–

Instead of leaving work together, Bucky had, surprisingly, let you fend for yourself. You walked the few blocks back to your apartment with a jittery sensation that only grew more restless as you thought about how the night would unfold.

There was no avoiding it. Tonight, you'd have to talk about it, define your relationship once and for all, and you had no idea how it would play out. Or if you were prepared for it.

By the time you reached your door, you were wound so tight with nerves you were unable to sit still. You headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to lose yourself in the steady rhythm of baking. Soon, the rich scent of cinnamon and apples filled the small space, wrapping around you like a hug. The pie had barely cooled and you had just gotten finished spritzing your perfume when Bucky’s knock came at the door. You smoothed your hair one last time, and opened it with a breathless smile.

There he was. Casual, but devastating in his dark Henley and leather jacket, black jeans hugging his frame in all the right places. He had a bottle of whiskey tucked under one arm and a stack of takeout bags in the other—Thai food, from the place you’d offhandedly mentioned wanting to try. How did he remember it? You had no idea.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice soft, warm, and entirely too casual for the buzz of energy humming between you. His blue eyes swept over your frame, lingering just a second too long. You had thrown on a simple outfit after your shower—soft jeans and an oversized sweater that slid teasingly off one shoulder—but the way he looked at you made you feel like you were naked and exposed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your cheeks heating as you lifted onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He tilted his head slightly, deepening it for just a moment, accepting the way your hands cupped his cheeks to keep him steady, before pulling back with a sigh.

He couldn’t resist giving you another once over, before he got distract. “What’s that smell?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“Apple pie,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I figured I’d take care of dessert since you were handling dinner.”

His brows lifted. “Apple pie? That’s awfully domestic…”

You shrugged, feeling the blood heating up your cheeks. “Thought it might remind you of home—or, you know, simpler times.”

Bucky hummed, setting the food and whiskey down before reaching out and tugging on the hem of your sweater. “Looks good on you.”

“Domesticity or the sweater?” You joked, closing the door behind you and leaning on it as you watched him. It never failed to catch you off guard—how effortlessly he settled into your space. Dropping the bags on the counter, peeling off his gloves and jacket, rolling up his sleeves. He moved like a man who belonged, who knew he was home, as much as he refused to call it home. The sight of it stole your breath.

His lips quirked. “Both.”

Dinner was easy, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. He teased you about the mountain of spring rolls you’d pulled onto your plate (“Is that all for you, or am I allowed to have one?”), and you ribbed him right back for always stealing bites off your plate instead of sticking to his own. The laughter came easily, and for a while, the tension simmering under the surface felt like a distant echo.

That was, until Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from playful to intent.

“So,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Ready for the Spanish Inquisition?”

You groaned, your head dropping into your hands. “Oh, come on. Can’t you let me off the hook?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice laced with humor but his eyes sharp. “I already let you off. Twice.”

The covert mention of the night you broke down didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your head, you rested your chin in your hand, meeting his steady blue gaze with a pout. The stare-off felt like a challenge—like you were daring him to back off while he silently willed you to break. The only question was who would give in first. And you had no doubt—it would be you.

You’d do anything Bucky Barnes asked you to. Sighing, you pushed back from the table and stood. “Fine. If you’re going to interrogate me, we’re at least going to make it fun.”

"Fun?" His tone was doubtful, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. "In my experience, interrogations usually involve dark rooms and torture."

"Not this one. As tempting as it’d be to watch you try all that Winter Soldier stuff on me—" You cut yourself off before saying too much. This was already giving away enough. "We’re playing Truth or Drink." You nodded toward the whiskey he’d brought. "Grab your liquor, Sergeant, and meet me in the living room."

You plopped down on the soft rug in front of your couch, crossing your legs, an arm leaning over the soft cushions as you settled in. The rug’s texture was a comfort beneath you, grounding you for what you suspected was about to be a very revealing game. Bucky followed, setting the whiskey and two glasses down on the coffee table before sitting across from you, all the way down the other side of the couch.

“You’re so far away,” you complained, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s on purpose,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t let you distract me. I’ve got a mission here.”

His teasing tone made your stomach flip, but you masked it with an exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes as you reached for the whiskey bottle. “Fine, Barnes. Let’s get this over with.” You poured a generous amount into each glass and handed him one. “You wanna go first, or should I?”

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly.  Ever the gentleman—even when he was expertly deploying psychological and emotional blackmail.

Resigning yourself to your inevitable demise, you pretended to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “Alright. Tell me a story about you and Steve.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine. Would you please tell me a story about you and Steve?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of whiskey. “What kind of story?”

“I don’t know... Something interesting. Something no one else knows. Something fun.”

For a moment, Bucky’s gaze drifted, lost somewhere in memories you’d never be able to touch. Then, a small, genuine smile pulled at his lips, and your chest ached at the sight of it. “Alright… Before the serum, before the whole ‘Star-Spangled Man with a Plan’ schtick, when he was just a scrawny kid, Steve used to put newspapers in his shoes to make himself look taller.”

You grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, well, not so adorable when it rained and he forgot to take them out.” Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “One time, we got caught in a downpour on the way to a dance. Steve walks in, shoes squelching, and suddenly the whole place smells like wet dog and cheap ink.” He chuckled, eyes shining. “God, the way people looked at him. I had to convince the bouncer we weren’t trying to stink up the joint on purpose.”

You laughed, watching the way his shoulders eased, the usual tension in his frame loosening as he let himself revel in a memory that didn’t hurt to hold onto.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Do you think Steve would’ve approved?”

Bucky blinked, confused. “Approved of what?”

“Us,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Me. Being with you.” You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the couch cushion. “I mean, we only met a few times before… y’know. And from everything I’ve heard, he was pretty protective of you.”

For a second, you thought he might deflect, but instead, Bucky’s answer was firm. Certain. “Yeah. Steve would’ve approved.”

Your heart did a little flip.

“He would’ve liked that you take care of me,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now, the burn of his unvoiced gratitude not going unnoticed.

Something inside you melted. “See, this is why you need to sit closer.” You scooted forward, shifting toward him. “I need to kiss you and I can’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, doll, but you’re not getting out of your turn that easily.”

You groaned. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“When was the last time you dated someone?” His eyes glinted with something unreadable, but his tone was casual. “Before... this.” He gestured again, this time between the two of you.

You scoffed. “That’s what you wanna know? Out of all the things?”

“Just answer the question, sweetheart.”

You groaned, pulling at the fluffy rug beneath you. “I don’t know, four, five years ago? I lost count. Last real relationship I had was before I got into this whole ‘girl in the chair’ thing. And it didn’t go well.”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“Communication issues,” you said vaguely, then sighed. “And the fact that he had a habit of sleeping with anything that breathed within a three-mile radius—except me. Which included both his best friends. And my roommate at the time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up before he could school his expression back into something more neutral. “What do you mean ‘except you’?”

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “Exactly what it sounds like. He thought I wasn’t... good enough. Or at least not good enough for him.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes, but before he could open his mouth, you cut in, “You’re overextending your turn, Sergeant. I’m the one asking questions now.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, visibly annoyed that he couldn’t dig deeper into that revelation, but he nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, eyeing him. “Did you really have a thing with Sarah?”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch, exhaling like a man who’d just been handed a life sentence. “I knew you wouldn’t just let this go. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Sam.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh. “That’s not a no.”

Bucky rolled his head to the side to glare at you, but there was no real heat behind it. It made you want to kiss him. But then again, everything made you want to kiss him. “There was no thing,” he huffed, shifting so he was facing you more fully. “We flirted. That’s it. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though the way you hugged your knees closer and half-smothered your smile into your arm made him smirk.

“Sure. You’re jealous, though.”

You wrinkled your nose. “So what if I was?”

Bucky hummed, his smirk widening as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something infuriatingly smooth. “It’s cute.”

“Ugh. Shut up.” You stretched your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot to change the subject. “Your turn.”

Before you could pull away, Bucky’s hand wrapped around your ankle, firm but warm. In one effortless motion, he pulled your leg over his lap, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed absently against your shin as he settled back, casual as ever. But the way his fingers found the muscle of your calf—slow, deliberate, kneading just right—was anything but casual. A shiver ran up your spine. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.

He stayed quiet long enough for your nerves to start creeping in. Then his grip tightened, just slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate. “Did you ever think we’d be a one-time thing?”

Your breath hitched. “Us?”

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your calf—deceptively nonchalant. But the way his touch set every nerve in your body on fire? Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “This… thing we’re doing. Did you think it’d last? Or did you go in thinking it was just for one night?”

You hesitated. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, this hadn’t even been on your radar.

“I…” You exhaled, shifting slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. How warm his hands were against your skin. “I never thought of it as a one-time thing.”

His gaze flickered—sharp, assessing, unreadable. “Why?”

You huffed, trying for annoyed, but it came out breathier than you wanted. “Why what?”

His smile was slow, knowing. “Why’d you think it’d be more?”

Your throat tightened. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading me.”

“Why?”

“Because some things need to stay a secret.” You swallowed. “Some things… you don’t need to know. It’s too much.”

His grin widened, dark amusement curling at the edges. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You curled your fingers into the rug beneath you. “Fine.” The word felt heavier than it should. “Just don’t be mad if you don’t like it.” You pressed on before he could interrupt. “This, you… it was never something I could walk away from.”

His fingers stilled—just for a second—before resuming those slow, maddening circles. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You scoffed, mostly to deflect. “For me? Yeah.”

His thumb pressed deeper into your skin. “Why?”

You sighed, dropping your head back against the couch before meeting his gaze again. "Because I got attached. One kiss, and I was already in too deep. And now? Now, I don’t know how to want you halfway. If you had only ever wanted me for a night, I would’ve taken it. Even if it broke me.” Your voice quieted. “And now we’re here, and it’s been months, and if this goes wrong—” You swallowed hard. “If you suddenly realize you don’t want this, or me, or that it's all too much— I don’t think I’d come out the other side in one piece.”

Bucky didn’t speak right away. Just watched you, unreadable as ever. Then, his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of your knee, sending another shiver down your spine. “I know”, he said after a moment. Then, softer—raw, stripped of bravado:

“That’s what scares me.”

His words burned, low and true, cutting deeper than you expected. It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t doubt. It was something else entirely.

It was honesty.

And in that moment, you felt it—the shift. He was cracking open, piece by piece, letting you see the soft, bleeding parts of him that no one else had ever touched.

He let you see him. All of him. Let you peer in for as long as you wanted, as if he had made peace with it. That there was no wall you couldn’t bring down, so he just accepted it.

And maybe that was the real weight of it. Not the sex, not his past, not your willingness, but this—this terrifying, aching certainty that he could ruin you. That you’d let him. That if he asked, you would lay yourself bare at his feet and never ask for anything in return. He knew that if he asked, you would give him everything. Every last piece of yourself, until he was whole and you were the one bleeding.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, searching, waiting. And you realized—this was the test. Not the chase, not the tension, not even the words you hadn’t yet spoken. The test was whether you could hold his gaze, whether you could sit in the weight of this moment and not look away.

Your breath came shallow, chest tight, but you didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

Not when his fingers curled just a little tighter on your thigh, like he was feeling the way you trembled. Not when his gaze flickered down, tracing the shape of your lips, the quickening pulse at your throat, the way your body betrayed you in ways your words refused to.

His voice was softer this time, but no less intense. “You know… I don’t do halfway either.”

Damn him.

The air between you turned electric. Your pulse hammered against your ribs, a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Bucky…” Your voice barely cleared a whisper, but he heard it. His fingers slid a little higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh.

“What?” His tone was laced with challenge, teasing, but his eyes—his eyes were dark. Intent.

You let out a shaky breath. “Don’t… don’t play with me, okay?”

His smirk faltered, something shifting in his expression. “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel the same way? That this is some kind of game?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m easier than you think.”

You shook your head. “I can’t read you right now.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head slightly as you shifted, letting your arm rest against the couch behind him, seeking another point of contact. Your fingers slipped into the soft strands at the nape of his neck—an experiment, really. His lashes fluttered shut, just for a second, and your stomach flipped. Gravity, that’s what he was. A force pulling you in, impossible to resist. God, you wanted to climb into his lap and devour him whole.

“You can read me,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re just scared you’ll see something you can’t ignore.”

Your heart pounded. “You always say that… Like you’re so sure I’ll wake up one day and decide you're a monster.” Your voice was quieter now. “That I'll finally see you the way you see yourself. It's not going to happen, Bucky.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He finally looked at you, his voice quieter now, but no less sure. “I mean… you’ll finally let yourself believe I feel the same way about you as you do about me.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe right. His words settled deep, threading into places you weren’t ready to touch—places that made you want too much, feel too much. It was too honest, too real, and if you let yourself linger there, you might drown in it.

So, you did the only thing you could. You swerved.

You sucked in a breath, forcing a smirk. “You really gotta stop saying things like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… things that make my heart feel like it’s about to explode.” You made a vague, fluttery motion near your chest. “It’s very inconsiderate. You should warn a girl before you go throwing around words like that.”

Bucky huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, but he didn’t take the bait. His gaze stayed steady, unyielding, like he was waiting for you to actually sit with what he’d just said.

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you let a wicked grin curled at your lips, a lifeline in dangerous waters. “Okay, I have a good one.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, wary but intrigued. “Go on.”

You bit your lip, leaning in like you had a secret too tempting to resist. “That first night we had sex… was that your first time since the ’40s?”

For half a second, he just blinked at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually left your mouth. Then, with a groan, he tipped his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ.”

He laughed, but you caught the way the tops of his ears tinged red, his cheeks following suit. “That bad, huh?”

You gasped, swatting at his chest. “I never said that.”

He smirked, reaching for his drink. “Can you get me another one? I might not recover from this.”

You laughed, fingers curling tighter in his hair before dragging down the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivered under your touch. “If I tell you the truth about it, your ego will get so big we’ll both suffocate in this room.” You tilted his chin up with a knuckle, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. “Come on, tell me.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, but you saw through him. He was stalling, rolling the words around in his head, figuring out how much to give away. Your heart picked up pace, watching the way his jaw worked, the way his fingers flexed.

Finally, he exhaled. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter. “It was.”

You swallowed, lips parting, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I didn’t even remember how good it felt. Not until—” Bucky sighed, leaning back into your touch as if it steadied him.

“Until?” You urged him on, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

“Until I had you naked under me, wrapped around my fingers.” His eyes darkened, and his voice dipped lower, sending a shiver down your spine. “You were so wet and so… warm. When I—”

“I remember,” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper, pressing your mouth to his shoulder to ground yourself.

And you did. You remembered the way he had frozen, realization crashing over him like a wave, the way his breath had hitched when he finally understood what it would feel like to be inside you. The memory sent a delicious shudder through you, and when you glanced down, you found his hand still on your leg, fingers tracing absentminded circles over your skin.

“So do I,” he admitted, his laugh coming out breathy, almost disbelieving. “Thought about it more times than I’d like to admit.”

You bit your lip, sliding your palm over his stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You don’t have to just think. You can do it again,” you murmured. “Anytime. Anything you want, you can do it to me. You know that, right?”

His breath hitched, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t letting you slip away. Every dodge, every joke, every attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere, he unraveled it effortlessly, guiding you right back to where he wanted you. "Why do you offer me so much?" His voice was low, edged with something unsteady. "Your body. Your trust. Why do you give yourself to me so freely?" The illusion of a lighthearted game shattered, the bourbon forgotten on the table, its amber warmth abandoned in favor of something far stronger—the charged air between you. It pulsed with the weight of everything you refused to admit, with the inevitability of what came next.

It felt like being caught in a storm’s eye, a vacuum where time stretched and condensed, where the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this moment, this man, and the unrelenting gravity of his presence. You could either surrender and give him the truth he was so keen to obtain, or wait for him to relent, to spare you, to step back and let you escape once more.

But you knew—God, you knew—he wouldn’t. His gaze was unwavering, his body coiled with the kind of patience that promised he could outlast you. He would outlast you. He had outlasted every single person in his life, why would you be any different? He wasn’t just waiting; he was chasing, methodical and unshakable.

And you? You were already lost. Because deep down, past all the resistance, you knew there was only one ending to this. You would give in. You would tell him what he wanted to hear.

Because how could you not?

Your chest tightened under the weight of his stare, each word peeling you open. "I want you to take it. To have me." The confession felt too vast, too exposed, but you forced yourself to continue. "You always hold back. Always deny yourself of everything good. I don’t want that for us. If you—if you don’t want this, it won’t be because I never gave you the choice."

His expression didn’t waver. “Is that the only reason?”

“I—” Your inhale was shaky, your eyes searching his.

“Do you only want this because you think I need something to hold on to?”

“No.” The word ripped from your throat, immediate, your head shaking, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “No, Bucky. That’s not… I don’t want to be some rehabilitation for you. I want to be with you. All of you.” 

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to the fabric like a lifeline, like letting go would unravel you completely. “You don’t understand… I chose you, even when you never asked to be chosen.” A breathless, humorless laugh escaped you, sharp and fragile all at once. “But I couldn’t help it. With you, it’s like I finally—” You exhaled shakily, searching for the words, for air, for him. “Like it’s finally right. It fits. We fit. It’s like I was always meant for this. Meant for you.”

The confession scraped against your ribs, raw and aching, and you blinked hard, forcing back the sting behind your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Never trusted anyone enough to—to let myself be claimed, to be theirs” Your voice barely held, a whisper on the edge of breaking. “But with you, it just… happened. You looked at me and it was over. I want you to be the one I belong to.”

Bucky’s lips parted, his breath shallow, but his voice was firm. Certain. “Because you love me.”

The moment he said it, you felt it—the trap snapping shut around you with perfect precision. You had to hand it to him; he was a damn good interrogator. You hadn’t even suspected that this was where he was leading you. Your breath hitched, emotions rising too fast to control, clawing at your throat like something primal, something desperate. His hand was still on your ankle, grounding, waiting. But he let you move, sensing the shift, the way your body coiled like a spring, the way your lips trembled as you fought against the inevitable.

“You’re not being fair,” you choked out, voice cracking as you turned your face away from his unwavering gaze.

“I just want to hear it, doll.”

Your chest ached. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers curling into the fabric of your own sweater like you could hold yourself together if you just squeezed hard enough. “You know why I can’t.”

“I actually don’t.”

“You’ll leave. It’ll be too much…” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You’ll run. And I don’t want to lose you because of my stupid feelings.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating. The air felt electric, charged with everything you weren’t saying. When you finally dared to look at him, his expression was unreadable, something soft, something searching. And then, just the slightest tilt of his lips—sad, knowing.

“Doll…” His fingers trailed slowly up your calf, not teasing this time, but tethering. A lifeline. “I’m here.”

“Until when?” The question was a wound, raw and bleeding. The first tear slipped free before you could stop it. The second followed before you even realized it was there. Bucky’s grip faltered, his fingers tightening—then loosening—like the words had landed somewhere deep, somewhere fragile.

Then, he let out a rough, breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Until you’re done with me.” His voice was quiet, resigned. Like he already knew the ending to this story before it ever happened. “Until you don’t love me anymore. Until you realize what a mess I am and find someone better.”

Your breath stuttered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. “There’s no one better. No one else.”

You didn’t push him away when he reached for you, cradling the back of your neck with steady, careful hands. His touch was warm, unshakable. The kiss that followed was a collision—of fear, of longing, of too many unspoken things. It was salty with tears, but it tasted sweeter than anything you’d ever known. Bucky cupped your face, thumbs chasing away the stubborn wetness on your cheeks, lips moving slow, deliberate, like he had something to prove to you. And you let him. You let him tilt your head back, let him drag a hand down the length of your throat, let yourself drown in the sensation of him.

He tasted like bourbon and longing and home, and you drank him in like he was the only thing keeping you alive. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Not when he pulled you onto his lap, not when he tangled a hand in your hair and tipped his head back against the couch, letting you take what you wanted—what you both wanted. Not when your kisses turned frantic, desperate, until your lips were bruised and swollen from the way you couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.

“You ready to tell me now?” His voice was a rasp against your lips, breathless, hungry. His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, his free hand dragging under your sweater, fingers mapping the heat of your skin. “I wanna hear it, sweetheart. Do you know how badly—” he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, “—how badly I’ve wanted to hear it? Since that night at my apartment? You were crying for me, and I—”

He was unraveling. And so were you.

You barely had time to react before he moved, pressing you down against the rug, his hands burning paths down your thighs as he spread them open, pressing himself against you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he hovered above you.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. “You want me to take what I want, don’t you? You want me to claim you? This is it, sweetheart. This is what I want.”

Your breath caught. This version of him—raw, unfiltered, pleading—it stunned you into silence. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his name barely more than a whimper on your lips as his mouth found your skin again, leaving bruises, leaving proof.

Your hands were trembling, your pulse a thunderous rhythm beneath your skin. Fear curled in your belly, a living thing, coiling tight around your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You had never been so afraid of words before, of the weight they carried, of the way they could change everything in an instant.

“C’mon, sweetheart, say it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you, as if touch alone wasn’t enough. “I already know, doll. I just—I need to hear it.”

His voice was softer this time, but no less commanding, no less desperate. His eyes searched yours, stormy and endless, as if he were trying to commit you—this moment—to memory, afraid you might slip through his fingers like sand.

His breath hitched, fingers tightening ever so slightly, his forehead pressing against yours. “Give me something real,” he rasped, his voice thick, aching. “Let me hold onto it.”

“James—”

“Say it.” His voice cracked, a raw, broken thing, like he was shattering before your eyes. “Please, doll. I’m begging you.”

Your lungs burned, your heart a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, an erratic melody of terror and longing. Your throat closed around the words, refusing to let them go, but you knew—God, you knew—you couldn’t hold them in any longer. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“I love you,” you finally breathed, the confession slipping from your lips like an exhale, fragile and trembling. 

The effect on him was instant, visceral, breathtaking.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of disbelief, of something breaking and rebuilding all at once in his expression. His hand tightened at the nape of your neck, his forehead falling to rest against yours as if the weight of your words had stolen his balance. His breath was uneven, shuddering against your lips, and for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held you there in the space between heartbeats.

His lips parted, but no words came out—not at first. His breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly against your skin like he was afraid to let go. Then, finally, in a voice so raw it nearly shattered you, he whispered, "Say it again."

“I love you.”

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty-five

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

you leave jackson behind, and things take a turn.

a/n: WE ARE SO BACK BABY. didja miss me? I’ll be completely honest I have up to part 37 written, about to start 38 and I am determined to finish this before s2 drops in april ok? ok.

word count: 7k

warnings: if you’ve been here this long you know what’s up, and if you’ve seen the show you know what’s coming.

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

The morning seems to move in slow motion.

Joel’s not used to the warmth. He’s not used to the pile of blankets that covers you both, bodies bare beneath the sheets, mere inches separating you two.

He made the most of the bed, to say the least. After your conversation had come to a close, things had turned heated. There were more words he wanted to say, but they were all things he wasn’t quite sure how to voice. He didn’t have the right words, ones that would properly convey his gratitude, his love for you. So he settled for whispered I love yous and moans muffled by each other’s mouths, hands roaming until you both lost it, the warmth between your legs the only true home he’s ever known.

“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” he told you after, brushing the sweat-damp hair from your face, his body still pressed to yours, letting his thumb ride the curve of your mouth. “You know that, don’t you?”

You’d just smiled, and damn it all if it still didn’t make his heart skip a beat.

Now, the sun barely cuts through the closed curtains. He feels guilty, needing to wake you — he can’t remember the last time he saw genuine peace on your sleeping face. A glance at the clock on the nightstand tells him it’s too early, but he knows you need to get going, one way or another.

He leaves you be at first, getting out of bed himself, crossing to the bathroom attached to the bedroom. You’d both taken a quick shower before going to bed, and he takes his time now, letting the hot water soothe aches in muscles he didn’t know could ache like they do.

Joel’s not quite sure how long he’s been under the spray when there’s the rustle of the shower curtain, your bare figure stepping inside and pressing up against him a moment later, arms wrapped around his middle. Neither of you says a word, just stood there, the steam surrounding you both, Joel’s hands lifting to cover yours.

It’s still quiet when you start moving again, taking turns beneath the water, Joel washing your hair and letting you return the favour, massaging his fingers against your scalp when he does. You let slip a little groan, and he kisses the noise out of your mouth.

The pace picks up slightly when you get out, towels rubbing skin dry, Joel watching you run a brush through your hair before pulling it back. It bares your neck and he takes advantage, pressing his face to your pulse, leaving a hot kiss there. He goes to pull back but you don’t let him, lifting one hand and fisting it in his hair, the other hand reaching back and pulling his arm around his waist.

“I wish we could just stay here.”

Joel tries to ignore the pang of guilt in his gut. You’d told him more about your conversations with Cowan and Henry, what you’d learned and how things had changed. It wasn’t hard to miss the light in your eyes as you spoke, and Joel knew you’d never ask, but it was obvious: if Ellie chose you, after you found the Fireflies, you’d want to come back to Jackson.

Lincoln was out of the question, he knew. Too many happy memories that could be tarnished by what waited behind Bill and Frank’s bedroom door. Boston wasn’t an option either — you’d never make it back through the gate, and while the memories were further from happy, it was a place that needed to stay in the past. Jackson made the most sense. Tommy is here, same with Cowan and Henry, and while it’s not the happily ever after he imagined for you, it feels like a soft place to land.

“We’ll come back,” he tells you, meaning every word, “if Ellie wants to go with us. I promise you, we’ll come back.”

He doesn’t have a name for the look in your eye, but you turn, leaning in to press a kiss to the patch in his beard, squeezing your hand around his before stepping out of his grip. “C’mon,” you say, your voice low. “I want to beat them to the stables.”

You’re quick to pack, dressed in new clothes Maria had left for you both. Joel keeps the flannel he nicked from Bill and Frank’s, not missing the smile on your face when you see it. As you leave the house, Joel finds himself pausing by Ellie’s door. He can hear movement, the telltale creak of the floorboards, but you tug on his wrist.

“She needs to decide on her own.”

The sun is just cresting the mountain range as you step out the front door, closing it as soundlessly as possible behind you. It casts a wintry glow over everything, and Joel’s grateful for the new boots Tommy had given him — even after the trudge from the house to the stables, he can still feel his toes.

There’s no one around as you make your way to the barn that holds the horses. Tommy won’t be far behind, Joel knows, and he won’t admit to the nervousness in his gut. He did this. He fucked it all up with his one-track mind and his messy emotions. What if she picks Tommy? What if he’s ruined it all?

“Aren’t you beautiful?” he hears you coo to one of the horses, a darker, chocolate-coloured mare he’d seen the day before. The horse chuffs in approval, nudging at your shoulder with her nose while Joel finds saddles for both the chocolate mare and the lighter, coffee-coloured one he’d rode through the gate yesterday.

It’s quiet again as you prepare the horses, strapping your bags to the saddles and finding what little supplies you can in the stables. There’s still no one else around, and it’s been nearly half an hour when your head perks up, listening, and a moment later, Tommy and Ellie come into view, standing outside the stall you’re both in.

“You came here to say goodbye or something?” Ellie asks, her tone biting, and Joel sees you flinch.

“No,” Joel answers, fiddling with the last buckle on the saddle. “We came to take horses and go.”

“I woulda given you horses,” Tommy answers, glancing between you.

You open your mouth to say something, but Joel beats you to it. “I know.” He takes a step toward Ellie, not missing the way her eyes dart to you over his shoulder as he moves closer. “You deserve a choice. I still think you’d be better off with Tommy, but Liv and I, we’ll—”

“Let’s go,” Ellie cuts him off, shoving her duffle at him.

“Okay,” Joel answers, a little stunned, holding the bag to his chest. She cuts around him, stepping into the stall and walking over to you, wordlessly wrapping her arms around your middle, and Joel can feel your grin from where he stands. “You wanna ride with…?”

“Liv,” Ellie answers, her voice curt, and he knows he’s going to have to make up for all this somehow. “Can we go now?”

Tommy just shrugs when Joel looks back at him, then helps you push the stable doors open, leading the horses out. Ellie walks toward the darker horse, and you go to help her up, but Joel moves faster, leaning down and cupping his hands together for her to plant her boot, lifting her up and over. She doesn’t say thank you, but he hands her the reins. “Hold onto both.”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbles, and her tone is already a little lighter.

“Which way?” you’re asking Tommy when Joel turns toward his brother.

“Head southeast till you hit I-25,” he tells you, glancing at Joel. “It’s right off the interstate. Shouldn’t be hard to miss.”

Joel nods, and you step forward, opening your arms to Tommy. “Thank you, Tommy, for everything.”

He hugs you tight. “O’course, Liv. Anything for you two, you know that.”

You just nod, stepping back and brushing past Joel as you step toward the horse Ellie’s perched on. Joel’s wrapped up in Tommy’s hug a moment later, squeezing his brother as hard as he can, reluctant as hell to let go.

When they part, Tommy’s eyes are glossy. “There’s a place for you here,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “All of you.”

“Countin’ on it,” Joel replies, glancing over his shoulder at you, at the grin still on your face. Tommy readjusts the rifle on his shoulder, and Joel hears you clear your throat softly. “Can I borrow that?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says instantly, pulling the gun off his arm.

“Cuz Maria took mine, y’know,” Joel continues, and you let out what sounds like a scoff.

“I already said yes, Joel,” Tommy laughs, handing him the rifle. “Adios, big brother.”

Joel mounts his own horse after making sure the pair of you are secure in the saddle, and then you’re heading for the gate, Tommy following between the horses. The men posted at the wall reach for their guns when they see you approach, but Tommy calls for them to stand down, and they do. 

“Liv, wait,” Tommy says, and Joel watches you pull on the reins, your mare stopping quickly. “Take this.”

Joel watches his brother disappear into a small shed beside the gate, and when he walks back out again, he’s got your bat in his hand. Most of the nails are gone, but it’s still a decent weapon, and you thank Tommy as he helps you find a spot for it on the saddle.

The gate creaks open a moment later, and then you’re through, back out into the Wyoming wilderness, and well on your way.

+

It’s surprisingly peaceful, riding. Your horse — who you and Ellie have decided is named Brownie — is a sweet thing, gentle and obedient to every tug on the reins. Joel battles a bit more with his own mount, the lighter mare not as quick to trust, but by the time you’ve reached the first strip of forest, he seems to have the hang of it.

The cold doesn’t feel as bad either, not as biting. Ellie is a flare of warmth against your back, her arms wrapped around your middle, and the clothes Maria had left you are suitably warm. You refused to part with the sweatshirt you’d taken from Bill and Frank’s, but the long-sleeved shirt you now have beneath it is the perfect extra layer, along with the thick gloves and the sherpa-lined jacket. Your breath still turns to steam on the air, but your teeth don’t chatter.

She picked you.

You can’t get over the feeling of rightness in your chest. Anyone else would call you insane, you know, but this…this feels right. It feels like you were meant to do this, to find Ellie, to come as far as you have. It’s not just a job anymore — it hasn’t been for a long time, but the feeling is tenfold now.

There had been a moment where you weren’t sure. When she’d first appeared in the stables with Tommy, that split second when she saw you two standing there, the glower on her face, the pain in her eyes. For that moment, you thought it was over, that you and Joel would have to figure out something else, that she’d pick Tommy over you. And you wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.

But you’re sure as hell glad that she didn’t.

You push the horses into a trot when the snow gives way to large patches of grass, most of the white stuff melted away. A few hours of riding, and Joel calls you to halt. Your brow lifts, eyeing the fallen tree on one side of the grassy patch, another on the opposite side.

“Joel?”

“Just wanna stop here a bit,” he tells you, and you watch as he ties his horse to a nearby tree, walking over to you to take your reins a moment later. “Target practice.”

“Target practice?” you repeat, confusion in your voice as he leads your horse to his, tying the reins as well before offering you a hand to help you down. “I don’t think I need—”

“Not you,” he replies, shaking his head. Realization dawns as he juts his chin toward Ellie. “For the kid.”

“Me?” Ellie gasps, absolutely beaming as Joel helps her down from the saddle. “You’re gonna let me shoot?”

“You’re the one that wanted to learn how to hunt,” Joel says, shrugging, and you grin. “Now seems like good a time as any, don’t you think?”

She beams impossibly bigger and nods.

Her first shot goes wide, smashing a chunk of the fallen tree to bits and sending a spray of wood chips in the air. The second pulverizes a pile of snow. The third is just shy of the target Joel has set up, and she heaves a sigh. “Wide right,” Joel says, turning his head to look at Ellie. “You’re flinchin’.”

“The target’s too small!” she shoots back, peering through the gun’s scope. You stifle a laugh. It’s been almost an hour now, since you stopped, since Joel set up the target and showed Ellie how to hold the rifle, pointed out the different parts of the gun and taught her how to aim. You’ve been quiet, mostly, content to watch him with her, your chest nearly bursting with excitement at the ease you can see in his shoulders, the relaxedness in his expression.

It’s the most content you’ve seen him in a long goddamn time.

“I made it bigger than I should’ve,” Joel answers, nodding at the rifle. “Eject the cartridge.”

She does as he says, the casing pinging off the wood. “I am not flinching.”

Joel shoots you a look over the top of Ellie’s head and you stifle another laugh. “Mhm.”

“The rifle just sucks!” Ellie whines at you, and Joel scoffs.

“Okay, give it.”

Ellie sighs, but relents, still complaining as she hands him the gun and moves away to stand beside you. “It doesn’t aim right.”

“Mhm,” you echo.

Joel shifts into teacher mode. “A deep breath in, slow breath out. You squeeze the trigger like you love it.” His eyes shift to you as Ellie lifts the binoculars Joel had given her, watching the target. “Gentle, steady…nice and slow.”

“You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?” Ellie quips, and Joel grins, lowering his head to peer through the scope.

You’re definitely not pressing your thighs together.

“It isn’t gonna work,” Ellie continues. “It doesn’t aim right.”

The shot echoes through the air…

…and just misses, sending more snow into the air.

“Aha!” Ellie yells triumphantly, jumping up and pointing at Joel. “I told you!”

“Gimme that thing,” you laugh, holding a hand out to Joel. He lifts his brow at you but hands you the rifle. “Someone’s gotta show this kid how it’s really done.”

The glare he gives you is halfhearted, and you grin as you take his place, lining up the shot and looking through the scope. If there’s one thing Nick Cowan did right by you, it was teaching you to shoot. But Joel’s words are not lost on you either. You take a deep breath in, then slowly let it out. You squeeze both hands around the gun, the barrel and the trigger, your touch gentle but firm. It’s not a far cry from the way you’ve held Joel.

Gentle. Steady. Nice and slow.

The kickback makes your shoulder rattle, but you stay firm, watching the shot through the scope.

Bullseye. Right in the middle of the ASSHOLE Ellie had scrawled out while Joel was making the target.

“Holy shit!” Ellie nearly screams, leaping to her feet. “Your wife is a better shot than you!”

Triumphant, you get to your feet, handing the rifle back to Joel, unable to wipe the grin from your face. “More practice, is all.”

Joel mutters under his breath as he slings the rifle over his shoulder. His annoyance is just as halfhearted as his glare had been. “C’mon, we should get goin’.”

He pulls you under his arm as you walk back to the horses, Ellie skipping ahead of you both.

“That was a lucky fuckin’ shot, baby.”

“You’re really never going to admit I’m a better shot than you?”

He buries his nose in your hair. “Just annoyed I’m not the one that taught you.”

You bark a laugh. “You taught me lots of other good things, Joel, don’t you worry.”

“I can hear you being gross!” Ellie shouts, and you both dissolve into laughter.

Ellie surprises you by asking Joel if she can ride with him for the next leg. His eyes flit to you after the words have passed her lips, and you give him a little nod, the corner of your mouth twitching.

The horses are sweet animals, letting you push them through most of the day, stopping once or twice to let them drink from the river while you and Joel stretch sore muscles. Ellie asks to practice shooting again, and while Joel refuses the first time, her second ask is granted. He asks you to show her the right stance for shooting a pistol, and you do, helping her with her grip while Joel sets up a new target.

She hits it bang-on this time.

You’re reluctant to stop to camp, only because you know every bone in your body is going to scream in protest against sleeping on the forest floor again after the ecstasy that was that mattress back in Jackson. Joel lets Ellie take the first watch, giving her your watch and insisting she wake him after three hours, which she agrees to.

You lay out the sleeping bags and try to make things as comfortable as possible, warmer when Joel joins you, wrapping an arm around your middle and pressing his nose into the back of your neck. It feels louder out here — in Jackson, you’d noticed how…normal it felt. More like the way things used to be than the fear and insanity that had run your life in Boston.

It felt like Austin, in truth. The way you’d felt in Joel’s house before you left. The calm and the quiet and the warmth.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Ellie’s questions start your third day out of Jackson, after you’ve re-saddled the horses and forced some sort of protein bar down Joel’s throat, your new routine of sorts. There’s instant coffee, blessedly, and you’re riding solo, Ellie having picked Joel once again. You’re not even remotely mad — the easy grin on his face is all you really need.

“So the way they ran stuff in Jackson, was that how things used to be?”

“No,” you answer before Joel can, shaking your head as the horses weave between the trees. “The country was too big for something like that.”

“Back then, there were basically two main ways of lookin’ at things,” Joel interjects. “Some people wanted to own everything, and some people didn’t want anyone to own anything at all.”

“Which one were you?” Ellie asks him, and your brow lifts.

“Neither, I just did my job,” he answers, and damn it all if that isn’t the most Joel Miller response possible.

“Which was…building?” Ellie asks. Campfire conversation has gotten increasingly honest between the three of you, and you can see Joel’s walls crumbling for Ellie. He answers almost anything she asks, and you return the honesty in kind, offering your own answers when Joel falls short. Family is still a subject you all tiptoe around, though Ellie’s gotten a bit out of Joel regarding him and Tommy growing up.

“That’s right,” Joel tells her with a nod. “Houses, stores, that kind of thing. We were called ‘contractors’.”

Ellie pauses a moment, and then her voice comes out low and gravelly. “The Contractor. That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Joel says, and you can see his jaw working to stop a grin from taking over his face. “We were cool. Everybody loved contractors.”

“Nice,” Ellie mumbles, and leans fully against Joel’s back, pressing her face between his shoulders. He doesn’t hide his smile then, glancing your way, and neither do you.

It all continues on, more of the same. You make it as far as possible when the sun is up, find a safe place to camp when the sun sets. You hadn’t been greedy with what you took from Jackson, but it’s enough to last you, to prevent you from needing to go scavenging. Not that there’s much left to scavenge.

Joel takes Ellie hunting one afternoon, when the horses have finally put their hooves down, as it were. They need a good rest, and you’re not opposed to it, your ass aching something fierce from the straight days of riding. They come back with a few rabbits and squirrels and Ellie has the most triumphant look on her face. Joel looks like he won the damn lottery, coming over and planting a hard kiss to your mouth, not pulling away until Ellie makes an exaggerated gagging sound.

“Okay, so if you mess up your fourth down, then you give the ball to the other team?”

“Right,” Joel nods. “It’s called a ‘turnover’.”

“Turn over. But, if you make it to ten yards, then you’re back to your first down?”

“Yep.”

“So, basically just moving in one direction.”

“Basically. But violent.”

You scoff a laugh.

“Oh,” Ellie mutters, her tone sarcastic. “Well, there’s that.”

It’s the tail end of the football explanation that has you reaching the I-25, just as Tommy had directed. “How ‘bout that?” Joel says as you come up beside him, tugging the reins to pull your horse to the same speed. “Made it in five days.”

“Easy days,” Ellie chimes in, her face popping up over Joel’s shoulder. “I don’t know what Tommy was so afraid of.”

“Still time to find out,” you say, glancing around as the horses slow to match pace. “It’s damn deserted out here, I’m not sure I wanna know what’s lurking.”

“I’ll tell you what’s lurking,” Ellie says, leaning around Joel with a grin on her face. “The Contractorrrrrr.”

You giggle and Joel rolls his eyes.

+

The closer you get to the university, the lighter the snow becomes. Grass and plants poke through the white, most of it melted away or just barely clinging on. It’s quiet, and Joel can’t quite tell if it’s a blessing or a curse. He can feel your unease from where you’re riding beside him, Ellie having switched saddles for the last leg of the journey.

He ignores the subtler pang in his chest at watching the two of you together. The way you automatically shift into protective mode when Ellie is near you is not lost on Joel; he knows he does the exact same thing. But watching it from afar, the conversation you’d had back in Jackson still echoing through his mind, it’s different.

As the buildings come into view, Joel’s heart sinks. It all looks just as rundown as the rest of the world, and though he knows that wouldn’t stop the Fireflies from setting up shop, he can’t ignore the way your unease increases, clearly on high alert as you make your way onto the campus.

“Home of the Big Horns,” Ellie reads as you pass the sign, weathered bricks covered in overgrowth, but not enough to block out the words. “What does that mean?”

“Team mascot,” Joel calls to her. “It’s a kind of sheep.”

Her head perks up from where she’d had it pressed to your shoulder blade. “Oh! See, Joel? One step closer to your dream.” You grin, but it doesn’t touch your eyes. “Don’t see any Fireflies, though.”

“They’re probably in the middle, if I had to guess,” you say, your gaze scanning the buildings and roads beyond the gate you’ve paused at. “Would be safer, farther from the main roads.”

“This way,” Joel gestures, nudging his heels into his horse’s belly.

You’re nearly silent as you get further and further into the campus grounds. The only sound is the occasional howl of the wind, the horses’ hooves clipping against the cobblestones.

“So these places,” Ellie breaks the quiet, “people would live here and like, what? Go to classes and stuff?”

“Yup,” Joel answers, glancing your way.

“Even though they were adults?”

“Sort-of adults,” you say, the corner of your lips turning up. “I definitely didn’t feel like an adult in college.”

“You went?” she asks, and you nod.

“Michigan State University,” you reply, and Ellie wrinkles her nose. “I wanted to be as far away from Texas as humanly possible.” Then your eyes shift to Joel. “Then I graduated and went back to Austin, and I never wanted to leave.”

Your words light a fire in his chest, warm and welcoming, just as they always do.

“What did you study?” Ellie asks.

“English lit, minored in business. And yes, all my classes were filled with very helpful information on surviving the apocalypse. I have the girls’ softball league to thank for my swing, but honestly, I think it was just as much about partying and finding yourself as anything else. Figuring out what you wanted to do with your life.”

“What you wanted to do with your life,” Ellie repeats with a laugh.

What do you want to do with your life?

The question manifests itself before Joel can stop it, between the warmth in his chest and your eyes on him, Ellie’s easy grin and all the conversations that have been had.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, and you reach back to swat Ellie when she mumbles ‘oh, here we go’. “I don’t want a sheep ranch, actually. I mean, if the deal is that I can do anything?”

Ellie perks up some, realizing that he’s carrying on the conversation she’d started around the fire what feels like forever ago. “That’s the deal.”

“Well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a singer.”

Your jaw drops, surprise plain on your face, and Ellie laughs. “Shut up.”

“Why is that funny?” he asks, adjusting his grip on the rifle as the horses veer close to each other, Joel’s knee bumping yours. 

“You gotta sing something now,” she tells him.

“No.”

“C’mon, man, I’m not gonna laugh!”

“You’re already laughin’.”

“Yeah, okay, true.”

You glance at him sideways. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, Joel Miller, I don’t think I have ever heard you sing. I’ve heard you hum, mind you, but never sing.”

He shrugs, feeling his cheeks heat. “It never came up.”

Your head drops back and you laugh. “I guess not.”

“Well, Joel, you’re singing for me later,” Ellie pipes in. “I’m gonna save the fuckin’ world, man. It’s the least you can do.”

You laugh again and Joel shoots Ellie a glare. “Fair enough.”

The horses continue forward, and high-pitched yelps make Joel’s shoulders tense. He sees your eyes cut to him for a moment before Ellie asks, “Are those monkeys?”

Sure enough, they are. Maybe a dozen of them, all yelping and scattering across the field before you. Joel deflates some, but the wariness doesn’t dissipate. “Must be from the old labs.”

“Look at ‘em go!”

“First time seein’ a monkey?” he asks Ellie, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“First time seein’ a monkey!” she echoes, and you huff a little laugh.

You keep moving, the sound of the horses’ hooves growing louder when you reach the mostly uncovered pathways, paved over but cracked to hell. You reach the place where the paths all intersect, a signpost standing in the middle, and you suck in a breath.

“Joel,” you call, and when he looks at you, you jut your chin back toward the signpost. “Look. Biomedical Sciences Building.”

There’s a yellow firefly painted on the sign, identical to the ones hidden all over the Boston QZ. There’s no mistaking it.

“Here we go,” Ellie mumbles, and you push the horses a little faster. Anxiety riots in Joel’s gut, and he can see it etched into your features when he steals a look in your direction.

You follow the signpost toward the medical building, and the field opens up, trees long dead from the cold lining the edges, and Ellie points out the two guard stations toward the building itself.

“But no guards,” you mutter, and Joel’s brow pulls down as he adjusts his grip on the rifle.

Ellie makes a wary noise behind you, and Joel sees your hand drop to her knee. “Get your gun out.” Your eyes skirt back to Joel’s as you pull your own from the holster on your thigh, and he gives you a nod.

It’s quiet. It’s too goddamn quiet.

You bring the horses to a stop between the guard stations, tying the reins to the tree that stands there. When you’re close enough, you reach for Joel’s hand, your skin frozen against his when he pulls off his gloves. Ellie comes up behind you, her gun held in both hands, and Joel pulls out his own pistol, swinging the rifle up onto his shoulder.

There’s another Firefly painted onto an overturned dumpster, and Joel can see the muscle in your jaw working as you walk past it.

Inside the building is less than promising. Papers are scattered on the floor, a few gurneys and stools cast on their sides. Your footsteps echo as you move through it, keeping close together. Ellie stops by a table that hadn’t been tipped over, runs her fingers over the instruments and test tubes and papers that litter the surface. “There were definitely doctors here.”

Joel opens the file folder on the table, scans the words scribbled there. Textiles, medical, ammunition, food/perishable…It goes on and on, and he realizes, “This is a packing list.”

Ellie’s brows shoot up. “They just left?”

Before you can answer, the sound of clanging metal echoes through the building, and you all look in the direction it came from.

“Maybe not all of them,” Ellie whispers, and you squeeze her arm, angling yourself in front of her as you look up toward the second floor.

“That came from upstairs,” you say, and Joel just nods, moving past you both and leading you toward the stairs. You’re sure to keep Ellie behind you, Joel checking the corners before signalling you to follow. The sound comes again, making you flinch, and Joel slips his free hand into yours.

Just as you reach the first door, the clanging echoes once more.

Joel lifts a hand to signal you to stop, and you step back, taking Ellie with you as Joel lifts his gun, his hand around the doorknob.

The door creaks as he pushes it inward, and a monkey with an old computer keyboard in its hands, the keys now scattered on the floor, screeches before taking off out the open window. As it goes, a few more scamper out the far window, metal clanging to the floor as they go.

You sigh, following Joel inside, and Ellie pushes past both of you, trying to get a better view.

“Well,” Joel mutters, reaching for your hand again, “at least it ain’t Clickers.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “but no Fireflies either.”

“Maybe in all that research, they turned into fucking monkeys,” Ellie quips, and Joel doesn’t miss the disdain in her voice.

This was supposed to be it. The endgame, mission completion, whatever they call it in those sci-fi books he never got into.

You step further into the room, releasing Joel’s hand to look at the desks, and he knows you’re looking for more Firefly symbols. He follows suit, picking his way around, avoiding the shattered glass and whatnot.

There’s a large corkboard along one wall, a map spread out and studded with thumbtacks. They’re in a pattern, of sorts. It looks like a route, the three different colours converging on—

“Salt Lake City,” you mutter, appearing at Joel’s side. He nods as Ellie appears, pointing at the spot with her gun.

“That’s where they went?”

“All the pins lead there,” Joel says. “Maybe gettin’ ahead of the weather, better facilities? I don’t know.”

“Then we need to—” you start, but cut yourself short, your head twitching toward the window, grabbing Joel’s arm in a death grip. “Get down.”

He does as you say, pulling Ellie down with him as you slink along the wall to the window, peering up and over the ledge. You’re all dead quiet, but Joel can see the fear in your face as you peer through the glass.

You hold up four fingers. Mouth the word. “Raiders.”

Joel tries to orient himself, figuring out the direction the staircase had led you. “They have the horses?” he whispers.

You shake your head, moving back toward them. Ellie stares between you. “What do we do?”

“Out the back,” Joel declares, grabbing your hand as you grab Ellie’s. He takes the lead, taking the stairs the opposite way and heading for the side door he’d spotted on the way in.

You crouch behind the piles of sandbags on either side of the door, both of you watching as Ellie tries to close the door as quietly as possible. The click makes you all wince, and Joel grits his teeth as you peer around the sandbags, trying to spot the raiders.

The horses are still where you left them.

“Quick,” Joel murmurs, and moves around the sandbags, acutely aware of the two of you following behind him as he reaches one of the guard stations. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod, glancing at Ellie over your shoulder.

You sprint for the horses, Ellie unhooking the reins and handing one set to you as Joel puts the rifle in the saddlebag. She coos at the horse, trying to lead it away as you do the same, but then you freeze, staring over Joel’s shoulder.

“Joel!”

+

He’s got your fucking bat.

Your heart has simultaneously sunk into your toes and jumped into your throat as the man comes at Joel. He swings too high and Joel ducks low, and the bat cracks in half as it collides with the tree, the impact splintering the middle.

From the corner of your eye, you see Ellie lift her gun as Joel grabs the guy, shoving him back, away from the two of you. He swings his head back, slams it forward and into the man’s face, stunning him enough that he can adjust his grip, slinging his arm around his neck and pulling tight.

You put yourself in front of Ellie, pushing the horse’s reins into her hands as you lift your gun, pointing it past Joel. It’s quiet enough on campus for you to hear the man’s neck snap beneath Joel’s grip, and your gut roils with relief as his body thuds to the ground.

“Jesus Christ, we—”

You cut yourself short when Joel turns around. Behind you, Ellie lets out a quiet gasp.

No.

The handle of your bat, the broken end, is jammed into Joel’s stomach. Blood stains the edges of the green plaid, and Joel stares at you before dropping his gaze to the wood stuck in his body. Before you can stop him, he puts a hand against his stomach, closes his fingers around the handle, and yanks it out with a wet squelch. You can see just how jagged the end of the handle was, the splinters of wood where it snapped making the perfect makeshift weapon.

It falls to the ground at your feet, and his eyes move back up to yours again. You look away, movement catching your eye over his shoulder. “Ellie, get on the horse!” you shout, three figures sprinting toward you. “Now!”

Joel falters as you reach for him, pulling him toward the horses as Ellie clambers into one saddle. He shouts in pain as you push him up first, grabbing the reins and digging your boots into the horse’s belly.

“Go!” you shout, and Ellie obeys, taking off ahead of you. Joel flicks the reins, his hands bloody around the leather, and as the horse starts to gallop, you swing back, your gun aimed at the three raiders running for you. “Get back!”

They all drop at the gunshots, and you fire until the clip is empty.

Ellie looks back at you. “Go!” you shout again, and she does. Ellie just keeps going. You’re disoriented, no idea which direction you entered the campus from, or what direction you’re heading now. You reach the roads again eventually, and you’re far enough that you don’t think the raiders will catch up to you. You take a few turns, double back a few times to confuse the horses’ tracks in the snow.

Joel’s silent in the saddle. You fish a t-shirt out of one of the bags, fold it into something resembling a bandage and snake your arm around him, pressing the wad of fabric to his stomach. It makes him yelp in pain, the sound making your heart ache, but you have to do something.

You’re a week out from Jackson, and then some. You can’t double back now, Joel wouldn’t make it, he wouldn’t—

You push the thought away. Shove it into the farthest corner of your mind.

Eventually, you make it to train tracks. Train cars dot the station, long abandoned, and you don’t want to stay here long, if you can avoid it. There are too many places for people to hide.

Ellie brings her horse up right beside you, her face dripping with concern. “They’re not following us,” she tells you, glancing over her shoulder. “I think we’re safe.”

“Safe,” Joel repeats, and it’s the first word he’s said you took off. His weight sags against you, tipping backward, and you try to adjust your grip, digging your heels into the stirrups, but it’s no use. You both go tumbling out of the saddle, the earth hard and unforgiving as you hit the snow. Joel flops onto his back, his eyes fluttered shut, and you scramble upright as Ellie slides from her horse, leaving the pair of beasts standing on the train tracks.

“Joel?” you yelp, barely aware of the snow and dirt and rocks that broke your fall, now covering one side of your body. “Joel!”

No.

“Shit,” Ellie cries, moving to where you’ve fallen. She keeps talking, you think, but you can barely hear her.

This cannot be happening. Not like this.

“Joel?” you say again. He doesn’t move. You scan the length of him, see the spreading blood where the t-shirt has fallen away. You scramble for it, pressing it over his still-bleeding wound. “Joel. Joel, open your eyes.”

Ellie calls your name this time, her voice cracking on the syllable, and it brings you back to yourself. Your head snaps up, meeting her eyes where she’s crouched on the other side of him. “Fuck, Liv, is he dead? Is he gonna die? Oh god, we can’t fuckin’ do this without him, we’re fucked, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna—”

She cuts herself short, but her breathing is laboured, her eyes brimming with shiny tears as she stares down at him, her cheeks bright red in the cold. “Ellie, look at me,” you say, but she shakes her head.

“This is all my fault,” she says, reaching for Joel’s hand, moving it to put pressure on the wound. “He’s gonna die and it’s all my—” She sucks in a pained breath, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Ellie,” you say again, and she finally looks at you, “Honey, I need you to calm down.”

“But I—” she starts, but another hard breath cuts her off.

“You need to breathe,” you say, surprised at how calm your voice sounds. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too.” You reach out and grab her hand, squeezing your fingers around hers. “But I can’t help him if I’m helping you. Breathe deep and breathe slow.”

She stares at you, and you take your own advice. Breathe in, breathe out. Rinse. Repeat. You cover Joel’s hand with your own, keeping pressure as best you can. Eventually, Ellie follows your example, breathing deeply. It shakes on the way out, but it’s something.

“Good,” you tell her, nodding. “Now, we have to figure out how to move him.” You lift your head, blinking back your own tears as you look around the train yard. Something catches your eye and you lift your free hand to point. “You see that shed over there? The covered one? I need you to go see if you can pull the tarp off, okay?”

On shaky legs, Ellie gets up, her eyes glued to Joel as she does. Her breath shakes again and you reach out and catch her wrist.

“Breathe, Ellie.”

You see it then, the change in her expression, the shift from fear to determination, and you know you need to find the same switch within yourself, but…You wait until her back is turned to let your tears fall. He’s warm beneath your hands as you brush your palm over his head, his hair soft and familiar against your skin.

No. Not like this.

“Joel Miller, you do not die today,” you tell him, lifting the t-shirt slightly. The fabric is nearly soaked through with his blood, and you wrack your brain for every bit of medical advice Deanna ever gave you. “You are not allowed, do you fucking hear me?”

Nothing.

Leaning down, you brush your lips against his, hoping for something, anything. You can hear the thump of his heart against his ribs, but he doesn’t so much as twitch. You glance in Ellie’s direction, seeing her back is still turned.

“Please, Joel. Please don’t leave me like this.”

PREV | NEXT

[comatosebunny09]

Hello! First off I wanted to thank you for posting fhe latest chapter of Carpe Noctem. Writing take so much effort and I want you to know that you are very much appreciated! I am sorry to hear about the copying thing. I haven’t come across it yet but it must have sucked especially when you have put so much effort into the concept.

I wanted to yell more about the recent chapter because the diner scene especially made me scream - it captures the reader and Sylus’s dynamic so well! And it was just. So. Cool!! And then and then and then with them in the safe house finally! Everything was so well-written!

And because I’m a sucker for angst what if his phone suddenly rings and it’s her she’s back early and he forgets where he was for 2 seconds so he pulls away from you and answers out of muscle memory because of course, why wouldn’t he, right. You’re so dumb, this was just to fill the absence and she’s your friend how could you do this so you slip out quietly, as you should, disappearing into the night so he could focus on her. It was only for a few seconds, he hurries a “sorry sweetie, I’ll call you back” out of his lips and turns and you’re gone. For days. And he’s out his mind with worry.

Sorry for the word vomit, your stories and concepts are so, so incredible and I hope you continue and keep the passion burning. have a great day!!

Hello, sug!

Thank you for being so supportive and taking the time to read carpe noctem. I’m blessed that you liked it. I was afraid to post the latest chapter because I feared it wouldn’t live up to the first few parts I shared. But I am grateful for the amount of feedback I’ve received on it. 🥹🥹🥹

It’s a shitty feeling. I tried to sleep on it last night and allow myself time to calm down before I reached out to the person who duplicated my work. I poured my experiences, feelings, and thoughts into carpe noctem and limerence, so it was very disheartening to see someone take something I’ve been working on for months that is l literally a part of me pass it off as their own.

But enough of that.

I’m glad you enjoyed the diner scene. 😭😭😭 I was so afraid to incorporate that because I was thinking, “Is this really necessary? Is this cringe?” But I wanted to provide more insight into Sylus and the reader’s relationship, as they’ve been thick as thieves since she began working more closely with him.

Sylus’ Night of Secrecy card heavily influenced the safe house scene. I wanted to write something similar but with my own twist. Again, I was terrified to incorporate this, but I feel that it was somewhat of a turning point for their relationship. Some progress where they’ve spent four years dancing around each other.

I’ve been watching so many C-Dramas these days where right before two love interests kiss, a phone rings, and one of them is compelled to answer it. It drives me insane! Like, does no one silence their phones anymore?!

But, I did consider implementing that idea for carpe noctem, where Luke or Kieran call right before things get too heated, alerting Sylus that everything following the reader’s mission has been cleaned up. And right after, the spell between them is broken, and the reader realizes what a mistake she made after retreating to one of the guest rooms. I didn’t think to have MC on the phone. 🤔🤔🤔 That’s not a terrible idea, actually. For the reader to hear her friend’s voice on the speaker and, it snaps her back into reality.

Sylus would drive himself sick with worry, wondering if he had crossed a line, if he had misread things and pushed her too far. This is the kind of pain I ache for. I will be thinking about this for days.

Again, thank you so much for reaching out to me and feeding my brain worms! Once I get out of this funk, I’ll definitely consider your suggestions for the updates. I hope you have a lovely day!

[cuppajj]

Wait so how are you planning on telling the baau story again?? Or is it already being told and Im just stupid

It’s already being told!

Just don’t expect any linear narrative for now, that’s for the timeline I’ll make. I might get started on it sometime in the future, but it won’t be super detailed and concrete yet (that will probably sadly take til the end of BY, or at least the SS/DE update… there are still many things we need to know)

The way i talk about BAAU’s story is kinda speculative rn, giving little tidbits of lore and character info, some ideas for what would happen in the little narrative I’m weaving together. It’s very loose, just like the way I think about BAAU in my head. (To be fair I’m talking about introductory stuff first instead of dropping all the spoilers and serious arcs, so in a way it’s still kinda linear? Just scattered.)

BAAU likely won’t be an actual fic or webcomic in the conventional sense, with a point A to point B plot. It’ll be told in the pics/minicomics/lore info, because for a massive AU like this that I’m doing purely for fun, I’m not going to try and stress over treating it like an actual project. Take away all the intricate details, you guys are just watching me play in a sandbox

TLDR; BAAU’s story is already being told, there’ll be a timeline wip so things can be understood in a more linear narrative way, but for all intents and purposes, this is it baby

If you want to follow along btw, the best way to do it is by reading the masterpost!

[spiritedstars]

Drawing Up the Plans [ Eiris Modern AU ]

Prompt: Modern AU Eris x Iris "celebrate" Valentine's Day. Inspired by this post. I have no other excuses. / Find it all here. Rated: SFW. Brought to you by: Taylor Swift's - I Think He Knows & Gorgeous Author's Note: Happy love month! Here are my morons doing their thing in modern au format. I had fun writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it :) [ Repost of my original one from 2023 with some minor updates ]

tagging: @riorsonxaden /  @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch /

Iris watched him with a look of slight disdain on her face as her...whatever he was, sat across from her at their local ice cream shop. Eris was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, an ice cream cone in one hand and his eyes locked on his phone in the other.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as he nonchalantly brought the cone closer to his mouth and licked the creamy sweetness. 

She clenched her fingers around her spoon and scowled. 

It was just ice cream. He was only eating ice cream and yet — Iris clenched her thighs together and her scowl deepened when his traitorous tongue darted out again to take more.

It was obscene. Slightly erotic. But mostly it was obscene and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. 

Iris didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it was doing something to her. They’d only been orbiting around each other for a few weeks, and she was barely tolerating their interactions. He was so obnoxious and yet despite her many attempts to avoid him, they kept running into each other. The two of them ended up in the same space too often for it to be anything but fate.

She blamed it on how small this town seemed to be. And the fact that he was a rich, attractive man with too much confidence. Iris had moved into town a few months ago and during her first week, stumbled into him at the local bar where he spilled his drink on her. He insisted it was an accident but that hadn’t stopped her from throwing her drink at his face in return.

Needless to say, they treaded very aggressively around each other.

“Is there something wrong, Iris?” he asked and Eris met her gaze with a slight smirk, finally putting his phone away. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Everything about you is wrong.” she mumbled and her gaze dropped to her own cup of ice cream. Iris had opted for a cup rather than a cone; She didn’t exactly trust what would come out of his mouth if she licked an ice cream cone in front of him. 

She twirled the spoon in the sweetness as Eris chuckled then made the mistake of looking up to watch him as he once more, slowly, took another lick of his ice cream with a raised brow. 

“You seem to have quite a problem with me and yet, here you are.”

“You asked me to meet you here, asshole.” she snapped and the corner of his wicked mouth lifted.

“Wound up a little tight today, are we?” he asked and had the audacity to smile as his tongue slowly lapped more ice cream.

Her lips curled in disdain once more as he smirked his way through another lick and Iris closed her eyes with a deep sigh. “What the hell do you want, Eris?”

“Are you not enjoying our date?”

Iris’s eyes shot open and both brows went up. “Date?”

“Yes.”

“You think this is a date?” she asked flatly.

“You think this isn’t?”

“When the hell did you ask me out on a date?” she asked with an incredulous laugh. “When did you dream that I said yes?”

Eris had the nerve to chuckle once more. “I asked you out to share some ice cream. On Valentine’s Day. Here we are. Date.”

Iris squinted then her gaze flickered around the shop and it hit her how blind she’d been; it was decorated with red and pink hearts everywhere. She’d been so annoyed when she walked in to meet him that Iris hadn’t even noticed. How the hell had she missed that it was Valentine’s Day? 

True, she hadn’t really celebrated it in years. But it wasn’t her fault that most of the men she’d tried dating sucked. 

Besides, it was the day after Valentine’s Day that was worth celebrating. All her favorite chocolates were on sale. 

Finally rolling her eyes at his smirk, she said, “Every time I think you’ve reached your limit of audacity, you surprise me by outrageously exceeding it.”

He smiled once more then took a deliberately slow lick of his ice cream. “I like to keep you on your toes. I think you rather enjoy it.”

“I don’t enjoy anything about you.” she snapped, stabbing at what was left of her ice cream. “I don’t even like you.” 

He snorted. “Sure. You definitely want to fuck me though. I bet you’ll like me a lot more then.” he said smoothly. 

Iris’s brows shot up and she let out a huff of laughter in disbelief, her grip tightening around her spoon. “You are one cocky motherfucker. Especially when this is your idea of a Valentine’s Day date,” she huffed. “A date I definitely did not agree to.”

“Don’t worry, I absolutely want to fuck you too,” he said, raising his ice cream to toast her. “In fact, I insist.”

Iris willed her face not to flush, for her body not to betray her by reacting to his words. In the midst of all their unfortunate meets and bickering, had she thought about what it would be like to fuck him? Sure. Would she ever admit it? Definitely not.  

“You’re unbelievable,” she said with a shake of her head. “How has no one in this town choked the life out of you yet?”

“It’s because I’m pretty.” he said with a smirk. “And very, very rich.”

“And so humble.”

“Exactly,” he said with a wink then straightened. “In all seriousness, when are we going to make this official between us?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “What, exactly, is there to make official?”

“You and me, little gazelle,” Eris replied with a knowing look. “Let’s not pretend this dance is anything but foreplay. Say yes and I’ll show you exactly the kind of dates I take a woman on.”

“Ah yes, the recycled list of dates you’ve used on all the women you go through?” she said with a snort. “Pass.”

“The kind of dates I only plan for one type of woman,” he said and the corner of his mouth ticked up in a way that made her toes curl. “And I’ve only ever met one of you.”

Iris watched him in silence, taking a moment to think of an appropriate response. He really was unbelievable. Obnoxious. Uppity. An ass most of the time. But…she had to admit, there was something that drew them to each other. Like an invisible string dragging them down the same path. 

She’d resisted at every corner. And yet…gym? Eris had been there. Cafe? He had been there. The park while on her morning walks? He’d somehow been there. If it weren’t for the look of genuine surprise on his face every time, she’d think he’d been stalking her. 

But then they also ended up at the same social events. Town meetings. Fundraisers. Parties. They’d had a…moment at the last gathering that replayed in Iris’s mind for longer than she would’ve liked. She’d deny it to her last breath but Lucien and Elain had witnessed it and though Iris loved having them as friends, she knew they were way too excited about whatever this was between her and Eris to let it go.

Iris placed her spoon in her ice cream cup and then leaned back in her chair, watching him curiously. 

“Eris.”

“Yes?” 

“What do you want from me?”

He gave her a small smile she hadn’t seen on his face before, one that softened his features and it made her instantly look away. “I simply want us to spend time together.” 

“Why?”

Eris shrugged. “You feel it. You know why,” he said. “I want to see where it goes.”

Irid did feel it. As much as she would’ve liked to deny the chemistry between them, it was hard to pretend nothing was there when seeing him automatically made her pulse start racing. She hated it. But she also wanted to see where it would go.

She pursed her lips and waited a heartbeat before answering, “Fine. On two conditions.”

He took another obscene lick of his ice cream and waved a hand for her to continue. She tried not to squirm.

“One, physical contact will be limited to what I am comfortable with and sex is completely off the table.” Iris said firmly. “My body isn’t a prize you earn. We will simply see if we have a good time.”

“Agreed,” he said graciously. “My body, however, is absolutely available should you feel the need to explore it. I will humbly oblige.”

Iris rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time. “I’m not interested in going on dates with an egotistical ass who just wants to show off his money.” she said with a pointed look. “Don’t waste my time if you aren’t actually serious about this.”

“I am very serious.” he said and frowned. “You think I enjoy feeling this way about anyone?”

Iris felt her heart flutter at the look he gave her. If she wasn’t mistaken, his ears had gotten a little red. “And what way is that?”

Eris took a bite from his cone and squinted at her for a moment before answering. “When we’re on our date, I’ll tell you.”

She hummed her agreement and tried not to fidget in her seat at the movement of his mouth. “Either way. If you’re trying to impress me just so I don’t pour more drinks over your head, know that I don’t want flashy, I want real.” she said firmly. “You need to earn my trust.” 

Eris watched her silently for a heartbeat then the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Okay.”

“And we tell no one.”

“Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“Of course.” she said with a snort and Eris had the nerve to laugh softly. “Besides, I like privacy. People in this town are always in each other’s business. I know way too much about people’s bedroom habits.”

“Nesta and Cassian?” he asked with a snicker.

“Yes. Holy shit, do they have stamina.” Iris muttered, causing Eris to grin.

“They aren’t the only ones with stamina like that.” he said, nearly purring and Iris shot him a murderous look.

“Don’t.”

He held up a hand in mock surrender. “And your second condition?” he said then took another lick of his ice cream.

And this time Iris had finally had enough. She leaned over and yanked his cone from his hands, dropping it into her bowl. “You aren’t allowed to eat ice cream in front of me ever again.” 

Eris blinked then burst out laughing. “Why?” he said incredulously. “I thought the choice of strawberry ice cream suited our date theme.”

“We’re not on a date,” she said flatly. “And the way you eat ice cream is obscene and you should be fined for public indecency.”

Iris watched him laugh again and hated how it made her pulse race faster. Eris lit up when he laughed. It made him more youthful, and at ease, versus his usual expression that made a person want to punch him in the face.

“Ah.” he finally said with a smirk that Iris didn’t trust one bit. “I see you caught on to my tactic.”

Iris narrowed her eyes, willing herself not to flush. “And what tactic is that?” she asked, already regretting the question as his expression.

“I wanted to make sure you knew that ice cream wasn’t the only thing I could eat obscenely,” Eris said, his voice dropping low and Iris felt her body heating. “I hope my display was to your liking.”

This motherfucker. Iris took a breath and closed her eyes, slowly counting to ten before opening her eyes again to find Eris still smirking obnoxiously at her from across the table. Had she been paying extra attention to the way he ate his stupid ice cream? Yes. Would she ever admit it? No. 

Jerking her chin towards her bowl of ruined dessert. “Do you want me to dump it on your head or do you want to do it yourself?”

“I’d rather you watched me eat it again.” 

“I’d rather you choked.”

Eris chuckled and the sound made goosebumps erupt on her flesh as he stood. She watched him wipe his hands with a napkin on the table and then adjust his dress shirt, his eyes never leaving her face. Tossing the napkin into her melting bowl of dessert, Eris placed a hand on the back of her chair, his other balanced on the table, and leaned in close. 

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t devouring me with your eyes, sweetheart.” he whispered and Iris scowled with a flush. Eris paused for a breath as she turned her head to look at him and the two watched each other silently, the world suddenly silent around them.

She wondered if his heart was beating as wildly as hers. If he could see her pulse racing.

Almost as if in a trance, Eris couldn’t help but lean in to gently kiss her cheek, before meeting her gaze again. “I had fun on our date.” he murmured.

“Not a date.” she whispered but Eris only hummed.

“Agree to disagree,” he said with a slight smile. “I knew you’d be my Valentine the moment you poured that drink on me months ago.”

Her face heated. She would not think about what that meant. “I doubt you expected your Valentine to want to choke you out.”

“Oh, I absolutely would want my valentine to choke me out. You can choke me all you want on our next date.” Eris said and finally pulled back with a wink, sliding a small gift bag she hadn’t even noticed across the table to her. “This was bought prior to your conditions so our agreement still stands.”

Iris blinked and gazed up at him. “You…bought me a gift?”

“Of course. I’m not one to show up to a date empty-handed.” Eris said with a pointed look.

“It’s not a date.” she repeated but knew, this time, her refusal sounded weak enough that Eris chuckled.

“You look adorable when you’re in denial.” he cooed and couldn’t help his grin as Iris scowled up at him, running a finger down her cheek before stepping back. “I’ll pick you up at 6, Friday evening. Wear something that’ll rip my poor heart out, little valentine.” 

Iris sat in the silence that followed his smug exit, stunned at the turn of events and how fast her heart was beating. She wasn’t sure what exactly she had agreed to with Eris but felt dazed. Excited. Turned on. Slightly annoyed.

Most importantly, she needed to go shopping. 

Iris would not think about the kiss on her cheek. Or about his promises. She certainly would not think about his tongue and what that stupid mouth of his could do. 

She would only think about finding a dress that would give him the bluest of balls possible. 

Her eyes fell on the gift bag again and Iris slowly pulled it closer to peek in. A note sat atop the tissue paper, hiding whatever it was that he’d gotten her. Biting the inside of her cheek, Iris pulled out the note, trying not to think about her mixed emotions having Eris of all people getting her a Valentine’s Day gift. She opened it and read,

Happy Valentine’s Day, little gazelle. Use it and think of me. Know I could do it better.

But here’s my number so you can tell me all about how you like it. 

Iris flushed deeply and immediately eyed the bag again. “Oh god.” she whispered. Those words could mean anything but knowing Eris – knowing the way he thinks…He wouldn’t. Would he?

She could practically see his stupid face and stupid smirk in front of her and with a scowl, Iris reached for the bag again, slowly removing the gift tissue to peek beneath it at the gift. A small groan slipped from her mouth and she immediately covered it again. 

Of course, he would. 

Of course, Eris Vanserra would think a vibrator would be an appropriate gift for someone he had barely been on a date with. An expensive one at that. 

He was outrageous. Outrageous. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or freaked out that he was thinking about her pleasure. How many guys thought about a gift like this? How many guys were this fucken bold? 

Then again, every interaction with this man only proved him persistent. 

“I knew you’d be my Valentine the moment you poured that drink on me months ago.”

The words replayed in her mind and Iris pursed her lips, glancing down at the bag once more, amusement seeping through the disbelief. Eris hadn’t hesitated from the moment he met her and Iris had to admit, though his methods weren’t great — it, unfortunately, made him come off as very attractive. 

Groaning quietly to herself, Iris shoved the note back into the bag and then sighed, knowing whatever resistance she had been building against him would disappear as soon as she tested out this gift of his. The asshole knew exactly what he was doing. 

And Iris had to give credit where credit was due — she always did like a man with a plan.

[atsu-i]

[countthelions]

My Ghost horses sweater continues to grow!!

[juustozzi]

oop finally got to play the beta story update, gonna ramble in tags (will have spoilers)

[charmikarma]

charmikarma's homestuck fanwork rec list

will be updated as i work my way through more things i like :) check under da cut

notes: parentheses indicate the focus(es) of each work, and works with explicit content are marked [E]. gen means there's no specific ship or character focus.

Canon Compliant or Canon-Adjacent Works

Karkat Goes To A Convention, Act 1 by Cole (gen)

i have two pitches for kgtac. here they are:

if you ever find yourself missing homestuck in the old days before postcanon, or even just the old days of homestuck fandom, you should read karkat goes to a convention immediately.

this is the most homestuck thing i have read since homestuck.

act 1 of kgtac is completed, and is the main draw here. act 2 is currently ongoing and is pretty much completely unrelated to act 1. i think it's alright. but act 1 is absolutely a must-read.

Detective Pony by sonnetstuck (dirk)

do i even need to explain this one? it's detective pony. it's a great character study of dirk. i'm sure you've all heard of it. if you haven't read it, go do that now. please.

Jade Route by SPICYYETI (jade)

jade route is a post-epilogues comic following meat!jade who is trapped in a body controlled by calliope. it's a take on the "ending" that the epilogues don't offer. i think it's pretty clever - it does a great job of using the medium. also, it's about jade :) may or may not have had an impact of some size on how i personally read jade.

AU Fics

Crossfire by HappiKatt (gen; dave)

ok, this series only contains one fic (for now). it's called "the calm is terrifying when the storm is all you've known." ok i literally could not put this fic down. it has the best hook i've ever seen. a proper fucking novel. and some of the best character writing i have EVER seen for the whole strilonde family. augh it's so good. and the art is really good too (YES IT'S ILLUSTRATED).

The Eurydice Suite by callmearcturus [E] (gen; davekat)

inception au. some of the coolest action and plot stuff with an ensemble cast i've ever read followed by the best davekat fic i've ever read. really cool stuff.

Catacombs by oxfordRoulette [E] (jadekat; dirkjohn)

another series. it's a d&d-like au. very tongue in cheek about this fact at times. the real draw here is the third fic in the series, Vanitas Vanitatum, which has stellar dirk and john writing. you could read it on its own, but the first two fics are also QUITE good, are about jadekat, and the second one sets up vanitas beautifully, so... you should read all three??? :3c

Miscellaneous

Homestuck Made This World by Ranged Touch (analysis)

hsmtw is a readthrough/analysis podcast whose goal is not to analyze homestuck on its own terms, but to challenge it and put it back into its historical context. it's not the easiest to listen to as a homestuck fan - the hosts are very critical at times, and i don't always agree with their opinions on things that happen in homestuck - but i think the analysis about what homestuck does, tries to do, and is responding to is very important, especially for people who weren't there for homestuck's original run. which... includes me! i read homestuck in 2014. i missed most of the most important homestuck historical moments. in any case, hsmtw changed the way i look at homestuck and other media. highly recommend, at the very least for understanding homestuck's historical context

Sugoi Quest for Kokoro by death420 (gen)

well well well well well well. well. 🤔 well. if it isn't ratchet and fuckin CLANK

DORITOS & FRITOS by bb-panzu (davejade)

good video. has davejade. i'm not an artist or anything but i think there's some kind of artistic genius happening here. it scratches my brain just right.

[exopelagic]

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME BURROWS END WASNT FREE

[leafy-m]

So I hit my 700th edit for the WHA wiki today, because I am a totally normal person

[aestheticitii]

something about fairy godmother!merlin after gudako lets it slip that she thinks cindereli's dress is gorgeous and that she'd love to try it on makes me feral

so of course, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, she's in a beautiful castle, in a beautiful dress, staring at the mirror like she can't believe it's actually her

and then comes a knock at the door, and who appears but merlin himself, dressed up and ready to escort her to the ball

and there are tons of people there, mostly background characters with little bearing on her day to day life, but some of them are also the friends and family and classmates she hasn't seen in what feels like years

randomly, servants enter her dream and get put into appropriate costumes. abby and dantes are also there the entire time as bodyguards (abby is her lady in waiting/maid and dantes is her suave mercenary friend, it's in the script that merlin never ends up giving her), mash is there as a princess from a neighboring kingdom, and oberon is ALSO there, he forced himself there because he got no invite and he heard about it from castoria, and kind of miffed he didn't hear about this first because he can also do that. it's very important to him that gudako knows that, even if he'll never do it for her, obviously

she spends the night dancing away (always making sure to check on merlin, though he doesn't dance himself), until the clock hits twelve and merlin spirits her back to a room that looks like chaldea, but there are subtle touches to it that suggest its either OG chaldea or novum chaldea with the things she's missing from her OG room that sion couldn't replicate

and he makes her some hot chocolate, mimicking a certain someone (which causes a brief lull in the conversation after which merlin mocks the man mercilessly, but in a very frenemy way, and it gets a small smile out of her as she tells him not to make fun of the dead, but she's still agreeing with him), and they talk about how fun the night was

until gudako jokes about how she didn't have a prince charming. you can't have fairy tales without prince charming, who is the princess supposed to marry??

they end up debating whether she actually didn't have one or if she just isn't a princess who needs a prince charming right now (gudako rejects the premise that she doesn't want one—why does everyone else get knight kings, she says, pointing at shirou and hakuno for artoria and charlie), and she offhandedly says that if fairy godmothers looked like him, prince charmings would be out of a job

and that—

and that catches him off guard because the very next thing she says is "maybe prince charming was the fairy godmother who helped me along the way"

and he automatically says, "i'm not sure that's how the saying goes, my lord"

but anything else he can say dies in his throat when she stands up and asks him to dance with her and how can he say no when she's smiling at him so brilliantly

"shall we, o' wizard of mine?"

"as my lord commands."

and they live happily ever after

(when morning comes, gudako wakes up to a surprise in her bed. she figures out pretty quickly that he's just pretending to sleep, so she kicks him off her bed.

"my lord is a cruel master," he complains, cuddling her.

after they show up to breakfast like that, gawain straight up asks if she needs him to bail her out and is extremely disappointed when he finds that's not the case.)

[chibishortdeath]

Hmmm I kinda want to make a side blog for RPG Maker game development related things to be able to talk to more experienced people in that community, but at the same time I both don’t really think I’d get much attention and don’t want to accidentally spoil my own game (^^ ; ).

I have a rough story, concept doodles, a tileset, some character sprites, an enemy that walks around but can’t initiate battle yet (if I even decide to have a battle system), a couple rooms with some events, and a functioning run button, but I’m still lost on how to do much else at the moment. Especially since this program has the ability for scripting, meaning I’ll probably have to learn and actually retain another coding language.

So, I’m not very far at all lol. Idk how well that’d go over on the established fandom website, but eh.