#Scout Sixty

[peachpitfics]

Wildest Dreams

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Your Father has betrothed you to his eldest, most despicable friend. You confide in your closest friend, Benedict Bridgerton, that you wish your first time could be with somebody else, somebody you liked.

Length: 3.5k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Propositioning a friend, first time, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, orgasm.

a/n: Wildest Dreams is part i of iii ~ requested by anon here.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

The blood drained from your face, your hands clasped together in clammy nervousness – your father had just told you that since you have failed to successfully find a husband within the first year on the marriage mart, he will be arranging a betrothal between yourself and Lord Roger Howard. Lord Howard was six and sixty, he was your father’s eldest friend. Every interaction you ever witnessed was filled with contempt and disrespect, especially with service staff. His words were often filled with bigotry and unfairness. You found him repulsive, his yellowing chipped teeth in his villainous smile. The way his poorly maintained fingernails curled at the ends. His white moustache stained into unsightly colours from cigar smoke. The thought of having to be near this man, be intimate with this man, nearly drove you toward deaths door.

Your knees shook, standing from your armchair in the sitting room, not speaking a word to your father as you exited. Scurrying up the stairs, throwing yourself onto your bed, you felt your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Tears streamed down your face, you did your best to suck in deep breaths, but panic continued to wash over you. There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this fate. There had been some suitors interested in you, but you had chosen to wait, to see if the one person you had wanted would make himself available to you. Now it was too late, those suitors had moved on with other young ladies, and the man you wanted was nowhere to be seen.

Your lady’s maid knocked meekly on the door, having come to prepare you for this evening’s ball. The Queen would be there, and you knew she would be disappointed in this match your father had forced upon you, not that that would help you.

“Shall we get the family jewels out miss? I hear it is to be quite an exciting night” You could tell she was putting it on, trying to sound excited. It seemed to come off as patronizing instead.

“Whatever you should think is appropriate” You tried to keep your feelings to yourself, but the streaks through your makeup sold you out at first glance. You spent the rest of your preparation in silence, usually the two of you indulged in a little gossip, it was supposed to be fun.

All evening you hid behind larger groups, behind servers carrying trays of champagne, doing your best to ensure the inevitable could not happen. Finally, considerably late in the evening, your closest friend deigned to arrive. Almost surging across the dance floor and into Benedict’s side, you linked arms and impishly whisked him out through the conservatory doors.

“Miss Y/n” Benedict exclaimed, “What is the meaning of this?”.

You breathed heavily, ducking, and weaving through overgrown plants and florals. You scouted each entrance, paranoia clinging to your side like a child in a sack race.

“My father has committed a most heinous act” You spill to Benedict, there is only concern etched on his face, “I am to be married to Lord Howard”. Your breath never steadied, sweat beaded where your forehead met your hair line. There was that panic you remembered so fondly, only hypervigilance had eliminated that feeling from the centre of your chest.

“Oh lord,” Benedict’s mouth hung open, utterly flabbergasted, “I cannot believe he would do that to you” Both of his hands found their way to your shoulders in compassion.

“And yet he has. My own father has bargained me away to some elder beast! There is nothing I can do to stop it” Your hands ran through your hair, untangling one of the twists.

Benedict did not know what to say, all he could do was lurch forward and take you into his arms. His strong arms reached around you, pulling you tight. The sound of his steady breath and rhythmic heartbeat calmed you quickly.

“When I was a little girl, I wished on a falling star I would find someone who loved me as their equal. I now wish for that same thing on this very night. To think that I have wasted my life dreaming about love, finding someone like me, with the same interests, the same age as me even!” You thought aloud. Benedict was always someone you could tell your innermost thoughts to, he never judged you once, and he was the kindest of listeners.

Benedict Bridgerton also knew exactly who you were dreaming about – it was him. You had been friends for several years, and it had always been obvious to anyone with sight, that you and Ben were infatuated with each other. But Benedict was young, and impulsive, unlikely to marry at this time.

“I do not want to spend my life with that old simpleton! I want to experience life and love!” You cried out, “My elder sister divulged what it is married couples do on their wedding night – I do not want that with him! I cannot live my life without having ever experienced the touch of a man who cares for me!” Your cries turned into whispers; whimpers scattered throughout.

He held you close to him, making a caring swishing sound, it kind of sounded like the ocean. Benedict sure knew how to comfort you when you were in need.

“Y/N! Where are you?!” Your father’s voice echoed off the glass walls, sending you into a frenzy, quickly separating from Benedict, dabbing your cheeks with a handkerchief.

“Yes father?” You responded.

“Lord Howard is here with me. There is something he would like to say to you” Your father called. Benedict hid low amongst the broad-leafed plants, the darkness of the conservatory shading him. You appeared from the shadows without explanation, not that your father was seeking one. Lord Howard stood hunched next to your father, who was 20 years his junior. It appeared as though he bowed, but it was hard for you to discern.

“M…m…miss Y/n?” He stuttered, struggling to see through the spectacles at the end of his nose, “There is a question I must ask you. With the permission of your father, I am here to ask for your hand in marriage” Spittle flew from his mouth in between sharp consonants. Dread flooded your body, you felt like you were being submerged in a pool of water, the tears in your eyes, simply the only way for the water to escape.

There was animosity in your father’s gaze, warning you there was simply one answer to the question asked. Taking in a deep breath, “Yes, Lord Howard, I will accept” You murmured. Lord Howard did not look pleased, he did not appear bothered either, he simply nodded once and turned about, marching back to the main ballroom. You wondered if this was what your marriage was going to be like? Would he ignore your existence and leave you to your own life if you produced an heir? You could not ascertain whether this was a good thing or not.

Benedict hung his head, having watched this entire exchange from the shadows. There was an element of guilt on his part, he blamed himself, unable to give you what you wanted in time to save you. When your father had left you standing still, tears staining your dress, Benedict slid out from the darkness.

“I think I am going to ask the footman to take me home… I only have so much time before my time is not mine any longer” You lower lip trembled; the peaceful silence of the conservatory disturbed by the soft sounds of sobs.

“Y/n,” Benedict muttered, his hand running down your upper arm. Electricity connected your flesh in a zap, your breath caught in your chest as his skin joined with yours. His tender hands grazed yours, tickling the palm of your hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head, moving to take your hand away before he closed his around it. His tongue flicked over his lips several times as he contemplated what he had to say. Sometimes you heard the other young ladies tell stories about Benedict, you never knew if they were true. They spoke of how he was finest of the Bridgerton brothers, they also spoke of his rakish tendencies, however mostly in a jealous fashion.

The forecast in Benedict’s eyes swiftly shifted from clear blue to a stormy grey. You had not noticed how tall he was before, looming over you like a dark cloud. His face illustrated apathetic gloom, his hand boring you into him, like he was the eye of the storm.

“There is something I must speak with you about, in private” Benedict rolled his tongue aggressively on his teeth as he spoke. Everything about his demeanor was confusing, you felt strangely like prey, wondering why it felt good. Benedict snuck out the conservatory door, your hands clutched together while he led you to his carriage, asking his footmen to make way for the Bridgerton house.

“What is this about Benedict?” You asked as soon as the door was secure and the carriage moving.

“Y/n, please give me a moment and I will explain everything. I do not know if I have a solution to your problem, but I may be able to offer a compromise. Something I would only do for you, if you asked, because I care about you so deeply” Benedict paused, this intense look of thoughtful worry about him, “If you would be agreeable, I would like to suggest that I… bed you for the first time” Benedicts voice was low and resounding.

Your lips parted abashedly, your cheeks flushed pink, blinking became uncontrollable. All you could do was sit completely still, astronomically stunned by what Benedict had proposed. You understood that for whatever reason, Benedict could not give you everything you wanted, but he was offering you something. He was offering you an experience you may never have gotten to have otherwise, a chance to feel loved and wanted in intimate affection with another person.

“Say something, anything, please. I cannot stand this silence” Benedict rubbed his temples after a few minutes. His eyes were still dark with longing, he looked over with you a deviating sense of ownership.

“You would do that for me?” You entreated, hands shaking so hard you nearly sat on them to make it stop.

Benedict nodded surely across from you, the carriage pulling up at the Bridgerton house. Your eyes locked, the carriage completely still and silent, you took a moment to consider the ramifications of your choice. Ben’s posture was resolute, his gaze expansive, eagerly waiting for your reply.

“Yes” You swallowed hard, Benedict snatching your hand from your lap and dragging you from the carriage, running up the walk and into the house. You made short work of the very many stairs on the way up to his bedroom, sure that nobody could have seen you, as you ran that fast.

Blood rushing around your body, you stood just inside Benedict’s door, trying desperately to catch your breath. Benedict shuffled about the room, lighting a few candles, closing the windows for the evening. He looked back at you, having already stripped into your underclothes while his back was turned. A most shameful lust driven smile sketched lightly onto his face, he made the long voyage acrost the bedroom to stand a foot or two in front of you.

“Thank you for doing me this favor. I will owe you always” You remarked, your eyes dancing figure eights on the lush carpet squishing under your wiggling toes.

Benedict’s shoulders were more relaxed than you had ever seen them, his posture always just so. Strands of hair bled onto his sticky forehead, dark eyebrows brewing overhead transfixed eyes. That charming smile, filled with foolishness, had not been seen since leaving the ball – this was something so chronically serious to him. He effortlessly tugged at his maroon cravat, casting it to the floor, his proud neck craning to get another glimpse of you from another angle. His throat bobbed when he stepped closer again, just one more step. Fiddling with his waistcoat buttons ardently, watching the frustration set into your eyes, Benedict finally shed his coat and pitched it across the room, knocking over something unbreakable in the corner. It did not steal his gaze; his eyes were set on you. Benedict lifted his suspenders off his shoulders, allowing them to dangle by his hips, the chest of his white, silk undershirt gaping open. Your teeth instinctually bit into your lower lip at the slightest sight of skin you had not ever seen before. The corner of Benedicts mouth upturned smugly, his lips rolling together as his breath became audible. Standing just one foot apart, the tension between you was palpable. You wondered if someone had struck a match, might the room simply explode, there seemed to be so much chemistry between the two of you.

“Please, continue” Your hands pressed to your stomach, you watched as Benedict unlaced his boots, one foot at a time on the stool at the end of his bed. His blistering eye bore into you even still. Making his way back to you, still at hardly an arm’s length, his brawny arms crossed his body to pull his undershirt off over his head.

You swooned audibly, almost gasping seeing the entirety of his torso bare for the first time. Your lips wet, your eyes unblinking, Benedict smiled cheekily, knowing the effect he had on you. His hands moved past his navel, your eyes following, to the button atop his breeches. Benedict made quick work of his trousers, having teased you plenty. Your back straightened, your gob smacked jaw snapped shut at the sight of his naked body.

Benedicts tongue flicked over his teeth, “Would you like me to redress, y/n?” He badgered, pretending to reach for his shirt on the floor. You careened forward, lessening the space between you to essentially nothing.

“I do not know what to do, not truly” You admitted, feeling yourself choking on nothing. Benedict reached out to your hands, taking them in his, placing them on his chest. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the feeling of his light chest hair beneath your fingers. His sculpted pectoral muscles and taut stomach, a trail of dark hair leading you downwards made you feel ravenous for him. He looked at you as you looked at him, eyes filled with desire, faces pink in the candlelight. Benedict leaned in to kiss you, pulling away left at the last second to place a single kiss on your neck.

“You. Are. Wicked” Your face flitted over his, grazing your noses and lips together in potential kisses. Benedict leaned into you, his kiss soft, warm, and breathless. You gasped at the first separation, taking in hasty breaths before crashing back into each other. Everything you were doing felt completely wrong, reprehensible – but with a kiss as intoxicating as Benedict Bridgerton’s, you were afraid not even heaven could help you.

Your hands slipped into his thick, dark hair, pulling him down and into you, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing up onto him. His hands rested under your thighs, carrying you toward his bed, you could feel his hardness pressing against you. 

This was not what you had been expecting, this was no impish boy. Everything about his movements was intentional, well-practiced. His hot, amorous kiss; the way his tongue slipped thankfully over yours, how his teeth greedily nipped at your auspicious bottom lip. His hands moved passionately across your back, his long kisses surprisingly hard on your neck, laying you down on the pile of bedding. He frantically shoved it off the bed, throwing pillows, knocking himself in the face once or twice. You laughed together, slow sizzling tongues dancing as one as Benedict removed your floor length under gown.

Benedict knelt above you on the bed, gently stroking himself, looking down on you. There was that dark cloud you had noticed earlier.

“I want you to enjoy me” Benedict rumbled, making you a promise. You did not yet understand, but you would. Taking his finger, Benedict dipped it into your mouth, bringing it to your nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb at a glacial pace. His touch was peculiarly possessive, his lips rested around your other nipple now, sloppily dragging his tongue around in spontaneous circles. Big open-mouthed kisses surrounded your breasts, your shock and surprise manifesting in noiseless writhing.

Benedict positioned himself between your legs, lying down forcing your legs apart. Wanting to snap your legs shut, you refrained, trusting Benedict with your life. His breath was agonizingly warm on your inner thigh, his lips parted and gliding up from your knee. Benedict dotted small, chaste kisses along your hips – you deduced he was headed for the pinnacle of your thighs, a place you had never felt burn and ache quite like this.

His tongue slid gently up the slit of your pussy, you breath shuddered, his harmless laps amazed you with every movement. Eye lids fluttering, breathy moans filling the room, Benedict’s graceful tongue swirling your clitoris in curious patterns, drinking in your wetness as though you were a drug to him. Your fingers crawled down into his hair, your hips bucking toward his retreating tongue, you squealed lowly for more.

“Are you quite alright?” Benedict groaned into you, the vibrations of his voice set you on edge, your toes clenching in different ways.

“I do not know what you are doing, but I would like for you to keep doing it” You moaned intermittently, between gasps as his tongue flicked roguishly at your clitoris.

Benedict spread your legs wide and high, taking his finger and resting it at your entrance. He tediously sunk his finger inside you, curling up, making you yelp out in astonishment. Finding a steady pace, his finger already snug inside you, Benedict began at you again, never failing to find exactly the spot he was looking for. His alteration of speed and pressure backed you onto a cliff face, body incandescent and damned to revelry. Pressing his fingers into you rhythmically, Benedict pushed you over the edge, the sensation of falling and flying all erupting at once as you moaned and yelped uncontrollably. In the aftermath of your pleasure, you watched Benedicts eyes, his head still clutched between your legs gently sliding his tongue over you, his charming, sexy smile reflected in his eyes.

Slowing rising to his knees, Ben positioned your legs higher, resting your calves on his shoulders. Taking his cock in his hand, his pressed his tip against your wet skin. Your skin erupted in a tingling sensation, unbridled attraction and hunger liquefying your brain.

You looked up at Benedict in clear understanding, nodding gently, your eyes focusing on the powerful look of restrained urgency on Benedict’s face. He pushed forward smoothly, eliciting a groan from each of you, not even pressed to the hilt yet.

When Benedict filled your pussy fully, it felt like being winded. Panting like a dog under him, Benedict stilled himself, noticing how full and tight you felt, his cock twitching with pleasure. Benedict moved slowly at first, long unbroken strides forward, thrusting into you. Every drive forward, simultaneously blissful, and hot, curving to pound into that sensitive spot just inside you. While every drawback, was likened to slow-motion, devastating deprivation. Ceaseless, savage moans made Benedict grin above you, thrusting harder, wholly triumphant in setting you alight. You knew you would burn for him for the rest of your life.

“Make that sound for me again” Benedict grunted sinisterly, thrusting back into you brutally, forcing that loud intonation from you again.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your hips moving with his in most divine unison. Benedicts teeth grazed your ear, your breathing syncing in ceremonious adoration; his momentum increased, driving into you with new eagerness. Your nails buried in his plump behind, pulling Benedict tighter into you. With propulsive sureness Benedict plunged into you one last time, his cock twitching inside you to his irrevocable release. Never had you felt so full before, his face exquisite above you, leaning down to a soulful kiss.

“I’m proud of you, taking me like that” Benedict panted, taking a second before withdrawing and rolling next to you. He lay on the flat of his back, chasing his breath, his heart thumping through his chest, beating so hard you could almost hear it. His words made you blush, hiding your face in your hands, his seed leaking out of you onto the linen.

“It is not always going to be the same, is it?” You pondered aloud, staring at the detailing on the ceiling above you.

“I will not lie, y/n darling, I do not think every single instance will be the same” Benedict reached over, gently slapping your thigh in solidarity.

“That is disappointing to hear” You sighed dramatically.

Benedict chuckled sweetly, “Perhaps at his age, he will not have the capacity to complete more than the marital act”. You knew he was joking, trying to lift your spirits, but you genuinely hoped that might be true. Other worries began to plague your mind, worries of potential children. What if you were unable to conceive his heir due to his age?

You rolled onto your side, looking into Benedict’s clear, sky-blue eyes, “There may be another favour I ask of you, dear friend”. Benedict's eyes widened curiously, prepared to do most anything for you.

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[enwoso]

INVISIBLE STRINGS — alessia russo

*i started writing this and loved it then got bored by the end so sorry for the rushed ending:) but thank you for the love and support on my first post!!

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google would define invisible strings as a thread that connects two people who are destined to meet regardless of time, place or the circumstances. the thread may stretch or tangle but it never breaks.

you and alessia both truly believed you were a prime example of the invisible string theory.

the two of you always existing among each other but neither ever really acknowledged each other until later on when you were both older.

you lived on the same street as alessia growing up, only a few doors down, she was the blonde girl you would always see from afar playing in the park with her two older brothers as they blasted the ball at the young girl.

however she always gave back as good as she got.

you had even went to the same school, however she was in the year above you. there were plenty school photos with the two of you in only a few metres apart. walking past each other in the corridor every single day - not having an idea how important each other would become to be to the other in the future.

you had played football for the local team as did she. the blonde playing in offence taking any spot on the front line whereas you sat at the back and played in defence stopping the opposition from scoring.

that is how the two of you met, well kind of. you played for the same team but you two never really friends. it wasn’t that you didn’t like each other it’s just you never really spoke to one another bar the few words when necessary.

however you only played with each other for a few months before she moved onto a new local team. only seeing her now when your team would face her new team.

you both existed in the backgrounds of each others lives.

when you were sixteen, you were scouted by the arsenal's academy for the under seventeens teams, it took you a little time getting used to playing academy football and not the usual sunday league but after a few months you had found your feet and began to settle in.

you had one goal, the england youth squad. your family pushing you each day to try and help you achieve your goal however just a month before the squad announcement you tore your ACL at sixteen.

you were out of football for a year, endless days sat with a physio, in the gym just trying to get your knee to bend again like it once used to. watching from the sidelines as your friends in the academy got their calls up for the youth teams and how you wished it was you.

you felt as though you were fighting a battle you were never going to win, you were falling out of love with sport that you had played your entire life.

after three hundred and sixty two day you were finally allowed to play again, however your return it wasn't the fairy tale dream you had spent the past year dreamed about. you ended up spending a lot of time on the bench not playing as regular as you did before your injury and you spent many of those ninety minutes wondering why you were no longer good enough.

losing all your confidence in yourself and your ability to actually play football - you felt as though you had hit a brick wall. finding yourself some days where you didn't want to play football anymore.

but thankfully your family, mainly your dad, were not going to let you give up so easily on the talent that they had spent watching over the last ten years. your dad repeatedly telling you 'that you time would come'

and like the fairy tale you had dreamed about you slowly begun to get minutes again and fell back in love with sport all over again. forever thankful for your family for their support each day, for sometimes dragging you to training even when you had told them multiple of times that you were done and that you quit.

and you dad was right, your time did come. your hard work finally paid off and just after your nineteenth birthday you made your appearance for the arsenal first time - even bagging yourself an assist.

the next few season were spent learning and being loaned to another other club spending half a season at brighton when you were 20. but you saw it all as learning and a way of improving - you were getting minutes, plenty of clean sheets and you were working towards a new goal: the 2023 world cup.

you were back at arsenal and were a regular starter in the back line for arsenal and with that came your good from and finally your call up for england came as they were beginning their campaign to quality for the world cup in australia.

"are you excited?" leah asked swinging her arm around your shoulders as you walked towards the changing rooms, she had been a big mentor to you since you had came into the first team, along with helping you to improve your game. you could say you became her little prodigy.

the squad had just been announced on social media for the first time and hearing your name on the sheet of paper had you feeling something you could even begin to find the word to describe.

“yes.. but no, i’m a little nervous” you admitted with a small laugh as leah gave you a soft smile and a squeeze of the shoulders to reassure you.

“listen, you’ll be fine! just play with the passion you always have” she said as you nodded slowly, “plus you’ll have me, beth and jordan!” the blonde added as you playfully groaned, leah gasping and unthreading her arm from around your shoulders.

“i’m just kidding, you know i love you all” you smiled, as leah rolled her eyes as you reached the doors of the changing rooms, “i do kiddo! ..but i’m at the top of that list, right?”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, lee!”

leah was right - you were fine. while you didn’t get any starts in any of the games at your first camp, you did get some minutes as a sub which was more than you were expecting. but while sitting on the bench you did find yourself talking to a particular blonde.

“you said you were from kent, didn’t you?” alessia asked as you hummed, a puzzled look growing on your face as you waited for the blonde to carry on. your eyes were glued to the girls running around on the pitch as you sat on the bench with a bright orange bib over your jacket.

“me too! what part?” the blonde asked as you turned your head at the question being slightly caught off guard at the fact she was also from kent.

“um maidstone” you gave her a small smile, your attention turning back to the girls on the pitch as the ball was close to going into the back of the net. alessia gasping making you think she had seen something you had missed on the pitch as well as making you jump a little, “me too!”

you turned back to her, giving her a shocked look. confusion filling you as the two of you spent the rest of camp talking about each others childhood finding out your grew up on the same street as well as going to the same school.

when the next england camp rolled around, you and alessia had became even closer to the point you were counting down the days until you next saw each other.

short and sweet messages turned into hours and hours spent on facetime until the other fell asleep. friendly comments turned into subtle flirty ones and the touches turned to ones that lasted longer than friends and slowly you found yourself falling for the blonde.

the last england camp before the euros in the summer at home had finally arrived, you had arrived at st george’s park with beth and leah but before alessia.

you found yourself sitting patiently in the common room, like a lost puppy waiting for the blonde to walk through the door. the other girls chatting and playing cards in the background.

“kid, if you stare any longer at the doorframe your gonna burn a hole in it!” lucy teased as you glanced away from the doorway for the first time in a least thirty minutes, rolling your eyes at the teasing comment you moved your gaze to fix at watching leah try and beat beth’s high score on the basketball hoop game.

eventually after what felt at least a year to you and fifteen minutes to everyone else - the blonde walked through with ella, as she made a beeline for you as you wrapped her in a tight hug.

the two of you finding a rhythm and falling into a deep conversation about all the things you had forgotten to tell each other over the phone.

“so then me and ella had to stop, so i could get a coffee and she-“ alessia was in the middle of telling you a recount of her journey here before you interrupted her with a big gasp, jumping up out of your seat to find your phone quickly.

“what?” alessia asked as she watched you frantically search for your phone on the beanbag you were sitting on - finding it wedged under the beanbag.

“i have to show you this before i forget!” you said a grin on your face getting bigger with ever swipe your finger did on your phone screen. moving closer to the blonde, your shoulders touching as she peered over your own shoulder wondering what on earth you were about to show her and why was it such a big deal.

"look-" you moved your phone so that it was in her eye line and on your screen was a group school photo, "i don’t get it? what am i looking at?" the blonde asked her squinted her eyes trying to get a better look at the photo.

"there's me and.." you paused as she pointed to herself as a small gasp followed from her, "and there's me" alessia whispered, so quietly you also couldn't hear her. shock has consumed the blonde and you sat back with a smug smile as she examined the photo a little more.

"how’d you find this?" alessia asked as she turned her head back to you, handing you back your phone, "my mum sent me them,, there's more if you swipe across" you said beginning to swipe along your camera roll.

the two of you spent the next hour looking through the photos, some from school and others from your grassroots club, recounting each others side of the memories both of you in shock of how close you to were to each other growing but in reality how far you were to each other.

"we've literally been in the background of each other lives forever" alessia smiled as you nodded. "attached by an invisible string" you added.

the international camp came to an end and you both went back to your respective clubs, this time the two of you were making an effort to see each other without it being on a pitch or about football — so on your days off you went to see alessia and on her days off she came to see you.

your feelings for alessia were growing each time you saw her, her smile was infectious, her blue orbs were the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. but you didn't want to admit your feelings to her in case it ruined your friendship, plus why would she like you back, alessia sees you as a friend and a friend only.

or so you thought.

"less, why don't you just admit you have feelings for the girl!" ella said as she caught the blonde smiling at her phone knowing that she was messaging you.

"w-what" the blonde stuttered her phone dropping into her lap. "less, we can all see that you like her!" ella paused as alessia's cheeks tinted red, "except for y/n - but she definitely likes you too!"

"she does?"

"of course, everyone can see the way you both look at each other!" ella said bumping her shoulder with the older blonde as alessia gave her a small smile and nodded processing the information that had just been given to her.

before the euros came around in the summer alessia managed to make the first move taking you on the first date — a fancy dinner accompanied by going back to her apartment and spending the rest of the night cuddled into each other while watching a film.

the euros had come and you were back with alessia and the rest of the england girls. the tournament had been the best time of your life making unforgettable memories with the girls. slipping in a few dates with alessia when you two had some downtime.

you were just beginning to enter the second half of extra time the score being 1-1 in the final, yes the final at wembley. the little girl inside of you was buzzing with excitement, you couldn't believe you were going to get to play here. your whole family had made the trip to wembley, sitting proudly in the crowd.

it was england's chance to score, germany had conceded the corner. alex was hovering over it to take it as white shirts littered germanys penalty area.

the ball swing in as everyone jumped up, you watched alessia drop to the ground and then watched as chloe poked the ball into the back of the net. chloe running off to celebrate as the stadium erupted, as you all gathered around chloe celebrating.

all you had to do was hold on for the next ten minutes and the trophy was englands.

keeping the ball in the corner, desperately waiting for the final whistle to blow.

germany had one last chance but before it got into the final half the whistle blew, england where european champions.

running to the closest person near you which happened to be leah, engulfing her in a hug as the tears began to fall. "we did it!" you whispered as she hummed, the two of you sniffing and wiping your eyes and going off to celebrate with the others but your eye caught the sight of your favourite blonde moving toward her.

you don't know if it was the adrenaline of the win that was flowing or if you had finally just grew the confidence to say it but after months of dancing around your feelings for the blonde.

you ran up swinging your arm around her neck, as you both cheered before you faced her grabbing her hands, "less! will you be my girlfriend" you blurted out, clearly catching the blonde of guard as her head perked up, alessia thinking she had misheard you before nodding, "yes, a thousand time yes!" 

you smiled bringing the blonde in for a bear hug, not wanting to let go. enjoying her touch, it made you feel safe and loved. as she pulled away she wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you into her, kissing the top of your head lingering there for a few moments.

"all along there's been an invisible string tying me to you."

liked by lucybronze and 915,703 others

alessia day one or one day?

comments -

lucybronze well y/n looks thrilled on the first one

24m 140 likes     reply

-> yourusername she annoyed me that day.

-> alessia how on earth can you remember that?

-> yourusername i can’t? i’m just guessing that you did

yourusername i love you<3

24m 140 likes     reply

-> alessia love you more, my love<33

#lucy bronze #alessia russo x reader #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #lucy bronze x reader #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #woso community #woso one shot #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #arsenal #awfc #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #football #enwoso

[throneofsapphics]

finding you again, part one

Azriel x f!Reader

summary: after he ended your relationship, you didn’t expect Azriel to pop into your life again - and you’re not happy about it

warnings: references to utm, war, disease

a/n: sorry for the delay! part two coming in the next few days, if anyone wants to be added to a taglist, you can comment under here or send me an ask/message!

prologue

Shockwaves of magic swept through Prythian and the surrounding islands at once. It felt like the ground beneath your feet shifted. Once, twice, three times - and you heard shouts from around you. You took a brief moment to thank the mother that it wasn’t just in your head. 

You picked up the basket, sprinting back towards your home. Herbs flew out of the sides, but you’d go back to collect later. Whatever this was now, it was huge. You felt it in your bones, something in your world was changing, everything seemed to come to a standstill - the rest could wait. 

The entire island was tense for the next few days, everyone waiting to see what did happen. Whispered murmurs of the possibilities, of the could-be’s, of the tentative hope blossoming - a hope nobody let show publicly. 

Secluded by yourselves, the wards you’d collectively put together at the beginning of Amarantha’s reign, near impenetrable, made news difficult to come by. 

Three days later, a tingling sensation on the back of your neck woke you. It was gone by the time you’d rushed into your kitchen, fingers white-knuckled around a dagger. 

Two letters. One addressed to the inhabitants of the town, wax sealed with the stamp of the Night Court. Next to it, one with just your name. 

Shaking hands, unsteady breaths, you ripped it open, ignoring the sting of a small cut on your index finger.

Your eyes flew over the words. The paper began to fold under your tight grip, edges wrinkling. 

Unsteady breaths, a lone tear dripping down your cheek, it took minutes of pacing and intentional breathing to collect yourself. 

Bringing it back to your room, you climbed half under your bed, sliding a loose board aside and shoved the letter inside, sliding a box over it. That couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. 

Grabbing the other envelope, swinging your door open, a cool spring breeze hitting your face, reddening your cheeks and nose, before heading to share the news. 

You ignored the other implication of the situation. The particular scent lingering on the envelope. You hadn’t thought of him in years, and now wasn’t the time to start. 

-

“The High Lord wants to visit,” the older female breathed, eyes wide as she turned her gaze to you, before frowning. “Why would he ask?”

“He could be having difficulty getting through the wards,” her mate said, covering the female’s hand with his own, mouth curving at the corners, a twinkle of pride. Well deserved, he had painstakingly designed them. 

“Or he’s sending this as a courtesy, they got the letter to us after all,” she snorted, but returned his smile. 

You knew who’d sent the letter. The hint of night chilled mist and cedar so unique you couldn’t have imagined it. 

With Madja’s help, you’d gotten permission from Rhysand to leave Velaris sixty years ago, for a while able to visit every few months until…

You subconsciously rubbed the bargain tattoo on your ribcage. Three stars surrounded by a circle, your promise to never reveal the location of Velaris. 

-

Azriel knew his brother needed a distraction, and frankly - he needed to leave the damn city. The once safe haven that had become a necessary prison. He was too self-aware to discount the other reason, the need to lay eyes on you and see that you were safe, at least somewhat. 

Rhys shot him a curious look when he volunteered too quickly - when Azriel had raised the idea. 

“There’s wards surrounding the island,” he schooled his face neutral - the spymaster, doing his job, “are near impenetrable.” Except perhaps by you or me, he didn’t need to say aloud. Yes, he’d sent shadows to scout the area soon after the curse broke, and they’d brought interesting reports in turn. 

Rhys nodded, and Azriel sat across from him as he wrote out two letters, sealing and sliding them across the table. 

One was addressed to … you. His blink of surprise gave him away.

“You know her?” Rhys’s eyes glimmered. He’d been discreet with his lovers, and of course he was aware Rhys knew, but just because he’d thought of you didn’t mean he wanted to share with others. But … the amused expression in Rhys’s eyes wavered, revealing some of the strain beneath. 

A distraction, that’s what his brother and High Lord needed, and perhaps he could do with a touch of vulnerability. 

“We were involved … before she left.” 

“I know,” Rhys smirked. For fucks sake. “Why do you think I let her leave and keep knowledge of Velaris? It was obvious she could keep a secret - she never said a word about your … involvement, to anyone else.”

Again, something he knew, but he had the decency to show a touch of surprise. 

Azriel raised a brow, a gentle nudge against the shields barricading his mind, and he lowered them slightly. 

“You’re willing to make a bargain?” Rhys leaned back in his chair, you seated before him, fidgeting and brimming with energy. 

“Yes,” your voice was strong and firm. 

“Very well,” his mouth turned up at the corners, a smile designed to put people at ease - it worked on you. 

The bargain was fair and concise. You could leave Velaris, and return as you wish as long as you never revealed or hinted to the name, location, or existence of Velaris. 

Azriel pushed Rhys out, slamming walls back in place. “Why are you showing me this?”

“You want to investigate the island, don’t you?” He wanted to slap the smirk off the other male's face. “She’s one person you know intimately,” Azriel rolled his eyes, “who lives there.” 

“I doubt she would speak to me,” he retorted dryly. 

“You’d be surprised what time and distance can do,” he countered. Az shook his head, he wouldn’t let false hope sink in, hope of regaining your … friendship. Maybe seeing you, even if it was just once, would be enough. 

-

A day later, Azriel stood on a cliff, wards pulsing with magic in front of them. Rhys to his left, Mor flanking his other side, they waited for … well, he wasn’t entirely what. For someone who would let them in. Rhys had sent a charmed parchment, designed to deliver their answer immediately, and everything in the letter sounded perfectly enthusiastic. 

Magic parted enough to reveal an older female and male - centuries older than themselves given the wrinkles starting to line their faces, appearing as if they were close to fading. Both carried themselves with confidence, but a warm and open demeanor as they bowed deeply. 

“Thank you for coming to see us,” the male rasped. 

He took brief notes of their names, the introduction, while sending discreet shadows to poke around the rest of the wards and small community. Due diligence and routine instinct now. They eyed him just a touch of caution, but it didn’t phase him, it never had. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “we’ve prepared lunch.” 

“Not at all,” Rhys smiled, the warmth in his tone almost matching the one he used with the citizen’s of Velaris, still laced with subtle authority. 

Less than a quarter of a mile, and they approached a quaint looking town. Stone houses, slightly corroded by salty air, but built sturdily - ready to weather any type of storm. Sure, he’d heard all of this through his shadows but seeing had a different effect. Paved pathways, a few different shops and a tavern. 

“Not much of an economy now,” she was telling Mor, “we trade what we can, all help each other out. Kept to ourselves the last few decades.” Kept to ourselves. 

‘They locked themselves away,’ Rhys’s voice flooded through his mind. “The community is small enough that Amarantha didn’t bother looking.” But they’d been a vital trading port for the Night Court before. He was surprised she’d ignored it. “I was too,” Rhys said. 

Ignored, but she’d considered them anyway. A sickening feeling coiled in his gut. If Amarantha had gotten to you … 

“The healer you recommended,” the male spoke to Rhys, pulling him from his mind, ''saved all our lives when a disease swept through, ‘bout thirty years ago. A great female.” 

“One of the best healers I know,” Rhys replied. It was the truth. As far as healers went, you were one of the best available. He wondered if you knew the other reason you were sent here; If Hybern were to attack the Night Court, they all suspected this Island would be the first target, and a skilled and trustworthy healer was needed on the ground. On the front lines. That sickening feeling returned, and Azriel knew he needed to set his own eyes, not just shadows, on you before he left. 

-

You couldn’t avoid the lunch, not without raising suspicion. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. He was the spymaster, after all, not usually sent to do courtesy visits. Still, this had been the talk of the town for the last two weeks. 

‘The High Lord,’

‘Do you think he’s as handsome as they say?’ 

‘He isn’t mated or married, is he?’ 

Mother above. You had to try and match their excitement, to blend in. They couldn’t know you grew up seeing him frequently in Velaris. All they’d known is you apprenticed with one of the Inner Circle’s preferred healers - and even that was a rumor you’d never confirmed or denied. 

Hand braced on your doorframe, three conscious breaths, and you pushed it open, forcing your hands to relax at your sides, keeping your strides even and steps paced. 

A small crowd had gathered outside of the largest tavern, and you weaved yourself into the fray, balancing on your toes to catch a glimpse through the open doors. 

Hazel eyes connected with yours, and your stomach dropped. 

Just your luck. You couldn’t bring yourself to break the gaze, the way his eyes searched you, the brief hint of relief in them. Why the hell was he relieved? He’d made it perfectly clear you meant little to him, and now he meant nothing to you. 

Slipping backwards, you tore your gaze away and slipped down the street. 

-

“Go ask her some questions,” Rhys had thrown a hint of command into his tone. He wanted Azriel to gain some kind of information from you. It made sense. He wanted, needed, to see you anyway. “I’ll keep everyone distracted.” 

Easy enough for him, Azriel took the next chance to melt into the shadows, to follow you. You led him right to a secluded cliff, sitting a few safe paces back, arms wrapped around your knees, squeezing tighter and he approached from the side - in your line of sight. 

“What do you need?” He wasn’t surprised by the harshness. Pausing a good few paces to your left, he sat, legs kicked out in front of him, bracing his palms on the cold stone. 

“To ask a few questions.” 

“Go ahead,” you muttered, still keeping your eyes off him. 

“How did you remain hidden all of these years?” 

“Magic. Wards. Things Fae more skilled than I created.” 

Truth, a shadow sung in his ear. 

“Who?” 

“You probably already met them,” you groused. He fought back a smirk, he’d forgotten how cute you could be when you were grumpy, and promptly wiped that idea from his mind. 

“Tell me anyway.” 

You listed the two who’d greeted them. Not surprising. It also told him it wasn’t quite a secret, especially with the brief pride flashed in your eyes. 

“Did you have to … give anything to it?”

“Ask them.” 

“I’m asking you,” he countered mildly. You wouldn’t get away with evading his questions. 

“A bit of blood and a bit of magic.” 

He hummed. Rhys would probably ask similar questions, but it was good to hear from another source. 

“Why did you need to come here?” Venom filled your tone. 

“By our High Lord's request,” Azriel said dryly. 

-

By our High Lord’s request. Of course there was no interest in seeing you. You were merely a bonus, a person he could easily ask questions to. You hated yourself for letting the thought cross your mind. 

“I wanted to see you, as well,” you almost missed the softly spoken words. 

“What made you think I want to see you?” You shot at him, finally turning to face him.

“I didn’t say that,” a brief flash in his eyes. “I said I wanted to see you.” 

“You’ve seen me,” you waved a hand. “Any more questions?” Brief silence. “Good. Leave me the fuck alone.” Forever, the narrowing of your eyes said. 

“You should know,” he tilted his head back, this time escaping your gaze. “I didn’t forget about you - I” 

“Just stop,” you hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

The implication struck you - others had forgotten, and he knew that. Azriel leaned forward, eyes on the ocean, knees raising and forearms bracing on them.

“Amarantha may be gone,” a shiver ran down your spine - at the name, and the low and deadly tone, “but Hybern will still cause issues.” War. “Rhys will give the same warning to your town today. Velaris and here may be the safest places in the Night Court.”

“Is he asking us to open the wards?” Because they’d do it in a heartbeat, and you knew that. 

“Perhaps,” Azriel said, and turned back to you, hazel eyes searching for something. “You’d be safe here.”  

“If there’s going to be a fucking war, i’ll be there. Healing.” 

“I know,” an unrecognizable set of emotions flashed in his eyes. “I’d see you there.” 

“I hope not,” you countered, keeping your eyes fixed on the waves, on the white foam topping them. A current so violent only the strongest swimmers braved it. “I might not like you, but I don’t want to see anyone,” you emphasized, “hurt.”

Azriel nodded, and rocked forward, rising to his feet. He offered a hand to you, you ignored it, pushing yourself up and facing the path back to town. 

“Stay safe, spymaster,” you looked over your shoulder, “and do it far away from me, won’t you?” 

A grin crossed your face at the brief ire reflecting on his and you strode off.

taglist: @mellowarcadefun @acourtofbatboydreams @sheblogs @macimads  @sirens-and-moonflowers @tele86 @kalulakunundrum @anxious-study @mika-no-sekai-blog @judig92  @randomperson1234sblog @fightmedraco @caraaaaugh @thelov3lybookworm @tothestarsandwhateverend @fxckmiup @scatteredstardustt @tooweirdtolive-toorareto-die @redcap3girl @boygeniuses10 @anuttellaa @aunicornmademedoit

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar fic #azriel x you #azriel acotar

[morallyinept]

Candles - A Joel Miller Birthday One Shot

Summary: It's your birthday and you're convinced that Joel has forgotten. Or worse, that he's hiding something from you.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4.8k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Smutty - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Angst & Joel being a miserable bastard on your birthday.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: Written for my birthday. Completely self-indulgent; Joel's the best gift, right? For anyone else celebrating their birthday today, I'm sending you the biggest smooch. 💋🖤

Check out my other birthday story, featuring Frankie Morales, called Birthday Cake.

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Joel doesn't like birthdays.

His birthday, September twenty-sixth, was the day the whole world went to shit. Outbreak day.

He lost Sarah on his birthday. His watch stopped when he was shot at, so he can't be sure if it was still his birthday or not, but that day and the events are ingrained in his mind, carved into the blood smeared bone in the back of his skull.

The root of all of his resentment at how he failed to stick a bullet in himself and hold his sweet Sarah again in the afterlife.

Even before the world fell, birthdays were just another day. Another brick in the wall. But they matter to you; bending his ear constantly about imaginary scenarios and the types of things you’d do if you still could celebrate it.

He wants to tell you to quit harpin' on 'bout it, but he's not cruel, despite that reputation preceding him.

Ordinarily, your excitement at such a trivial thing of adding rings to your tree trunk would give him some morsel of joy, but not when it serves a harshly confronting reminder of everything he's lost.

He remains stoic and focused, unreadable. Life and constant, crushing hardship has turned Joel into a shell of the man he once was. He knows no peace, alienated from calm.

The ink is running off the pages in his book that you thought you could read so well in the early days. The chirpy rambling from your mouth soon dips and you withdraw, keeping schtum about it further when you see the hackles of his shoulders rise.

Your birthday has been on the approach for some time now, layers of carbonic dread forming under the skin as the days move closer and closer towards it, and it's evident that Joel doesn't share your enthusiasm.

And Joel, although resolute in his usual steeliness, seems more distracted as of late too.

The lights are on, but there’s no-one home when he looks at you anymore. Conversation has been reduced to annoyed grunts and the three-sixty roll of his eyeballs clacking around in his sockets more so than usual.

And it’s all reduced to ash as the uninvited thoughts begin to infect and plague you about the possible root cause.

You ask him, one gloomy afternoon as the rain pelts against the grubby pane in your shared apartment in the QZ. Joel invited you into his home in the embryonic stage of your courting. Cleared some space through the little that he has to accommodate you and slot you into his life this past year. Made room for you in his bed.

You struggle sometimes to remember what life was like without him, as cliché as it sounds. Almost a full, singular rotation around the sun and yet Joel feels ingrained in your blood, kindred.

So why do you feel so sick to your gut right now?

He’s pulling on his boots, a low grumble heard when he leans forward and he feels his back crack with the strain. You’re getting ready mentally for him to depart from you for a few days on a scouting run, and it gets harder each time he leaves.

“Joel, is everything okay?” You ask him, looking at him through the reflection in the glass from behind you, with eyes that tell you he knows that you know something is up with him.

More so than his usual grouchy self that you find endearing despite the fluctuating temperance. That a part of him isn’t functioning properly like it used to, and the thought of that - that you can see that so plainly when he tries his damndest to hide it from you - is disconcerting to say the very least.

What else are you hiding from me, Joel?

“What d’ya mean?” He asks, his eyes and thick fingers focused on battling with small knots that aren’t made for giant hands.

“Us.” You say tentatively like it's a foreign word in your mouth.

Taboo to announce it out loud; you've both never confirmed it wholly. It's always been assumed that you're his and he's yours.

You look at the bleak, grey of the outside world. A gated world that’s incredibly small, and getting smaller as the intrepid seconds wear on.

Questions, thoughts and images; all blinking through you trying to piece it all together whilst you move stagnantly through a heavy swamp of confusion. The exact truth is staring you in the face, but try as you might to refute it; it’s plainly obvious and it begins to terrify you in new ways.

He’s pulling away from you, has been for some time now.

You can feel it in your bones as they twist and contort under your skin mercilessly. Invading your dreams and depriving you of any sleep. Nightmarish images invade tenfold of a face you know, yet don’t at the same time.

Renegade tears make themselves acknowledged, at the most inconvenient of times, and there’s only so long you can convince Joel that it’s nothing or that of a pre-menstrual crisis starting, so he’d immediately back off.

He never pushes, never probes. And it's as equally welcome as it is frustrating at times.

Emotionally you’re a wreck and you need it to stop, or for certain realisation to bear its face to Joel. It’s been a lengthy waiting game. Teetering on the edge to realisation, although part of you already knows.

He just doesn't know how to tell you. How to break your heart. And it’s worse somehow, because he’s forcing you to do it instead.

“Ya bein’ stupid.” He says, finished with the tirade of mumbles and grunts directed at the laces, and stands.

You don’t say anything to him when he asks you to explain your odd behaviour in not so many words. Instead, you stand there, forehead propped against the mottled window, steaming up from your breath, and not facing him, sulking like a prepubescent teenager being scolded for staying out too late by an overbearing father.

You can see he’s growing testy and this irks you further. Should you finally go there, omit the truth and deal with the chips wherever they may fall? Would that even be possible?

You have to tell him what's swirling a cyclone in your mind, whether it's absurd or not, right?

His broad frame in the window reflects back at you. Stepped forward and closer now so he’s looming almost. You begin to inadvertently cower into yourself a little, arms encapsulating for warmth and reassurance, and you’re sure he’s noticed because he seems to grow in height, feeding off your inward distress. His eyes are piercing and his mouth is that thin, hard line again.

He tells you you're being stupid, but it does little to cease the heavy gnawing.

Sighing, he gathers his jacket and pack. The rifle resting on the table from cleaning it most of the early hours of the morning - and not spent in bed with you - is swept up in his hands.

He hasn't touched me in so long…

He must have observed your realisations no doubt, surely the man cannot be so blind to the plight and tension you feel when you're under his nose?

And if he took pleasure in seeing your mind switch back and forth from an aurora of amplified emotions, he certainly hid it fucking well from you.

Joel turns to you before he disappears outside the door. You cling onto a desperate hope for a moment that he’ll leave something soft to accompany you; give you some affirmative reassurance and confirm that your stupidity, is in fact, that.

But he doesn’t.

He simply shuts the door behind him and leaves you floundering. Your eyes prickle, but the tears don’t fall.

You’ve cried enough now over Joel Miller.

Your birthday arrives, the dawn spent waking up in the bed alone without Joel’s warmth suffocating you; his tan skin sticking you to him.

You can't remember the last time he was inside you. A part of you.

Despite wanting to indulge in dysania, to sink into a despair that's been riding shotgun with you for a while, you will yourself up to continue with the monotony.

The day is spent as though meandering through a blur, your body robotically doing the things you’re supposed to, but your mind not being fully coherent.

Get up, eat a little something bland, exist… and so on. It's just another day. You don't even know why you expected anything different. You're foolish for even thinking it.

Your brain ticks continuously whilst your limbs belong to those of the infected that try to ravage you any chance they get beyond the walls of the QZ.

But what about those unanswered questions and coincidences floating around the apartment and jabbing you in the temple?

Joel’s disappearing acts and seeing him weary and more dishevelled when he did eventually reappear again? It's difficult to accept that you're replaceable. That the space you once fit in has been filled by something else.

Someone else, perhaps?

Your stomach lurches and you barely make it to the bathroom before you bring up all your fears and watch in numb disgust as they flush away. Piecing it all together to make any sense is a doom filled thought.

You're tired. You've had enough. You only succeed in confusing yourself further and are rewarded with a brewing migraine. And as you throw yourself onto the bed to get some rest to quell the ache behind your eyelids, you conclude that you now utterly despise birthdays.

Confronting him has to be the only option, but bravery’s lost to you; hidden away under the dank comforter, pulled up tight over its head, refusing to surface.

You're in the shower later that evening, washing away the day, when Joel returns from the scouting run.

You hear the sounds of the door rattle and his heavy sighs, even over the water flooding your ears.

But as you come out, hair dripping down your shoulders, he’s already left abruptly again, sealing you in with once more the claws of your festive loneliness.

You make you both some supper. A few cans he’d left on the table with peeling stickers and some without. The smell turns your stomach as you stare down at two plates of uneaten food that had long since gone cold and wonder how the fuck you've got here.

It's late when he comes back, startled somewhat to find you still sitting at the table. Glancing down at the food, his eyes soften and then they find yours, vacuous and empty.

You're not even pissed at him anymore.

Before he acknowledges you, you freeze momentarily and can’t abnegate yourself from looking at him, as much as you want to avoid it. But each time you falter, his hatchet eyes are staring right back at you, sending prickles all down your back.

The comprehension is a difficult task itself, but you're fruitless in your attempt to disentangle it all, even if you aren't going to be the victor in this battle that you're bound to lose.

You're going to lose him.

Perhaps you already have. You want to remember his face, so you take it all in as he hovers by the door; a large hand twisting and groping at the knob unconsciously as it squeaks around the crush of it, a nervous tick.

He’s anxious, worried. He wants this to be quick and painless. As do you.

Even if Joel has completely no idea what's been happening, surely he had to know how this situation cuts you open, how you're bleeding onto the floor.

How can he not see it?

You feel no animosity towards him at this precise moment, which confuses you further, but more of a sense of intrusion. You aren't ready for this now that he's actually here.

Joel's reaction is unguarded and you can see him looking at you, somewhat askance, around the crinkled edges of his eyes. You soften a little and let him have a final smile from you.

Something for him to remember you by.

“I have somethin’ I wanna show ya.” He says, quietly to you.

You look at him carefully as you baulk.

“What is it?” You question, suspiciously.

“Just… c'mon.” He holds out his hand, an olive branch, and you stand.

You don't take it as you follow him out into the scabby hall where the wallpaper peels and the carpet still has that burnt umber stain of blood from decades ago.

He leads you towards the stairway, heading up them and you follow, still confused.

Once you reach the top floor of the building, and the door that leads out onto the roof, Joel slightly out of breath as he rests for a second, he instructs you to close your eyes.

“Keep ‘em closed.” He murmurs to you and you feel his hand inside yours now.

Skin on skin. It makes you audibly gasp at the warmth of his touch and you remember how he feels as it tugs the remaining strangled beats out of your heart.

Joel’s hands are always warm, even if he wields death about so freely with them. You feel his grip tighten in yours, guiding you down the stone steps out onto the roof where the cool air of the dark autumnal night pierces through your thin, moth-eaten sweater.

“You’re not planning on pushing me off the roof, are you?” You snicker. But it would be a kindness, considering.

You have your other arm out in front, feeling your way, blindly.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Joel mutters. There’s a smile inside of his words; you can hear it, although his tone is hard like granite. You miss that smile.

Your feet are clumsy as you step and you wobble.

“I got ya.” He steadies you, his other hand on your hip and the feel of it makes your skin burn up in a corona. It strips you of your breath.

He stops and lets go of you completely after a few more steps.

“Y’can open ‘em now.” Joel whispers to you. You can feel his breath against your ear and it leaves you feeling warm despite the nip in their air at the new altitude on the roof.

Despite the fact that you're slowly dying.

You take a breath. A slow breath to steady your nerves. You're not sure you're ready for it. Perhaps if you can keep them closed, it will never happen.

You won't have to watch him walk away.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing when you finally open them, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

But it's anything but. It stuns you.

The roof is lit with candles; hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand there's so many. All various sizes, thicknesses, colours and in different states of burn, casting eerie, yet brilliant shadows across the brick walls.

They trail all the way across the rooftop towards you. Flickering in the gentle night’s breeze, it invokes an immediate tranquil state within you, and the warmth emanating from this gloaming wonder is enough to stop the prickles on your skin almost instantly.

"Joel..." you murmer, perplexed.

It must have taken him ages to set this up, and you’re momentarily lost for words in the confusion that makes itself known at the back of your throat in dumb astonishment.

Joel watches as you walk amongst them, slowly taking it all in and holding your palms out to feel their warmth kissing at your fingertips.

The surprise and wonder spreads out on your face as you turn back to him in wordless disbelief.

“Made it with a few seconds to spare.” He glances at his watch, then realises it’s still broken, still a constant, crushing reminder strapped to his wrist, and then beholds you with a crooked smile melting away.

You look back at him, with a frown starting to topple your awe.

“Ya thought I forgot,” Joel confirms.

You shake your head. “No. Just thought you didn’t care about it, is all.”

He steps forward to you, the flames flickering all around you both. “I care 'bout you.”

You feel your heart stop beating for a second. “You didn’t have to do this...”

“I wanted to. I know m'a grouch and-”

“Joel. Stop talking.” The low timbre of his voice jars you. It's gentle in its gruffness. And it’s too much as your eyes well up without your control, without your say so.

“Hey,” he turns your head to him, to face him head on. His thumbs smoothing across your cheeks as you grip onto his thick wrists.

“I thought-”

“I know what ya thought. S’not gonna happen, okay?” He says earnestly and for the first time in what feels like a long time, Joel pulls those inane fears out of you and stamps on them until they’re all dead.

You nod, sniffing the tears back with all your might, but they fall in your stringent relief anyway.

“C’mere,” he crushes you into his stacked chest, the soft ebb of his heartbeat the only sound you can hear as it clears out the dusty crevices of your mind.

You pull away to marvel and feel the balminess from the candles all over your body.

“See, it’s things like this that make me believe you’re human after all,” you whisper in complete awe.

He frowns. “Ya wrong ‘bout that.”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me? Look at this, Joel. At what you did, for me. It’s... amazing. Are you seriously going to tell me that a monster would do that for someone, because I don’t believe that?”

He can see the reflection of a thousand or so candles in your eyes, twinkling back at him like glitter.

After being lost in them momentarily, he rubs up and down your arms with his hands.

“Y'don’t believe in monsters, do ya? Even when the world's full of 'em?” He questions carefully.

“Not in the slightest. People are just people.” You reply. Although some of them admittedly more fucked up than others.

“What 'bout people who do bad things?”

You look at him sincerely. And it makes more sense now. There's still a wall there. “They’re still people.”

Joel absorbs your answer, the answer you always give him when he gets like this. When he needs you to convince him there's still good in the world, because you're good.

When he feels unworthy.

“D’you believe that a man can ever be changed of his ways?” Joel asks.

“People can always change, if they really want to. Why?”

“Hypothetical question.” He replies, quickly.

“Do you really believe that you’re a monster, Joel?” You ask him carefully.

You watch as he kicks up a piece of grit on the ground repeatedly, unsure of whether he'd heard you at first.

“Y’don’t," he begins and makes his way back after losing it for a second. "Y'don't make me feel like one.” He mutters with rust in his throat.

You take his hands, those giant, calloused paws inside your own and squeeze them until he can’t feel them anymore.

He looks at you, and it bothers him more than it should do - more than he would have liked it to - the thought of you at home alone, especially on your birthday, thinking that he was going to leave you as he was filling his pack full of all the candles he could scavenge in and around the QZ.

Months of planning and keeping this from you, and you thought he was going to say goodbye. Surely that's monstrous, for him to have allowed it to get so bad.

He failed you. He made you feel unworthy. And that doesn't sit right with Joel Miller.

He watches as you stare a while at the candles, flickering in the night’s air with the inviting sound of silence to accompany you both.

No thrashing heartbeat, no thudding of blood pulsing in your ears. No static.

Just a strange peace, which has seemingly gorged on all the confusion, all the angst and fears that had been mounting within you for so long.

He goes to speak, clears his throat of the block, and then chokes on his words as he tries to assimilate them together into something coherent, something meaningful.

You turn to him sensing his unease and it equally fascinates and infuriates him that you can do that; that you can put him at ease to get them out without sounding like a bumbling fool.

You sense that what he wants to say will be relevant and would give you what you need, but you never expect him to say, in all your remotest dreams or fears:

“I love ya.”

He’s known it for a while. Felt that this was more than just two people surviving and fucking together through the dark nights to feel anything more than just pain and existing.

Joel had poked his head in the bathroom one evening, watching as you’d showered after a rough day and a close call; your body mottled with dirt and bruises and he’d felt it then.

That overpowering need to protect you. To keep the bad things at bay, even if that meant he had to do some bad things in exchange. His soul was a fair price to trade to keep you by his side. And what's love, if it's not protection?

Helping you out with a towel ready for you, bubbles splodged all up your back and glistening at him, he realised that perhaps he was falling in love with you.

He didn't want to be in love with you though. He wanted to keep you at bay, to not let you in under the layers of his skin. Not let you unravel what was left of him; a small thread wound so close to the spool.

Love would make protecting you that much more difficult.

He was never confident in negotiating all the social interactions that came with dating, especially in this world now. It was foolish to bear your heart because at any point it could be ripped away and eaten.

But with you? His heart was always on his sleeve, soaking it damp in his blood. Whatever this was between you, it felt easy somehow, like breathing.

Joel could finally breathe.

There was no choice in falling for you. And Joel never wanted to make another choice ever again.

You reach up on your tiptoes and place a gentle kiss on his mouth; revelling in the feel of his mustache and greying scruff tickling soft at your face.

A feeling that if you never got to experience again, the way it leaves lightning streaking through your blood, would kill you.

You slip your tongue into his mouth and he welcomes you in, squeezing you closer to him and groaning around your taught gums. You lick gently across his bottom lip before taking it in your teeth and pulling deep growls from him.

“M’trying to be a gentleman here, darlin’. But if y’keep doing that, I’m fuckin’ ya up against the wall.”

His breath trips up in his throat and your body soars at his warning as it rolls acrid and sharp off his tongue into your mouth, forcing you to taste his cavities. To taste his promises.

He still wants you, he’ll always want you despite your stupid neuroses.

You bite and suck his lip again deliberately, and he growls.

"Ya leavin' me very little recourse."

“I love you, Joel.” You gasp as your hands grapple and devour him just as hungrily. Breathing out like a balloon losing its helium, you pant and moan for more air; for more of him.

He’s quick, like steam; power marching you backwards and your back hits the brickwork, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

The shadows of the night dance over his hard facial features and he glows ethereal at you from the candlelight illuminating his left side. A constant ying-yang of who he is and you want both sides of him, forever.

You want the distant and the present. You want the soft and the rough. You just want him.

"Say it again" he hisses.

"I love you-"

He silences you with a swamping kiss. Joel’s wilder now; like a rabid dog drooling all over you. His hands are clawing, groping and squeezing.

Quick, desperate fingers stripping you of your jeans and unbuttoning his own at the same time; a messy blur of his hands as you stay glued to his lips and taste the notes of his tongue.

He massages the soft fat of your buttocks, malleable warm flesh in his giant hands as he kneads gently with thumbs that’ll bruise. You can feel his cock pushing hard and swollen against your slit as he moves your ass back and forth, pulling you closer to his body.

Closer to the broken fragments of his soul.

"Joel…" you whine into his mouth with pathetic need, fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

"Tell me what ya want, darlin'." He sucks on your lip and lets it go with a little squelchy pop. Lips and tongue trailing across your jaw and feasting on the skin at your throat.

"You. Always you.” You mewl mesmerised as his cock slides up against your clit; your body flinches like it’s been electrocuted. You’re crashing, falling into him and surrendering. "Need you."

"Want me inside?" He groans as you nod, lost to the heated desire that burns through your body and drips down your thighs.

"Deep. Hard." You plead. You crave his chaos, it's been so long since you tasted it. "I need you."

"I want ya." He groans.

"Have me, fuck me. Joel, just fuck me, please!"

Hungry brown eyes are pulling yours into them as his swollen head delves into your soaked lips. His stretch burns, opening you up for him again. Sliding with ease into the hilt of you, where he ultimately belongs.

"Hear that? Hear how wet ya are for me? God damn..." He teases, pulling you closer by your ass cheeks as his fat cock pushes up inside the tight channel of your cunt.

You hiss as he pulls up your leg, wrapping it around his waist as he hoists you fully up against the wall. The brickwork is rough against your skin, despite the protective layer of your sweater that grazes against it as he starts to pummel.

He loses all control with you. Can never keep his shit together as you unravel him from that spool completely.

"Fuck," you groan, biting down on your lip as he fills you. His breath leaves him in a wheeze and floods your face as he thrusts in and out; marvels at how well you always take him until he’s completely obliterated.

You can feel yourself soaring, higher into the sky as it holds its arms out for you ready to pull you in. Only he knows how to take you to this height, to this place. A place where, for a moment, only you exist, the two of you, on this bleak rooftop, surrounded by decades of carnage.

But it’s all stripped away in his groans and your pants as you feed each other your imbibed love in a world where everything dies.

In a world where physical gifts are pointless and sparse tokens of fleeting affection, he does the next best thing. Joel gives you something that he knows you’ll always want.

He gifts himself to you.

“Ain’t ever leaving ya, y’hear?” He sounds off in your ear through reckless pants and groans that suffocate on the floor below you. “M’here, always here. Fuck!” He spits. "Gonna be inside ya always, darlin'."

You grip onto him, meeting him with every shunt of his hips into yours, feeling him continuously bottom out as the light from the candles start to blind you over his shoulder.

Feeling your mind grow and body start to pull apart. Feeling the wall scuffing and blistering against your flesh and revelling in the delicious masochism it evokes as he fucks you hard agasint it.

Fucks you like he’s never letting you go.

He laments it over and over. And you believe the sincerity.

“Harder.” You beg, your fingers digging into his shoulders; your nails leaving crescent moons indented in his neck.

"Joel, fuck me harder, please. I want it all."

“That’s some big smack talk for a little lady.” He pants with a smirk.

“Joel!” You whine as he speeds up, giving you what you want so wholly and irrevocably. "Fuck! Yes!"

Your howls of insistence are stripped of any sanity or verbosity as you let go fully and gush around his cock, right to the root.

Pumping himself harder into you and hearing you scream, feeling you buck with the pleasure of it all on the end of his cock as you shake and give him the best of yourself. The parts of you that are only for him to keep.

The part where you're completely stripped back and bare, and he can see you. And you're so fucking beautiful.

And it's right there, he can see it, that love you have back for him as your eyes come unstuck from the back of your head and stare into him as you can see all of him; bruised and fleshed with vulnerability.

Watery with relief, with the fading ebbs of your pleasure. The acceptance of this piece of him he's plucked from his chest and plopped in your hands.

And it's his complete undoing.

Joel grunts out your name as he releases, giving you the final pieces of him as he fills you full of his warm, thick spend.

“Fuck…” He drones, your arms tight around the back of his neck as you slip down the wall onto jellied feet.

His hands stay on your hips, cock slippery and poking you in the belly. Sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he tells you he loves you again on a barely there whisper.

You steal another glance round at the candles, their light blinding your retinas and searing this moment into your mind forever.

You kiss him and he kisses back harder, deeper; a man ravaged of affection, yet he still has small, bloodied parts of him left to share with you. Even if it fucking terrifies him.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” Joel whispers.

You don’t need to blow out the candles and make a wish.

You’ve already got everything you want, right here, in your arms.

Thank you so much for reading this lil' birthday fic of mine! 🎉 Re-blogs & comments are always appreciated & fuel me. 🖤

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

#jett's birthday #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #jett's pedro boys

[runningfrom2am]

what happened to lucy gray baird // LTPF

summary: what became of lucy gray baird and sejanus plinth? you finally get some answers after sixty-five years.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. this is kinda sad btw. just a heads up.

a/n: happy birthday to my bestie @that-veela-girl ! this was requested by her bc we talked ab this AT LENGTH in an ask and we just needed to see it fleshed out. also bestie i made some minor changes i hope that's okay with you ahhh

series masterlist // playlist

Lucy Gray stumbled up to the cabin, hours after she was certain you and Coriolanus had left. Her heart had finally stopped pounding, and the bullet wound that only just grazed her back was still burning. Trying to stop the bleeding was hard when she was all alone.

She takes deep breaths, sighing in relief as she opens the cabin door in the dark of the night. She was free, or so she hoped. She peaked in, gasping as she saw your figure asleep on the makeshift bed, Coriolanus's scarf gripped in your hands held up just in front of your face as the moonlight seeped in through the open door. She couldn't believe she had considered you a friend.

You looked so peaceful as you slept. Harmless, even. But she knew better. She closed the door quietly, begging the universe to keep you asleep long enough for her to get away. Where you were, Coriolanus Snow was never far behind. Lucy Gray quietly stalked off into the woods past the cabin, leaving any hope of returning to the lake or the cabin behind. She would go North, just like the original plan.

After hours of walking in the dark, the day would break- finally. Finally, she could breathe again. The sun was still rising when the smell of smoke reached her, making her furrow her brow as she looked around. Up ahead, between the trees, there was a fire sizzling out, coals still burning just enough to illuminate the area around it. She hears a twig snap a ways to her left and quickly jumps behind a tree to hide, heart racing and forcing her blood to start to seeping from her back again. She could feel it.

"Lucy Gray?" The use of her name makes her tense up, and she doesn't dare peak out of her hiding spot. "Lucy Gray, is that you?"

She knows that voice, but it's not Coriolanus, and it's certainly not you, but the Capitol accent still has the hairs on the back of her neck raising.

"It's Sejanus, you don't have to hide. I'm not gonna hurt you." Her eyes shut tightly. That's exactly what you had said to her before you tried to kill her. She couldn't trust Capitol folk. Not anymore.

"Lucy Gray..." The footsteps get closer. "I thought you were dead. She tried to kill me, too."

Lucy Gray opens her eyes, holding her breath as she peeks around the side of the tree trunk. Sejanus is there, several feet away with his hands held out to show her he meant no harm. "I'm not going to hurt you." He says again.

Taking a shaky breath she nods, stepping out from her hiding place but keeping her distance. "She tried to kill you?" She asks him. "You weren't there when we arrived... I thought you didn't make it."

"I was there. Just went to scout out what our path should be." He explains. "I heard it all. What he did to you..."

Lucy Gray shakes her head, looking down at her feet. "I thought I could trust 'em."

"I did too." He replies quietly. "They were my best friends. My only friends. They tricked us both, huh?" He laughs dryly, shaking his head.

"Apparently." Lucy Gray mumbles.

"Come. Sit. You must be exhausted." He nods for her to follow him back to his little camp where he had the fire going.

"I just want to know why." Sejanus mumbles after close to an hour of silence, both of them sat quietly by the now dying fire.

Lucy Gray stays silent, just nodding as she stares into the orange coals. "I should have seen it sooner. She was just so... odd. So back and forth. I should have known when she flipped a switch and turned into a whole new person when she showed up at the hob."

"You wouldn't believe the things I've seen that girl do." Sejanus agrees, tossing a stick onto the rubble of the fire. "She's crazy. I always thought that was a good thing, she stood up for herself, she wouldn't go down without a fight to get anything she wanted. She'd scream and throw things like no one's business when someone said something she didn't like. Lucy Gray, you have no idea."

"But you were friends with her. Why?"

"Why were you?" He asks, turning to her and raising an eyebrow.

Lucy Gray opens her mouth to answer, but she can't bring herself to say what she wants to.

"I get it." He admits. "She's good when she wants to be. I've seen both sides of her. She's... Complicated, but at the end of the day, I'm not much different than her. She's braver. Much, much braver, though. I mean, I've seen her get violent before, but nothing like that. I could never hurt anyone."

"They deserve each other." Lucy Gray mutters, and Sejanus hums in quiet agreement.

Snow littered the grounds of the presidential palace on the day Sejanus Plinth and Lucy Gray returned to the Capitol.

The whole building had a chill that stung Sejanus down to his core as he was lead through the large halls, the building more lifeless than it had ever been. Quiet. Haunting.

When he thought back on his life in the Capitol, a full lifetime ago, he did imagine at the time that you and Coriolanus would occupy the space; filling it with life and tones of red and laughter and love, despite everything the Capitol leaders had done. He had hope back then that you would have done better.

The guards open the doors to what appears to be a bedroom, large with endless opulent decor and a patio overlooking the back of the property.

He doesn't say anything when he enters and the doors are shut promptly behind him. He turns, seeing the guards had entered now. Likely, in an effort to protect him.

"Leave us, please." He prompts them quietly, voice rough from nothing more than the decades that had passed. The guards look confused, but obey anyways. Sejanus had been on the receiving end of your anger before, and he was one of few who lived to tell the tale. You wouldn't hurt him.

You were sitting at the window, looking out at the snow falling over your garden. You turn your head when you hear his voice, eyes already wide. You stand up slowly, holding the arm rest of the chair as you stare at him in shock. "Sejanus?" You ask, but it comes out more as a comment.

"Y/N." He smiles. Smiles. You could be sick.

You're not sure if this is a fault in your medication- if you had been distributed too many by Thirteens doctors and you were losing your mind, or if Sejanus Plinth was truly standing in front of you right now. You let out the slightest laugh from shock, eyes welling up with tears.

"It's good to see you." He says, taking steps toward you, hands held behind his back. He was older, like you, but you didn't have a doubt in your mind that it was him.

He had survived. All this time.

"Oh my..." You shake your head in disbelief as he opens his arms to you. After all this time- after what you did, something so long forgotten from your memory, he was greeting you with a hug.

You hug him back, once again unsure whether or not this was real. Perhaps this was the afterlife, and you had been executed by something so boring as an untraceable overdose. You certainly hoped not.

"Sejanus..." You cry, patting his arms as you pull away and looking him up and down.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles, almost inaudible to you even from right there.

"Sorry?" You reply, that same dry laugh falling from your lips. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I... You're alive. I'm proud."

"I'm sorry it had to end like this." He clarifies and you look down, then cast your gaze out the window.

"Yes, well... we have never been well liked." You admit.

"You were by me."

"But not anymore?"

He doesn't respond, motioning for you to sit down as he pulls over his own chair to sit across from you. You both sit down, and you continue to stare out the window.

"We had a good life. He gave me everything I have ever wanted." You sigh. "I apologize... for what we did that day. I have felt a great deal of... guilt, over it. I hope you know."

He nods, keeping his pleasant shock to himself. You were sorry. He didn't expect so much from you after what he had seen and heard of your actions over the years. "Why did you let us go?" He asked, and you look over at him again, your face falling into one of confusion.

"Us?"

"Me and Lucy Gray."

"Lucy Gray..." You mumble. "That's a name I haven't heard in years." You shake your head, hurt building up inside you. It doesn't settle well. "Not since Coryo told me that he had buried her."

This wasn't true, of course, you had brought her up a small handful of times since, but that was when you were under the assumption that she was under the brush in the woods of District Twelve by the cabin at the lake.

Sejanus's eyebrows raise. "I... No. She escaped. She is alive, too." He says, trying to gauge your reaction, but you keep much of your emotions to yourself. All that gave you away was the tear that fell down your cheek as you stared down at the greenhouse.

"I see."

"You are scheduled for execution tomorrow afternoon." He states. "Coryo will be the following day. Coin wants him to be hurt by your passing, there will be a big celebration and they want him to be a witness."

"A celebration." You chuckle, wiping your tear away. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Wouldn't you prefer to go together?"

The way you hesitate is what he knows is his ticket in. "That would be preferable." You say after a moment. "But we will be together soon, regardless."

"I have spoken to some people from Thirteen, and they are willing to let you go." He tells you, and you shake your head before you even think about it.

"No. I will not be happy without him."

"I think that's a hasty assessment." When you don't respond, your pride refusing to let you admit anything different, he continues. "Is that true? Or are you just so used to being with him that you can't imagine being happy without him?"

"He is my whole world, Sejanus." You answer honestly. You hadn't known anything different since you were eighteen years old.

"Y/N, one of the things I remember the most about you is that you won't let anyone get in the way of what you want. You've always been a true independent." He reminds you.

You're silent for a moment, reeling over the realization of what Coriolanus had truly done. To him, it was likely a harmless lie to keep you calm. To be able to leave you out there at the lake for days without fear, and it worked. But it could have cost you your life, if Lucy Gray was more vicious than she was.

"Lucy Gray saw you, in the cabin." Sejanus tells you, almost tracking your thought process. "That he had left you out there alone. She said you had never looked more peaceful than when you were sleeping."

Your blood runs cold and you slightly shake your head. He just confirmed your fears, and you think he knew that. She could have killed you, but she didn't. You were just as lucky to be alive as he was, and it was at the fault of your beloved husband.

"I never forgot what you did for me. You saved my life, then you could have killed me, and I count myself lucky everyday that I had made a friend in you." Sejanus says, reeling you in further. "And I just want to offer you that same freedom now. I know you deserve it."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, eyes still locked on the snow coated greenhouse outside. "I have some conditions."

After he leaves, you are escorted outside and down to the garden. You would spend what was meant to be your final night there, with your husband.

You wanted to hate him for lying to you, you really did, but you couldn't. If you were to hate him for anything he had done, that would have happened years ago.

"My execution is this afternoon." You say to Coryo, approaching him as he admires some of the roses.

He hums in response as you join his side, picking one of the delicate flowers and holding it out to you with a gloved hand. You smile as you accept it.

"We were happy, weren't we?" You say softly, smiling down at the rose in your hand.

"Indeed." He grins, looking at you now.

"We took a lot of risks, and that rewarded us."

He smiles. "I would say so."

It was the end and he knew it. There was no use in fighting anymore.

"Would you have done anything differently?" You ask him, taking a seat on the bench next to you.

"Maybe I would have let you step in to prevent that stunt those kids pulled last year." He comments, sitting next to you. "But when it comes to us... no. Not a thing."

You nod slightly, looking down. "Sejanus is alive." You tell him.

"Is he really?"

"Yes. I just spoke with him."

"What did he have to say?" Your husband asks.

In the very same way that he never told you about Lucy Gray, you never told him you let Sejanus go either. Were you really any better than him? "That he is sorry." You answer simply.

"Well, he got what he wanted." He replies. "He shouldn't apologize for that. We never have."

"I agree, but he was more sorry for us." You explain, reaching out to take his hand beside you. "That it had to end this way."

"I see."

"I only wish that our children would have had a better chance." You say softly. You gave them everything- they were spoiled rotten their whole lives and prepared to take your place, but they would never get that chance. They were to be executed just after you, if Coin got her way.

"We gave them everything we could. This is not our fault."

"No." You agree. "It isn't."

"What about Cecelia?" He asks quietly. Your granddaughter was extremely special to the both of you, to him especially. She looked just like you, and every time he looked at her it's all he could see.

"Sejanus agreed that she will be well cared for." You promise, squeezing his hand. "She'll be okay."

He nods slightly. "She looks more and more like you every day." He says, unable to help it. "I remember you, when we were her age."

You smile at the memories, nodding. "I miss those days."

"I hope you know how incredibly proud I am of you, darling." He admits, voice cracking as he looks at you. "I feel as if I didn't tell you enough."

"You showed me every day." You promise, patting your other hand over his. "You were the best person I could have had by my side all these years."

"I love you." He says, and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"I love you too." You didn't want to talk anymore- you felt so incredibly guilty for deciding to leave him. It was betrayal. Maybe that is what would kill you.

You only have a few minutes before the glass doors are cracked open, and you look up. You know it's time. Commander Paylor is standing there with some guards, and she just nods at you.

You stand carefully, squeezing your husbands hand again as he joins you and remembering something you had heard him echo to you dozens of times.

Never let them see you bleed.

So it would be a silent goodbye. You drop his hand, looking up into his blue eyes for the last time as you take a step back.

He smiles as you raise your hand to your forehead in a salute. You don't need to speak- he knows what you mean. You weren't sure you could if you wanted to.

'Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you.'

He smiles, refusing to let the heat in his head manifest into tears as he gives you a curt nod, a slight bow. Your show was over.

You can't bring yourself to look back as you are escorted, for the last time, from your beautiful garden.

The sound of fireworks and music comes from the home Coriolanus Snow had shared for so many years with the love of his life. The most perfect person he has ever known, and he knows that the sounds of national celebration are his indicator of your passing. So that was it. You commanded and filled the energy of every space you entered, so he wondered now, after you were gone, why the air didn't feel any lighter.

He stared at the bare trestles that in the spring had always held up your raspberry bushes. They were gone, waiting to sprout in the spring. He can hear you, still.

'Raspberries are perennials."

Only then, when it was dark and he was alone, completely alone for the first time in years, did he cry over the weight of your death. Again.

All that was left of him was that boy on the train, crying over a letter he knew you would never receive.

Yours,

Always yours, your Coryo.

taglist:@totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world @nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl

#tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #hunger games #the hunger games #thg fanfiction #thg series #thg fanfic #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo snow #coryo #coryo x you #coryo x reader #president snow #snow x reader #snow lands on top

[sepublic]

Imagine the Ice Emperor's robotic nature, but from the perspective of the people of the Never-Realm, who have zero context for a being like him. They don't have robotics or particularly advanced technology, though they at least have magic to expand their imagination with, and are aware that (some of) the Blizzard Samurai are made of ice.

But still, machinery on the level of Zane must be totally foreign to them. Alien, even, and it technically is if we go by the strict definition of the term. People rightfully assume the Ice Emperor is made of, well, ice; But they aren't aware that he's metal. He has metal organs and bones unlike any creature they have ever seen before. He doesn't breathe; He doesn't eat, doesn't drink, doesn't even bleed. When he is 'asleep' it is like being in the presence of a lifeless statue, that is to say there is no presence, just impersonal cold; One looking for the Ice Emperor might even assume they've only found a statue in his likeness.

Imagine if during those sixty years, someone came close, really close, to defeating the Ice Emperor before the ninja arrived; But they failed and died because they could not have anticipated his nature as a machine. They tear apart the Ice Emperor, his head is rolling at their feet... And his eyes blink anyway. He's still alive. He bleeds not blood but sparks of lightning.

He puts himself back together like a puppet. He creaks and groans and emits strange noises. He does not 'live' in the sense that the Never-Realm understands; He is an uncanny mimicry, not quite moving the same, even more unimaginable beneath the already terrifying exterior. The Ice Emperor doesn't heal naturally, he must weld and fuse his body back into place. Imagine if the evil sorcerer plaguing your lands was finally taken down, only for him to have a second phase where it's revealed he's a Terminator. And when you consider that he's from the future, the comparison to the Terminator is even more apt.

His former Titanium Ninja moniker suggests he's made of the stuff. Had the Ice Emperor not awoken, had Akita gone through with stabbing him with her knife... Would it have just broken against the 'skin' beneath the armor? Would she have not found skin underneath the armor, not realizing the Ice Emperor is armor all the way through? If Akita had made a cut, would it have been enough to actually affect the Ice Emperor in a meaningful way, for a slashed neck is not as much to a machine as it is to one of flesh and blood?

There's just a lot of potential when it comes to exploring the Ice Emperor from an eldritch horror angle, an alien that even Vex is lowkey afraid of, because obviously he came from somewhere, someone made him; What is that world like? It'd be like meeting the Iron Giant and realizing he was built originally as a weapon. What if the rest of that world comes for us, wondering where their scout went?

#ninjago #ice emperor #zane julien

[freedomfireflies]

iFall For Harry

Part Two to this request!

Summary: Turns out, the stranger in your phone is kind of funny...

...and kind of sexy, too.

Oh, my god. 

Harry, did you hear the news?

It takes exactly three and a half minutes for those familiar little bubbles to pop up.

Well hello to you, too. 

No, what happened?

You struggle to contain a rather giddy grin as you begin to type, A cheese factory exploded in France!

Wait, really? Shit, what happened?

I don’t know. But all that was left was…de brie.

Exactly sixty seconds pass before he begins to type.

Fuck.

I think I just snorted. 

That was…goddammit that was good.

You don’t even know what he looks like, but you chuckle at the idea of him laughing so hard he can’t help but snort.

Thank you, thank you. 

Took me two weeks to come up with that.

I’m impressed. 

Little offended, too.

Oh? Your heart sinks.

Yeah. 

Kept me on the edge of my seat for two fucking weeks wondering if I’d hear from you again.

Shit. 

You smirk to yourself as you flop down onto your sofa and think through a response.

Hey, it takes two to tango, pal. You could have texted me, too.

The bubbles make your heart pound.

Alright, that’s fair. 

In my defense, I didn’t have any more cheese puns.

Oh, is that all this is, then? 

You just use me for dad jokes?

Psh, nooooooo…

Then, another text.

Although, the jokes do make my days…cheddar.

 You laugh a little louder, suddenly very aware of the flush in your face over some stranger in your phone. 

No, wait. How do I erase a text?

I hated that. 

Seriously, how do I make it go away? 

My failure is staring me in the face, and I hate it.

You giggle under your breath.

Easy, Grandpa. 

Relax, just press down until the options pop up.

The conversation goes quiet for a brief moment before you watch his previous text vanish from the screen with a dramatic, poof!

Then, he begins typing again.

Hold on… 

Did you just call me Grandpa?

…psh, noooooooo

Oh, so that’s how it is?

That’s how it is.

Wow, and we had such a nice thing going, too.

To be fair, you never told me your age, and you don’t even know how to delete a text. 

What am I supposed to think?

First of all: rude. 

Respect your elders.

Second of all: this deleting shit is NEW, okay, and I just updated my phone, like…a week ago, so I never learned. 

Uh-huh. 

No, yeah, whatever you say, Grandps.

He responds with the emoji that’s rolling its eyes.

You smirk.

For your information, I’m 29.

Okay, which is a cool, hip, fun, and very fresh age.

Yes, I believe that’s the slogan for the retirement home, too. 

“We’re cool, we’re slick, and we might break a hip.”

There’s a longer pause between your text and his response. You hope it’s because he’s laughing. It’s not your best work, but you think it’s funny.

And then, you get the notification.

Dammit, that place sounds so much cooler than the retirement home I’m in now. 

Send me the address? I’ll wheel myself over.

You got it, Old Man. Will you need any help crossing the street?

How thoughtful of you. Yeah, that’d be great, and then you can finally earn your Girl Scout badge.

Oh, my God. How did you know it was the last one I needed?

Cause I’m old. And therefore wise.

Oh, right, right. No, that checks out.

Yeah. 

You lean back, forcing your eyes away from your phone to finally get a moment of reprieve from the excessive smiling. Why is this so fun?

I guess 29 isn’t so bad. Just…three years older than me.

Ah, another piece to the Cheese Girl puzzle. 

You’re 26.

Indeed.

26 was fun. 

I liked 26.

Yeah, it’s not too bad so far.

Just wait until your bones start to creak whenever you get out of bed.

I’ll keep a can of oil on my nightstand.

You grimace to yourself. Your worst joke to date, and you just hope you haven’t blown it.

Probably smart. 

My preferred method is lube, but…

Whatever works.

Your eyes widen.

Oh?

Yeah.

 My bones might creak but at least I can still fuck.

Well…shit.

You readjust your position on the sofa, desperately working to find a cool and relaxed and equally mysterious reply.

…so, no pressure.

Just be careful with all that lube. 

Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.

Hope you’ve got Life Alert on speed dial.

Oh, I absolutely do. They love me over there.

You smirk to yourself, fighting yet another laugh. 

Yeah? Thank God.

Boy, I bet you’re a real stud with the ladies, huh?

Damn fucking right. 

This grandpa has moves.

I bet. Yeah, women love a man that squeaks when he thrusts.

They do, actually. I happen to squeak quite sensually.

Is that right?

It is.

Damn.

Might need to hear that for myself someday.

It was bold. Perhaps a little daring, and you don’t give yourself a chance to overthink it before turning your phone off and tossing it onto the other side of the sofa.

You give it five minutes before checking to see if he’s replied.

Thankfully, you have two notifications, delivered 3 minutes ago.

Yeah?

So what’s stopping you?

What is stopping you?

Probably a number of things, but instead of pointing out that he’s a complete stranger and could very well be a catfish (or even worse…that he might not even find you attractive) you decide to go with another joke.

All these Girl Scout cookies I gotta sell :/

Shit.

Yeah.

What if I bought a hundred boxes?

Then you’d have to hand deliver them to my door, right?

Your eyes roll playfully as you sigh.

That IS the Girl Scout policy, yes.

We pride ourselves on good service.

Fantastic, then I’ll take 100 boxes in the flavor of you.

Your lashes flutter as you reread the text, over, and over, and over. But before you can spiral…he’s sending another.

…shit, that was meant to be smooth.

Get it, cause…like, you know, get a taste of YOU. Like…if you were a cookie. 

Cause…I wanna taste you…

Explaining it makes it worse, doesn’t it?

 It should make it worse, but for some reason…he’s funny? And charming? And making your thighs squeeze together—

I think that can be arranged, yeah.

I’ll package them up nice and pretty, just for you.

Equally as cheesy, but apparently…cheese is where you both shine.

You hope he’s at least somewhat amused, and when he finally responds, your stomach flips.

This conversation is bad for my health.

Yeah?

Why’s that?

Because I’m in a meeting and I’m about to have a heart attack.

…why are you about to have a heart attack?

Oh, right. I forgot that happens at your old age.

Ha.

Funny.

Good thing you have Life Alert on speed dial.

Yeah, I don’t think Life Alert is gonna be able to help.

No? Why not?

Cause only one thing can save me now.

Cookies.

Your cookies.

To be exact.

See? Cheesy.

Wow, I was almost turned on and then…

Nope, there it goes.

Oh, is that what we’re doing? We’re trying to turn each other on?

Well, why didn’t you SAY so?

Hold on, I’ve got a few good ones.

Oh god.

Alright, here we go.

So…

What are you wearing?

…really? That’s all you’ve got?

Work with me please.

My gosh.

Clothes.

I have clothes on.

Yeah?

That’s a shame.

Two minutes go by without him adding anything else, and you can’t help but laugh when you realize that’s all he’s got.

Wowwwwww…

No, that was so good. I’m…holy shit, you just took my breath away. I’m so turned on right now.

I mean, my panties just FLEW across the room!

You’re THAT good!

Okay, very funny. 

I wasn’t done.

No, really. You gotta warn a girl before you just completely rock her world like that.

Honestly, I feel a little faint.

Where did you learn such a masterful technique? Really, you should teach a class on sexting, cause that was just…phew.

Listen, I was just trying to take it easy on you.

You know, ease you into my seduction before I gave it to you good and hard.

The last bit of his sentence has you stumbling over a gasp, but you simply clear your throat and work to find a response.

You have two options:

Either you tease him a bit more…

…or you ramp up the tension.

Well, by all means, Harry…

Give it to me good.

And hard.

He doesn’t respond for quite some time to this. And while you’d like to tell yourself that it’s because he’s just so turned on by your response…

…it’s more likely that you definitely fucked up and he wants nothing more to do with you.

But then…your phone dings.

Is that what you want then, hm?

Want it rough?

Shit, shit, shit.

Yeah.

If you think you can keep up.

Trust me, sweetheart, that won’t be a problem.

If you want it rough, I’m more than happy to oblige.

Is that why you texted me today?

Needed my help?

Truth be told, you don’t know why you texted him today, but you certainly aren’t upset with how things are going.

Me? Needing YOUR help?

Cute, but I think my fingers and I can manage just fine.

His response comes so fast, your head spins:

…fuck.

You smile.

Shit, okay now this conversation is REALLY bad for my health.

I might keel over right here in this meeting.

My death is on your hands, Cheese Girl.

Worth it.

You watch the bubbles float onto your screen for a good thirty seconds before they disappear.

Then, they appear again…just to dissipate before you can get your hopes up.

Finally—finally…a text.

Okay, listen, you don’t know me.

And I don’t know you.

I get that.

I’m a stranger, you’re a stranger.

But…

And hear me out…

What would you say to a phone call?

Your pulse stutters as you stare at his proposition, but he’s already sending his next text before you can decide if you’re really that stupid or not.

I know that’s asking a lot, but…

If you promise that you aren’t a 90-year-old man, and I promise I’m not some kid playing video games in his mom’s basement…

We could at least…have a real conversation.

And make sure that we really are who we say we are, you know?

And I could be assured that I didn’t just get a fucking boner in the middle of a busy boardroom cause of some perverted, internet creep that makes cheese jokes.

You hesitate.

Despite yourself, you are intrigued by the idea.

Worst-case scenario if he is some loser…you can just hang up and block his number.

And if he’s not…and he’s half as hot as you’re starting to hope he is…

You swallow.

Thickly.

I am not some perverted, internet creep that makes cheese jokes.

I’m just a regular creep that makes cheese jokes.

Promise.

And…yeah. 

I would be okay with a phone call.

As long as you do in fact promise I won’t regret it and that it won’t result in nightmares that haunt me for the rest of my life.

Ah, well…

Can’t say much for the regret…

But I do promise that I will try very hard not to give you nightmares.

God, are you really doing this?

Are you really doing this?

Alright, then…

Oh, so you’re doing it. You’re really that dumb. You really just let a complete stranger convince you to call him, even though he could be a serial killer, or a psycho, or—

Your phone rings.

You see his name pop up in large print as the cellphone just about flies out of your hand.

Scrambling to keep it steady, you lurch forward and collect a deep breath.

You can do this.

You can do this.

You’ll give him thirty seconds. And if he seems creepy…you’ll hang up, and you’ll move on.

And you’ll never get random boys in bars numbers again.

You press your thumb into the button on your screen and slide it to the right.

Here goes nothing.

“…hello?”

~ iFall for Harry pt. 3 (the third part to this!)

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ More Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tag List:

@tinyhrry @supersanelyromantic @lomlhstyles

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles fan #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles request #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles text #ifall for harry #harry and cheese girl

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter 17.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 5.3K

Summary: flashback seven - also known as the day you meet the special operations squad after the underground heist failure... and a familiar face

Warnings: death ideation, mourning and grief, mentions of death, depression, lots of hurt, lots of comfort, a treat at the end

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 17 - FLASHBACK: SEVEN

note: this is the final chapter that is heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. this is my interpretations of the material. watch/read that first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

“So these are the barracks.”

Petra Ral is nice. 

A bright-eyed ginger with too much excitement on her hands and too high of an opinion of the world — every time she opens her mouth, you’re painstakingly reminded of Isabel.

With your sudden intrusion into the Scout Regiment, all you have been met with are cold shoulders and judgmental eyes. Erwin was right: they resent your lack of cadet training. Quite frankly, you’re certain they resent everything about you.

Yet Petra glows in a warmth so many of the other Scouts lack.

She shouldn’t be here, and she shouldn’t be trying so hard to make friends in a line of work dedicated to dying.

Because if the gangs of the Underground were a revolving door, then the Scout Regiment was a windmill caught in a storm of bodies.

Under direct order from Commander Erwin, Petra has been assigned to play as your guide in the interim between now and the next Special Operations expedition. She’s responsible for catching you up to speed on anything from proper ODM gear usage (as if you need any) to team formation strategy (as if you’ll memorize any).

Erwin is, above all else, thorough. Nothing is left to chance in his branch and rightfully so; one bad move and a multitude of deaths will be on his hands.

Over sixty percent of Scouts die.

That number is not lost on you.

(Eventually you’ll be part of that statistic. It’s just a matter of how fast.)

The interior of the castle headquarters within Wall Maria is expansive. Beautiful, with gold-trim corners and marble floors — you marvel at the way the sun makes the white floor so much brighter, nearly blinding your retinas every time you stare a little too long.

Truthfully, you haven’t stopped staring. Not since you left the darkness and walked up those fateful Underground passage stairwell with the commander.

Just as you dreamed, the surface is beautiful. Breath-taking. Mind-numbingly overwhelming. From the luscious greenery surrounding the castle grounds, to the lively birds chirping in the endless sky, to the palpable warmth against your skin — you find yourself getting lost at the sights and sounds each passing window brings.

Petra finds your curiosity endearing, at the very least.

Erwin must have already disclosed your oddity — a dweller of the Underground City — before assigning her the task of babysitting. 

She doesn’t seem to care — about where you’re from, about bypassing standard cadet training, about your unwillingness to speak. Not like the others.

You’re not sure why.

Maybe she sees what you’ve tried hiding: the sadness that follows like a ball and chain through every room of this castle; the emptiness of your eyes when they meet hers; the way you fidget incessantly with your necklace, never quite letting go for longer than a few minutes.

(It’s all you have. That's all that’s left of them.)

“This is my bed, actually, but yours will be easy to find!”

Petra smiles brightly in your direction, eyes crinkling at the corners when they shut.

She should keep them open. She can’t trust you like that.

“It’s at the very end of the hallway. It’s got two sets of bunk beds but, uh…”

The original inhabitants recently died.

She doesn’t want to say that part.

“The rest of the team should be making it back soon.”

Petra steps out of the hallway, waving for you to join her. You numbly obey.

“How many people are on this team?” you ask.

“Currently?” she asks, and you nod. “We’re an expedition squad of five — well, seven, if you count Section Commander Hange and Moblit, but they don’t always come with us. Otherwise we have a couple dozen Scouts stationed in other areas to cover ground.”

“How come?” When she doesn’t answer right away, you clear your throat and clarify. “How come those two don’t always come with you?”

“Oh, Hange and Moblit? You’ll meet them eventually,” Petra explains, guiding you back to the grounds. “Hange is a little, uh, on the intense side, but they mean well. They head scientific research for the Scouts, so their work can keep them behind. Commander Erwin left to fetch them a few hours ago, actually, but they should be back by now. Probably going over titan reports.”

Quietly you follow her down a staircase, listening with little interest. Petra continues explaining the most recent discoveries of the Scouts — empty handed, no surprise there — and how she’s excited to learn from your skills — like you’d ever try.

Over and over, the pad of your thumb brushes the pendant between your fingers.

You haven’t slept in days.

You’ve barely eaten a crumb.

Everything has been at lightning speed and slow motion all at once.

The large oak doors at the front of the building have been wide open to air out the interior all day. When the two of you reach the foot of the staircase, you see movement in the distance outside.

Clouds of dust and dirt kick up behind them, but they’re too small to be titans.

“What’s that?” you softly ask, and Petra turns her attention to you.

“Hmm? Oh! The horses,” she supplies, waving you once again to follow her to the mouth of the entrance. You step in time with her. “That’s everyone coming back.”

“Everyone?”

“Yeah.” Petra leans against the hinge of a castle door, crossing her arms over her chest. “Eld Jinn is our second-in-command on Special Ops. Then you’ve got me, Oluo — pretty sure you already met him, but I don’t think you looked at him when he said hi — Gunther is with them, too, and—”

“Petra.”

A warm, deep voice calls out to your companion from behind. 

Immediately Petra stands taller, chin raised. You belatedly turn your head with an air of disrespect but never quite face it.

Because, by now, you know that voice belongs to Commander Erwin Smith.

(You don’t care what this son of a bitch has to say.)

“Commander, sir!” she greets.

You keep your focus on the tiny cloud of smoke kicked up by the horses. The green cloaks billow out from their shoulders, stretching like wings behind them.

From this distance you can make out the hair colors of the first three in the formation — a blond, a brunette, and in the center, a smaller black-haired individual.

“Are the stables ready for the incoming horses?”

“Yes, sir,” Petra chirps. “I already took care of everything before showing James around.”

“Great work, Ral. James.”

Erwin calls your name, but you ignore it. Instead you keep staring at the nearing horses. You try to time the clicking of their hooves to nothing in particular.

Anything, to avoid talking to him.

“Lieutenant.”

At the title, you finally blink your attention towards the taller blonde. He takes a step forward, standing what would have been shoulder to shoulder if not for his height.

“Yes, Commander?” you murmur, tone dripping with disinterest.

“Ready to meet the rest of your team?” he asks without skipping a beat.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, drawing a slow exhale. “Though I can’t imagine they’ll be excited to meet me, considering I’ve—”

“Opted out of the rigorous cadet training like endured to get here?” the man finishes for you. Your brows instinctually furrow. “Unlikely. Your skill will speak for you once you’re out in the field.”

His chin raises towards the nearing Scouts.

“And as it stands,” Erwin continues, “you are not the only soul on this squad to bypass tradition.”

His verbiage almost makes you respond freely.

(What the hell do you mean by that, Smith?)

The first horse to enter the castle perimeter whinnies, loud and piercing.

You turn.

Blinking back to the returning Scouts, you feel it start in the pit of your stomach:

Neutrality bubbles and churns into something nasty, like you might get sick at a second’s notice, the second your eyes lock with the center-positioned Scout.

Under a wind-blown, jet-black fringe stares two sunken, narrowed eyes. The frayed pieces of hair kiss the man’s high cheekbones, accentuating the narrow point leading to his chin. He’s pale, sickly, with a sharpened nose and tightly pressed lips.

From the look of the bags under his eyes, he hasn’t slept in weeks.

He nears with the reins tight in either fist. His neck is covered with a chiffon ivory cravat, neatly tied to perfection against his Scout Regiment uniform — gone are the billowing sleeves and auburn vests where a tan, cropped jacket takes their place.

The emblem on his breast is the Wings of Freedom.

There’s no way.

You blink twice, three times, as many as it’ll take to wipe away the mirage in front of you.

Because it can’t be real.

That can’t be—

“Levi.”

Commander Erwin speaks. The horse kicks up its front hooves from a knee-jerk pull of the rein and protests with a high-pitched whine. Levi Ackerman turns his head in the direction of his voice.

Abruptly his chin stops midway, never quite finding Erwin.

Not when his eyes, overtaken by a growing white, see you.

And your world — his world — suddenly stops.

Levi’s complexion pales. All he does is stare — at you, at nothing but you, frozen in this momentary lapse of time with you.

Levi is alive.

Wetness wells at your lower lash line, unable to stop.

You can’t speak. You can’t run. You can’t breathe. Your mouth is dry. You haven’t blinked.

One word floods your mind.

Alive.

Alive, alive, alive—

“Captain Levi,” Erwin repeats, this time adding a… title?

Titles don’t exist in the Scouts. As far as you knew, you were the only one carrying something beyond Section Commander and Commander.

You can taste his reluctance when Levi forces himself to blink over to his superior office. He hoists a leg over the saddle and hops down to full height, yet turns his back to the rest of the squad to tend to his midnight black horse. He doesn't pivot.

“Commander,” he gruffly greets. “What is this about?”

Your throat closes up at the mere sound of his baritone, unimpressed voice.

It really is him. Levi never went to the gallows.

(And Erwin knew? The commander knew this entire time and said nothing?)

“What’s the status of our perimeter?” Erwin asks simply, ignoring the smaller man’s question.

“Only one three-meter ugly bitch within range,” Levi replies against the saddle. “We handled it.”

“Good,” Erwin chimes. The other Scouts — one blonde and lanky, another older with brunette hair, the last with a buzzcut and a serious expression — step off of their horses and face the Commander. “You arrived just in time to meet the replacement of this squad.”

“We already have new titan fodder?” the one man quips, smirking as he runs a hand across his horse’s mane. “Guess we did lose a lot of people last time.”

“Oluo,” Petra warns, eyes narrowing. “That would be Lieutenant to you.”

“Lieu-what?” the man named Oluo repeats under his breath.

Levi’s hand twitches at the rein.

Only then do you realize your hands are trembling at your sides.

“Lieutenant?”

Levi spits it out as he finally turns his chin over his shoulder, glaring daggers. The word is nothing more than a bite. Acidic.

“First a Captain, now a Lieutenant?” a lanky man with a ponytail asks, slowly and carefully.

“As of now, yes. We have a Lieutenant in our ranks. The first of her kind,” Erwin confirms. “And you’re to treat her with the same respect as you’ve shown our Captain.”

“With all due respect, sir—” Although Levi’s words are respectful on paper, they are anything but against his lips. “—I was under the impression that my squad was to be handpicked and handpicked only going forward.”

Erwin hums. “You would be correct, Captain. Lieutenant James, however, will be a vital asset to your newly-acquired squad. Petra has been kind enough to help her get acquainted with headquarters.”

“Has she been through training?”

Wait.

Is Levi pretending not to know you?

You stay perfectly still, unable to watch anything but him. He continues to stare at Erwin with such forced neutrality that you can see a vein protruding just under the white cravat.

“No,” Erwin plays along, raising a heavy brow. “She’s already proficient in handling ODM gear and hand-to-hand combat."

"She is?" Gunther pipes up, his surprise bordering on admiration.

Erwin continues. "Strengthening our numbers at haste after a significant loss was our most efficient strategy, and I think it will serve us well. Did you miss the detailed briefing I left on your desk before your patrol, Captain Levi?”

The castle grounds fall silent.

Levi’s shoulders, pinched together, now fall.

“Must have missed it,” he replies, feigning an annoyed boredom that you’ve heard so many times before. “So long as she doesn’t slow me down. If you’ll excuse me, I have shit to do.”

Lamely you watch him near you, heart trapped in your throat. You want to run to him, hold him, scream and cry about everything — the heist, the gang, the fucking Scouts — but you do nothing when he passes right by.

Straight past Erwin and into the castle, where he disappears up a flight of stairs and out of view.

As if he never existed.

(His scent is still the same calming fresh linen with a dash of chamomile that your brain clings to, but no comfort comes.)

Did you hallucinate his—

“Lieutenant,” Erwin says, breaking you out of this fever dream. “I want you to introduce yourself to Captain Levi once he’s settled. I think it’ll be good for the two of you to meet.”

You can’t help it: when you lock eyes with the commander, you let him know exactly what you’re thinking — that you know he’s tricked you with the narrative of death, that you’re trapped between relief and grief, and you want nothing more than to cause him pain.

With the way Erwin’s expression smooths, it stands to reason this was intentional.

To see what you’d do — what Levi would do — in this moment.

Though whether or not he understands the type of reunion he’s played out, you aren’t sure.

Two days ago you wanted to die, to simply disappear at the idea of losing Levi, and now? He’s in the flesh wearing a Survey Corps uniform, manning his own squad, and…

You feel something wet slick against your palm and look down:

Red.

You’ve pressed your fingernails so hard into your hand that it's drawn blood.

“Permission to leave, Commander?” you ask, teeth grit against every syllable. “I have to get settled in myself.”

“Permission granted,” Erwin replies with authority.

You waste not a minute more to bolt into the castle.

Petra calls after you to wait for her, but the ringing in your ears, the panic attack budding in your veins, drowns her niceties out.

Levi is alive.

Levi is alive and a captain in the Survey Corps.

You have to find him.

.

.

.

.

.

You search for hours.

In the supply basement, in the sparring chamber, in the kitchens —

Levi is nowhere to be found.

Did you imagine him today?

The conversation with Erwin, the arrival of the Scouts… most of it feels real, but you doubt your own sanity when you cannot find your best friend.

Several doors are locked, but when you lean your ear against the wooden slab, no noise emits.

Empty.

Eventually Petra finds you stalking down a hallway and convinces you to come with her to the mess hall. Supper with the rest of the Scouts could mean he’s there, so you agree.

He isn’t.

The man they call Oluo is as pompous as he’d been outside. The others — Gunther, the buzzcut one, and Eld, the lanky blonde that asserts himself as a second-in-command — are less invasive and more so curious about how you’ve managed to get here.

All you do is ignore them and stare at the stew growing cold on your spoon.

You want to ask about Captain Levi, but you’re too afraid to speak his name — as if breathing his existence into their presence may snap the only red string tying you to what was once a dream.

When Gunther opens up a bottle of wine, you quietly excuse yourself to bed.

No one objects.

Rushing up the stairwell, you head towards the bedroom Petra assigned to you.

It takes every ounce of strength not to scream at the top of your lungs like a madwoman in the middle of the hallway from the growing stress attaching itself to your brain.

You feel crazy.

Are you crazy?

Are you just sleep deprived enough to —

Something latches onto your arm and pulls you roughly to the right. You fumble into something solid, diving headfirst until your back collides with a cooled stone wall.

A warm palm presses to your mouth to keep you from speaking.

Yet the protest would’ve died the second you saw that mop of black hair anywhere.

Levi Ackerman stands before you, pinning a hand against the wall parallel to your head while the other keeps a rough hold on your mouth. His head is bowed, the dark fringe covering half of his face, with lips parted. 

The cloak is gone. The cravat is slightly out of place.

Then his chin lifts to meet your wide eyes in the dark.

Within an instant your pain, your anguish, your hatred, melts. For what feels like forever you both stare at each other in this comforting darkness, waiting for something to come next.

So he speaks, barely above a whisper and sharp like a knife’s edge:

“How?”

You tremble under his touch, eyes welling with the tears you didn’t shed earlier. The bags under Levi’s eyes twitch, and gently, slowly, he removes his hand from your mouth.

“I promised,” you whisper back, and his eyes widen to match yours.

Abruptly his hand drops from the wall to grab yours and harshly tugs you towards a door right across the hall. It’s a vacant office, pitch-black without candles or torches.

“In here,” he demands, pulling you with him.

He swings you away from him to press the door closed, cautious not to make noise. It slowly clicks into place, and he locks the two of you away from the outside world.

Just the two of you.

You can’t help yourself: you rush across the room towards to be near him, to hold him, to feel —

His hands, lightning fast, grapple your wrists and keep you from ever entering his orbit. Your feet spin from his pull, positioning you between him and the door.

You jerk to a halt, deterred by the way his eyes gradually narrow to mere slits.

(Did you do something wrong?)

“Don’t,” he orders under his breath.

“Le—”

“Answer my question first,” he tells you like you’re the enemy. Everything in your stomach drops through the floor. The necklace under your uniform button-down burns. “How?”

A beat passes as you contain your emotions. “...how what?”

“How did you get here?”

You run your tongue against the seam of your lips, deciding what you should start with. A million questions run through your mind.

Did Erwin capture you the same way he captured me? Where is Isabel? Is Furlan safe? Did you willingly join the Scouts?

Did you make a deal with the devil, too?

“Commander Erwin,” you tell him.

His expression flickers with an indiscernible emotion. "Erwin?”

“I had no choice,” you continue. “I was ambushed by the Scouts two days ago. It was either handing myself over to the Military Police or joining the Survey Corps under him.”

The grip on your wrists tighten in a pinch. “Ambushed in what way? Did they hurt you?”

“No.” You shake your head, but he shifts his weight. “I mean, a little, but it—”

“Who?” he interrupts in a murmur. “Who hurt you?”

You search his eyes for the right answer to give, uncertain if he’ll burst from the room to blow your cover at the truth.

“Some asshole named Miche, but I’m fine.” His nostrils flare, eyes darting to the door with deadly precision, but you jerk your wrists in his hands to bring his attention back to you. “Hey. I mean it, I’m fine. Besides, he’s none of my concern. Not when Erwin’s here.”

Reluctantly, Levi returns his attention to you. He hesitates with ebbing anger. “...what the hell does that mean?”

“I said yes to the Survey Corps to take Erwin out,” you tell Levi, which causes him to sharply lift his chin with apprehension. “I didn’t give a shit what happened to me. They made it sound like… like you weren’t alive anymore. They never told me you joined, too.” You swallow to coat your throat. “Did they do anything to you?”

The abrupt blink to stare at the door behind you once again is your answer: yes.

“What about everyone else?” he cryptically asks, ignoring your question.

You shake your head, deflating. “Gone. We managed to survive for almost two months. When the MP pressure got out of hand, someone turned and ratted me out. But most of them made it to safe spaces undetected, I promise.”

He doesn’t let go of your wrists, but he lessens the intensity of his grip. When you lean in closer to whisper, he leans back — determined to keep this distance intact, crushing your heart.

He watches you like an object to solve, an obstacle to overcome.

Whatever love and adoration you were met with two months ago has vanished.

“We can kill them,” you say, earning his attention once more. “All of them. I don’t care.”

Levi remains silent, immobile. Your arms go limp in the hold he keeps.

“Whatever they did to you? Whatever they did to Isa and Furlan—”

“Stop.”

“—I’ll burn every last Scout to the ground—”

“James.” He nearly barks your name to get your attention. Levi hangs his head, dropping his chin to his chest. “Just… stop. Please.”

A mere whisper of a plea.

The soft defeat in his voice is terrifying. It isn't like the Levi you remember at all. Nonetheless, you listen. You stop.

Silence envelops the room.

So this is what it meant for the two of you to come to the surface.

You managed to escape the life you desperately wanted to leave behind, but at what cost?

Even now, you both hide in the dark.

(Was living in the sun everything you had ever hoped for?)

“...what happened during the heist, Levi?”

You hate how your voice cracks between the syllables of his name. He continues to bow his head, though the sound of his rushed breath betrays his composure.

“Where’s Isabel and Furlan? Where—”

“They’re gone.”

Everything feels freezing and boiling all at the same time.

His defeated tone echoes through your mind. You wait for him to lift his head, to tell you that they’ve traveled or escaped.

He doesn’t.

You know.

You know exactly what Levi’s saying, but denial hits you like a ton of bricks.

Isabel’s cheeky, bright smile. Furlan’s all-too-cocky smirk. The sight of them in front of the blazing sun flashes through your mind until they evaporate into the light. 

Death is an old friend. She’s sat at your table in Roxy’s more times than you can say. Except this feeling, this dread, this sorrow cuts deep with an iron-hot knife and slices down your torso with little remorse.

Levi refuses to look you in the eye. You can almost feel it against your forearm: the tremble of his own hand as he holds onto you for dear life.

“...when?” you ask, but you barely hear your own voice.

A pause passes.

Levi lets go of your wrists, trailing his fingers down your forearms.

“Two weeks ago.”

Tears cling to your eyes but never fall. “How?”

“Titans,” he says, words dripping with guilt. “We thought we could handle them.”

“And you saw…?”

He swallows, coating his throat. “Yeah, I saw.”

That’s all he needs to say.

Woozy in your own stance, you fall back against the door and wait — for the sob, the wail, that’s right at the base of your throat, yet you make no noise.

You relent.

Slowly you feel your legs give out, from your calves to your knees, until you’re sat on the floor. Instinctively you reach for your necklace, your last line of stability, and hold the pendant between your thumb and index finger.

Blinking hard, you squeeze your eyes together in the hopes that the world will become clearer when you open them.

It’s still dark.

You can barely make out anything besides the silhouette of Levi Ackerman.

“So this is the surface,” you whisper to yourself. “This is what we always wanted.”

Leather creaks above you until that very silhouette drops to its knees. You feel it before you see it — the reach for his fingers to find yours. They’re not as strong in conviction as they once were, as if mending from being broken.

Then he speaks, and you almost miss his words completely.

“Don’t do it.”

When you lift your chin, the tears clouding your vision finally fall and warm your cheeks. Levi stares back at you, struggling between two worlds: the one he’s always known, and the one he’s had to make with you.

Just as you endured the last two months.

“Do what?” you ask despite yourself.

“Go after him,” Levi clarifies under his breath. “Any of them.”

Your brows furrow. “But they let Isabel and Furlan die.”

“I let Isabel and Furlan die,” he argues, as if he wishes he were dead right then and there. A bone-chilling confession, a woeful repentance at your altar, as if you can grant him forgiveness he cannot find within himself. When you open your mouth to ask, he continues. “Two weeks ago they put us on a mission. I went off on my own thinking I could kill Erwin myself. I thought I could handle it. I thought if I could sneak up on him, then I could get the documents we needed to escape — then I could go back to the Underground and get you out of there, too. Assassinating the commander was my only chance to save us. Sounds like a load of fairytale bullshit out loud.”

He doesn’t sound like himself.

What was once sure and earnest comes out fractured and uncertain. Like one false move, one gentle touch, and you’ll disappear like stardust in the night.

“But once I realized titans were flanking us from every side, it was no use,” he continues, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Titans got the upper hand and massacred everyone in sight. By the time I came back, you couldn’t tell where one body started and the other ended.”

“Levi—”

“So I’m not watching you die, too.”

His black hair shakes in the moonlight. Sorrow seeps into every syllable.

“I couldn’t save Isabel. I couldn’t save Furlan.” You can see just how much his jaw clenches, threatening to break his teeth in half. “I hoped they wouldn’t find you, but Erwin’s not fucking stupid. He needed a fighter."

We need a fighter. A softer, youthful version of Levi's voice from yesterday whispers in the still air.

Both times it was said to save you.

This time, however, it feels less like salvation and more like a certified death sentence.

"And this selfishness has already bit me in the ass, I know, but I can't—" He chokes on his words, frantic to hold onto his wits. He fails. His next words hitch on a crack in his voice. "If you die, I won’t—”

Propelled by grief, you scramble from the floorboards and rise to your knees, encircling your arms around his body to pull him against you.

His entire body goes rigid, impossibly tight. Too afraid to fight back. Too afraid to let go. You embrace his fear, absorb it, consume it, desperate to show him he's no longer alone.

That you're here to the bitter end, whatever that may look like for the two of you; a blaze of glory or a soft exhale into sleep.

Cradling the back of his head with the palm of your hand, your cheek presses to his cheek.

Warmth.

A sign of life.

I'm here. I'm alive.

He smells just as you remember.

He feels just as you remember.

“I won’t,” you vow against his ear. “I won’t go after them. I'll leave Erwin alone. I won’t die on you.”

Your words deflate his entire being.

Finally, finally, his arms wrap around you and crush your torso against his. In this dark, locked room, he can bury his nose into your skin and breathe — and it’s the slowest, shakiest breath you’ve ever heard.

“Promise,” he chokes. "Promise me."

You nod, face contorting in pain from the hurt in your heart. “I promise you, Levi. I swear it.”

He doesn’t reply.

For what feels like hours you both sit in silence, mourning — remembering — all that you’ve lost to get here. On the floor, in the dark, he holds you close while no one else can see. You embrace him with all your might.

(Until the bitter end — you can promise you'll live, that you'll be by his side, right until the last possible moment.)

Eventually he speaks quietly against your cheek. His words are languid again, smooth like hot tea.

“I saw your pack in my old room.”

Your heart flutters as you pull your head from his, staring him in the eye. Your vision has adjusted by now, focusing solely on his pale face.

“My what?”

“Pack,” he repeats. “They stuck you in our old room — Furlan and Isabel used to be in there, too.”

The bunk beds. A mixture of sadness and relief swirls in your gut.

"And where are you?"

"Erwin moved me into my own room. Said a captain should get their own space," his eyes flicker to yours. "It's just across from you."

You sit up straighter. "So you're... near me?"

Levi nods. “As if I’d be letting you out of my damn sight anyway. I spent the entire day trying to come up with a fucking excuse."

"For what, the logistics of me sneaking into your room when no one's watching?" you tease, but the humor is exhausted on your tongue.

"No one's ever caught you before," he replies with a wit that's entirely Levi. It almost makes you smile.

He runs a hand along your waistline, then raises his palm to lightly press the pad of his thumb against your lower lip.

“Erwin’s aware of our business connection, but I don’t think he knows…”

He trails off, seemingly memorized by the way your lip moves under the guidance, the pull, of his thumb.

A feeling stirs in your belly, one that has been dormant for weeks.

“...but you don’t think he knows beyond that,” you finish softly, bringing him back to reality. His gray eyes meet yours, half-lidded and exhausted. He nods once. “So we keep our past a secret.”

“Just us,” he agrees.

“For as long as we can,” you finish.

His thumb drops from your lip to your chin. Your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips.

Waiting.

"They opened the wine in the mess hall," you add in a murmur.

"Means those shitheads plan to pull an all-nighter," he murmurs back. "They have a thing for commiserating."

"So we have time." A beat passes. "And I'm just across the hall."

"My room's desolate," Levi warns.

"I don't give a fuck," you reply, refusing to waste another second.

Your hand seeks the nape of his neck.

His palms cradle the sides of your face.

And after what feels like an eternity, your lips crash.

.

author's note: WE GOT A REUNION AYE-YOOOOOO. So happy that these two very sad idiots found each other again. Sorry for the pain. We only have about 3 more chapters of flashbacks to go, and then we will be returning to the present.

Thank you so much for you patience and wonderful comments and reblogs and eeeeverything. Seriously. I am so very grateful for your support. A reminder that I am going to switch to a bi-weekly Friday update - I will see you for Chapter 18!

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore @ahxiaoshi @littlerequiem

#levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot fanfic #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x f!reader #levi x you #levi x reader #aot fic #snk fic #snk fanfic #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin fic #shingeki no kyojin fanfic #shingeki no kyoujin #wip series #amywritesthings #fic: silver underground #silver underground

[smh0217]

*Jaune and Winter are scouting out an area for Salem worshippers*

Jaune: Maybe we should take a break.

Winter: Excuse me? A break?

Jaune: Yeah, like a three-day leave! Everyone go off, recharge their mental batteries, come back refreshed, and like, ready to tackle our challenges.

Winter, incredulously: You want a vacation?

Jaune: I call it a Soul Sabbatical.

Winter: What are we, mailmen? This is a high priority Atlas Specialist mission. We don't get a vacation. We don't take sick days, we don't get paid overtime.

Jaune: Wait, Atlas Specialists don't get overtime?

Winter: That's right, we have a job to do and we're expected to stick wit- wait. Why, wh- do you?

Jaune: Get overtime? Yeah. Time and a half over forty hours, time and a half and a half after sixty.

Winter: ...really?

Jaune: You guys don't get that? That's crazy, you work so hard.

Winter: Tell me about it.

Jaune: You guys should go on strike.

Winter: We're not unionizing. So stop instigating.

Jaune: …

Winter: …

Jaune: ... Tell me they at least match your 401K.

Winter: Shut up.

#RWBY #Jaune Arc #Winter Schnee #source: Red vs Blue #incorrect rwby quotes

[deejadabbles]

HI DEEJA!!!

i am THIRSTING for Kix with:

44. “Don’t bother, I don’t need to take it all off to fuck you.”

Kira!! Thank you for sending this in, I need an excuse to explore writing Kix <3 got a little carried away with this one (*clone wars announcer voice* "will Deeja ever be able to write smut without complex feelings? Only time will tell!" spoiler alert, the answer is probably no) but I hope it satisfies!

Kix x Fem!reader 18+ minors DNI Word count: 1,239 Warnings: fingering, worried Kix, mentions of anxiety.

Eyes tracked a frantic man as he paced back and forth on the landing zone. It was astonishing what a mere hour of worry could do to a man, especially a man hardened by war. 

“Vod, you need to calm-”

“Jesse,” for once, Kix’s tone was deadly and not even the kind of deadly he used with his medic voice. Instead, his brother’s name was hissed through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed on the other man, “if you tell me to calm down, I swear to the maker.”

Kix didn’t have to elaborate on the threat, Jesse knew full well what his friend was capable of when pushed. But, more than that, he knew his brother was just venting, frustrated. Scared. Above all, Kix was scared.

Barely more than sixty standard minutes had passed since the camp lost contact with your scouting party, sixty standard minutes of Kix working himself into a frenzy on every possibility of what could have happened. If it was anyone but you, Kix would have stayed calmer, would have reminded himself that loss of contact wasn’t too out of the ordinary. The separatist comm disruptors were still being taken down by the various squads working across the planet, comms being jammed was to be expected. But this was you, things were different when it came to you.

For Kix, things were always different when it came to you.

Jesse was just contemplating how hard it would be to pull rank and order Kix to go back to his bunk when he saw a flash on the horizon. Thank the force!

Kix must have seen Jesse look, because he was instantly snapping his own eyes to the sky, and he let out a shaky breath when he saw the republic ship coming in. It looked unscathed, but Kix still held his breath, still watched with his heart pounding in his chest as it closed in and landed.

The medic rushed to the party unloading, eyes scanning, searching, until-

“Kix?”

You had just pulled off your helmet as you hopped down from the transport and the look in your eyes said you clocked his worry in an instant.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to keep his tone even, distracted as he looked you up and down, searching for any minor mark and scrape.

When your hand touched his cheek, Kix’s frantic gaze snapped up to yours. 

“Hey, hey, we’re okay, Kix. Everyone’s okay. We just had our comms jammed, like Rex warned us might happen.”

His breath was still caught in his chest, sticking on the barbed wire of his worry, even as he looked into your eyes, even as your hand stroked his cheek. Eyes that crinkled at the corners from your reassuring smile, the hand that helped eased every tension in his body. You were safe, but something was still clawing at his insides. 

Without thinking, Kix took your hand in his, turned, and started walking.

Being all but dragged behind him, you called out, “Wait- Kix, what are you doing? I have to debrief-”

“I don’t care.”

He didn’t like the strain in his tone as he made his way to the camp proper, but he paid it little mind. When he reached a tent meant to store ordnance and other supplies, he pulled you ahead of him, urging you inside. The moment both of you were shielded from prying eyes, Kix was on you, yanking you hard against his chest and crushing his lips to yours.

You made a noise, somewhere between a protest, a squeak, and a heavenly moan, and his mouth swallowed it whole.

“Worried,” he managed, still devouring you as if it was the first time, “was so worried. Thought I-” he moaned hot against your lips when you gripped the back of his head, all thoughts, even the half-coherent ones, falling from his mind entirely.

For now, he just focused on you, the feel of you, the taste of you, even the sound of you when you let out that little gasp as he pushed you back against a stack of crates. Kix hadn’t meant for heat to start low in his stomach. 

All he had wanted was a moment alone, to kiss you, to hold you, to breathe you in before he handed you over to his COs. But now, now that he felt you pushing against him, now that the air in his lungs was being stolen by you and not his blinding anxiety, now, Kix needed more.

He pushed you harder against the crates, hips pressing firmly so you understood his intentions as he finally moved his mouth to start sucking and nipping at your neck. The breathy way his name left your lips sent him over the edge in an instant.

“I need you,” he growled against your skin and you responded by reaching fingers to the clasps of his chestpiece. He continued to suckle and lick the spots he knew made you weak as you fumbled with the armor and finally Kix grabbed your wrists, holding them tight. “Don’t bother, I don’t need to take it off to fuck you.”

Fucking hell, the sound you made at his words was sinful.

The medic leaned back, just a little, as he released your wrists. He tried to keep his actions calm, he truly did, but Kix knew he looked frantic as he bit into the fingertip of his glove and pulled it off with his teeth. With his eyes locked on yours, he pressed his bare fingers to your mouth, while his other hand reached down for your belt.

When you flicked your tongue out to pull him into your mouth, the glove fell from his teeth, tumbling somewhere forgotten on the tent floor. He almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing as he watched you suck on his fingers, making them nice and slick. Again, Kix could barely control the neediness of his movements as he pulled them out and unbuckled your belt.

You kept your eyes on his as he lowered his hand, tucking them between your bodies, then your head pitched back when he slid the wet digits between your folds. He made sure to palm your clit with the heel of his hand as he dipped inside, watching you bite your lip with a moan of his own. 

As you bucked into his touch, Kix leaned in, pressing his lips to your ear. “I can fuck you just like this, mesh’la. I don’t even need my cock to make you come.”

“Bu-” your word was lost when he pressed a little harder, laying firm attention on every sensitive spot.

“What was that?” his purr was teasing and he pressed a kiss just below your ear. That’s when he pulled his fingers out, your slick now coating them thoroughly. He took the tips and rubbed them along your clit, moved them just the way he knew you loved. “Come on, love, what were you going to say?”

When he nuzzled your cheek you turned into his touch, pecking his lips before you found your voice again, “I want your cock too, please, Kix.”

He hummed, delighting in the way you called for him, the way you needed him. Maker, you were perfection.

Kix never stopped stroking you as his other hand went to his codpiece. “Well, since you asked so nicely. Just be good for me, my sweet girl.”

Tag list: @blueink-bluesoul @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @arcsimper5

#don't worry jesse is a good bro and covered for you guys lol #kix x reader #clone medic kix x reader #tcw kix x reader #deeja writes #kix smut #spicy lemons

[girlactionfigure]

The Silent Holocaust Hero

Legendary mime Marcel Marceau saved hundreds of lives.

Marcel Marceau’s extraordinary talent for pantomime entertained audiences around the world for over sixty years. It also saved hundreds of Jewish children during the Holocaust.

Born to a Jewish family in Strasbourg, France in 1923, young Marcel Mangel discovered Charlie Chaplin at age five and became an avid fan. He entertained his friends with Chaplin imitations, and dreamed of starring in silent movies.

When Marcel was 16, the Nazis marched into France, and the Jews of Strasbourg – near the German border – had to flee for their lives. Marcel changed his last name to Marceau to avoid being identified as Jewish, and joined the French resistance movement.

Masquerading as a boy scout, Marcel evacuated a Jewish orphanage in eastern France. He told the children he was taking them on a vacation in the Alps, and led them to safety in Switzerland. Marcel made the perilous journey three times, saving hundreds of Jewish orphans.

He was able to avoid detection by entertaining the children with silent pantomime.

Documentary filmmaker Phillipe Mora, whose father fought alongside Marcel in the French resistance, said, ”Marceau started miming to keep children quiet as they were escaping. It had nothing to do with show business. He was miming for his life.’’

Marcel’s father perished at Auschwitz. Marcel later said, “The people who came back from the camps were never able to talk about it. My name is Mangel. I am Jewish. Perhaps that, unconsciously, contributed towards my choice of silence.”

While fighting with the French resistance, Marcel ran into a unit of German soldiers. Thinking fast, he mimicked the advance of a large French force, and the German soldiers retreated.

Word spread throughout the Allied forces of Marcel’s remarkable talent as a mime. In his first major performance, Marcel entertained 3,000 US troops after the liberation of Paris in August 1944. Later in life, he expressed great pride that his first review was in the US Army newspaper, Stars and Stripes.

In 1947, Marcel created his beloved character Bip, a childlike everyman with a stovepipe hat and a red carnation. For the next six decades, Marcel was the world’s foremost master of the art of silence. Pop star Michael Jackson credited Marcel with inspiring his famous moonwalk.

In 2001, Marcel was awarded the Wallenberg Medal for his acts of courage during the Holocaust. When the award was announced, people speculated on whether Marcel would give an acceptance speech. He replied, “Never get a mime talking, because he won’t stop.”

Until his death at age 84, Marcel performed 300 times a year and taught 4 hours a day at his pantomime school in Paris. He died on Yom Kippur, 2007.

#Thursday Hero

[softsan]

NCT WEREWOLF AU (AESTHETIC)

A remake of this: X

Taeyong

alpha

seven hundred and one years old

suspicious and dubious of humans

puts his pack above all

can be rash and unforgiving

encounters his mate on a non-routine hunt

mate: councilman's daughter

Taeil

elder

eight hundred and fifty-six years old

oldest member of the pack

works as an adviser to the alpha and the betas

breaks up and resolves pack conflicts

stumbles onto his mate who's wearing a disguise

mate: physician

Johnny

hunter

four hundred and eighty-nine years old

has the best sense of smell in the pack

the pack's number-one tracker.

exceptional at mauling his enemies.

left heartbroken by his mate's rejection

mate: rival pack member

Yuta

hunter

four hundred and sixty-seven years old

incredibly quick and stealthy

is labeled the 'ambusher' for his cut-throat hunting tactics

despises the prospect of a mate

believes fate is cruel and callous

mate: city guardian

Kun

beta

six hundred and eighteen years old

second in command

rules in taeyong's absence

known to be morally strict and stern

goes against his beliefs by stealing his mate away

mate: stolen bride

Doyoung

delta

five hundred and thirty-two years old  

is the support unit of the pack

on standby to fulfill the duties of ill or injured packmates

finds himself in a hopeless situation

accidentally marks his mate in a poisoned haze

mate: north's princess

Ten

head scout

five hundred and sixteen years old

has an unparalleled control of his inner wolf

works as the pack's eyes and ears in the city

warns the pack of dangers outside their territory

overcomes his heartbreak by meeting a nifty pickpocket

mate: thief

Jaehyun

delta

four hundred and forty-nine years old

strongest member of the pack

formidable opponent in battle

responsible for guarding the pack's territory

comes across his mate in the scorching sands

mate: she-wolf

Winwin

sentinel

four hundred and three years old

routinely patrols the pack's territory

greats new visitors and learns their intentions

will harshly punish aggressive and disrespectful intruders

accidentally kidnaps his mate instead of his actual target

mate: royal governess

Jungwoo

scout

three hundred and twenty-one years old

has great command of his inner wolf

can avoid shifting on a full moon

gathers and shares information for the pack

blown away by his sweet mate

mate: royal maidservant

Mark

delta

three hundred and twelve years old

known to be sunny but stubborn

incredibly fast learner

teaches hunting skills to younger pack members

saved by his mysterious and magical mate

mate: thread coven witch

Renjun

salutary

two hundred and sixty-three years old

is the pack's herbalist

makes tonics and concoctions for his fellow wolves

plagued by dreams of the past

gives the cold shoulder to his mate

mate: old soul

Jeno

hunter

two hundred forty-eight years old

a distinguished pack fighter

often organizes hunts

is the first to volunteer to go on nightly patrols

captured by his formidable mate

mate: general's daughter

Haechan

omega

two hundred and twenty-four years old

rash and impulsive

has poor control over his inner wolf

frustrated by his low status within the pack

taken in by his beloved mate

mate: baker

Jaemin

hunter

two hundred and twenty-two years old

very talented tracker

is the most versed with their territory's terrain

lovestruck by the idea of love and fate

has his memory wiped by his elusive mate

mate: siren

Xiaojun

scout

one hundred and eleven years old

has mastered controlling his inner beast

recently elevated to the position of scout

is eager to prove himself within the pack

rescues his mate from the cruelty of humans

mate: seer

Hendery

hunter

eighty-three years old

loves running under the moon's light

known for his great speed and stealth

recently elevated to the position of hunter

taken down by his fearless mate

mate: assassin

YangYang

omega

twenty-three years old

only recently had his first transformation

is the pack's forager

searches for plants and provisions to help feed the pack

is reunited with his childhood friend and mate

mate: greenskeeper

Chenle

pup

twenty-two years old

is eager for his first transformation

spent his early years on the run with his aunt

thankful to be accepted into a pack

ambushed by his wicked mate

mate: star coven witch

Jisung

pup

twenty-one years old

is nervous about his first transformation

last to join the pack

spent years hiding underground from humans

shyly taken by his doting mate

mate: seamstress

#nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct dream #nct fanfiction #nct werewolf au #nct agnst #nct fanfic #nct 127 #nct u #kpop #wayv #wayv au #wayv fanfiction #nct dream fanfiction #nct moodboards #nct au #nct icons #nct fanfiction au #nct fantasy au #nct dream fanfic #nct reactions #nct dream reactions #nct 127 reactions #wayv reactions #nct headcanons #nct x reader #kpop moodboard #kpop icons #kpop fanfic

[sardonic-the-writer]

You van now marry me because I am interested in your tf2 headcanons

Tell me more please

so happy someone asked for this. giving your forhead a big fat smooch. also, i would habe included tracker in these, but i feel like that would have been a bit self pretentious

scout

• good artist. has drawn tom jones fanart before

• knows a little bit of french; his mom made him learn. also knows a few french songs because of this

• bisexual but battles with it a lot

• really appreciates his teammates and conciders all of them—except for maybe spy—to be his best friends

• terrified of medical procedures and terrible at hiding it

soldier

• brightest blue eyes you've ever seen

• wears underwear with the pattern of the american flag on them

• doesn't know it's not normal to have gay thoughts. literally would kiss a man sloppy style and then not understand why everyones looking at him. probably straight, but makes exceptions

• has had his hands cut off at least five times before. it's getting concerning at this point

pryo

• uses asl with their team and teaches those who don't know. they'll still use muffled sounds to communicate though

• has no gender actually. not trans, not cis, but a secret third thing

• aroace! latches so strongly onto platonic relationships though its actually insane

• attends bonfires with enigneer sometimes

• has a pair of onsie pajamas that they wear over their suit to bed at night

heavy

• is definitely in love with medic, no doubts to be had

• has a PHD in russian literature! a very smart fella, he just has trouble speaking his mind in english

• gay. so so gay. mlm all day

• the only merc to regularly check out books from teuforts library sans soldier. although he doesn't really check out books, he just yells at the librarian for not carrying sun tzu's the art of war

• sings little songs to sasha in russian

demomam

• has scars all over his chest from an accident with a grenade he had as a kid

• sends lots of post cards and souvenirs to his mom when he's on the job. he really loves her

• actually used to style his hair in dreads when he was a little bit younger, but just doesn't have time to do much with his hair anymore

• so casually bisexual; especially considering it's the sixties and seventies. takes interest in both men and women

• best friends with both his and the other teams soldier!

sniper

• his camper is such a mess all of the time. only ever cleans if he knows someone's going to be visiting, and even then there's a few stray piss bottles laying around

• plays poker & other card games with scout all the time. when they can't bet money, they'll end up using other things to play, like bullets or stray snacks

• thinks he likes both men and women. tries not to dwell on it too much since he gets anxious about it, but at the end of the day can't deny that he finds men attractive as well

• has a mug that says world's number one best sniper that miss pauling got him

engineer

• shortest mercenary r.i.p

• parental figure to pyro

• one of the only good cooks at the base. often ends up making dinner for everyone even if it's someone else's turn to cook that night

• has a prosthetic arm that he built from scratch & spends a lot of his time adding to/upgrading

• probably straight, but the biggest ally you'd ever meet

spy

• genderfluid. has a few lady disguises he's had to use before, and is just as comfortable in them as any other one of his disguises. definitely had gay sex with scouts mom before

• reverts to straight french when he gets irritated or upset

• heavily bisexual and very open about it with any of his partners. a man/womanizer

• the only merc with a sense of fashion to be frank. have you seen everyone else. soldier thinks being naked and covered in honey is the epitome of fashion for fucks sake

medic

• probably knows more about the medical field than any other doctor at the time. is actively dropping some medical talk & procedures that won't even be invented until a few decades later. he's fun like that

• owns one pair of regular clothes. everything else is lab coats and black pants. maybe a turtleneck or two if you're lucky

• super mega über gay for heavy. see what i did there

• also, i'd like to headcanon that he needs glasses because he's nearsighted of all things. it makes performing surgery hard without them

#tf2 #tf2 headcanons #medic #demoman #sniper #spy #scout #heavy #pyro #soldier #engineer #headcanons #sardonics moots #sardonic rambles

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

It's kind of funny that the tf2 fandom is split into a bunch of different groups, like the stark difference between how more straight male dominated side of the community with r/tf2 only ever ironically post about 'gay buff men' vs how the tumblr/ao3 side of the community sincerely want to fuck these geriatric men

I would honestly split it up even further. Here's my analysis of how different types of people in the tf2 community and how they treat the physicality of the tf2 guys:

r/tf2 type who "ironically" posts about gay buff men and femboy Scout and whatever. Spent seventy real, live, American dollars the Burly Beast "as a joke". If not closeted gay or trans, this type is at least a closeted ally.

r/tf2 type who finds any sexualization of the tf2 men to be viscerally repulsive, even "as a joke." Can be split up even further into "depicts the tf2 guys all as saggy old men for weird comedy purposes" and "depicts the tf2 guys all as muscle-bound Greek gods for weird masculinity purposes". Either way, this is a guy who gets mad at the Gnarliest Garb.

Tf2blr type who is attracted to the tf2 guys, but only if they ascribe to more socially conventional standards of masculine attractiveness. Think, 2014-ish fandom years. Medic is a buff-slim 30-something-lookin ass with the personality of a businessman daddy dom archetype. He's most often straight, but sometimes bi. Other characters, like Sniper and Spy, are also inexplicably muscle-bound daddy doms obsessed with y/n. Everyone else is ignored.

Tf2blr type who is attracted to the tf2 guys, but only through an odd, outdated, "yaoi sin bucket" type of fandom culture standard of masculine attractiveness. Sniper and Spy are thin, curvy, pale, hairless 20-something sexyboys who yaoi out with each other.

Tf2blr type who is attracted to the tf2 guys when presented as saggy old men (or yknow, Tumblr's idea of "old men". No one in tf2 is "geriatric", Medic's like. fifty, maybe sixty). This is the most modern type, and is probably what you, dear reader, are most familiar with. This isn't a type immune of its problems, honestly, I find it susceptible to honestly many of the pitfalls of the previous types (an almost infantilized, misogynistic way of treating characters deemed to be "babygirl", and on the other end of the spectrum, a reactionary, imo homophobic push to Protect The Masculinity of the tf2 guys by insisting that they're BUFF and HAIRY and not fa- I mean "twinks") and its own new issues (conflating a man being a little chubby with "being old". "Demo should have a beer belly because he's Old" actually he probably isn't old and even if he's not, a beer belly is not a "sign of aging", anyone can look like that). Either way, I do appreciate its prevalence now. If it means we can fucking Finally stop drawing Medic tf2 with a six pack I'll die happy

#ask #anon #tf2 #team fortress 2

[chimachapterbooks]

A Web of Wood

“This place is crazy," said Gorzan as the group walked down a shadowy jungle path. "I've never seen plants like this before."

"Well, it gives me the creeps," said Worriz. "In case you didn't notice, we're boxed in on every side. We couldn't get off this road if we wanted to."

Worriz was right. Thick tangles of vines surrounded the warriors with broad leaves and dozens of long, sharp thorns on each strand.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying this part of the journey was Rogon's Rhinoceros Legend Beast. He happily trudged along, sniffing leaves as they went.

The friends had saved the Rhinoceros Legend Beast from the Outland Tribes a few days before. Now, the Beast was joining them on their journey. As the heroes continued through the jungle, the great Rhino discovered that the green leaves on the vines tasted really good. So he kept lagging behind to munch on them.

Suddenly, Eris swooped down from above. She had been scouting the path ahead for danger. "Oh, Laval, we've got trouble!" she called.

"What now?" groaned Cragger. "Bats? Scorpions? Pits of flame? Toxic mud creatures forty feet high?"

"I think you have to see it to believe it," said Eris. "Go around the bend. You can't miss it."

Laval and the group did as she said. When they rounded the corner, they stopped and stared. A few of them rubbed their eyes to make sure they weren't seeing things.

Looming in front of them was an enormous Spider Web unlike anything they had ever seen. It was as wide as the jungle path and rose at least sixty feet into the air. But it wasn't made out of Spider silk-it was made out of wood!

The Spiders had meticulously constructed the towering web out of thick tree trunks, locking them together to form an impassable blockade.

"It's a barrier," said Laval, "and I'm not sure how we can get through it."

"Why go through when we can go over?" asked Razar.

"He's right," said Eris. "Razar and I can fly above it. Maybe together we can carry the rest of you, one by one." Laval took a few steps back and peered up at the web.

Yes, it wasn't so high that the Eagle and Raven couldn't make it over. The top part did look kind of strange, though.

In the upper sections of the web, there were rows and rows of smaller tree limbs with sharpened ends. All of them were lined up so that their points faced the sky.

"What do you think, Worriz?" asked Laval.

The Wolf frowned. He didn't know much about Spiders or their webs, but he did know a lot about traps. This thing gave him a bad feeling.

"I think it can't be that easy," Worriz replied. "But if those two want to try it, let 'em. I don't have any better ideas."

Laval looked at Eris and nodded once. She immediately shot up into the sky, soaring toward the top of the web.

Just as she started to pass over it, one of the sharpened tree limbs shot out at her! Eris screeched in surprise and just barely managed to dodge it.

A second one grazed her wing and almost knocked her out of the sky. Shaken, she flew back to the ground.

"Wow," Eris said, shaking her head. "That thing is dangerous!"

Bladvic the Bear opened his sleepy eyes. "Knock it down," he said through a yawn.

"Right, and how do we do that without bringing it down on our heads?" asked Laval.

But the Bear had fallen back to sleep again. Laval didn't bother to wake him. The answer was obvious:

There was no way to bring the web down without risking everyone being crushed. Even trying to carefully take it apart would be risky-one wrong move and the whole thing could crash to the ground.

"Maybe we could dig a tunnel and go underneath it?" suggested Eris.

"It would have to be an awfully huge tunnel," said Cragger. "Rogon's Legend Beast isn't exactly slim... and with the way he's eating those leaves, he's just going to get bigger."

"How about climbing it?" asked Gorzan. "I could go first, since I'm the best climber. Might be a groovy experience."

"Or your last," said Worriz. "What we need is someone who knows all about Spiders and their webs."

"Ha! The thing is simplicity itself!"

Everybody turned around at once. The words had come from Rogon. His whole expression had changed from dull and friendly to confident and brilliant. His eyes gleamed and his mouth curled into a knowing smile.

"Oh, here we go again," sighed Worriz.

Ever since they had freed Rogon's Legend Beast, something odd had been happening. Whenever the Legend Beast got close to Rogon, the young Rhino suddenly went from not too bright to incredibly smart.

But if the Legend Beast wandered away, Rogon would go back to his old self.

"Hey, if he has an idea, I want to hear it," said Laval,

"An idea?" said Rogon. "Why, it's so easy a calf could figure it out."

"Great," said Worriz. "Let's find a calf and ask him, then."

"No, let's give him a chance," said Laval. "Rogon, do you know a way to take the web apart?"

"Naturally," said Rogon. "You can take it apart quite easily... from the other side."

"Well, that's a lot of help," grumbled Worriz. "Got any more good news?"

Rogon chuckled. "Oh, my Wolfish friend, how amusing.

The answer to our problem is obvious to anyone who understands Spider methods of construction. It's all about safe strands, you see."

"Safe strands?" asked Cragger. "What are those?"

Rogon looked over his shoulder, then back at the Crocodile. "Um, I don't know. Is this a test? I didn't know we were having a test today."

"The Legend Beast wandered away again," growled Laval. "Somebody go get him back."

"I'll go," said Worriz.

The Wolf ran off. Most of the leaves near where the team was standing had been eaten, so Worriz guessed the Legend Beast had gone back down the path looking for any he had missed. Sure enough, that was where he found the great creature. It only took a little gentle persuasion to get him heading in the right direction.

Once the Legend Beast was back with the group, Rogon's manner abruptly changed.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes, safe strands ... When a Spider builds a web, he can't very well make it so that he himself will get stuck when walking on it, right?"

"That makes sense," agreed Laval.

"So, some strands are not sticky," explained Rogon. "They are safe for the Spider to walk on."

"Hey, I see it now," said Gorzan. "There must be some pieces of that web that are safe for us to climb on. Those are the ones the Spiders used when they were building it. If we can figure out which ones they are, we can make it through."

"What about the Legend Beast?" asked Eris. "He can't climb."

"Never fear, my avian ally," said Rogon. "I have ideas about that, too. But first..."

Rogon stood very still and stared at the web for a few minutes. Then he nodded. "Yes. Oh, how interesting, a fine piece of work indeed. There is a precise mathematical pattern to the placement of the pieces. Using that knowledge, I can safely chart our course through the web. Follow me!"

One by one, the travelers started to climb up the giant wooden structure. Rogon patiently led them, moving carefully from tree trunk to tree trunk. Everyone had been warned to do exactly what he did.

“A single misstep," Rogon reminded them, "and we will end up at the bottom of a very large woodpile."

They had made it about halfway through the web when Rogon stopped. "Hmmmm," he said.

"Hmmmm, what?" asked Laval. "Is that a good hmmmm or a bad hmmmm?"

"The pattern has been altered," said Rogon. "They changed something ... let me see ... oh, yes, I see it now, it's ... it's.."

"What?" Laval asked loudly.

"Wow, it's cool up here," Rogon answered. "But how do we get down?"

Laval slapped a hand to his forehead. Cragger would have beaten his head against one of the tree trunks if he knew which ones were safe. Instead, Laval said, "Worriz. Legend Beast. Now."

Grumbling, the Wolf retraced his path and went to find the Legend Beast. Meanwhile, the wait had made Bladvic doze off again. His head started to droop, and he slumped against one of the pieces of the web. Eris spotted what was happening and lunged at him, struggling to lift his head off the tree trunk.

"He hit the wrong piece!" she shouted as the others nearby helped her prop up the Bear.

But it was too late. The web was already starting to teeter. High above, pieces were rocking with enough force to disconnect from one another.

"Let's go!" said Cragger. "What difference does it make how we get over now as long as we make it over?"

"Wait, there's still a chance, if Worriz brings back the Legend Beast," said Laval. "Hang on!"

They could see Worriz in the distance. But the huge Rhino behind him kept stopping to snack on the few leaves he could spot. Worriz looked back in frustration.

Too bad that web doesn't have leaves, the Wolf thought. Hey, wait a minute...

Moving as fast as he could, Worriz raced back and forth down the trail, gathering as many leaves as he could.

Once he had a large armful, he ran back toward the web.

The Legend Beast picked up the scent of his new favorite food and followed.

By the time Worriz reached the web the Legend Beast was close enough for Rogon to become smart again.

"Drop the leaves and get up here," Razar yelled.

"He'll eat them all in a couple of seconds and wander off again," Worriz replied. "We need to keep him close to Rogon."

Arms full of leaves, Worriz somehow managed to climb back up to where he had been. Fortunately, being a Wolf, his nose was sensitive enough to follow the scent of his companions across the right pieces of the web.

"See? It's working!" said Worriz. "He's not wandering away!"

"Indeed," said Rogon. "But it is perhaps too successful of a plan. Look!"

Worriz glanced down. The hungry Legend Beast really wanted the leaves Worriz was carrying and was trying to climb the web himself!

"Go! Go! Go!" Laval yelled at Rogon.

Rogon climbed as fast as he could, his amazing brain able to spot every change in the pattern that the Spiders had built into the web. The others raced along behind him, being careful to step where he stepped even as the web shook all around them.

"Success!" yelled Rogon as he made it safely over to the other side of the web. He climbed down about halfway and then jumped toward the ground, rolling for a long way before coming to a stop. Laval and the rest followed after him, but there was no time to celebrate.

The web was still in danger of collapsing on the Legend Beast.

"Rogon," said Laval, "we need to take this thing down! Can you do it?"

The Rhino nodded and said, "Yes, I see the key. There had to be a way the Spiders could dismantle this, and what they can do, we can do! But we'd better do it fast."

"I know!" cried Laval as one of the tree limbs tumbled off the web, crashing beside him. "Tell us what to do!"

Rogon explained, "Our resident masters of aviation must help us disassemble the ingenious contraption from an elevated level while we un-winged companions assist from our terrestrial positions."

The others looked at him in complete confusion.

"What?!" they cried together.

Rogon smiled. "The spikes at the top only point the other way. They are no longer a threat to our winged allies. Eris and Razar must fly up and drop us the logs one by one."

Quickly, the Eagle and Raven shot up into the sky. But on the other side, the Rhino Legend Beast was becoming very frustrated that he couldn't get to the leaves Worriz was holding. He started to grunt and snort, nudging at the web with his giant horn. The entire web teetered.

"He's going to collapse itl" cried Laval.

Razar called down to Worriz. "My friend, you must keep the Beast distracted while we do our part, or we are all doomed."

"He's right!" exclaimed Eris. "Worriz, run back and forth so the Legend Beast chases after you instead of trying to break through the web. That will give us time to take it apart."

"You want me to do what?" exclaimed Worriz. "Uggh. Fine. But just watch where you're dropping those logs. Remember, I'm the only thing keeping that Beast from bringing down the whole web on top of us all."

Grumbling loudly, Worriz began running back and forth on his side of the web. He held out the leaves in plain sight for the Legend Beast to see.

The plan worked. The Legend Beast chased after him to the right edge of the web ... then to the left... then back again. The ground trembled with its thundering footsteps. But at least it wasn't trying to collapse the web.

Swiftly, Razar and Eris dismantled the tottering contraption piece by piece from the top. Each time they pulled off a new log they would drop it down to their friends below. They followed Rogon's instructions exactly on which pieces to pull out next.

Soon, the heroes were surrounded by piles and piles of wood. But there was no more web.

The Legend Beast happily lumbered over the dismantled branches and began munching on the leaves Worriz was holding.

"That was a close one." Laval breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Rogon. Without you, we would have been goners."

"Hey, what about me?" complained Worriz. "I was the one who got that Legend Beast close enough to keep Rogon smart, and I'm the one who distracted it while you took that giant web apart. Where's my thanks?"

Just then, the Legend Beast sniffed Worriz. The tasty scent of leaves still lingered on the Wolf's fur. The Legend Beast gave Worriz a great big lick.

"It seems you have your thanks, my friend," said Razar.

"Yeah." Laval chuckled. "As long as you smell like those leaves, that Legend Beast won't be wandering away from us anymore."

Worriz groaned as the Legend Beast licked him again. "Some thanks."

Everyone laughed.

#I feel so conflicted about this story because it’s definitely not my favorite cause feels like the dumbest one #but it has some good art and has my favorite art style #and there are some moments I like #I just like these guys interacting more #legends of chima #chima #lego chima #lego legends of chima #for chima #laval the lion #cragger the crocodile #chima laval #eris the eagle #lego chima laval #razar the raven #worriz the wolf #gorzan the gorilla #bladvic the bear #rogon the rhino

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Sixty

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends,

As ever, thank you so so much for your love on this fic. It means so much.

I cannot believe we are at 60 chapters on this fic!! It's truly mindblowing, and I am so so grateful you are all still here for the ride. As I always say, I love this version of them and have a lot of plans for them - so as long as you are still enjoying it, I'll still write it! This chapter also brings us to the 200k words mark for this fic!!

Since we are celebrating two milestones with this chapter...it's a bit of a special one, loosely based on a Castle episode.

I look forward to the yelling.

As always, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 6.3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily curses under her breath as she rushes around the kitchen, grabs her phone and shoves it into her pocket. 

She was running late. 

Her team had been called in to scout out an abandoned building that was thought to be the base of an unsub who had sent bomb threats to several politicians. It was rare for her to leave for work before Aaron and it had disrupted their morning routine, making her feel off-kilter. Aaron had taken over with Lily that morning, right down to feeding her to give her time to get ready. It meant Emily hadn’t nursed her little girl like she usually did first thing in the morning, something that she liked to do, the quiet time that was often just her and Lily precious to her.

Emily pats herself down, ensuring she has everything she needs, and she winces as she swallows down a gulp of far too hot coffee. She walks out into the hallway and feels herself calm down the moment she sees Aaron standing there, Lily on his hip and a muslin thrown over his shoulder to protect his suit because Lily had only just had her breakfast. The little girl had a knack for spitting up on their work clothes more than she did on anything else they wore, Aaron always joked it was their daughter’s way of protesting them going to work. 

“Look princess,” Aaron says, tickling Lily’s belly to pull a laugh out of her, smiling when the sweet sound does what he’d hoped for and eases some of the tension in Emily’s shoulders, “Mommy is all ready to go.” 

She smiles and walks over, pressing a kiss to Aaron’s cheek, “I used to be able to get ready so much quicker than this.” 

“To be fair, sweetheart,” he says, adjusting his hold on Lily so he can wrap an arm around Emily and pull her closer, allowing himself to enjoy a moment with both of his girls in his arms, “You never used to have to feed a baby or pump before you left the house in the morning.” 

She hums in agreement and reaches over to cup Lily’s head, running her fingers through the baby’s soft hair. 

“That is true sweet girl, I used to be much more punctual before you,” she leans forward and kisses Lily’s cheek, smiling when she giggles again, “Good thing you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she looks at her watch and groans, “I need to go, my boss hates me enough as it is.” 

“Carson doesn’t hate you, Em,” Aaron replies, smiling wryly at his wife. 

“Well, he doesn’t like me as much as my old boss did,” she says, raising her eyebrow and smirking at him. He narrows his eyes playfully. 

“Considering you married your last boss I should hope he doesn’t.” 

She chuckles and leans in to kiss Lily’s forehead, “Mommy loves you, baby,” she says, pulling away again, “I’ll see you later.”

Aaron smiles at  her and raises his eyebrow, “What about me?”

She winks at him and kisses his cheek, “Mommy loves you too,” she jokes and he grimaces, making her laugh again and she stamps a kiss against his lips, “Love you, honey.” 

“Love you too, sweetheart.” 

She pulls away and grabs her bag from the floor, smiling as she turns back to look at them, “See you later.” 

He waves goodbye, smiling when Lily does the same, and turns his attention back to her when the door closes.

“Well, Lily-Pad, looks like it’s just the two of us. And it’s almost time for you to go to daycare.” He says, and Lily spits up, in response, managing to narrowly miss the muslin on his shoulder, staining his suit jacket. He sighs and starts to walk upstairs, “Okay, change of clothes first, then daycare.”

___

“Nice for you to join us, Prentiss.”

Emily forces a smile onto her face as she walks over to her team, her bosses clipped words in the air around them, an attempt to embarrass her that she won’t let him have. She comes to a stop when she’s level with them all, “Sorry, sir.” 

Peter Carson raises his eyebrow at her but doesn’t say anything else as he starts to address the team as a whole, “We need to check every floor. Bomb squad has done a sweep already and did not find any devices. Pair off to make it quicker,” he looks at Emily and then the man on her left, “Connors, you’re with Prentiss. Show her the ropes. You guys take the fourth floor.” 

Emily clenches her teeth to stop herself from saying anything until he’s out of earshot, flanked by other members of the team as they start to walk into the building. Once Carson is out of earshot she rolls her eyes.

“Show her the ropes,” she mutters under her breath, “I’ve been in the FBI since I was 24. I think I can handle a building sweep,” she hears a chuckle next to her and narrows her eyes at him. Steve Connors was the closest thing she had to a friend in the counterterrorism unit. He was old school, and had been around for so long everyone always joked he was like part of the furniture. He reminded her of Dave, and it was always nice to have someone on her side. “What’s so funny Connors?” 

He shrugs at her, “I’ve told you before, Prentiss,” he says, “You’re still the new kid on the team. He’ll let up eventually.”

“I’ve been here four months,” she grumbles as they enter the building, ‘When do I stop being the new kid?” 

They walk up the stairs to the second floor, their footsteps loud on the metal steps, echoing around them in the otherwise silent building, “As soon as someone else joins the team.” 

She huffs out a breath and shakes her head as he opens the door for her and lets her in ahead of him, “Excellent,” she replies sarcastically, looking back over her shoulder at him as she walks further into the room, “So I have to deal with this until you retire or die of old age at your desk.”

His response is cut off as she takes a step and a loud click rings throughout the room. It echoes, bouncing off the bare walls, seemingly taunting them as it makes its way back to them, louder than it had been before. She looks at the ground beneath her and sees that the floorboards are new, a fresh patch of wood in comparison to the rest of it, stark and bright against the rest of the grimy and partially rotten floor.

“What the hell was that-”

“Don’t come any closer,” she says, cutting him off, desperately staying as still as she can, her body tight as she tries not to move, “I…I think I’m standing on a pressure plate.” 

Steve’s eyes go wide as he looks at her, his eyes drifting back down to the floor, “You’re standing on a bomb.”

She swallows thickly, her breath shaky as she replies, not even daring to nod her head, worried that the slightest movement could set off the explosives beneath her feet.

“Yeah,” she replies, “I’m standing on a bomb.” 

___

Aaron rolls his neck as he moves another completed case file from the ‘to-do’ pile to the ‘completed’ one. He hated paperwork just as much as everyone else, but he was grateful for it when it meant he wasn’t away on a case, when it meant he’d be able to go home to his wife and daughter instead of to an empty hotel room in the middle of nowhere.

He smiles when he looks at the pictures he has on his desk, a double frame with a picture of him, Emily and Jack on the day they got married, his palm on Emily’s bump as they all smile at the camera. The second picture is from the day they brought Lily home, a selfie he had taken of him, his wife and his little girl. He can see the exhaustion in his own eyes, a moment in time when he’d felt so many different emotions all at once trapped behind glass. The overwhelming love clear in the way his cheek was pressed against Emily’s, the way his palm was gently placed on a newborn Lily’s back. He can also see the desperation in it, the way he was still reeling from how he could have lost one or both of them. 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a knock on his office door, and he smiles tightly as he looks up to see Chief Strauss standing there. She smiles, a nervous edge to it as she walks into his office and closes the door behind her. 

“Chief Strauss,” he says curiously, standing up and abandoning his pen on the desk, “How can I help?” 

She clears her throat as she folds her hands in front of her, “The BAU has been asked to assist another unit with an urgent case,” she says, pressing her lips together before she continues, as if she’s choosing her words carefully, “I’ve asked Agent Morgan to brief the rest of the team.” 

He frowns, his curiosity turning into concern, an edge of irritation wrapped around it at the realisation she’s asked Derek to lead the case, “Why is Morgan in charge?”

She sighs and steps closer, “The unit in question is the Counterterrorism unit,” she says, a hint of kindness in her voice that seems misplaced, only making him more anxious, “An agent stood on what they thought was a pressure plate. It’s just been confirmed they are standing on enough C4 to take out the entire building.” 

“How the hell did that happen? Didn’t they sweep the damn building?”

She places her hands on her hips and nods, “They did, but Carson didn’t wait for them to finish. I have it on good authority he assured the team it was clear before he sent them in.” 

He feels himself shutting down. Anger and fear making him nauseous as they fill his chest, corrupting his lungs as he tries and fails to heave in a breath. The pictures on his desk almost taunting him out of the corner of his eye as he tenses, his heart dropping into his stomach as he asks a question he already knows the answer to. 

“Who’s the agent?” He asks, his voice tight as he stares at her, his gaze unrelenting. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t say anything, and he feels himself losing whatever grip he has left on his control, “Erin,” he says, making a point of using her first name, a blatant mix of insubordination and attempting to reach her on a personal level, “Who’s the agent?” 

She closes her eyes and nods, “It’s Emily.” 

He’s already moving, stepping out from behind his desk before she can stop him. He’s out in the bullpen already by the time she does, the way she shouts his surname echoing around the usually bustling office. 

“She is my wife,” he says, ignoring how the team are looking at him from the conference room, their gazes burning even through the glass “You can’t expect me to just…sit here and wait for news.”

She sighs and nods, “I know I can’t,” she says, and he takes it as a green light, turning around again before she carries on, “Aaron,” she adds, and he looks at her, his body practically vibrating with everything he is feeling and she clears her throat, “Just don’t do anything that will mean I have to fire you, okay?” 

He swears he sees a flicker of a smile go across her face, but he doesn’t have time to analyse it, already on the move as he replies.

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

___

Aaron doesn’t remember a single second of the journey to the site. 

He’s out of the car in seconds after it’s parked, his badge in his hands to flash at the cops on the barricade, the combination of it and the glare on his face enough to get him through. 

He feels fury burning in his blood the moment he sees Peter Carson. He’s walking over before he can stop himself, throwing off any attempts from Derek or Dave to stop him, and he’s got his hand wrapped up in Peter’s jacket as he pushes him up against a wall before he can think about what he’s doing. 

“Hotchner,” Peter says, his eyes slightly wide as he tries to pull himself out of Aaron’s grasp, unable to do so as Aaron tightens his grip, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He clenches his teeth, “Don’t do anything stupid?” He seethes, anger he’d never felt before taking over, the bitter taste of a man he once swore he’d never be on the tip of his tongue. ] “Like send my team into a building before I was sure it was clear of explosives.” 

“The bomb squad-”

“They told you they had one more floor to check,” he says, his grip on the other man’s jacket so tight he thinks he might rip the material, “And you sent them in there anyway. If anything happens to her, if she has a single scratch on her, I will destroy you.” 

He lets go, letting Peter fall to the floor as he walks away without saying anything else, ignoring the looks on the other agent’s faces. He’s stopped as he’s about to enter the building, a member of the bomb squad placing his hand on his chest to prevent him from going any further. 

“Agent, I’m sorry but no one else-”

“That’s my wife in there,” Aaron says, cutting him off, “I’m going in with or without your help.” 

The air is tense as the agent in front of him looks to his superior, but Aaron watches as the men exchange a small nod. He has a Kevlar vest pressed into his hands, something he knows wouldn’t help him if the bomb went off, and he nods, pulling it over his head as he walks into the building, determination in every step.

He takes the steps two at a time, desperate to see Emily, to help in whatever way he can. As soon as he’s on the second floor he gives himself a moment to gather himself, to pull himself together. He knew she was strong, it was one of the many things he loved about her, but he also knew if he walked in, worry etched on his face, she’d start to crack. She often said he’d crawled underneath her walls, that he’d cracked her impenetrable armour from the inside out. He had to keep it together for her.

He could fall apart later, when she was home and safe with their little girl in her arms. 

He blows out a breath and steps into the room. He smiles in a way he hopes is encouraging when she looks up at him, confusion and panic flashing through her eyes.

“Aaron,” she chokes out, clenching her fists by her side, her nails digging into her palms as she reminds herself that she couldn’t rush over to him like she wants to, “What are you doing here?”

He steps closer, but is stopped by a man in the room he hadn’t seen when he walked in, his hand on his shoulder, “You can’t get any closer, sir,” he says, pointing at the circle on the ground, drawn around where Emily was standing and the surrounding area, “The pressure plate can be triggered within that space.” 

He nods, clenching his teeth as he tries to suppress the anger, his jaw so tight he thinks it could break. He looks back over at his wife and forces a soft smile, desperate to act like this was normal, like she wasn’t standing on a bomb big enough to kill them both and everyone in the surrounding area. 

“Strauss told me what happened, I had to come see you,” he says, “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t come to check on my wife who is standing on a bomb?”

She glares at him, his attempt at humour falling flat as she feels her heart break in her chest, “Aaron-”

“You would have come too,” he says, cutting over her protest, “If it was the other way around, you would be standing right here.” 

She sighs, knowing that he’s right. She would have done exactly what he has and she can’t deny it, “It’s stupid.” 

He chuckles slightly, the sound rough and painful as it tears its way past his ribs, “I never said it was smart,” he replies, and she smiles at him. The moment fades, the seriousness of the situation washing over them again, “What's the situation with the bomb?” 

“The bomb squad are trying to disarm it,” she says, blowing out a slow breath, “But it’s complicated and… there's a timer. It’s got…” she drifts off, unable to remember how much time was left, her mind hazy with fear she was refusing to feel, and thoughts about never seeing her daughter again that she was not going to entertain. 

“Two hours and ten minutes left,” the man in the corner of the room answers and Emily nods in thanks.

“Yeah, two hours and ten minutes,” she says, her eyes boring into Aaron’s, “So if they can’t figure it out in time…it will still blow up no matter how still I stand on it.” 

“It won’t come to that,” he says, sounding more sure than he feels, “And if it gets close we’ll-”

“What? Replace me with a giant bag of gold coins?” She asks incredulously, her eyebrow raised as she looks at him, “This isn’t a movie Aaron. If I move I…If I move, I die. So does anyone else thats too close.” 

Her words hang heavy in the air around them, cloying and suffocating as they try to breathe, the implications of what this could mean too much to bear.

“Like I said,” he says eventually, “It won’t come to that.”

They mostly stand there in silence, long stretches of deadly quiet occasionally interspersed by one of them making an occasional comment. He doesn’t sit, even though he could, because he wants to show solidarity, provide physical support even though he can’t hug her like he wants to. 

Time moves slowly, the seconds agonising as she feels every muscle in her body burn from standing still for so long. Her legs are stiff, sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was possible and she groans, clenching her fists at her side again in an attempt to distract herself. 

“How are you feeling?” Aaron asks, and she looks at him, her glare sharp as their eyes meet, and he clears his throat, “Physically I mean.” 

“Like I’ve done a triathlon or something,” she replies, “My entire body aches. Especially my feet.” 

“When we get home I’ll give you a massage,” he says, “And run you a bath with all your favourite-”

She knows he doesn’t deserve it, that he’s just trying to help, but his relentless optimism, a defence mechanism she knows is his attempt at keeping himself together, is starting to grate on her. She could feel every one of her nerve endings starting to fray, and it was easier to be angry at him than at the situation, because he’d forgive her. 

Whether she survived or not. 

“Aaron,” she says, cutting him off, “Just stop it. I might not make it home.” 

“Em,” he replies, as if physically wounded, taking a step back from her, “Don’t say that-”

“It’s true,” she says, pressing her lips together, the look on his face enough to break her heart in two, “It’s true and we need to talk about it,” she waits until he nods, a subtle thing that seems to knock down the rest of his defences, his shoulders sagging as if they had the weight of the world on them, “I need you to promise me something.” 

“Anything.” 

She can’t help but smile at the lack of hesitation, as the promise escapes without him consciously meaning it to, his love for her as natural to him as breathing, “If…if we get too close to the countdown you have to leave.” 

He frowns and he shakes his head, his chest constricting as he attempts to refuse a request from her, something he had rarely done, “Em, no-”

“Lily will need one of us,” she says, her words a physical blow. She knows it’s mean, that it’s playing dirty, but it’s also true. The mention of her daughter makes tears press at the back of her eyes for the first time since she’d walked into the building, the thought of never seeing her daughter again, of Lily growing up without her, enough to break her, “She can’t lose us both. Jack needs you too and…” she drifts off, a tear breaking free and sliding down her cheek. She can’t move to wipe it away so she lets it burn a track in her skin, leaving behind a mark she’s sure will be permanent, “You have to promise me.” 

He hates it, hates that she’s asking this of him, that she wants him to walk away and leave her behind if the worst comes to the worst, but he knows she’s right. That it would be selfish for him to stay behind, to die with her, when he has the chance to walk away and be with their children. 

“Okay,” he says, the word bitter on his tongue as he promises her, the relief on her face enough to make him want to cry himself, “Okay, I promise.”

___

He wants to take it back.

As the deadline for the bomb gets closer, he wants to take his promise back, the thought of leaving her here enough to tear him apart. The silence around them is loud, and overbearing, and he hates that this could be the last time he sees her, that his final moments with the woman he loves would be spent uselessly standing away from her, unable to provide any kind of comfort. 

“There are 15 minutes left,” the man in the corner says, “They are clearing the block. The squad trying to disarm the bomb will be here until the last possible second.” 

“Aaron,” Emily says, her breath shaky as she says his name, “It’s time to-”

“No.”

She sighs, tears spilling down her cheeks again, “You promised.”

He clenches his teeth and closes his eyes before he turns to look at the man behind him, “Can we have a couple of minutes alone please?” 

He nods and leaves them alone, standing just on the other side of the door, an apologetic look on his face that tears through them both. 

“How am I supposed to just walk away, Em?” He asks, pleading with her, “How do I just…leave you here to die?” 

She doesn’t have an answer, because she knows if their positions were swapped and he’d asked the impossible of her she’d struggle too. Their love for each other keeping them tethered together, a connection they’d sworn to never break. 

“Please tell Lily about me,” she says, ignoring his question on purpose, knowing she’d never answer in a way that would help, “And tell her that I love her so-”

“Emily,” he says, cutting over her, “Please, don’t-”

“And tell her that I’m sorry, that being her mom was the best thing I ever did with my life and that more than anything I wished I could have stayed,” her chest aches with the sobs she keeps trapped in it, terrified that if she let herself breakdown in the way she needed to she’d move, her body carrying itself forward towards him by some kind of instinct. She can’t stop the tears though, streaming down her face and making her cheeks and neck sticky as they run over tried tracks, “And tell Jack too, make sure he knows I love him just as much as I love her.” 

He clenches his teeth, angry at his wife in a way he hadn’t been before, the anger easier to feel than the preemptive grief climbing up his chest, his words rough as they tear themselves up his throat. “I’ll tell her. She’ll always know what an amazing mother she has.” 

“I love you so much,” she says, pressing her lips together as a laugh she can’t contain slips free, the sound as absurd as it was inappropriate, “I love you so much it makes me feel like I’m crazy sometimes, like I’ve turned into one of those women in the romance novels I hate. But I wouldn’t change a thing,” she smiles wryly, “Except maybe the stepping on a bomb thing.” 

He laughs, and it hurts, catching on a sob that had gathered around his ribs, “I love you too. More than I can say. I…” he drifts off, shaking his head at himself as he struggles to find the words, “You’re the love of my life Emily Hotchner. And my best friend.” 

She smiles shakily at him, “You’re mine too. You’re everything,” she looks past him at the guard they’d had looking at them through the window and she sighs, “You’ve got to go.” 

It goes against every instinct in him, forcing him to fight himself as he nods, “I love you,” he says again, wanting to make sure it was the last thing he said to her, that she would remember it. 

“I love you too,” she says, smiling at him before he turns away, looking back at her as he walks out of the room, his smile tight and unnatural before he disappears from view. She blows out a shaky breath and feels more tears burn down her cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

Her apology echoes around the empty room around her, bouncing around the space as she tries to figure out who it’s for.

___

The moment he steps outside he sees the team. Derek rushes over to him, his brow creased as he makes it to his side.

“Hotch, where is she?” 

He nods over his shoulder, “She’s in there, she made me leave-”

“We got the unsub,” Derek says cutting over him, his words filling Aaron’s chest with something close to hope for the first time in hours, “We got the plans for the bomb too, Garcia sent them to the bomb squad.”

“How long will it take?” Aaron insists, the thought of being able to save her but not having enough time almost worse than not being able to do anything at all.

“How long have we got?” Derek asks, looking back and forth between Aaron and the building behind him. Aaron checks his phone, the countdown he’d put on there staring back at him.

“Ten minutes.”

Derek nods, “Then I guess it will take ten minutes.” 

Time moves like syrup as they wait for the bomb squad to get in touch, and Aaron can’t help but pace back and forth, impatience and anxiety forcing him to move. If he stood still, if he stopped even for a second, he’d run back into the building to be with her, breaking his final promise to her. 

He freezes when he hears the crackle over the handset in Derek’s belt, his whole world narrowing down to the voice he’d never heard before, “We’ve got it. The bomb is disarmed.” 

Aaron feels his body sag, relief making him briefly lose his footing, “It’s done?” 

“It’s done.”

___

Emily blows out a steady breath as she closes her eyes, counting down seconds, her chest stuttering every time she tries to suck in air. 

She wonders if in another situation, in another world, if she’d find some kind of peace in this, but she can’t. The thought of everything she was leaving behind, everything she was going to lose, was too much to bear. She’d spent so much of her life alone, so many years purposely not making connections with people because they hurt too much. People had always let her down in the end until she fell in love with Aaron, his loyalty something she still wasn’t quite sure she deserved. 

She jumps when she hears a loud noise, her body getting briefly tense as she realises she’s moved, and she opens her eyes, her breath catching in her chest when her gaze lands on her husband.

“Aaron?” She asks, fury burning at her insides, anger that he broke his promise and made this the last thing he would do for her flowing through her, “What are you-”

“They disarmed the bomb,” he says, cutting over her anger. He suppresses a smile as she frowns at him, her eyebrows creasing together as she shakes her head. 

“What?” She stutters, staring at the ground, the place she’d stood for hours, “No. They said…”

He walks towards her, crossing over the line that had been drawn around her and he stands just in front of her. He reaches out and touches her cheek, revelling in the ability to do so after thinking he’d touched her for the last time.

“Sweetheart,” he says, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, “It’s over.” 

She collapses into him, her legs giving out as she wraps her arms around him and lets her take her weight. She sobs with relief, her face pressed into his neck as she squeezes him tighter than she thought she’d be able to.

“It’s over,” she sobs, her words muffled against his skin as she grasps at his shirt, needing to touch as much of him as possible, “It’s over.” 

He kisses the top of her head as she continues to repeat the words to herself, as if she still doesn’t quite believe them. He lets her take all the time she needs, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as he enjoys holding her close, his lips against her forehead. 

“Can we go home?” She asks eventually, her voice quiet and gravelly, everything she hadn’t allowed herself to feel all day finally set free, “I really want to see Lily and just…I need to see her.” 

“Of course,” he says, pulling back to look at her, stamping a kiss to her lips that has an edge of desperation to it, “We’ll go home,” he takes a step back and she stumbles, her legs unsteady, and he wraps his arm around her waist, “Do you need me to carry you?” 

“If you try I’ll kill you,” she grumbles and he laughs, kissing her temple as he lets her lean on him, most of her weight against his side. 

They slowly make it outside and he feels his wife tense against him as the others all rush over. She’s overwhelmed, sensitive to the bright sun after being trapped inside for most of the day, and sore, her entire body aching like she’d been in a fight. He doesn’t step away from her, both because he doesn’t want to and because he knows she wants him to stay, so he gets caught up in the hugs that she’s pulled into. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay, princess,” Derek says, wrapping an arm around her quickly, “I know I said I missed working with you, but I didn’t mean I miss saving your ass.” 

“Thanks, Derek,” she replies, smiling tightly at him as he pulls back, “Trust me, I haven’t missed that part of it either.” 

“Garcia mentioned going for drinks,” Spencer says, stepping closer to the group, “She said it’s tradition.” 

Emily laughs tightly and she shakes her head, “I just need to go home,” she says, not missing the disappointment on their faces, “I want to see Lily and just…lay down quite honestly.” 

JJ is the first to nod understandingly and she hugs her friend, “I’ll run interference with Pen and make sure she doesn’t call you a thousand times,” she says, squeezing Emily’s shoulder as she pulls back, “I know how insistent she can get.”

Emily smiles and nods, “Thank you,” she looks up at Aaron and she squeezes his hip, “Can we go?”

He nods and pulls her closer, “Let’s go home.” 

___

Emily sighs as she settles into bed, her muscles more relaxed now she’d had a bath. Aaron had, as promised, done it for her - all of her favourite salts in the water to help soothe her sore body. He’d sat on the edge of the tub to keep her company, sensing without her needing to tell him that she didn’t want to be alone. 

She knew it would take a long time for her to process what had happened today, how she’d come so close to dying, to accepting that she was going to die. The thought of leaving Aaron, Lily and Jack behind had been enough to break her, and now it hadn't happened, now she’d survived, it felt all the more awful to think about.

Jack would have had some memories of her, moments of their time together attached to things she’d bought him and events. Hazy pictures brought to life by stories Aaron would tell him once it was no longer too painful to talk about. Lily wouldn’t have remembered her at all. It’s the thought she can’t get away from - that she could have died today and her daughter wouldn’t remember how much she loved her, or the sound of her voice. The warm touch of her skin against hers as she comforted her when she was sick or sad. 

It makes her wonder if she’s doing it all wrong, if the changes she’s made to avoid becoming her own mother were radical enough. She had no need to work financially, but she still chose to. She wanted her children to be proud of her, to know she had done something that made a difference, but if they hadn’t been lucky today, all Lily would know as she got old enough to understand was that Emily had made a choice to put herself in that position. 

She blows out a steady breath and wipes tears from her cheeks, shaking her head at herself as if to physically get rid of those thoughts. She looks up as the bedroom door opens and she smiles at her husband and their daughter, the little girl dressed in her pjyamas and happily sitting on her father’s hip. 

It was strange to think it was just this morning she’d seen them like this. It felt like a lifetime ago, the time that had passed whilst her daughter happily played in daycare some of the longest hours of her life. 

“Here she is,” Aaron says, walking over and handing Lily to her, the baby willingly going into her mother’s arms, “One adorable baby girl in a fresh diaper.” 

“Did Daddy help you get all cleaned up,” Emily says, laying Lily against her, the weight of her daughter on her chest easing some of the residual anxiety that remained there. She smiles at her husband as he settles into bed next to them, “He helped me in the bath earlier too.” 

“Helped. Observed,” he says, winking at her as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, tugging both her and Lily into his embrace, “Two sides of the same coin really.” 

She chuckles lightly and rests her head against him, her eyes fixed on Lily as she watches her fall asleep, her cheek pressed against Emily’s t-shirt. 

“Today was…” she drifts off as her voice catches, blowing out a breath in an attempt to calm herself down, “I don’t even know what it was.” 

He feels the same way. It had been a rollercoaster of emotions and he felt like he was still on the ride doomed to go round and round again and again until he was sick. He can’t put it into words either, can’t explain the fear he’d felt, the grief he was still grappling with at having to say goodbye. 

It would take a while for them to get their heads around it, to talk about what needed to be talked about, but for now he was content to sit here with her and just enjoy the fact that he could. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, already knowing the answer, but checking anyway.

“God no, not yet,” she replies quickly, turning her head to kiss his cheek, “But soon. I promise,” she smiles softly as he rests his cheek on the top of her head, desperate to be as close to him as possible, “A little birdy told me you threatened Carson, and that you pushed him up against a wall.” 

He freezes for a moment before he hums, “Does this little birdy happen to be Italian with a love for gossip that rivals Garcia?”

She smiles as she looks up at him, “Maybe,” she says, biting her lip as she tries to suppress her smile, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yes I did,” he says, “If you’d…” he drifts off and holds her tighter, his heart aching as she reaches out and squeezes his hand, a gentle reminder that she was there with him, “I would have made the bastard pay.” 

She cups his cheek and makes him look at her, her thumb tracing back and forth over his skin before she pulls him in for a kiss, “I love you.” 

It isn’t lost on either of them that the last time she’d said it was when they were standing in a room they thought she’d die in, and it weighs heavily between them for a moment. He lets it pass, reminds himself that they are in their bed, in the home they got together, their little girl fast asleep on Emily’s chest. 

“I love you too.” 

-x-

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