#she is so sexist honestly

[emjaydoubleyou]

my french instructor is a shockingly good looking woman

[katrotica]

Seltin Sweet is one of those girls who's been around long enough for me to know that she's not AI, even tho... honestly, she really could be. She's perfect in that breathtaking kind of way that makes you question if she's real or not. I'm fairly certain she's real. I'm also fairly certain she's not a real nurse even tho her approach to a nurse's outfit would no doubt make anybody feel much better quickly. So maybe she is a nurse! Hell, what a sexist assumption I just made... maybe she's a doctor! Regardless, I hope her pose doesn't anger the robots and that you all get to see this picture because it's bound to make you feel better.

[bluetimeombre]

・❥ 'Are you Hugh down under?' p2

You and Hugh were the stars of the biggest movie, Wolverine and Ladypool, and fans love the two of you.

[Here's p2, thank you for loving the last one and being as obsessed as I am. I hope i got everyone on the tag list and the second part to Ladypool and Wolverine is on its way. Again this isn't proof read, this is just vibes. There's some sexual innuendos and sexist comments that Hugh is at the rescue for. Also, i'm British so half of these interviews just end up being British icons]

part one

You and Hugh being in love for twenty-five minutes (part two)

2017, Y/N heart monitor

You were doing an interview for your latest movie with Nick Grimshaw on BBC radio one. It was a new thing he'd come up with, trying it with you for the first time as you were hooked up to a heart rate monitor.

'Is it working?' asked Nick. 'Is she alive?'

You help him put the stickers onto you. 'It's like, there's nothing there,' you joke with them.

'She's a robot.'

The beeping began and it found your heart beating at a steady pace, a good start.

'So, I'm going to show you a series of images and we're just gonna see how you react to these images, ok?' he asked.

You grin, nerves kicking in. 'Ok.' It could have been anything. And boy were you right.

Some of them were fine, easy, normal. A picture of a co-star the heart rate was fine, a pair of shoes that you wore a lot, a picture of cash and an ex that had it risen but not alarmingly.

'And finally,' Nick picked up an image. 'Hugh Jackman! How does he make you feel?'

Your cheeks go red and you laugh. 'I hate you all so much, um, Hugh Jackman?' you were too busy laughing. Once you had made a joke about Wolverine and how good looking he was, now it was following you everywhere.

'Heartbeats rising!' Nick cheered as you covered your face. 'Heartbeats the highest it's ever been, eighty-five, up to ninety! One hundred!' he claps.

You bang your head on the table, finally finding control over yourself. 'I can't believe you all.'

Nick slid the picture over to you. 'Here, you can take that one home with you.'

'Thanks. He looks great there, doesn't he?' you say. 'A classic, Hugh Jackman picture.'

'Yeah, you like it?' he teased.

You grinned. 'That's going on my wall when I get home.'

The Graham Norton show

You and Hugh had walked out, waving at the adorning crowd that cheered as you took the sofa.

‘Hello! Hello!’ Graham called.

The two of you looked the pair as you smiled and sat next to each other in spite of the space on the sofa.

‘Sofa to ourselves, i like that,’ you say, lying back.

‘The other guests were too intimidated,’ said Graham. ‘Now, was the walk out ok for you guys, Hugh, are you happy?’ He asked.

Hugh frowned. The crowd laughed. ‘It was very good, thank you.’

‘Because, is it true- and Y/N correct me if I’m wrong, you had a specific song you walked out onto set with?’ He asked.

Immediately knowing what he was talking about, you laugh while Hugh hangs his head and sighs.

You sat straight and took to explaining while patting his back. ‘You see, it’s very tough for Hugh to get into character as Wolverine sometimes. So the only way was to get him out the trailer was to play a specific song.’

‘Ok, ok so shall we do it again, this time with the song?’ Graham proposed. He ushered you both backstage, Hugh squeezing your shoulders as you went.

‘Whatta a man’ by salt and pepper started playing and you led the way out for Hugh who danced his way out. The crowd clapped along as Hugh shows his moves and ended with dipping.

‘Oh wonderful!’ Graham called as the two of you took your seats again.

For the rest of the interview thing went very smoothly.

‘Now is is true that the first time you met, Hugh, you didn’t actually meet Y/N?’

Hugh again huffed and shook his head. ‘This show is all to embarrass me, isn’t it?’

‘Makes a change honestly,’ you say.

Hugh looked back to you and started to tell the story. Through out, his body had moved toward you, his entire presence facing you despite talking out to everyone. ‘When I first walked on set, you know, at the ready, I was very excited to be there and even more excited to meet this wonderful lady here. And I got suited up, you know, went to hair and makeup and one of our first shots was quite a challenging one, a big stunt.’

‘Big,’ you agreed, taking a sip of your drink. You knew where the story was going.

‘Yea, so anyway, I walk over to Y/N whose already in her suit. Looks great by the way. Anyway so I start introducing myself and saying hello and how thankful I am for being here, a real heart to heart you know-‘ he says, ‘and then Y/N walked in and i realized I’d been speaking to her stunt double the whole time- whole time!’

The crowd laugh as do you, almost choking on your drink.

Wolverine and Ladypool press:

You and Hugh sat with each other all day doing press. You kept it light with jokes between the two of you, working through the people and questions.

One particular interviewer just had to get his answers though. ‘So your suit,’ he starts, looking to you. ‘It’s very tight and eventuated several parts of you, did you find that hard to manoeuvre around?’

Hugh answered before you had the chance to open your mouth. ‘I found it very easy to move around in. You know, first x-men movie, not so much but these suits, are perfect.’

The guy chuckled, it was clearly forced but you thanked Hugh for taking the question, patting his knee. ‘Can you wear like panties with them or thongs, cause they are skin tight.’

‘I’ll take this one!’ Said Hugh again. ‘I go commando, but that’s just because I like it.’

‘He does, he does like it,’ you nod, grinning. ‘He’s going commando right now actually.’

The guy tried one more time to ask you a question about the suit. At this rate, your entire body turned to face Hugh. ‘Do you feel sexy in the suit?’ He asked you.

‘Very,’ said Hugh.

After that, Hugh made several vulgar comments when you were alone, but luckily for you, Hugh was your own superhero.

Buzzfeed quiz

'Hello!' you greet the camera, holding your phone to your chest. 'I'm something-something Jackman.'

'And i'm the greatest actress of all time,' said Hugh.

You deflated, looking at him. 'Oh, well now I just look like a dick.'

'No, it's ok,' he shrugged. 'One of us has to look like a dick.'

The two of you were doing quizzes for Buzzfeed, answering if you're more Ladypool or Wolverine. Although you were sat next to each other, you'd both craned your bodies back so the other couldn't see what you were putting in, like it was a test.

'We're really competitive with each other,' Hugh told the crew.

'Yeah, not with anybody else, but I have to- I just have to prove i'm better than Hugh Jackman at something,' you said.

'Who are you hoping to get?' asked the lady behind the camera.

'Oh, Ladypool, obviously,' you said.

Hugh nodded along, watching you. (Did this man ever not look at you?) 'I wouldn't be angry about getting Ladypool either.'

You tut. 'So quick to betray yourself.'

If you could have a super power, what would you chose?

You read through the options. 'I think telekinesis,' you said. 'Mainly just because I'm lazy and it would be so easy to pick up the tv remote or close the curtains. Very practical.'

'Yeah, that's a good one,' Hugh hummed about it for longer. 'Maybe healing ability.'

You roll your eyes, throwing your head back. 'That's such a Wolverine answer!'

'I know, but I'm getting old, be nice for things to not hurt a lot,' he said.

Who's your favourite MCU character?

Hugh scanned the options. 'I er, don't see Wolverine on here?' he looked around at the crew behind the camera's shaking his head.

'Can't get the staff these days- oh my god Spider-Man's on here!' you cheered, distracted.

'She loves Spider-Man,' Hugh told the camera.

'I do. I really do,' you agreed. 'If it wasn't gonna be Wolvie, it was gonna be Spidey,' you look into the camera, holding your phone to your ear, mimicking for Andrew Garfield to call you.

Hugh dragged his finger of his neck in a cutting off motion if he ever did.

Who do you pick to be your road-trip buddy?

'You have to pick the Wolverine, c'mon,' Hugh nudged you.

You looked through the options which all considered x-men. You hesitated, humming. 'I dunno.'

'We had great fun in the car!'

A red blush took over your cheeks as you re-called the multiple, multiple takes you and Hugh had to do. Hugh saw this and draped his arm over the back of your chair.

'Yeah, but that was- that was different, this is a roadtrip not a porn video in a car,' you joked. 'And Wolverine's like so serious, Rogue, she's so fun.'

'Woah, woah,' Hugh paused everything. 'Rogue is great, don't get me wrong. But who's better!' he pointed at himself. 'Wolverine's not grumpy with you, he loves you!'

You look over at him, grinning sweetly. 'No, you love me and it's judging your character.' For five minutes, the two of you argued over who you'd rather have as a road-trip buddy. Most of it got sped up during the video. 'Ok, fine, I pick Wolverine. Who are you picking?'

'Charles,' said Hugh even though Ladypool was on the list.

You faced the camera, mouth hung open as Hugh laughed loudly and gave you a side hug, assuring you it was a joke but he still clicked on Charles!

Which musical number would you want to perform with your 'Wolverine and Ladypool' cast mate?

'Oh, some great choices!' boasted Hugh as he read through them all.

You smile at him, eyes softening. 'You've awakened the musical theatre beast.'

'Y/n, there's so many good choices! What do we pick?!' he grabbed your hand and squeezed as you watched him with joy.

There was a few choices: 'Love is an Open Door,' from Frozen, 'The other side,' which Hugh obviously did for The Greatest showman. But there was also 'The Love Melody' from Moulin Rouge and 'You're the one that I want,' from Grease and when you both saw that you gave each other a look and knew which one you were picking.

By the end when your results came up you cheered and punched the air, practically jumping out you seat. 'Ladypool! God, this felt like my audition for the character all over again,' you wipe pretend sweat from your brows. 'What did you get?'

Hugh showed you his phone. 'Ladypool! I got Ladypool!'

'We're so alike!' you entwined your fingers. Slowly and dramatically the two of you leant in, pretending you were going in for what would have been a very wet kiss before you both pulled back and explained your answers.

You and Hugh with Alison Hammond again!

The interview with the two of you and Alison Hammond was pretty much the two of you flirting and Alison fangirling. Fans couldn't stop editing it together.

'Ok so obviously there's been a lot of competition between the two of you, so we need to settle who's better once and for all,' said Alison. 'So i've got a series of challenges for the two of you to complete but there's a twist.'

'We're naked!' said Hugh causing you to laugh. 'No, sorry.'

Alison handed you both each a boxing glove. 'I want you to put one on each and sign your autographs, which ever is close wins the point.'

'You're on, Jackman,' you said, already sliding your hand into the boxing glove.

Hugh gave you a cocky smile. 'I am so gonna win this, you know why? Cause you've given me a right boxing glove, but i'm left-handed!' he quickly got to scribbling his autograph.

'Fuck!' you cursed, struggling with your own. (It was bleeped out on this morning).

When you handed them both back to Alison it was obvious who the winner was. 'Thanks for this guys, it'll do numbers on Ebay.'

The two of you practically topple on each other with how hard you laugh.

Next you had to try to open a bottle of water with your gloves on and pour it into glasses and try drinking from it, both of which you failed at. Then the two of you just started fighting each other so Alison called it off like she was your teacher in a rowdy class.

'So, as I am a morning presenter, I thought I'd see how good the two of you would be if you had your own Hugh and Y/N morning show- so here's some guards, scoot closer, scoot closer,' said Alison.

The two of you took the cards and moved your chairs together until your thighs were pressed together. You waited for your cue before the two of you began your audition for your own morning show.

Hugh threw his arm around your shoulder, drawing you in.

'No, Hugh,' you denied, 'we must be professional on tv!'

Alison cackled. 'Yeah, you wouldn't do that on tv.'

Hugh looked offended at the both of you. 'We're re-defining what it means!'

You push him off you and hit him with your cards.

Hugh assesses the camera. 'Where's the shot? Above our chests, perfect, so I can do this.' And he puts his hand on your thigh, sprawling it out as you bite your lip to stop the grin.

'I'm taking this audition seriously, Hugh!'

Finally, the two of you start, acting as if it was a real morning show while Alison gave you pointers.

'Did you have a good weekend?' Hugh asked you (in reality all your weekends had been spent in his company) 'What did you get up to?'

You shrug. 'Nothing much.'

'No,' he interrupted causing you and Alison to laugh. 'When I ask a generic how was your weekend, you have to tell me a great funny story that we've set up before. So, Y/N, what did you do on your weekend?'

'I went fishing,' you said the first thing that popped into your head.

'Did you fall in?' he asked.

'I fell in.'

'That's hilarious!' the way he said it and the way he looked into the camera, caring about it just made you laugh so bad. 'Don't go anywhere, we'll see you after the break!' you were still laughing when Hugh wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your neck, making kissing noises and hiding behind the cards.

Even more at the premier

You and Hugh stood next to each other, him keeping an arm around your waist as you both listened to the interviewer ask you questions.

'So, Y/N, we found this interview from 2017 and we thought Hugh might like to take a look at it,' they said, pulling out their phone and clicking on a video.

As soon as it started playing, you knew what it was. 'Oh god.' you hid yourself, turning to Hugh as he watched.

It was the famous heart-rate monitor interview, where, when you saw a picture of a shirtless Hugh Jackman, your heart-rate spiked higher than any other picture.

Hugh was smiling the whole time and beamed at you when the video finished. 'You have that effect on me,' he assured you, leaning his head on top of yours and smiling at the interviewer.

'Y/N, do you still feel that way when you look at him now?' they asked.

'More,' you said, speaking loudly over all the noise. 'I feel it ten times more.'

And fans, anyone, could see how much the two of you were in love. Whether it was just flirting or if it was real, it was there and everyone was happy for you.

As the two of you walked off, the camera followed you. Hugh's head was bowed low, seemingly taking low to you as his arm remained around your waist and yours came up to rub his back up and down. He laughed loudly at something you had said before dropping a kiss to the top of your head and continuing on the journey.

(there probably won't be part three but I'm working on another compilation with you and Hugh)

taglist (thank you all!): @geeksareunique, @angstdaddy, @tranquilty, @gotta-go-now, @pear-1206, @chronicallybubbly

[rosedpetal]

Behave

Summary: Bucky shows you what happens when you test him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: smut.

Minors, do not interact.

Masterlist | Part II

You didn't mean to be so overbearing, but you just loved him so much.

"Doll, you have to stop giving the stinky eye to these women. It's getting embarrassing." He whispered on your ear, his grip tightening just a little bit on your arm as he smiled for the people schmoozing at Tony's gala event. "Seriously, when did you get so jealous?"

"Jealous?" You scoff, adjusting the skirt of your long dress, softening the slightly wrinkled fabric. "Barely. I just wish you didn't look so smug with all those single bitches fawning over you."

"In my time, we used to call them spinsters." Bucky raised his eyebrow at you.

"Well, that's just sexist."

"And calling them bitches is not?"

Your glare made him shut his mouth, a little smirk threatening to tug at the corner of his lips.

"I get it, okay? I'm being too much. It's just that I'm so obsessed with you. Why can't I just be one of those wives who barely wait for their husbands to drop dead?" You sighed, adjusting his tie.

He chuckles, a low rumble reverberating through his chest. He trapped your chin between his thumb and index finger, amused at you. "You're crazy, you know that? But it's okay. Your psycho side is almost as cute as your clingy and needy one."

You roll your eyes. "Gotta admit, though. You looked really hot over there talking to them and signing autographs and all. If I didn't want to stab your guts off, I'd be horny... " You paused. "Okay. I'm horny either way."

"Behave." Bucky hissed, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to the two of you. At the sound of your little crazed giggle, he snapped his head back to you. "How much have you had to drink, by the way?"

"I didn't drink that much. I don't know what's taken over me, okay? You're just... Ugh!" You groaned, and Bucky blinked, a little taken aback. "You're hot. Are you taken?" You playfully bat your eyelashes at him and he chuckles.

"Well, I do have a wife. But she's quite small, so I think you can take me from her if you want to." He smirked, rubbing circles on the small of your back.

"Ugh, you're married? I bet she's a fucking witch."

Bucky shakes his head, getting his lips close to your ear. "Honestly... My wife is quite crazy. Sometimes I'm scared at how unhinged she can be when she's jealous."

"Is she hot, though?"

"Oh... She's so hot. Just thinking of her has me feeling all types of way... But she's also quite needy. It gets on my fucking nerves. I swear, that woman could drop on her knees to beg for my attention."

"Is begging the only good thing she can do on her knees, though?" You purr.

Bucky checks again for any nosy listeners, relaxing a bit as he realizes you're too are safe.

"Well... She also prays really well, just like a good girl should."

Your could feel your gaze becoming a little unfocused, your core warming up. "I wanna choke you so bad."

Bucky's face and neck turn a little red. "Jesus, baby. What has gotten into you tonight? Is it all because I dressed up?"

"Maybe. Do you think it's possible for humans do go into heat?"

"Oh. I don't know, are you?"

"Breed me. Breed me. Breed me." You chanted on his ear, and his grip on your hips tightened almost painfully.

"Stop right this second." He hisses. "I do not need this right now. Are you trying to get me hard in public, you little shit?"

"Is it working?"

"You're going to pay for this."

"Are you gonna give me your belt tonight?"

"Y/N-"

"What? Is this too kinky for you? Is the idea of marking my ass with your leather belt too much for your poor brain to handle right now, baby?"

Bucky closes his eyes, fists clenching on his sides. Then, he grabs you by your waist, pulling you to the nearest room he could find.

He swiftly unlocks the door, assessing the small supply closet you two are in. It's not ideal, but it'll be enough. His hand fly to your throat, pressing on it slightly, eyes darkened with desire, his slacks tight and uncomfortable. "Filthy little tease. You enjoy riling me up, don't you? Do you think you'll get away with this little stunt you just pulled, huh?"

His vibranium hand snakes under your dress through the slit on your thigh, his eyes darkening at how soaked your underwear is. "Tsk. Does being a little slut make you wet, baby?"

You whimper, completely overtaken by lust, his digits teasing your clothed clit. "You can try to give me shit for misbehaving, but you love how obsessed I am with you, isn't that right? You crave my attention. You thrive on how needy I can get for you."

Bucky's eyes darken, the beautiful expansion of his blue irises only getting noticed by you by the moonlight reflecting through the small window.

"You're giving me fucking butterflies, Bucky. What the fuck? Wasn't that supposed to stop after we got married?" Your brows furrow, your indignant tone making a little snicker escape him. He hooks his finger on the waistband of your panties, a sharp tug being enough to rip your underwear.

"I didn't vow to bore you 'til death do us part, doll. I'll never stop making you feel this way." He whispered, gaze softening at you. Time seemed to stop as he inched closer to you, lips brushing against your red painted ones. "I fucking love you, you unhinged little thing."

"Love you too, baby." Your eyes close shut, mouth hanging open as he fingers you in the supply closet, swallowing your moans with his tongue, bucking his hips on your hand as you palm him through the straining fabric.

Reaching down, you swiftly undo his slacks, pulling them low enough just to free his twitching cock, guiding the thick head to your entrance.

With how lubricated you are, he only has to spit on his cock and moisten the length with his hand, a low growl leaving his mouth as he sink on your heat, inch by inch.

There's a moment of silence as you two lock eyes, your weeping pussy welcoming him with a tight grip that he swears it makes him harden, if that's even possible.

Your head falls back with the first shallow thrusts, a small gasp leaving your lips. Bucky's gritting his teeth, pulling you up, your legs wrapping around his middle. Then, he slams into you.

You can't even speak, getting your walls bullied repeatedly by your husband's thick cock. "F-fuck! Bucky, ohmygod, wait!"

He smirks, not slowing down a second. "I told you were gonna pay for being a menace tonight. What's the problem, baby? What happened to the slut who told me to breed her just a few minutes ago? Where is she? Huh?" He circles his hips, buried deep inside you, making you see white. He swats your thigh, his voice rough. "Answer me."

A little, humiliating whine escapes you, and he chuckles again.

"See, baby? How I can fuck the brat out of you? How you should think before riling me up? How you can't back up for your little antics?" His vibranium thumb circles your clit, the coolness of it only serving to make you orgasm quicker.

Bucky moans at your walls clamping violently on him, a grip so deliciously tight it makes him wanna pull his own hair. So he tugs hard at your locks instead, exposing your neck for his greedy lips as he comes inside you.

[no-144444]

marco polo- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven |

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Things had been a little awkward since coming back to Monaco. Oscar had noticed the way you’d become a little bit more… closed off, or just a bit less talkative. That didn’t bother him. If Oscar Piastri could do anything, he could definitely talk. It took a few days for the two of you to get back into a flow of things, but no matter, he just kept suggesting things you could do together, and you didn’t have anything better to do, so off you went.

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“When do you leave for Kigali?” Oscar asked, sipping on his smoothie. You’d think it wasn’t December with the Monaco weather around the two of you. You and Oscar had decided to go for a quick training session (in the form of a swim) before you left for the awards. The FIA prize-giving. The one night of your life that, if you could, you’d pay any half-good impersonator to be you, and you could fuck off and enjoy your break. 

That, alas, would not be happening this year. You had to go. You were World Champion after all. 

“Tomorrow morning I think,” you huffed, swiping your card into the gym. “Want to come by any chance?” you asked, awkwardly. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a date?”

You rolled your eyes, walking away. “I don’t want one,” you sighed. “I have you.”

And with that bombshell, you walked into the women’s dressing room. 

He genuinely didn’t know what to do for a solid minute. He just stood there, his arms out in front of him and his jaw dropped. One of the gym employees had to ask if he was alright. He went into the changing room with a lot on his mind. You hadn’t meant it like that, surely? 

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You hadn’t meant it to sound like that, really. You just meant, ‘oh, I don’t want to bother with asking someone to go with me and dealing with the online chatter about the prospects of my dead dating life, and you’re here and my best mate and people know we’re mates so that’s easier and I’d have much more fun with you anyways so yeah’, but you seemed to have a way with words. A way that made everything coming out of your mouth to him, deeply, deeply awkward. 

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He honestly couldn’t get over the earlier comment, but when you came out in a bikini, his brain stopped altogether. 

“25 metre pool… 40 laps?” you suggested, pulling on your goggles. Granted, the goggles made you look a little bit less sexy, but much more you, and he felt his shorts get tighter again. 

“Sounds good,” he nodded, following you into the pool. That did not sound good. Oscar was a good swimmer, but you went every day you could. He was fucked, but he didn’t notice that since he was too busy staring at you. 

You enjoyed swimming, you found it relaxed you. Your favourite was sea-swimming, but Monté-Carlo beaches are pretty swamped with fans, and you don’t enjoy people taking pictures of you in your swimming togs. You shot off in the pool, a simple breast stroke as Oscar followed behind you. After about 30 minutes, you’d done 46 laps, and Oscar had given up halfway through and had somehow ended up in a marco polo game with a few kids. When you walked over to get him, you sat at the edge of the pool, watching the game with a soft smile on your face. 

“Is that your girlfriend?!” one of the girls gasped. “She’s so pretty!”

Oscar opened his eyes and smiled when he found you, then he looked back at the girl. “She is, isn’t she?” 

The girl swam off again, giggling as she swam around one of her friends. He didn't deny it. He didn't try to correct her. He just smiled and agreed. As much as every voice in your head screamed that he should be ashamed of you, he never was. He wasn't ashamed of you

“You playing?” one of the teenage boys asked, coming up beside you and holding a hand out. 

You looked up to Oscar who smiled and nodded. “I’ll be on again,” he promised. 

You grinned. 

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“Marco?” he called out. You’d both been playing with them for about 20 minutes, but you were genuinely having too much fun to notice. 

“Polo!” you called back, and he could hear the smile on your lips. God, it was good to hear you laugh again. The last triple header had been nothing but work (except from the party but he hadn’t had gained the courage to talk about that yet), and it was nice to see you let loose. 

He reached a hand out and brushed your midriff, making you laugh, and he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his arms, opening his eyes as he laughed with you. He loved this, loved you, loved being around you.

Your giggles died down, as did his and you smiled at him, looking up. “Alright?” he asked, pulling his arm around your shoulder as you both turned back to the kids. You nodded at him as they started explaining the next game to you both. You didn’t mind how his hand stayed around your shoulder. You didn’t mind it one bit. 

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You ended up back at your house, enjoying the setting sun as Oscar cooked dinner on your barbeque. You were busy staring at your garden while he was busy staring at you (and the dinner). 

“I meant it earlier,” you told him, joining him beside the grill. “I want you to come to the awards.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Take someone else,” he insisted. 

“Who else would I take?” you questioned him. “Some random male celebrity who everyone will think I’m dating?”

He tried to ignore the fact that the thought of you with someone else made his stomach flip, but he couldn’t really. He turned to look at you. “People think we’re dating.”

You stared back at him for a second, then rolled your eyes. “That’s different.”

“How?” he pushed. Again, you just looked at him. It was weird. The air changed. 

“It just… is,” you said, your voice small. “Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I was just asking because you’ve really been the only person there for me, and I think the trophy is as much yours as it is mine,” you huffed. 

He stilled for a moment. Of course he was going to go, from the second you asked. He’d literally do anything you asked. He just… he wanted to give you an out, just in case the offer wasn’t genuine. He was happy to say that it was. And he planned on taking it. 

“Of course I’ll come,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again, and pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I love supporting you.” 

The both of you stilled. Your stomach churned and he just couldn’t believe what he’d done. He hadn't even meant to, it was a complete accident, but it happened. He liked it. He loved days like these, and he hoped that he hadn’t just fucked everything up with one little action. You honestly held your breath for a few seconds, shock taking over, then decided that it was alright, and leant into him more. 

“Thanks Osc.”

Like he’d said earlier, whiplash. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar was an ‘Airport Dad’ in the worst sense of the word. He made sure you two got to the airport 3 hours early (you were flying private), made you triple check your passport and boarding pass three times before he let you get out of the taxi, and demanded the window seat you were sitting in even though it was a private plane. 

The plane ride was enjoyable though, a night of playing uno with him, Max, Charles, Yuki, and George. 

“He’s cheating!” George argued, slamming his cards down after Oscar won a fourth time. 

“How?!” Oscar laughed, arguing back as both Charles and Max rolled their eyes at him, throwing their cards on the table. 

“I don’t know, but he’s doing it!” George seethed, getting up. “I’m getting another drink and by the time I get back Y/n, I expect your race engineer to be sorted out!” 

You laughed at the exchange, taking no sides. Oscar turned to you with a bright smile and roll of his eyes while you started fixing the cards up for the next round.

“You two are insufferable, aren’t you?” Yuki sighed. 

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, throwing a card at him. 

“I’m so single!” he groaned, letting his head rest on the table. “You two keep reminding me of that!”

Max laughed as Yuki groaned again, and you gulped back a shocked chuckle. Oscar excused himself to the bathroom for a moment. 

“We’re not dating,” you reminded Yuki. 

He scoffed. “Yeah, it’s not like he’s madly in love with you or anything as well then,” You stared at him for a moment and he rolled his eyes. “I mean come on! The way that man looks at you? It’s insane!” 

You shook your head, brushing him off. “We’re friends, nothing more.” 

“Oh sure.” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You all landed and were driven straight to the arena to get ready. You were immediately thrown into makeup and getting dressed, and basically separated from Oscar because Max stole him away. 

You were nervous, there was no point in lying about it. You hated making speeches, you hated being on stage, and you hated being celebrated. You knew you just had to remind yourself that Oscar was somewhere in that audience and he was there for you. He didn’t care what happened, he’d sit there with a smile on his face no matter what. 

Knock knock. 

“We want to see the dress!” Max called from the other side of the door. Good thing you were almost ready. You smiled awkwardly as you opened the door, trying to show off the dress but it just ended up looking like a weird pose. Oscar’s jaw dropped anyway, but you didn’t see since Max was busy pulling you in for a hug. 

Oscar’s slacks got a lot tighter as he watched you in the dress, and he realised the night had become nearly impossible, but he’d do it for you. It would just be slightly tortuous. The way the dress clung to you made him crazy. The red, a stark contrast to the regular papaya racesuit or dark workout clothes he was used to seeing you in. It was maddening how badly he wanted to just reach out and smooth a hand on your hip, or just run a hand through your perfectly styled hair. You were goregous, to put it simply.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice uncomfortable. 

He smiled down at you. “I think you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I think you’re always beautiful.”

You wished he didn’t say the sweetest things. You still felt like you didn't deserve them. 

He knew you did.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[khruschevshoe]

You know, it's rather interesting to me that Taylor Swift's parasocial relationship with her fans is honestly more akin to a YouTuber than a writer's. When I scroll through her tag on tumblr/Twitter, it's far more regarding the connection to her personal life/relationship developments than the actual metaphors/fictional story she might be telling. Everything comes back to how her songs reflect back on her relationships with Joe/Matty/Travis/Jake/insert ex-boyfriend here. And what fascinates me about it is that even though she complains about it, she leans into that very perception because it strengthens the parasocial bond.

The marketing for TTPD so clearly being about Joe Alwyn and the songs to Matty Healy. The marketing/video for Red TV so CLEARLY being about Jake Gyllenhaal, with so many of the new lines in All Too Well specifically being digs at him (I'll get older but your lovers stay my age, casting an actor that looks like him for the video, specific lines in I Bet You Think About Me). The fact that songs like Getaway Car and Bejeweled and Gorgeous and London Boy and Lavender Haze being picked apart at time of release and long after for signs of relationships crumbling. The way she uses surprise songs in relation to her relationship development with Joe/Matty/Travis. The damn TTPD "stages of grief" playlists where she deliberately undid/changed the meanings of old songs just to keep her audience speculating on her love life.

It's not sexist to point out that her wielding her love life is a marketing tool and that the strongest connection to her audience isn't the strength of her writing/the composition of her music- it's her deliberate crafting of a connection between her music and her personal life, leaving the audience invested in her music as an extension of Taylor the Person/Girlfriend rather than Taylor the Artist.

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 1

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, Soldier Boy being an insufferable ass, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), post S3 alternate ending, enemies to lovers & slow burn, set partially in 1942

Word Count: 6.0k

Posted on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Weeee, so excited to finally share the first part of this series with all of you! From mortal enemies to classic romance, crazy and angsty time travel theories, and a glimpse behind the green suit (in both ways), we're gonna have a lot of fun with this one 😉💕

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 1: Of All the Gin Joints...

“Move, or I’ll move you.”

Annoyed, you huffed a sigh and lifted your feet off the coffee table, shifting a few inches to the right, so Soldier Boy could pass by with a deep grumble. You rolled your eyes back slightly when he plopped down next to you on the worn, old couch in the office of the Flatiron Building.

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt you every once in a while,” you muttered with a glare at the supe.

“Disagree,” he huffed.

When Butcher and his team tracked you down and recruited you almost a year ago, you surely hadn’t signed up to spend your days with a fossil from the past century. All they had wanted you to do was find the weapon that could destroy Homelander. That weapon turned out to be Soldier Boy.

And you had found him, freed the man from forty years of Russian torture without receiving so much as a ‘thank you,’ and helped the team take down Homelander, who was currently powerless and safely locked up in a CIA black site. Now, you were still here – as was Soldier Boy.

To your dismay, he wasn’t just the most powerful supe on the planet, especially after his own son’s steep fall from grace, but he was also the biggest motherfucking asshole that ever walked the earth.

Soldier Boy was obnoxious, loud, rude, sexist, racist, lazy, arrogant, selfish, cruel, deceitful, complacent, vindictive, inconsiderate, paranoid, ruthless and unsympathetic. Honestly, you’d need a whole dictionary just to get through every single character trait you hated about that man.

This morning he’d been particularly belligerent as soon as he had set foot inside the office and Hughie bumped into him, causing Soldier Boy to spill his iced latte. To be fair, the guy had just been standing in the doorway like a moron for a full three minutes – he’d stared at you the whole time, probably thinking of new ways to torture you.

Today marked your 30th birthday of all things, so it was only natural your over six-feet playground tormentor would be present for the occasion.

“Led Zeppelin, huh?” he noted with an arched brow, eyeing your choice of outfit. You mostly wore band shirts from tours you’d been to from your time traveling adventures.

“Yeah, I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. I went to Zeppelin’s first tour in 1969. Only wear it on special occasions,” you told him with a smile.

In some rare moments, it was actually possible to have a normal fucking conversation with him. You hoped it was one of those. Aside from his grumpiness in the morning, maybe he’d decided to give you a break on your birthday.

“Oh, yeah, right…” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

“That is so sweet of you, thank you,” you replied wryly.

He knew what you were doing. His smile rose – and then morphed into a provocative smirk. “So, thirty, huh? How’s that feminist bullshit working out for your biological clock, sweetheart?”

“Don’t kill him,” Annie reminded you of the office mantra with calm in her voice as she sat behind you at her desk, causing Soldier Boy to snort a laugh.

“Isn’t it time for your nap, gramps? You’re sundowning,” you retorted instead with a teasing smile.

You took his taunts lightheartedly. After all, you didn’t think you’d have to worry in that department – much like him. For some reason, you didn’t age… a lot. At least, it was slower than the average supe and human. You figured it might have to do with dropping in and out of wormholes. You had aged just fine as a kid but it progressively began to slow around your sixteenth birthday – the first time you’d traveled through time and jumped to Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged show in New York of December 1993.

You remembered your parents had been fighting behind the broken and yellowing partition slider of a trailer you had called your home. You’d lain on the pull-out bed with your headphones on and a Walkmen, trying to drown out their screaming. You listened to that record and wished you could be there – and then you were.

You’d found your ruby slippers.

To this day, you still got ID’ed at every bar, club, and liquor store alike. Soldier Boy had never been carded. He’d once claimed it was because he was famous, to which you’d almost spat out your drink and told him the wrinkles didn’t lie. Least to say, that little joke hadn’t flown well with the supe.

“You know, doll, if you ever need that tension to disappear from your shoulders, I’m right here.” Soldier Boy smirked cockily at you and spread his legs a little further apart. Not a day passed by when he didn’t hit on you either – or anything with tits, really. “Just say the word, and I fuck it right outta you. I do like ‘em older, you know, so I don’t give shit. But if you wanna get cracking on this baby thing, we better fuck on this couch right now.”

“Please don’t,” Hughie pleaded in a high-pitched sigh, glued in his spot next to Annie.

“No, thanks,” you scoffed and scrunched your nose in disgust. “You’re a fucking pig.”

“Hey, c’mon, I know you want to,” replied Soldier Boy without an ounce of self-reflection, his smirk only widening as his hand crawled up your thigh. “Bet you’ve been waiting for a big dick like mine, haven’t you?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You slapped his fingers away, huffing in frustration.

Not even your kindergarten bully had been this fucking annoying – and that kid threw a dodge ball at your face and broke your nose.

Fortunately, while your own powers were on the fritz, you still had some superhuman strength. Sure, not as much as Soldier Boy, but if he shoved, you could at least push back enough for him to leave you alone.

For, like, five seconds.

Soldier Boy laughed loudly at your rejection. “I do like ‘em feisty,” he murmured with a sultry voice, invading your space even more as he shifted closer on the couch. Lion king on the prowl. “You know, you’d be less useless if you spread your legs every once in a while.”

Jumping up from your seat, you rounded the table to bring space between you and face him properly. It was always smarter when he was in your view at all times and you could watch his brazen hands with an eagle eye – the same hands that currently began to roll a blunt on the coffee table.

“Hey, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be frozen solid in a box in Russia,” you bit.

“Well, we’d like to think we would’ve found him eventually, love,” Butcher threw in from across the room, the sly grin on his face telling you he was enjoying the show.

“See?” Soldier Boy sneered complacently. “Fucking useless.”

“You’re fucking useless!” you yelled, anger surging through every inch of your body. “No one fucking likes you! You don’t have friends, you don’t have family, and everyone in this room fucking despises you – just like your old team!”

Slowly, he rose from his spot on the couch, nostrils flaring, his sheer height imposing as he towered over you like the Empire State. A part of you was glad there was still a piece of furniture between you – even though that wouldn’t stop him in the slightest.

“You take that fucking back,” he snarled, one hand balling into a fist by his side while the other pointed a warning finger at you.

However, you stood your ground, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a challenging look in your eyes but a subtle swallow in your throat. “No,” you said defiantly and bristled. “I’ll drop you into the fucking Jurassic era where you belong, fossil. Watch you become a T-Rex’s fucking chew toy.”

Soldier Boy’s grin boldly widened, green eyes shimmering daringly. “Do. It.”

“Oy, simmer down, kids,” Butcher assuaged but didn’t even bother to glance up from the newspaper in his hands. Instead, the Brit leaned back in his chair and threw his legs up on the desk, settling into a more comfortable position.

Soldier Boy threw him a dismissive look, annoyed at the interruption, before his attention turned back to you with a spiteful sneer. “You know, if I were you, I would’ve used those powers properly. I would’ve gone back and fucking killed baby Hitler or some shit.”

You scoffed a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, not surprising you would’ve killed a fucking baby,” you retorted dryly.

“See, this is why you’re a fucking failure,” he taunted and stepped closer, his face only inches away from yours now. You could feel his hot breath against your skin. “Those powers were clearly wasted on you, doll. Women are too fucking soft.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You didn’t even know why you still argued with that asshole. He’d never change. And you sure as hell couldn’t say shit like:

What d’you know? You’ve never seen a war zone from the inside, you fucking bigoted coward. 

“I’m not soft,” you insisted instead, narrowing your eyes to a glare.

“Prove it.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to go back in time and fucking kill you!”

At this point, you wouldn’t. You really wouldn’t fucking mind at all.

However, Soldier Boy only laughed in your face like you were the bug about to hit his shield. “Oh, you can certainly try, sweetheart. But you can’t, can ya? ‘Cause you’re fucking broken. Like I said, useless,” he reiterated harshly, his sneer widening when his hand reached out and clasped your chin between his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some good use for you. Especially for that mouth.”

Furiously, you thwarted his advances once more. “I said don’t fucking touch me!”

“Yo, Soldier Boy, c’mon! Leave her alone now,” MM warned, finally getting fed up too. He usually avoided the supe to the best of his abilities, only snapping every once in a while when the asshole took it too far.

This time, MM only got involved because Hughie kept sending him frantic looks of panic during your heated exchange, probably worried you’d antagonize the supe so much he’d detonate the whole building.

“Mind your own fucking business, punk,” Soldier Boy dismissed the intervention, his venomous eyes still fixed on you.

The anger was storming through your body and closing your throat with a tight chokehold. You could barely breathe as your chest heaved and your ears rang. It was always worse when you got angry. Unfortunately for you, Soldier Boy had a way of pushing your buttons and setting off your triggers.

Your superpowers had the ability to control and bend time – or at least they used to. You had mostly used it to stop the clock and get an extension on your homework deadlines. But technically, you could also travel through time.

Once you had found out how that worked, well, you quickly became addicted. You went to concerts of bands that didn’t tour anymore, you’d shamelessly make money on Wall Street and placed bets on football games, and sometimes, you even ate dessert twice.

It was all about the little things.

But that all stopped when you accidentally cast yourself into the Middle Ages and almost got burned at the stake for witchcraft. For some reason, your powers wouldn’t work until the last second – you figured extreme distress had been a factor.

When you closed your eyes at night, you could still feel the scorching heat underneath your bare soles and smell the smoke reaching your nose and lungs.

Afterward, you didn’t want to use your powers any longer – not that you could. PTSD was a real bitch sometimes.

You had lived quietly and alone in a cabin near Montréal for years. After your parents found out they couldn’t make money off of you, they kicked you to the curb. And when you knocked on Vought’s doors, asking for help, they told you not to use your abilities – before they tried to kill you. That was the moment you’d realized you might be more powerful than you’d initially surmised. Until then, you had only used your powers for your pleasure and the occasional personal gain.

So, maybe, Soldier Boy was right when he said you had never used your gift wisely.

After your flight from Vought, you lived under a fake name and took up online college classes in physics and history to understand your abilities better and avoid grave mistakes.

And boy, time travel was a fucking bitch.

Years of study could be summarized to this, however: If you even so much so as killed the wrong fly in 1783, the whole world could go extinct.

Or in Vought’s terms: If you accidentally fucked up history, it might fuck with their business and money.

That was the reason why they had been trying to get rid of you for the longest time – until Butcher showed up on your doorstep. You had no idea how the Brit could’ve found you or even known about your powers in the first place. After your escape, Vought had kept your existence quiet. They knew if the wrong people found you, it would end direly for them.

Wrong people like William Butcher.

At first, he wanted you to go back in time and, in his words, “kill the chubby, little cape cunt.” Needless to say, you had declined. Even if Homelander was the worst creature to ever walk this earth, excluding his sperm donor, you wouldn’t kill a baby. You wouldn’t kill anything or anyone, really.

If anything, you could be classified as a bit of hedonist – or “a fucking hippie,” as Soldier Boy once had put it. Which, granted, was probably a trait you both shared. Although, Soldier Boy took the whole fucking cake and ate it, too. At least all you ever did was steal a tiny slice every once in a while.

In the end, you had never asked for these powers. You were just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

But when Butcher then asked you if you could at least “hop back�� to retrieve the weapon that had neutralized Soldier Boy in 1984, you finally told him you were essentially useless.

A part of you wanted to help, though. While you had closed yourself off from the rest of the world, you had still followed the news. You knew it had gotten bad out there. You could see Homelander spinning out of control and threatening to burn the world. You knew soon enough your house would burn, too.

You knew the monster needed to be stopped.

So, you offered Billy Butcher the only thing you could – a glimpse into the past, so he could find the weapon in the present.

And you did. You saw how Soldier Boy’s own team had despised him so much they handed him off to the Russians during an ambush in Nicaragua – but they hadn’t killed him.

The diabolical smirk on Butcher’s face had scared you. You knew he’d realized in that moment that you could be valuable after all. So, naturally, he threatened to give up your location to Vought if you didn’t join his team.

And well, here you were.

You’d traveled to Russia, you’d freed Soldier Boy, and you’d defeated Homelander. But even after the job was done, you stuck around.

Hughie, Annie, MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and even Butcher – they had all sort of become your friends. And they protected you, even though Vought had sworn they were done hunting you. No one trusted Stan Edgar, and you knew he would probably still rather have you buried six-feet-deep if he ever got the chance.

So it was nice to know the whole team stood behind you. Well, all but one.

Part of the deal with Edgar had been a request to keep Soldier Boy away from Vought’s business. The guy was smart enough to know he wanted nothing to do with the ticking time bomb, either.

“And what are we supposed to do with that wanker, huh?” Butcher had asked as all of you stood in a very breezy office at Vought Tower – which had still been under heavy construction after the fallout.

“Let him play hero, keep an eye on him, and I’m sure we’ll have no issues, Mr. Butcher.” Edgar had smiled cunningly, his eyes flickering to you. 

Afterward, you had decided to pack up like Maeve and finally live your life. You’d even applied as a physics professor at a small college. But then Soldier Boy made his own request: Either you’d stay, or he’d walk. And if he had walked, your deal with Edgar would’ve fallen through.

Soldier Boy was a bully. In fact, he could teach master classes in it. You didn’t think there was one good bone in his body. So far, you could count the times the guy had actually been nice to you on one hand – two fingers to be exact.

The first time had been the very first night you’d spent together in that rundown motel after he’d killed Crimson Countess. You took over the nightshift of babysitting while Hughie and Butcher took a snooze in the adjoining room. That night, Soldier Boy had shown you a glimpse of a human being.

“Well, currently, there are two working theories on time travel: The closed loop theory and the alternate timelines theory,” you’d explained after he had asked you how actual time travel worked. Most people gave up after a minute, but he had still been in it after five.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Well, lemme see…” Musingly, you had pursed your lips and thought for a moment. “Terminator came out in ‘83, right? You’ve seen it?”

His lips had slowly risen to a smile. “Yeah… Actually one of the last fucking movies I watched before the fucking Reds got me.”

“Right.” You’d nodded. “Still remember what happened?”

He’d scoffed and rolled his eyes a little. “I’m not that old…”

“Well, it’s been forty years since you’ve seen it…”

“Schwarzenegger comes from the future to kill that blonde chick,” he’d summarized with a cocky smirk that should’ve proven to you he wasn’t demented.

“Yeah, remember the soldier who came back to save her, too?”

“Oh. Yeah, that guy…” His nose had scrunched slightly. Of course he’d be rooting for the killing machine. “What about that fucking wimp?”

“The Terminator was supposed to kill Sarah because her yet-unborn son would defeat the robots in the future, but the soldier who came back to save her is actually the baby’s father.” There had been no way you could’ve explained it any simpler than that. “So, the Terminator actually created the circumstance, which made him go back in the first place. That’s a closed loop. Does that make sense?”

He’d nodded slowly, his brow creasing heavily in concentration. “Yeah, I think it fucking does…”

For hours, he’d asked you questions about your powers, and when he was through all of that, he even asked you about your life, what you did for work, and how you ended up here. And you’d figured he was trying to schmooze up to you to use you for his gain – or maybe he’d just been coming down from all the drugs he’d taken that day.

Either way, after what you’d seen the Russians do to him, you could understand why someone like him might want to turn back time and get a redo. The unpleasant images, the inhumane torture he’d endured, actually caused you to have sympathy for the supe.

For a second.

When you’d tried bringing it up and be his friend, he had quickly shot you down. He’d been an even bigger dick since then, as if the sheer thought of someone seeing his weaknesses scared him.

Yes, a little, gray mouse like you apparently fucking terrified the biggest and strongest elephant in this world.

Honestly, you didn’t know why the supe had insisted on your presence. Maybe he just needed the perfect victim to antagonize as he passed the time. Sometimes, you did feel like the new Black Noir of Payback.

There’d only been one other incident where he’d shown something remotely resembling kindness:

He’d complimented you.

A real, sweet compliment – and he’d actually meant it – and he hadn’t hit on you in the same breath.

One night, a few weeks ago, Annie and Frenchie had dragged everyone of you to a karaoke bar to “decompress.” Even Soldier Boy tagged along and seemed in somewhat good spirits all night – there’d been no heinous taunting, only the usual flirtatious teasing.

One of those flirtatious attempts had been a dare for you to sing.

“Oh, c’mon! One song,” he’d begged and shifted closer to you on the small leather sofa in the corner of the bar. “How about something from the fucking 80s? Like Cyndi Lauper! I’m sure you’d like that, huh?”

“What, you want me to sing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’? Really? You?” You’d arched a brow at him.

He’d chuckled, and it’d been a sweet sound instead of a mocking one. “Hey, look, I’m all about the girls having some fucking fun,” he’d said coolly before a lick of his lips turned him a bit more serious, mysterious even. “How about something a little slower… Time After Time!” He’d grinned proudly and raised his expensive whiskey glass to your cheap beer. “That’s fucking perfect for you!”

And then you actually went on stage and sung. You weren’t a bad singer, either, but you were by far no Mariah. However, you could see Soldier Boy watching you intently the whole time with that strange look he sometimes carried whenever he was staring at you – something he did quite often.

In fact, he’d stared at you pretty intensely when he’d first walked out of his cryo-chamber, too. It gave you the creeps the same way that naked homeless man had once done in a subway after 1 AM. And then, he had fucking detonated, which had freaked you out so much you’d accidentally disappeared back to New York with a five minute time difference forward – the only time you’d actually managed to travel into the future.

But after your performance, Soldier Boy had passed you on your way down from the stage and intercepted you by placing a tentative hand on your arm.

“You have a really beautiful voice,” he’d said and even gifted you a small but genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

Sweetly, you’d even mirrored his smile after no other insults or advances followed. You’d been practically baffled. As you had glanced at him more carefully, though, you’d noticed something gleaming in his eyes, almost melancholic. You’d supposed after 104 years, he had probably been experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

“You okay there, gramps?” you’d checked with a bit of a teasing smile, and maybe that’d been your mistake.

“‘M fucking fine,” he’d huffed. He’d suddenly turned cold again, the hard lines on his freckled face crestfallen. He’d spun around, marched out of the bar, and ditched you there on the spot. 

So, that was what you had done for the past few months – babysit Soldier Boy and keep the bomb from exploding. Which brought you back to this exact moment:

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Seriously!” you snapped, feeling the fury overtaking you. “What the fuck happened in your life to turn you into such a miserable, toxic, overbearing, narcissistic, insufferable piece of shit?!”

“Insufferable?” He scoffed as if your words didn’t affect him, but you could see it was starting to get to him. “You’re the one who’s fucking insufferable, doll. Probably because you haven’t been fucked in a while by a real man.”

Exasperatedly, you gripped your temples. “Oh, it all trickles down to that, doesn’t it?” you deadpanned. “You sound like a fucking broken record, gramps!”

“Oh, you wanna fucking jump on me badly right now, don’t you?” he gritted through his pearly-white teeth, a challenging smirk playing on his plush lips as he leaned closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Please, it’s not gonna fucking make me like you more. Your dick’s not a magic eraser,” you bit sharply, your voice low and poisonous. “God knows you fucked your last girlfriend for years, and she still fucking hated you.”

Growling, he bristled, his jaw ticking. Mentioning Crimson Countess always hit a nerve. You knew as much.

“You’re just a drug-addicted loser with daddy issues. Nothing more, nothing less,” you nonetheless continued bitterly. “No one likes you! And believe me, asshole, I fucking hate you!”

As you looked up at him, you could tell he was close to exploding. Kimiko even desperately tugged on your arm to drag you out of the blast zone – not that it would’ve mattered.

“Butcher…”

Hughie’s panicked voice and wide eyes reached the Brit, who finally got out of his chair and slammed the paper on the desk.

“Oy, you two! Fucking stop it!”

And somehow, that had miraculously seemed to work. Soldier Boy managed to snap out of his temper tantrum, his breathing steadying, his smirk reappearing.

His lips twitched as he dipped his head and whispered into your ear, “You’re not fucking worth it.”

His thick fingers trailed up your hips before he grabbed your waist and pushed you closer to his body. You tried to shove him away, but this time he used his full strength on you to keep you caged.

“Get off of me!”

“Butcher!”

“Oy! What did I fucking tell you lot?!”

Kimiko tried to pull you away harder, but that only made Soldier Boy chuckle more.

“I said stop it! Get the fuck off of me!” you yelled louder, and he finally let go with a cunning laugh.

“Alright, you’ve had your bloody fun, mate. Why don’t you take a bit of a time-out now, huh?” It was the most Butcher could do as far as an intervention went. Everyone in the room knew Soldier Boy couldn’t be stopped.

“Fine,” the supe relented with a roll of his green eyes, but then his gaze landed back on you.

You hated to admit that he had gotten to you, but it was hard to deny when your whole body was trembling and tears stung your eyes.

“Fucking Christ on a cross, are you actually gonna fucking cry now?” Soldier Boy snorted condescendingly.

“Fuck you. Leave me alone,” you snapped with what little strength you had left and wiped the burning tears out of your eyes.

“Exactly why I said you’re fucking useless. This is the problem with women. Can’t even take a goddamn joke,” he ranted. The more he got to you, the more pleasure he took out of it. You could see it by the vicious twinkle in his eyes. “You keep talking how everyone hates me, but what about you, huh? You’ve got fucking no one, too. Your own fucking parents didn’t want you, and I don’t see an army of men lining up to take care of you, either.”

“Shut up!”

“Wanna know why? ‘Cause you’re a broken, useless, stupid, weak–“

“Stop it!”

But he didn’t. You couldn’t even hear the words properly anymore as they strung together into one explosion of abuse. Your vision blurred, and the ringing in your ears only got stronger.

“C’mon, fucking show me what you can do! Prove to me you’re not fucking useless! Do it!”

“I said fucking stop it!” you screamed loudly till he fell silent.

And then, poof. You were gone.

Soldier Boy blinked at the suddenly empty space before him. Knitting his brow, he shrugged your disappearance off only a second later and plopped down on the couch with an exhaustive groan.

“Fucking finally… Took her long enough,” he commented dryly and stretched out on the small two-seater, sighing blissfully.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Hughie threw in, the anxious expression on his face only causing Soldier Boy to roll his eyes once more.

“Relax, squirt, she’ll be back,” the supe quipped, snickering. “Probably.”

“Y/N’s got PTSD, okay? She can’t control it,” Hughie argued, placing his hands on his hips in upset, his gaze scolding. “You know, you’d think you of all people would be a little more sympathetic to that.”

Soldier Boy’s eyes glowered darkly. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have that shit. I told you.”

“You know, kid’s right,” Butcher chimed in, catching the ancient supe’s attention. “I’d be a little more worried if I were you.”

“Why? Not my fucking problem. And like I said, she’ll be fine,” he reiterated with a careless grumble.

“I’m sure you’re right, mate,” Butcher replied with a conniving smirk and a casualness that made the supe wary. “Let’s just hope our little Y/N doesn’t take your advice to heart about the proper use of her abilities. But if I were bloody you, I’d hope old-me watches me back.”

Soldier Boy snorted a laugh of amusement. “Oh, I’d like to see her try,” he replied arrogantly and stretched his spine with a yawn. “Well, anyways, I’m taking my fucking nap now. Just wake me when she gets back. I’m not fucking finished with her yet…”

Hughie and the others hurried around Butcher’s desk, their voices only whispers as not to disturb the grumpy supe, and the Brit knew by the worried looks on his team’s faces that he’d have to deal with this bloody problem now.

“Butcher, what are we gonna do?” Hughie asked, eyes still wide and kind heart surely beating a marathon on his sleeve.

“Yeah, how are we gonna get her back?” Annie agreed, calmer than her boyfriend, questioningly folding her arms and arching a brow.

“Mon dieu, what if she changes the timeline, Butcher? I don’t want to wake up speaking German,” Frenchie threw in.

“And I don’t want fucking slavery back,” MM added.

“Oy, calm down,” Butcher spoke with placating hands. “Y/N’s a smart girl. She knows more about this shite than anyone of you. I’m sure she’ll fucking figure it out.”

“What if she doesn’t, Butcher?” Annie pressed.

“Well, then, let’s hope worst she does is kill the snoring cunt over there.” Butcher smirked devilishly and gestured to Soldier Boy fast asleep on the couch as if he were hoping for that outcome. “God knows I’d be bloody fine with it.”

It took less than a second, a blink of an eye, but you felt it immediately, knew instantly what had happened as gravity itself stretched out its tentacles and wound them around your limbs, tearing and tugging until you ripped at the seams and atoms spilled out of you.

There was a stark drop in temperature – that was the first thing you’d noticed. Goosebumps formed within a beat on the bare skin of your arms, the biting cold making you not only shiver but fear for your life.

Please don’t be the Pleistocene... Death by saber-tooth? No, thank you.

But to your relief, you heard a strange, but familiar set of sounds around you – animated chatter, chiming bells and closing doors, and the occasional low rumble of a car. Your heart was pounding a furious and relentless rhythm in your ribcage as your eyes fluttered open and warily scanned your strange surroundings.

You’d landed on a street, your feet safely planted on a sidewalk. Glistening white snow covered the pavement in a thick veil, the sky a dull gray blanket above. Icicles hung from lampposts with patriotic banners flying in the chill, proclaiming messages to buy war bonds and save scrap metal.

Huh…

Powdered flakes swirled around you as a streetcar clattered past you on a cobbled street, the sound muffled by the snow. Storefronts and shops lined both sides of the road, shoppers bustling by you in coats, hats, and scarves. Your brow furrowed softly at the row of parked, snow-covered cars that looked a tad… old.

Oh no…

You had definitely traveled back a smidge, but luckily not as far as the Middle Ages again. Judging by the moderately busy street, you assumed you were at least still in New York City. A paperboy was shouting loudly further down, but you couldn’t understand him from the distance. The only word that was plastered everywhere was war.

World War I or World War II, maybe?

Wherever – or whenever – you were, you couldn’t get stuck here. Your short-lived fascination with your new environment was then quickly replaced by a rising panic in your throat.

You had to get home somehow.

Squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you could, you tried to wish yourself back – unfortunately, you didn’t possess your pair of ruby slippers anymore that you could simply click. The more you tried and failed, the more anxious you became, and you knew a full-on panic attack was just waiting for you around the corner.

“Whoa! Hey, careful…”

With your hands on your knees, you bumped backwards into a man, your lungs constricting so much they barely let any air pass. You spun around, eyes wide and body trembling as a set of hands landed gently on your shoulders and waist for support.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

What little breath you had got caught in your throat as you stared into an all-too familiar set of outlandishly green eyes.

Soldier Boy.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

It was a reflex at this point to slap his hands away and keep them as far from your body as possible. Of course the guy couldn’t leave you alone in any era.

Admittedly, he was hardly recognizable, though. While he was just as tall as his 21st century counterpart, he wasn’t as broad. Instead of the signature green outfit, he wore a long, black wool coat over a three-piece suit and a checkered flat cap. His hair was maybe an inch shorter, his beard replaced by a clean-shaven face. And while Soldier Boy surely didn’t look a 104, he didn’t look as young as the guy in front of you either. No furious lines from decades of anger management issues decorated his freckle-dusted face yet.

Maybe your reaction was ill-advised, considering the power he wielded. You figured any past version of the supe was even more ruthless than the current one you’d gotten to know. Moreover, you didn’t have the advantage of being spared because you had saved him from an ice box.

To your surprise, however, there was no detection of malice or offense on his features. To the contrary, he seemed strangely taken aback by your aggressive response, his hands swiftly shooting back as if your very skin was made out of scorching coals. They raised in surrender.

Surrender. 

Well, that was new. He had never, ever, ever done that before. Did you land in some alternate timeline where Soldier Boy was a nice guy?

“I-I’m so sorry, miss. Please forgive me… I was just checking if you were okay,” he stammered and forced a reassuring smile, his hands still held high in good faith.

“Just stay away from me. Leave me alone, okay?”

You backed farther away from him, your eyes desperately flickering around for an exit. Your voice jittered in sync with your body before you bolted down the street and sought shelter in a dark and quiet alley.

“Miss! Wait!” he called after you, his hands picking something up in the snow that you’d dropped during your flight. “You’ve lost your–”

His brow furrowed as he twisted the thin, rectangular device in his hand, his thumb wiping bits of melting snowflakes off the sleek, black glass. As he glanced more closely at it, it lit up brightly and vibrated in his hold. He startled at the unexpected tremble, almost dropping it into a pool of mud by his shoes. Fuddled, his gaze lifted down the busy street in search of you.

“What the hell…”

▶️ Chapter 2: Is This the 40s?

I think his curiosity is piqued lol... What did you think of his 1942 version vs. the, uhm, less nice future dickbag? 👀

Coming Up:

Ready to fend him off, you were surprised to find his grip wasn’t strong by any means. It was barely a brush before he dropped his hand again and looked at you remorsefully.

“I’m sorry! I just-… Please let me help you,” he reiterated with imploring green eyes. “Look, you clearly seem lost. Just tell me where you live, and I can get you home safely, okay? C’mon, you can’t do this to me.” He tried to loosen you up with a charming smile and a puppy dog look. “If you leave like this, I’m going to be up all night, worrying you’ve died of hypothermia out here.”

And my God, he seemed sincere! No wonder he had gotten attention from women like a goddamn bunny in a petting zoo.

Musingly, you then chewed on your lower lip and assessed the man in front of you. The people who strolled by you threw you the occasional weird looks – you’d chosen a bad day to wear a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Admittedly, you could use a little help here. Maybe if you were being careful with the timeline – and him – you could risk it.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

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[spicymancer]

So just wanted you to know, "yellow" is a common slur against Asian Americans and so Huang Feng, being a Bruce Lee (whos an Asian man) clone and all could raise some eyebrows to your intentions. And before i get accused of white knighting, i am Asian

Thanks for reaching out! This is honestly something that might be important to discuss and I appreciate your attempt at broaching the subject delicately. More after the jump.

So to start. I am also Asian. Specifically Chinese American.

As an American born Chinese, I have a weird relationship with my Asian heritage. I have a bad accent when I speak Chinese and most of my upbringing and cultural understanding is very American and western-centric. So I have certain biases at play here that I fully acknowledge. My experience is not universal. But these characters are drawn from that experience.

Huang Feng is a reference to Bruce Lee's performance as Kato in the Green Hornet. Dà Huángfēng being a Chinese term for a hornet.

The character is also narratively implied to be a secret moonlighting identity for the Yellow Ranger in my made-up sentai team. (Who, due to my own decision to always refer to the characters by their Ranger color, is literally just called Yellow by the other members of the cast.)

This is also a reference. Specifically to one of my greatest inspirations, Thuy Trang (Rest in Peace), who played the original Mighty Morphin Yellow Ranger. She was one of the first "Cool Asian Characters" that I encountered in media targeted at me as a child, problematic color choice aside. I sincerely adored her and her giant robot Saber-Toothed Tiger.

To be honest I have a complicated relationship with "Asian Themed" characters in media. So often saddled with cliché stereotypes: Martial Arts, dumplings, nunchucks, etc etc.

But the thing is, even as I roll my eyes whenever I see the Fighting Game character that is The Chinese One who wears a rice hat and a qipao. Or when one is literally just Bruce Lee. I do also immediately main that character. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure. Taking what representation I can get with mixed feelings. Similar to my enjoyment of sexy anime girl art even though it's all rooted in pretty uncomfortable sexist and objectifying aesthetics. A lot of my work comes from a place of exploring my own sexuality/identity. These characters are, partly, my own attempt to explore Asian themes and ideas for myself.

I would love to say that I'm trying to "reclaim" the term or something but I'm just some internet artist drawing cute anime girls and monster smut. For me, playing with these clichés is just another way of being self-indulgent.

Not really defending these creative choices so much as explaining my perspective on them. I totally understand if all this turns folks off! I fully respect those who don't vibe with my work and wish them all the best. It's a big internet and I'm sure they can find something super great to enjoy elsewhere!

Anyway, sorry for the long rambly post. Despite the fact that I'm posting this on Tumblr, I am not super mentally equipped to engage in Discourse, so forgive me if I don't respond to the tags on this.

So I'll just leave y'all with a neat article by Kat Chow discussing the history and usage of the color Yellow in regards to Asian Identity.

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WARNINGS — honestly this chapter is sorta messy and angsty. we introduce her family in this so yup! rafe and ward are icky and low key sexist. it’s sorta sad honestly

The decision isn’t sudden. Not really.

Rafe has always known you belong to him. That was never up for debate. But lately, something in him has shifted. It’s in the way you settle against him at night, how your hesitation fades a little more each time he reminds you that you’re his. It’s in the way your eyes flicker with uncertainty whenever you think about a life outside of the one he’s carved out for you.

That’s how he knows it’s time.

Marriage isn’t a question. It never has been. You were always going to be his wife—Rafe just needed to decide when.

And now, it feels inevitable.

There’s no hesitation when Rafe steps into his father’s office. He’s already made his choice, and Ward—he’ll understand.

Ward barely looks up from his paperwork, but something in the way Rafe moves—the quiet confidence, the deliberate drag of his fingers along the desk—makes him glance up.

"I’m proposing," Rafe says simply, dropping into the chair across from his father.

Ward exhales, leaning back slightly. "So, you finally decided."

No congratulations. No unnecessary sentimentality. Just a statement of fact.

Rafe smirks. "Wasn’t much of a decision. She’s already mine. The ring just makes it official."

Ward swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid shift before lifting it to his lips. "She’ll be a good wife. Sweet. Malleable."

That word again. Malleable.

Rafe lets it settle in his chest, a slow burn of satisfaction.

"She’s already playing the part," Ward continues. "I saw the way she looked at you at dinner last week. She’s starting to understand."

Rafe nods, pleased. That’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

Ward eyes him over his glass. "Have you told her yet?"

Rafe’s lips twitch. "No need."

His father smirks, shaking his head. "Just like your old man."

—

Rafe doesn’t go alone to buy the ring.

He could have. But this is a power move—staking his claim—and he wants witnesses.

So he brings two of his business partners with him, older men, men who already have wives tucked away in mansions, women who know better than to challenge them.

The high-end jewelry store is quiet when they step inside, the kind of place where you don’t browse—you buy.

A jeweler greets them with a polished smile, hands neatly folded. "Looking for something in particular, gentlemen?"

Rafe doesn’t hesitate. He gestures toward the glass case filled with massive diamonds, pristine cuts, stones meant for women who exist only to be admired.

"Biggest one you have," he says smoothly, adjusting his watch.

The jeweler chuckles, his gaze flicking between the three men. "Shopping for a proposal?"

Rafe smirks. "More like a reminder."

The man lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t ask questions. Instead, he unlocks the case and pulls out a ring—obnoxiously expensive, a diamond that catches the light in a way that demands attention.

Rafe picks it up, rolling it between his fingers. It’s perfect.

His business partner chuckles beside him, sipping the espresso a store attendant handed him the moment they walked in. "Never thought I’d see Rafe Cameron settle down."

Rafe just exhales through his nose, handing over his black card without a second thought. "Not settling," he corrects. "Just making sure she knows what she is."

The other man hums, amused. "And what’s that?"

Rafe pockets the ring box and smirks. "Mine."

After securing the ring, they head to an exclusive bar, tucked away in one of the nicest parts of town. The kind of place where the drinks don’t have prices on the menu and the waitresses wear diamonds bigger than their salaries.

They settle into a booth, the conversation easy, familiar.

Jason, who’s been married for over a decade, raises his glass. "So, when’s the big moment?"

Rafe shrugs, swirling the bourbon in his own glass. "Soon."

Patrick smirks. "She know yet?"

Rafe chuckles. "She doesn’t need to."

Jason whistles, shaking his head. "Damn. And here I thought you’d at least ask."

"Not a question," Rafe says simply, taking a sip. "She already knows she belongs to me. This just makes it official."

Patrick laughs, knocking back his drink. "Shit. Poor girl doesn’t stand a chance."

Rafe just smirks.

Because no, you don’t.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The morning starts with a message from Rafe.

Rafe: Be ready by 10. They’ll pick you up.

Your stomach twists when you open the attached itinerary.

A dress fitting. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. A blowout.

Rafe spoils you often, but this… this feels different. This feels meticulous.

Your best friend is already waiting when you step outside, practically bouncing on her heels. "Okay, seriously—what’s the occasion?"

You force a small smile. "I don’t know. Rafe just planned it."

She frowns slightly. "He didn’t tell you why?"

You shake your head.

Her expression falters, but she doesn’t push.

And maybe that’s why you love her—because even when she notices the things you refuse to, she doesn’t push.

By the time you get home, you feel like a doll—your hair in soft waves, your nails polished to perfection, your skin practically glowing.

Rafe is waiting when you walk in, leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

His eyes sweep over you, slow and possessive.

"Perfect," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

Your stomach twists.

Then he pulls something from his pocket—a small velvet box.

Your breath catches.

He flips it open, revealing the biggest diamond you’ve ever seen. It’s blinding. Overwhelming.

"Rafe—"

"You’re gonna marry me, angel," he says smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stare at him, lips parting. "I—"

His smirk deepens. "That wasn’t a question."

He takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger before you can even process it. The weight of it feels final.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, bringing your hand to his lips. "Now and always."

Your heart pounds.

Because deep down, you know—

This was never a choice.

—

You don’t know how long you stand there after he kisses your hand, staring at the ring like it’s something foreign, before you excuse yourself from Rafe by saying you’re going to take a bath.

The ring feels foreign on your finger, too tight even though it fits perfectly.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing yourself.

This is supposed to be a dream come true.

Then why does it feel like something’s slipping through your fingers?

Your phone sits on the counter, the screen lighting up with familiar notifications—family group chat messages you haven’t opened in weeks, a missed call from your mom you never returned.

You hesitate.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you press call.

It rings twice before she picks up.

"Sweetheart!" Your mother’s voice is bright, too bright—like she’s already moved on from whatever reason she called before. "I was just thinking about you! It's been forever. Are you eating enough? Getting sleep?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I—yeah, Mom, I’m fine."

"Good girl." The words are automatic, like she’s talking to a child. "You know I worry when you don’t check in."

You grip the counter. "I just…" You hesitate. "Rafe proposed."

Silence.

For a second, you think the call dropped.

"Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!" she gushes. "I knew he would! He’s such a sweet boy, taking such good care of you."

Your stomach twists. "I—I don’t know if I’m ready for this."

She laughs softly, like you just told her you’re scared of the dark. "Oh, baby, don’t be silly. It’s just nerves! Every girl gets nervous before a big change."

"No, I mean—" You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. "Mom, I don’t even know if this is what I want—"

"Shh, sweetheart, don’t overthink it. You always get like this."

Like this.

Like you’re being dramatic. Like you’re just scared and not thinking clearly.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

"Mom, I just…" Your voice wavers. "I don’t know if I can do this."

"You can, baby. You just need to stop worrying so much."

You open your mouth, but she’s already moving on.

"Oh! You know who you should talk to? Your brother. He always knows what to say."

Your blood runs cold.

"Mom, no—"

"I’ll tell him to call you. He’s so good at giving advice—he's always been the level-headed one, you know that."

You know what that really means.

Your brother, the golden child. The one who always did the right thing, who never needed to be reminded how to behave, who never worried about his decisions.

Unlike you.

"Mom, please," you whisper. "I don’t need him to—"

"Oh! Even better—we’ll come visit! We can celebrate together."

The floor feels unsteady beneath you. "Mom—"

"I’ll call your father, we’ll set a date, maybe next weekend? Oh, we’ll bring champagne!"

"I don’t—"

"You should be excited, sweetheart," she interrupts, her tone patient, correcting. "This is the happiest time of your life."

The words land like a stone in your stomach.

"We’ll see you soon, baby."

The line goes dead.

And you stare at your phone.

You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that your feelings wouldn’t matter, that your uncertainty would be brushed aside like it was nothing.

Like you were nothing but a silly little girl who would fall in line eventually.

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them.

You press your palms against the counter, sucking in a breath.

But it’s not enough.

Your shoulders shake, silent and uncontrollable.

The ring feels heavier than ever.

Before you can even wipe your tears the door creaks open.

Rafe is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

His gaze flicks to your phone, then to your red-rimmed eyes.

His smirk suddenly fades.

"That was your mom?"

You swallow hard, nodding.

His jaw clenches.

He already knows.

"You tell her you were happy?" His voice is low, but there’s an edge beneath it—one that makes your skin prickle.

You hesitate.

And his gaze darkens.

"You are happy, aren’t you, angel?"

His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

Your lip trembles. You want to say yes, but the lie is stuck in your throat.

His grip tightens, just a little. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that, he’s the only one who listens.

The only one who really sees you.

Your breath shudders out.

"I—I don’t know."

His gaze flickers.

Then, slowly, his lips curl into a smirk.

"You’re just overwhelmed, angel." His voice is soft, coaxing. "They don’t get you like I do. No one does.”

Your chest tightens.

"You trust me, don’t you?"

You don’t know how to say no.

So you just nod.

His smirk deepens.

"That’s my good girl."

[mvltisstuff]

hihi so!! would it be possible for a buck one shot from season 2, ep 4 where the drunk girls are flirting with him and reader is kinda jealousy? like when one girl asked buck to put his number in her phone reader is just giving her the nastiest side eye ever or something?

this honestly just made me giggle and if you don’t do that then that is 100% okay! thank you so so much if you do this or even just for reading it! <3333

outside i keep it quiet - e.b

summary: buck sees y/n’s jealous side for the first time in their relationship.

evan buckley x reader

og gif post

a/n: hello ;)) i love silly little requests like these, and again, im so sorry for how long ago this was requested, but i hope you’ll still enjoy today! also disclaimer, the word bitch is not used in a sexist, derogatory way (at the end at least) don’t get too upset ;) also some things might be a little different from the episode as i haven’t watched in a while lol

the scrunch on y/n’s brows was unfamiliar to buck. she was busy bandaging up one of the girls, who was busy staring at buck. her gentle fingers were more stiff than normal, and buck definitely noticed.

y/n was getting increasingly frustrated with the girl she was working on. her intoxication only making her interested in the firefighters in front of her. buck hated to admit it, but he loved seeing the fiery jealousy coming from his girlfriend. they’ve been dating for quite some time, but she’s never had a good reason to be jealous of him.

she whipped her head around at the words she heard from the other group of women.

“you, like, have really big arms,” one of them mumbled to him.

“oh, thanks,” buck replied, not showing interest and just doing his job.

“like i know it’s a free country, but i don’t know if you can carry those guns around,” the other girl said, giggling to herself and earning cackles from chimney. y/n gave him a death glare, telling him not to entertain them without words.

“why don’t you guys go sit down on the curb, and y/l/n will come check you all?”

“i’d rather stay by you, but, whatever you say,” she winked and walked away. y/n let out a huff as she finished wrapping up her patients arm.

“hey!” she heard a holler from where the group was sitting. “do you have a bitch?”

y/n let out a laugh straight from her chest, not even trying to hide it anymore. the whole team looked at her, seeing a stance in her they didn’t know existed. none of them knew this side of her.

���no, i don’t have a bitch,” buck replied, not even making eye contact with them.

“ooh! did you hear that?” one of the girls further away exclaimed.

y/n was like a ticking time bomb. she was about to slap these girls clean across the face, but it would definitely not end well. so, instead, she gave them picture-perfect smiles that buck could see right through.

buck walked over to y/n, placing his hand on her hip to pass by her. y/n felt chills up her body, loving the fact that the girls were sat completely still at the sight. they were cleaning up some of their tools from the sight and loading them back into the truck, and everyone was fully over this call.

bucks fingers lightly touched her side, making sure she felt him there but also making sure the drunk girls noticed. they surely did, because they couldn’t stay silent if their mouths were sewn. even if they didn’t know they were dating, not a soul on the earth could miss the look in bucks eyes whenever he landed his gaze on y/n. he pecked her cheek rapidly before she ran off to the truck.

“wait, i thought you said you didn’t have one?”

“i did, she’s not my bitch.”

back at the station, buck found y/n standing by her locker, changing into her clothes to head home. she had only gotten to take off her top shirt before buck came in.

buck walked in and couldn’t take his eyes off of her. she’d taken out her braids and let them wave down her back and run her fingers through it. he noticed her waistband landing right on her hips, her undershirt scrunched up to show off her abdomen. he came up behind her, sliding his hands to the front of her, but she stopped him and turned around.

“you should’ve told them i was your bitch.”

“but you’re not-“

“i wanted to see the look on their faces if you had said yes and pointed to me. i wanted them to know you’re mine and only mine, not theirs.”

“o-oh.” buck murmured, as she walked toward him as he backed up.

“call me your bitch, then.”

“no!” buck replied. “i’m not gonna call you that.”

“i just wanna hear it so i can imagine their faces.” she tapped her ear and turned it toward him with her other hand on her hip.

buck sighed and tossed his head back before leaning in closer to her. “you’re my bitch.”

y/n grinned at his hesitation and grabbed the sides of his neck, pulling them chest to chest as her nose pressed against his face. it was almost the most powerful kiss they’ve ever had, other than the first i love you’s.

“don’t make me say that ever again.” buck chuckles.

“i won’t, baby,” she says. “my place tonight?”

“i’ll be there.” buck smiles and she turns to walk out of the locker room. chimney walks in as she leaves.

“oh, bye, bitch!” he waves and smiles at her.

“hey! no.” buck shouts at him and shakes his head urgently.

“sorry,” chim says under his breath.

[idolomantises]

Thoughts on Arcane season 2

I didn’t like this season

It’s not bad, but I found it incredibly rushed, cramped and deeply unsatisfying

While season 1 had several protagonists it was also pretty obvious that Vi and Jinx were the emotional core of the entire show so why on earth was their dynamic barely explored here

Vi went from being my favorite character to a character I found deeply frustrating and annoying. What the hell is her personality of getting her sister back and fucking the hot lesbian. She has no consistency whatsoever and it’s something I don’t think the show realizes how batshit the constant flip flopping in. What do you mean you sister tells you she’s going to kill herself and then you start fucking your messy situationship

I don’t really care for Jayvik but I found Jayce’s confession very sweet.

Mel my beautiful queen they’re gonna call you a Mary Sue

What the fuck was with all that Witch shit and Ambessa’s death was incredibly unsatisfying

Victor fans who kept begging the team to not make him a hot buff robot so he can still be a skinny twink pisses me off so bad because now we have an inferior twink robot design. I know fans probably didn’t influence this but I also need to complain about their lack of taste like what do you mean you didn’t want to see a hot buff robot man.

Ekko feels like an incredibly unimportant character and I’m pretty sure fans only like him because of what he can do for Jinx. A part of me wished he actually did hold a grudge just to see how fans reacted.

Season 1 was all about setting up emotional complexities and how nobody was truly evil and the show made it seem like there was no way for anyone to fully recovery from this but everyone is holding hands and singing kumbaya’s so alright nevermind then

This show was honestly a little too in love with Jinx. I did not enjoy her writing in acts 1 and 2.

The jokes were really bad this season

The songs oh my god the SONGS. I didn’t mind them in season 1 but in season 2 it started to remind me of love is blind and anyone who has watched that show would know what a massive insult that is.

Caitvi lesbian sex scene and I couldn’t even enjoy it because the writing was pissing me off

Caitlyn should’ve continued her little fascist arc.

Mel’s arc this season felt like weird fanfiction.

A bunch of random side characters die off unceremoniously after the show gave them so much unnecessary screen time

I hated Isha sorry. I’ve never seen a character more clearly made to die.

Jinx death means nothing to me because I know she isn’t dead so why even do all that lol

I will never call this show sexist but it has done a massive disservice to its female characters.

[nquesoxlies]

my pet peeve is the narrative of this show goes over a lot of peoples heads.

like with the closet joke in 7x05- if that was meant to be “tommy outing buck” and buck being pissed off, that would’ve been the narrative and it would’ve been shown on screen. it was just a funny joke, so that’s how the show treated it.

if tommy was a racist, sexist prick, he would be portrayed as that in the show. the characters wouldn’t like him, and they definitely would’ve brought it up to buck by now. but he isn’t, and the show isn’t treating him like he’s a bigot either, because that’s not the story.

to go further with this, the narrative in season two WAS that tommy was a close-minded jerk, until hen and chim arrived. we literally see them make up on screen and see tommy become friends with them. the actual narrative there was he became a better person. the show isn’t telling the story that he’s still that jerk, they literally showed that he’d changed seven years ago. to disregard that is just arrogance.

i see a lot of people calling tommy a bad boyfriend and i honestly don’t know where they get that from because, again, that’s just not the story being told. if he was a bad boyfriend, buck would’ve seemed unhappy with him, his friends would’ve talked to him about it. they haven’t, buck was happy, no one was concerned, because that’s not the story being told.

they’re all for preaching “everything’s shown on screen for a reason” until it’s tommy being a nice person and him and buck having a good relationship.

they can infer (read: delude themselves into thinking) whatever they want, but it’s simply not the narrative being played out on screen.

i think a lot of people do over-think scenes too and over-analyse and infer things that aren’t there, when sometimes it is as simple as what’s been shown on screen. if characters were meant to be upset or mad, it would be shown. if characters were meant to be shitty, it would be shown through them or other characters reactions. that’s not to say we can’t imagine things happening afterwards, but you know what i mean. you can’t state “omg he hated when she said that” if the character is just smiling or looking at them.

you can dislike a character and think they’re a dick for whatever reason, but until that’s actually shown on screen or a character has a negative reaction towards them, it’s not the story being told and can’t be treated as truth, gospel, or canon.

especially in this show. they’re all literal grown adults ages 30-60. they’re not in high school, they’re not being petty, if they had serious issues they would talk about them.

☝️☝️☝️

[hurtspideyparker]

Avengers' Galentine's Day 💕

"You may be wondering why I've convened you here today."

Natasha looks around the table at the men, hands clasped and back straight. Bruce, Peter, Sam, and Bucky sit around her.

Peter perks up. "I'm just happy to be here, thank you for inviting me Ms. Romanoff!"

"You can call me Natasha. And don't make me regret it," she says pointedly.

Peter nods furiously, leaning in intently as she speaks again.

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and to my knowledge all of you are single. And my knowledge is always correct. So, I propose a Galentine's Day."

The men all share awkward looks.

"We're all...dudes."

"Yes, thank you Sam. I wasn't aware." She says sharply before continuing.

"Listen, contrary to popular belief around here, I am a woman. I want to do woman things. But Wanda has a boyfriend, Pepper is working, and Maria is out of the country. So, I'm left with you doofuses."

"Hold on, hold on," Sam puts a hand up, "why wouldn't we think you were a woman? I mean we treat you like a friend and not a sex object. That's not treating you like a man."

Natasha holds up a hand and starts counting on her fingers.

"You two were making fart noises and giggling during breakfast with me sitting right there, and only stopped when Pepper walked in for a bagel," she looks between Sam and Peter.

"You offered me your 3-in-1 when I forgot my toiletries bag on mission," she nods to Bruce.

"And you—" she raises her eyebrows at Bucky, "handed me a cup when I said I needed to pee during that road trip out West."

The men all turn to Bucky.

"Jus' instinct. My bad." he hunches under their scrutiny.

"What kinda road trips you going on man," Sam asks.

"Clearly not the same ones as you."

"CleArLy—"

"Anyways!" Natasha interrupts, "You owe me. And if you say no you're probably sexist. Who's in?"

Peter's hand shoots up enthusiastically, and the others reluctantly follow.

"Great! We need someone on decorations, someone to plan an activity, someone on dinner, I'll prepare the snacks, and then someone on drinks. Alcoholic and non. And yes this all has to be Valentine's theme. So...who knows a good balloon place?"

Sam gets dinner, Bucky drinks, Bruce on the activity, and Peter decorations.

"You're all capable people so do not call me every second asking stupid questions. Figure it out, it better be amazing. Steve and Tony are leaving at 6pm for their date and won't be back till late, so we have the place to ourselves. The dress code is red white and pink, be there or be square."

With that Natasha is up and breezing down the hall.

"Why do I feel guilty and manipulated at the same time. What just happened." Bruce contemplates.

"Spies man," Sam shakes his head.

Peter rolls his eyes, "you guys are so lame. Do you know what this means? Chocolate covered strawberries. Heart shaped balloons. Fun games. Frosting—I basically lived off of Red 40 when I was 13. And I like hanging out with you all, what's the difference now that it's Valentine's?"

"The difference is I have to party plan, and I can't go to the bar and flirt with lonely singles." Sam complains.

Peter shrugs and gets up from the table. "That's weird, and you're no fun. Later losers!"

Bucky crosses his arms and sinks into the chair. "Why is it Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Stark, but we're losers?"

"Probably because you two are morons and he beat your asses before his balls dropped." Bruce says nonchalantly, picking up his tablet and pulling out his reading glasses.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Peter gets to work first, calling May because he has zero experience decorating anything, let alone a holiday themed girls' (?) night.

"Dollar store helium balloons. Honestly, dollar store for most of it; look in the Valentine's section. Also maybe ribbon, place settings, and of course flowers. And don't you dare leave the flowers in the plastic Peter Benjamin Parker—"

Peter finds most of what he needs at the dollar store, and then finds a red and white checkered tablecloth at the thrift store.

The day of he sets the table with heart doilies, pink dishware that Pepper found for him, and some random candles. The odd assortment makes it look rustic, and not like he stole them from people's rooms in the tower. (Wanda had a candle that smells like lavender! Score!)

He sets the balloons loose onto the ceiling and shrugs a good enough when they seem evenly spaced. He uses Mr. Stark's credit card to buy the flowers, because holy bejesus, 60 dollars for plants that aren't even going to make it to next month?! He fixes them up nice, an assortment in varying shades of pink with small white flowers in-between, and puts them in a vase he found when dumpster diving. He hangs streamers and heart garlands on the walls, and uses some Valentine's confetti to just... throw around. It looks like the dragon of capitalism threw up on all the flat surfaces, and Peter dusts his hands off with a job well done.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Sam knows how to be romantic. He does not, however, know how to be "cutesy".

All his normal romantic dinner ideas go flying out the window—he is not ordering steak and salmon for a bunch of dudes and a minor, thank you very much.

The only thing he could find that would fit the theme without being romantic was heart-shaped pizzas. It sounds like the perfect party food and just might avoid disappointing a woman who carries a dozen weapons on her at all time (half of which are just the ways she can use her body with lethal force).

He calls five pizza shops trying to place a catering order for the 14th, receives a cacophony of "fuck you"s, "do you know what day that is? Do you know what day today is?", and some immediate hang ups before deciding that homemade pizzas are way more fun and creative anyways, and does a quick grocery shop.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bruce looks through blogs with pictures of millennial blonde women telling him about "great ideas for girls' night!" and finds his task far more difficult than anticipated.

Friendship bracelets? Clashing aesthetics aside, they'd probably rain down in a mess of beads mid-fight. He does not want to Home Alone his friends (don't even get him started on Hulking out).

Decorate your own hair accessories? He's not sure how the physics of trying to clip a hair bow onto Sam's head would work. Bucky and Natasha might appreciate a good claw clip though.

What he does land on is making clay fridge magnets. They have... a fridge. How hard can painting be?

He also pulls out Uno and Avengers Edition Guess Who—they get sent a lot of promotional items. Collectively their favourite was the Ben & Jerry's Super ice cream line, they bought a whole other freezer for it.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bucky buys 3 bottles of rosé, 2 tequila, 1 vodka, red jello packets, pink lemonade, edible glitter, and strawberry milk.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Natasha placed an order for a beautiful array of cupcakes, chocolate covered strawberries, and a charcuterie board back in December.

She only waited so long to invite her guests because she wasn't sure how they'd react to her wanting a nice girly party. Her options were already slim to begin with, and it felt weird inviting a bunch of dudes to something she's been planning for months with the ridiculous expectation she'd magically have more women in her life.

Either way, she's determined to have a great night. These are some of her closest friends, why would it matter if they're men?

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Maybe I should have been clearer about the dress code."

Natasha is wearing a beautiful red dress; mid-length, thin straps, and a plunging neckline. It fits her curves beautifully, emphasizing her hips in a silky fabric.

The men took the dress code in a...different direction.

Bruce is wearing jeans and a maroon cardigan.

Sam has a white button-up and a red tie, cuffs rolled up to the elbow, and nice black slacks.

Peter is wearing pink hello kitty pajama pants and a white t-shirt with an anatomical heart diagram.

Bucky is adorned in his usual black cargo pants and a baby pink hoodie.

The men all assess each other's outfits, eyes reflecting uncertainty. Sam in particular seems at odds with Bucky's pastel fashion choice.

"Where'd you get that sweater? I thought your favourite colour was "dark" and your closet consistent exclusively of black, noir, midnight, and charcoal."

Bucky seems content despite the fashion being out of his comfort zone. The soft warm colouring makes him seem sweet and approachable despite his perpetual glower.

"I don't know, it just turned like this one day. It used to be white."

Sam narrows his eyes, "I think you messed up your laundry dude."

"I thought this was just something that happened with your fancy machines. I like dark colours, so. I wouldn't know if this was normal."

"Did you wash it with something red? Used hot water?"

"I don't own any red."

Sam exchanges skeptical looks with the other confused Avengers, except Peter, who's completely turned away from them all and observing the wall.

"Peter." Natasha asks.

"Mhm?" he says, back still turned.

"You wouldn't happen to know something about this would you?"

Peter rocks back and forth on his feet, arms swinging like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Not a clue Ms. Ro—Natasha. I haven't the faintest idea."

"The kid did something to your laundry."

"Hey!" Peter spins around. "That is a wild accusation."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do it."

Peter matches her unwavering stare, "I! ...Maybe put some of Spider-Man's things in the machine. It was already going and it was just socks—why would I start a new load for socks!"

"When the load that's already going is whites. Honestly, as a society shouldn't we have moved past separating colours? Cold water people, cold water." Bruce trails off.

Sam claps him on the shoulder with a "preach it brother!" while pumping his other fist in the air.

Natasha slices her hands through the air in an 'enough' motion.

"It's fine, it's fine. We're here, we're dressed, Peter managed to do a nice job decorating," Peter grins and shoots her two thumbs up, "so let's get the party started."

Natasha turns on some music while Sam grabs everything out of the fridge.

"We're gonna make heart pizzas! Thought I'd add a little fun and personality to the whole dinner affair."

Natasha looks him up and down.

"All of the pizza places told you to fuck off didn't they?"

"Loudly and immediately."

Her lips quirk subtly and then she helps him set the table up and pass out dough. Sam sighs in relief at the micro expression of joy.

The table is full of chatter and warmth, toppings being passes around. Peter sings along to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with an alarming passion, and Sam absolutely kills everyone with his rendition of Single Ladies by Beyoncé, even getting a chuckle from Bucky. There is a short stint between Natasha and Bruce in which she sees how many green peppers she can place on his pizza without him noticing after he said he didn't like the fruit.

"But you like red?"

"Red has flavour, green things all taste like water or small talk."

The answer was 6 before he noticed.

They take turns playing Avengers Guess Who while they wait for all of their food to cook. Peter and Sam are against each other as Natasha eats her fresh pizza.

"Is your character a man?"

Sam's eyebrows furrow. They just started the game, and already he's stumped.

"I don't know dude, I don't even know if he's got any junk in his trunk."

"Oh, so Vision?"

"Dammit!"

Bucky and Natasha go next.

"Would your character wear his own branded underwear?"

"Yes." Natasha replies immediately. "Would your character be picked for a stealth mission?"

"Nope," Bucky answers as he finishes flipping down his characters. He only has 3 left.

"Has your character had a press scandal in the last 6 months?"

Natasha thinks for a moment, "yes. Is your character Bruce?"

Bucky groans and slams down the last character he had up.

"Yeah. And yours was Tony."

"Indeed it was. Should have guessed when you had 3, better to gamble than play it safe." Bucky rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

Bucky gets all of his drinks out while they eat, pouring lemonade and tequila haphazardly into their cups, stirring in glitter with an unenthusiastic flare.

"Voila."

Peter looks on.

"What about me?"

Bucky reaches back into the fridge and pulls out a litre of pink strawberry milk.

"Ta-da."

Peter looks at it with befuddlement.

"What, you want the glitter too?"

"Not a fan of micro plastics, thanks."

Bucky shrugs and pushes the jug of milk towards him.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Fridge magnets!"

They all stare at Bruce.

"Magnets! For our fridge!"

"And this made you think of us?" Sam asks.

Bruce throws his hands up. "I don't know man! Would you have preferred wine glass painting?"

Sam holds his palms towards Bruce in a soothing manner. "Struck a nerve there..." he whispers to Bucky.

Despite their apprehension they fall into a nice rhythm of sipping and shaping. The clay starts coming together under their palms; Bruce a pair of glasses, Peter an Iron Man mask, Natasha a pair of ballet slippers, Sam a set of sprawling wings and Bucky a kitten.

"You a cat guy?" Sam asks him.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Sam's eyes flit between the small cat ears being shaped by gruff hands and the shadowed face of the taciturn super soldier.

"Naw, just didn't peg you as a cat guy. Or an animal guy. Or a loving guy."

Bucky stares at him for a moment before stretching a fist out and smashing Sam's wings-in-progress.

"Hey! Foul, foul! Natasha are you going to just let this happen?"

"It's Bruce's activity."

"Hulk smash."

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

As the night progresses the adults become more and more tipsy, grazing the charcuterie board and sweets on the table.

"AH oh GOD what did you make these with, battery acid?!"

Everyone turns to Peter who's standing in the refrigerator door, holding a cup of half eaten red Jello.

"Oh, I forgot about those. They're Jello shots."

Peter balks at Bucky, "as in alcohol?!"

He rushes to the sink and tilts his head sideways under the faucet, water blasting onto his tongue.

"Well, that's dramatic."

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. Why on Earth would you ruin perfectly good Jello like that?"

Bucky grabs the tray of Jello shots from the opened fridge, placing them on the table and handing them out to the adults.

"Cheers," they tap the plastic cups before shooting the gelatin down their throats to the sound of Peter spluttering in the sink. Bucky and Natasha's go down smoothly, Sam chokes a bit at the awkward chunk of food heating his throat, and Bruce spends 30 seconds trying to scoop the Jello out of the cup with an uncomfortable combination of finger and tongue action.

"How do you even know about Jello shots, you're like...old." Peter remarks once he's taken a few gulps of pink lemonade to wash down the aftertaste.

"How do you know about Jello shots, you're like...uncool." Bucky retorts. Natasha snorts and Sam bursts out laughing. Even Bruce chuckles.

"Dr. Banner," Peter whines at him.

"Sorry kid, but he's got a point. What kind of kid spits out a Jello shot. It's free, sugary, no-repercussions alcohol."

Peter just sits down with a pout and continues to sip on his lemonade.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The night gets later, the adults more inebriated as they finish painting their magnets.

Sam has eaten all the salami off the board and Peter has taken to throwing the disproportionate amount of cheese leftover at people. Bucky is on his third cupcake, and Natasha keeps giggling into her cup of tequila.

"What if he was blue—" Sam starts cracking himself up, hovering a paintbrush near Peter's Iron Man face.

"I don't understand what's so funny about that. Stop, Sam stop!"

As the boys fight over the paint, Natasha and Bruce go with a quick all-over glaze of colour and then add the sealant and magnet before the others even make it to a second shade. Bucky paints his cat with an air of intense concentration, one even Sam doesn't want to go near.

Their finished magnets get placed onto fridge.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The whole group seem to be moving around and restless, chaotic and boisterous. Sam complains loudly about the romcom they put on in the background, Peter, Bruce, and Bucky play a rapid round of Uno, and Natasha keeps popping in and out of rooms with a different cookie and drink in her hand each time.

Bruce starts to get weepy when he pronounces uno, mumbling something about being "uno" forever through a drunken tongue and snot as Peter rubs his back.

The next time they turn around Natasha and Bucky are on the other couch making out.

"Gross! No! No romance on Galentine's Day!" Peter shouts, throwing pillows and pink m&ms at them until they pull away. Peter couldn't see much other than the back of Bucky's head, but he shivers in disgust at the sight of reddened lips.

He starts counting down the time on the clock until Tony and Steve are said to come home. While the snacks, games, and company have been fantastic, the adults are becoming far too...exuberant for his taste.

Bruce is a weepy drunk, Sam simply annoying, Natasha is sneaky and suspiciously absent for odd lengths of time, and Bucky...

"Hey! What did I say!" Peter dumps his glass of water onto the brunet, watching him jerk his lips off of Sam's in dissatisfaction.

"I swear I'll get a spray bottle. Bad Bucky." he says before continuing to the bathroom.

He finds the door open and Natasha standing at the mirror, curling her hair.

"Why?"

Natasha just shrugs.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The elevator finally dings a quarter to midnight.

"Oh thank goodness."

Steve and Tony exit with linked arms, broad smiles and sides pressed together in a matching gate.

Peter rushes up to them, backpack in hand as he starts shedding his t-shirt and socks.

"Woah there cowboy, I did not sign up for that kind of rodeo" Tony alarms.

Peter just pulls out his spider suit and starts slipping it on over his state of undress.

"Tell Natasha I had a great time, but I'm expeditiously out of here. Bruce is still hung up on his ex, Natasha feels distanced from her femininity and is trying to regain her girlhood, Bucky's a slut, and Sam is so totally tapping that tonight. I'd like to be far, far away when that happens."

Peter pulls on the final piece of the suit, masking up and sending enthusiastic waves to the couple.

"Hope your date was nice! This is not my problem anymore."

And then he scampers to the balcony and swings off into the night.

The couple share wide eyes, listening to the odd sound of their friends and the booming TV playing a romantic 90s soundtrack.

Is someone crying?

Steve turns away from Tony and steps towards the living area, but Tony doesn't loosen his hold on the other's arm, making his steps stutter to a stop immediately.

"Shouldn't we go check on them? Sounds like the party was too much of a hit."

Steve looks over at the empty bottles of wine and tequila tipped on the kitchen counter. There's food, half fallen streamers, and Uno cards everywhere.

"Right now? That is not our problem."

"But—"

Tony slinks forward, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around the Captain's neck, wide-eyed browns meeting baby blues.

"It's still Valentine's, and I have a far more pressing problem for you."

Steve stares mesmerized under Tony's touch, the man sly and hot against his front. They're close, close enough to feel...

"Oh! That's—"

"Mhm."

"Okay. Yeah, they'll be fine till morning."

Tony smirks and Steve matches his smile, moving his hands to his lover's waist before walking him backwards.

Tony allows himself to be guided to their bedroom without breaking eye contact, blocking all thoughts of the other Avengers with a slam of the door and giggling open mouthed kisses.

[bunnliix]

When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Eleven

I may have taken my sweet time writing this, but in my defense, the Felix smut was what my brain wanted to write first, and then life got to me and made me really busy. And here I am, finishing this fic at 3am in the morning lol. But have fun with the chaos of this fic hehe.

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader  Summary: We see the aftermath and chaos of the company's decision, plus y/n gets some much needed comfort. Oh, and a reveal! wc: 1.8k AU: a/b/o  Genre: Fluff/Angst  warnings: fighting and slapping, threats, angst, slut-shaming and derogatory talk towards y/n, use of the words slut,pussy, whore, etc., lots of misogyny in this chapter folks, and a bunch of like derogatory talk about omegas that is absolutely misogynistic and sexist, lots of cursing, implications that people would take advantage of others, disassociating kinda, shitty people being called the names they deserve, this should be everything masterlist

The fighting went on, it seemingly would never end as insults and angry words kept being thrown back and forth. Ateez and their management yelled back and forth over who had the decision making power over the new member, and for the most part, the auditionees just watched it all happen. What could they do? Nothing. They were just the pawns in the game, really, if one thought about it.

“You said we could have the ability to pick the final member out of that group! We don’t want anyone but y/n!” Wooyoung yelled, getting in the face of one of the staff members, having to be pulled away by Mingi and Yunho.

“I will take all of my members, and we’ll leave KQ, if you continue to insist on your pick for the ninth member. I am not above leaving. We,” Hongjoong said as he gestured to the rest of Ateez, “are not above leaving. I don’t think you want to test how far you can push us before we push back.” He said, his words a thinly veiled threat.

“Who would take you? They don’t want an established group.” The staff member who started all of this stated.

“I can think of a few companies who would gladly take us. You forget we’re a group that has a very large international audience, which is what companies want nowadays.” Hongjoong said, almost too calmly.

“We’ll leave, take everything we can with us, and we’ll go start somewhere else. Atiny will follow us, they like us, not you.” Hongjoong spelled it out for the staff members, who quickly realized that they might want to back down on this.

“God, is your pussy really that great that they’ll go to bat for you like this? Well, I guess a slut like you knows how to please, honestly that’s all omega’s are good for, anyways. Just a quick fuck, nothing more.” She heard the voice speak again, and this time it was louder, since she saw some of the other auditionees’ heads turn. She would have turned to look at who it was, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the idols across the table.

It was apparent to the others, though not to the y/n nor the person behind her, that not only had the other auditionees’ heard those words, but so had a member of the group. Before anyone could process the idol’s actions, Jongho had launched himself across the room and tackled whoever had been sitting behind her, the two landing on the floor with a thump. This stopped any fighting in its tracks.

“You want to say that again?” Jongho growled as he pinned the other person to the floor, teeth bared.

“Y-You heard me.” They said, a stutter appearing as they tried to mask any fear of the beta on top of them.

“I would bet that you’re also the person who leaked those pictures to Dispatch. Since you’re so intent on being jealous that you weren’t picked.” The maknae idol deduced.

“And if I did? What are you going to do about it?” They taunted him, somehow overcoming their fear.

“Jongho, get off of him. Now.” Hongjoong ordered, moving over to where the maknae was.

“No.”

“Jongho, now.”

“He was telling lies to y/n. Telling her that she and omegas were only good for a quick fuck, and that we were only fighting for her because she was good in bed. His words were more vulgar, and I won’t repeat them.” Jongho said, never looking away from the target of his rage.

“It’s not a lie. Omegas are only good for fucking, that’s it. That’s their purpose in life, is to be good little broodmares for betas and alphas. Besides, what talent does she have, she’s barely done anything while we’ve been here, and has only monopolized the attention of all of you.” They spat out, glaring over at y/n before their view of her was replaced with Mingi.

Hongjoong turned to look at the staff and managers with a murderous look on his face. They really wanted someone like this, to become part of Ateez? “You wanted a disgusting piece of shit like this, to become a member of Ateez? Someone who will look down on his fellow members because of their subgender? You were going to let someone like this interact with Atiny, and based on his words, probably abuse power as an idol to take advantage of them?” He raged, his voice becoming increasingly louder until he was shouting at them.

The staff tried to stammer out excuses, claiming they knew nothing of the beta’s opinions. It was clear to everyone that none of the idols believed the words coming out of their managers’ mouths, though to his credit, their main manager didn’t say anything, just sat down and stayed quiet while the others talked out of their asses. In return for his silence, he received disappointed looks from the eight idols, half of whom were still filled with rage against the beta and the others.

Wooyoung rushed over to y/n’s side once the shock and anger of the situation was pushed aside in favor of concern for his omega baby. Placing his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face him, as she still spaced out.

“Baby omega, c’mon come look at me,” he pleaded. “It’s okay, so come back to me, to us.”

His words, plus his scent of flowers and cinnamon turning slightly burnt as he worried, brought y/n back to the present. She looked over at the other omega, whose face was filled with worry.

“Wooyoung-ssi?” She asked, still a bit dazed from her intense focus on what was now just an empty spot in the room.

“Hi baby omega, how are you feeling?” He asked her, as the others looked over at the two of them.

“God, I knew it from the moment that the hag of an omega dragged you away, that you were an attention whore.” The beta cut in, making everyone’s heads’ snap to him.

Y/n’s face dropped as she realized who exactly said that, but she couldn’t get a word in before the sound of a slap rang out. Mingi had stepped forward, kneeling down and slapping the beta’s cheek so hard that a bruise had already started to form.

“Aaron, why are you like this? You were so nice to me.” Y/n asked, confused.

“Because you’ve done nothing to deserve anything you’ve gotten here. I’ve worked my ass off for years, and I’ve been passed over in favor of omegas. Because of your kind, I can’t get anything, omegas are always the ones chosen for things, never betas. I deserve this. I’m way more talented than you are, and I’m not a fucking whore who sleeps her way into the team. I don’t monopolize Ateez’s attention, not like you have. You got private sessions with San and Yunho, I saw it. And fuck it was amazing to see how much hate you’re still getting for it. You should just go back home, y’know, and be the little omega housewife, because that’s all you’re good for.” Aaron goes off on a rant, inadvertently revealing that he was the one that leaked the photos to Dispatch.

The anger in the room was palpable, and y/n wasn’t the only one to shrink in on herself because of it. Wooyoung held her tighter, his arms snaking around her to pull her closer, as the two of them watched the others crowd around the three on the floor, as they noticed that the staff ushered the other auditionees out of the conference room.

“So, you’re the one who put my members’ careers at risk, and put them in the middle of a scandal? You’re the one who made my members worried and stressed because you’re jealous that another person, that wasn’t you, caught our eye? Y’know, it's fitting that it’s you. You look as pathetic as you actually are. Only someone who knows they’re inadequate stoops so low as to bring others down to their level. You’re passed over in favor of omegas, because they’re obviously better than you. And y/n is one of those omegas.” Hongjoong said, his words filled with condescension towards Aaron. “Say goodbye to any chance of making it in the industry, here or back home. Word gets around about bad people.” The captain finished.

Seonghwa turned to the staff that remained in the room. “If you don’t get security here within the next few minutes, and make sure he’s escorted back to his room so he can pack up and then driven to the airport to fly back to whatever dump he’s from, we will take it into our hands. I don’t think you want the media, or Atiny, knowing that you were going to let someone who tried to ruin two members of Ateez, into the group. Nor will the police be happy if they find out that they were deceived, if any of you knew about what he had done, to not only San and Yunho, but to an innocent person in all of this.”

Yeosang, normally not one to be overly touchy feely when things are stressful, moved over to Wooyoung and y/n, in need of comfort from his omega friend. Wooyoung immediately noticed and pulled the alpha close, the now trio taking comfort in one another. The two men silently communicated, both hoping that management would fail in the task given to them, so that the stain on the floor would be dragged out by police instead. They were disappointed when security rushed into the room, and once Jongho had pulled away from the beta, the team of security guards led the disgraced auditionee out of the conference room, and away from the lives of the now nine members of Ateez.

Hongjoong was quick to collect the rest of the group, including y/n, and bid goodbye to the staff members, not sparing them another glace as he led his group out into the hallway. Y/n was pushed into the middle of their protective circle, with Seonghwa and Wooyoung on either side, and Mingi behind the trio to bring up the rear as the others surrounded the trio of omegas. The group of nine were led to the practice room, as it was the easiest and quickest place to regroup.

Once everyone was settled in the room, most sprawled out on the floor, including y/n whose head was laid in Yeosang’s lap as the man ran his hands through her hair, silence settled over the group as everyone processed what had just occurred. That silence lasted until the youngest omega shot up, almost hitting Yeosang’s chin, as she realized exactly what the group had been fighting for in the first place.

“Wait. You want me to be the ninth member of Ateez?!” She shouted out, in complete shock.

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[dark-fics-4-you]

Crying in the Country Club | ch. I

older!Rafe Cameron x dark!Reader

Warnings: age gap crush; large age gap; accidental flashing; obsessive thoughts; some sexist comments from Reader towards Rafe’s wife; flirting with an older, married man

The Carolina summer heat hung heavy in the air and you had long tuned out the monotonous buzz of the cicadas.

Charlie asked you a question and you answered with a shrug of your shoulders, moving the water around you as you swam in laps around the pool.

Much to your disappointment, Mr. Cameron hadn’t been out to check up on the two at all today.

Usually he would step out of the house and tell some stupid joke that would make you laugh so hard you’d double over, secretly hoping that your best friends’ dad would sneak a peak of your cleavage as your pressed your tits together and giggled stupidly.

The best, and sometimes only, reason that you hung out with Charlie so much was purely to spend time with and get closer to her father.

Rafe Cameron.

Father of your best friend. Best friend of your father. And the man that you obsessed over the most in the world.

Calling your feelings for Rafe Cameron a “crush,” felt childish, juvenile, which were the last ways you’d ever want him to see you.

No, your feelings towards the older man were much more akin to passion. Love. Dedication. And at times, absolute obsession.

For as long as you could remember Mr. Cameron being in your life, you could remember having intense feelings for him.

He had spent so much time around you when you were a kid, the Cameron household felt like your second home, and Rafe had almost felt like a second father in a strange way back then.

Growing up, Rafe had always babysat you until you were old enough to be on your own anytime your parents were unavailable, as you lived pretty close to the Cameron residence.

When you were in middle school you realized that you found Mr. Cameron incredibly attractive, a fact that once you told Charlie years ago, and when she fake threw up and laughed it off, you didn’t bring up again.

Even the fact that Mr. Cameron was happily married had never deterred your affections for him at all.

Hatred, enmity, and loathing were not strong enough words to accurately convey how you felt about Rebecca Cameron.

Charlie’s mother, and more importantly, Rafe’s wife, was an annoying, timid woman. You had had many years to hypothesize about their relationship and why Rafe stayed with that woman and for the life of you, you could never figure it out.

They probably were still together for Charlie’s sake, although now that you were both college aged, you didn’t see why Rafe didn’t just hurry up and divorce her already.

You were right there in front of him! What could possibly be holding him back?

As your thoughts ricocheted down more anxious rabbit holes in your mind, you were interrupted by the shrill sound of Charlie’s voice.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, and I think I’ll be done swimming after that. Are you cool with getting out soon?”

“Yeah, just lemme stay a lil longer.”

Charlie nodded and left you alone, thankfully.

You were still upset that Rafe hadn’t made an appearance. Here you were, showing yourself off wearing one of your skimpiest bikinis, and he was nowhere to be found.

Was he ignoring you? Was he trying to piss you off?

Maybe it was all just an elaborate ploy of faking disinterest to throw Mrs. Cameron off the trail?

Or maybe he didn’t have any feelings for you at all.

That thought made you want to rip out your hair and claw out your eyes with your fingernails.

Of course, it was probably all that witch, Rebecca Cameron’s fault.

She disliked you, that much you knew, but you were Charlie’s best friend, so there wasn’t much she could do to stop you from visiting.

You suspected, and hoped, that her disapproval of you also stemmed from the fact that you were a young, attractive, single woman.

All of the things she wasn’t.

Maybe she suspected Rafe might leave her for a younger woman. Honestly, if you were her, you would have been scared of that too.

Your eyes fell to the diving board and you realized you hadn’t used it at all today. Feeling pent up with anxious energy, you figured it couldn’t hurt to do a dive or two.

You climbed onto the board, testing the springiness with a few bounces before diving in to the cool water.

When your head broke the surface, you were surprised to hear clapping, and you opened your eyes to see Mr. Cameron standing at the edge of the pool watching you.

“Nice dive, Y/N? Have you been working on your form?” His deep voice brought butterflies to your stomach and you grinned at him and swam a bit closer.

He had noticed that your dive had improved? Did that mean he had been watching you more closely than you thought?

Plastering your sweetest smile across your lips, you giggled, twirling a piece of your hair in your finger as you answered, “I have, I’m glad you noticed!”

Finally reaching a place you could stand, you planted your feet on the floor of the pool and straightened up.

When Rafe’s eyes widened and his cheeks brightened before glancing away after a beat, you looked down to realize that your bikini top had become unfastened and your bare chest was exposed.

Feigning embarrassment, but secretly feeling thrilled, you let out an “oops!” before taking your time adjusting the material and trying to tie the top.

“Shit,” you huffed as you faked being unable to tie it, and you climbed out of the pool and turned your back to Rafe.

“Um, could you help me?” You asked in a sweet voice, playing dumb and innocent in front of him.

The older man hesitated for a moment before nervously chuckling and reaching for the straps.

When his large hands brushed against your dewy skin, you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud, and you were thankful he couldn’t see your face.

When he was done, you turned around, glancing up at the much taller man cheerily.

“Thanks, Mr. Cameron!”

Rafe sheepishly chuckled, looking embarrassed, “no problem, Y/N.”

The two of you stared at each other for a long moment, and you tried to guess what could possibly be going through his mind.

You wondered if he was hard right now.

“Well, um… dinner is almost ready. Charlie and Rebecca are already inside.”

At the mention of his wife, you frowned, but you jokingly played it off like you had just wanted to keep swimming and you were relieved when Rafe laughed with you.

You briefly wondered if he would mention the incident to Rebecca. Even though he only got a short glance, you hoped Rafe had compared your body to his wife’s, just for a split second.

Stepping inside the impressive Cameron house, the scent of garlic and tomatoes wafted from the kitchen and you realized that swimming had worked up more of an appetite than you had thought.

After taking a quick shower (during which you left the door unlocked hoping Rafe would accidentally stumble in), you dried off and changed into a tight, flattering top and a short skirt that you had caught Rafe staring at you when you wore it last.

Walking into the dining room, you could feel his eyes on you in your revealing outfit and you took your spot beside your best friend and across from Rafe.

When you reached for the bottle of red wine to pour yourself a glass, Mrs. Cameron loudly cleared her throat, glancing over at her husband with a raised eyebrow.

“What Becca? The girls can have a little wine with dinner, we let them all the time.” Rafe chuckled, referring to the many occasions when the Cameron’s had hosted extravagant dinner parties with 5 courses and liberally flowing alcohol.

Rafe winked at you and you grinned, silently ecstatic that he had shut his wife down for you.

She grumbled as you poured the glass, and you made sure that you added slightly more than may have usually been appropriate just to piss her off a little more.

Mrs. Cameron’s cooking was very good, but that was about where your praises for her ended.

She was incredibly high strung, and was frequently prone to have fits that required intensive professional treatment in the past, a fact that the Cameron’s usually preferred to keep under wraps.

On top of her volatile mood swings, you just found her to be incredibly annoying.

And you weren’t the only one.

Charlie seemed to pity and tolerate her mom more than anything else, and even your beloved Rafe seemed to get frustrated with her at times, much to your excitement.

You just had to put up with her if you wanted to be close to him.

As Mrs. Cameron droned on about reality tv shows and other trash, you glanced over to Rafe to see that even he wasn’t paying attention. The older man shot you a knowing smile when he noticed you, subtly rolling his eyes as Rebecca blabbed on.

You stifled a giggle, clenching your thighs together beneath the table and hidden from view when you felt a sudden wetness growing between your legs from his attention.

Charlie was, like usual, completely oblivious and checked out, scrolling on her phone at the table and giving her mom one word answers to every question she asked her.

The meal was delicious and you tolerated Mrs. Cameron’s lame questions about how your dad was doing, or your plans for the next semester and what classes you were going to take.

Conversations about college only made you feel depressed. Maybe it was because it was another reminder that you were growing up when you were scared to. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that acknowledging that you were still in college made you feel like more of a kid around Rafe and Rebecca.

On the other hand, sometimes you wondered if talking about it ever made Rebecca feel threatened. Did she fear her husband chasing after sorority girls and leaving her for the newest model?

You hoped that she did.

When dinner ended, Rafe stood and grabbed Charlie and Rebecca’s plates, reaching for yours as well and you shook your head.

“I want to help with the dishes tonight,” you confidently told him, hoping that Mrs. Cameron would feel bad for not stepping up before you could.

You frequently volunteered to do chores around the house when you came over, which Rafe always told you wasn’t expected or required of you, but you knew that seeing you step up in the household might make him realize all of the ways his wife was slacking.

Not to mention, it just meant more alone time with him.

The older man smiled at you, and when he thanked you you swore you felt your heart skip a beat.

In the kitchen, you claimed responsibility for scrubbing the plates before handing them off to Rafe to put in the dishwasher.

“Charlie told me that you two went on a double date last week, is that right?”

“Ha! She told you about that? Did she also tell you it ended with me dumping a milkshake on my date’s head?” You shook your head as you laughed, grabbing a sudsy fork from the sink and passing it to Mr. Cameron.

“She mentioned something like that,” he chuckled as he placed it in the dishwasher. “He must have pissed you off pretty bad, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, thinking back to the disastrous date. Charlie had meant well when she invited you out with her and her current fling, but she just didn’t understand your taste in men, and the dumb as rocks frat boy she had brought along for you had lasted all of two minutes before he began annoying you.

You just couldn’t stomach his crude humor and childish personality.

“He asked me what my favorite position was within 10 minutes of meeting me.” You dryly replied and Rafe raised his eyebrows in surprise before loudly laughing.

“Then he tried to guess my bra size like 5 times. And he was wrong. Every time!” You rolled your eyes as you giggled and Rafe laughed even harder.

You might have imagined it, but you thought you saw his eyes quickly glance down at your chest when you said “bra size,” and you desperately hoped that he was remembering seeing your tits after your top fell off.

Grabbing another plate, you handed it to him with a sigh, “I’m just so tired of dating guys my age. They’re all immature idiots.”

Rafe chuckled, “you’ll find the right one. Just got to keep trying.”

His words annoyed you. You had already found “the right one” and that was him. When he turned away to put the dish away you admired the way his muscles flexed and strained his shirt sleeve.

You felt like Mr. Cameron wasn’t listening to you at all. Maybe you needed to be a little more obvious. Perhaps he was holding himself back bc he was unsure of what your reaction would be.

“Well,” you began boldly, handing him another plate and holding your eye contact this time. “I think he might be closer than I realize. I just need to stop going out with guys my age.”

His fingers brushed yours as you passed him some silverware and you felt a thrill race up your spine. Did he do that on purpose?

Feeling cocky, you grabbed the last plate from the sink and when you passed it to him, you let your other hand fall to his bicep and you looked up at him through your lashes.

“I mean, what I really need is someone much older,” you stepped even closer to him, so near that your chests were almost touching, and you gave his bicep a little squeeze.

“Y/N…” Rafe stammered, looking into your eyes for several moments. You couldn’t breathe, so physically close to the man that you could practically hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest.

The sound of Rebecca’s voice drawing close and then the creak of the kitchen door made him flinch away from you, and you watched the plate slip out of his hand in slow motion, falling to the floor before shattering into pieces.

“Fuck-!” Rafe cursed and you quickly stepped backwards to avoid stepping on the broken shards with your bare feet.

“Rafe? What’s going on?” Rebecca asked, eyes widening when she heard and saw the dish break on the floor.

“Nothing. You just scared me, Becca,” he laughed, glancing around at the broken glass, although he was more unbothered than you due to his shoes.

“Oh sorry. Um, are you two almost finished up here? Charlie wants to watch a movie together, for the first time in weeks,” she excitedly added and you laughed inwardly at that. Of course she would be thrilled at the idea of her uninterested daughter actually wanting to do an activity with her for once.

You were sure she had only agreed to it to stop her mom’s nagging for a little bit.

“Yeah,” Rafe cleared his throat. “Just let me clean up this plate and I’ll be right in.”

Carefully watching your step to avoid the shards, you followed Mrs. Cameron as she walked out the kitchen, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back when she had left your sight.

Rafe was leaning against the counter and frowning at the floor, seemingly lost in thought, but when he lifted his head before you exited and your gaze briefly connected, your cheeks flushed with heat from the hungry look in his piercing blue eyes.

[juletheghoul]

dignitas

a/n: I don't even know what to say, honestly. I made a really honest post a few days ago about some hardships I've been experiencing and the support I received brought me to tears so many times. I don't think I can ever really put into words how grateful I am for this community, all I can say is thank you, and that I hope you all know what you mean to me. Hope you enjoy 💕xo (ps. I googled wedding practices in Ancient Rome, and girls used to be married off as young as 14-insane I know-)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, parental fluff, Marcus being a total suck for his daughter, pregnancy and baby stuff, childbirth and some graphic descriptions of pain, brief mention of infertility, **character death / grief** allusions to underage sexual abuse (typical of the time), sexist violence against a slave, **angst / hurt / comfort** Girlwife is putting her foot down, and her husband is here for it, bullshit politics, let me know if I missed any!

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 7.3k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist Ko-fi

-

He crouches down, heart in his throat at the sight of her standing on her own two feet. 

“Come, that’s it my little flower–” He holds his hands out, shifting to his knees before them, his wife holds her up, keeping her steady. He claps his hands, getting her attention and when she smiles big his heart melts. 

“Go on Diana, go on–” Her mother encourages, helping her with the first two steps before carefully letting her go. He watches her little form sway, watches as her mother hovers behind her. Diana looks down at her feet before toddling over, taking her first steps. He holds his breath, nodding and smiling at her until she makes it into his arms. His body fills with light, pride and emotions swirling wildly. 

“You have done it!” He gets up, twirling her. Her mother, his wife, stares at them in awe, tears shining and he goes to her, gathering his whole world in his arms. 

-

She’s running, it felt like not a moment ago she was small enough to fit within both palms of her fathers hands and now she’s running!

“Diana! Slow down little love, you will hurt yourself.” Her giggle echoes through the house, setting the dogs to chase after her as she covers much of the ground in the peristyle. 

Marcus beams at her, crouching down and holding out his arms for her as she speeds up, stumbling and falling down but getting back up  just as quick before the dogs can lick her face and crashes into his embrace. He burrows his face into her neck, kissing and tickling her until she screams with joy.

“Papa!” She screams, joyous and happy.

“Yes my little sunbeam, look at you, running! Gods above, where has the time gone?” his eyes glaze while she squirms within his grip, already eager to be back on the ground. Her attention lands on you then, turning from her father who watches in awe as she runs towards you, little robes and brown waves rustling. 

With a huff of laughter she collides with your legs, her arms outstretched and you lift her up, resting her on your hip. The dogs chase each other, excited and happy.

“You are a wild little thing, my feral child.” You kiss her full cheeks, relishing the sounds of her voice, the giggles that escape before she yawns. “Time for your rest–” Marcus has reached you then, and he presses his lips to the crown of her head again before you hand her to Sabina–the matronly woman who has become her nurse. 

Marcus watches her go, curled up against Sabina, head resting on her shoulder. 

“She is getting too big, growing far too quickly.” 

“She is indeed, getting wilder and bolder every day. She is too like her father.” 

He huffs out a laugh, wrapping himself around your back to lay his chin upon your shoulder. You can almost hear the crinkle in his eyes. 

“Is she now? And here I thought she was the very picture of her mother.” He presses his lips to your neck, “I have some matters to see to, but I will try to be very quick. Shall we take advantage once I am finished?” His hands squeeze at your waist and you cannot help but sigh, and turn in his arms. 

“If you can be quick, then taking advantage sounds like a wonderful idea.” Your hand slips down, sliding over his robes until you cup his manhood, giving it a little squeeze. The low rumble that comes out of his mouth makes your heart race. 

“Don’t keep me waiting.” You press a chaste kiss to his mouth, so innocent compared to where you hold him and he smiles into it. 

“Understood, my Sun.” 

When he finds you after having completed his work, Diana screams in your arms, wriggling to be let go. He grins, resigned to have missed his window of opportunity.

“Yes yes, very well.” You put her down and she runs to him once again, warmth fills your whole being to see them together. She is a tiny little slip of a thing in his arms, her hands barely cover his cheeks but he looks at her as though she hung the stars. 

He speaks to her softly and presses kisses to her temple, he listens to her baby babble, the words she can speak clearly now and the ones she cannot yet pronounce.

“You had a very short rest today my little love.” His words are soft, but you laugh at them when his eyes find yours. He smiles and a little sadness creeps in then, sadness that you cannot give him more of this, more babies, more little ones to carry on his name. It is a tragedy that you cannot give him a boy. 

“We will need to get you more robes soon, you are already getting too big for these. Shall we go to the market?” He holds her up above his head and they are mirror images of each other, his hands holding her up towards the heavens, and her arms outstretched towards him, both bursting with the same smile. 

“What say you, my love?” He lowers her, smiling at her screaming giggles. 

“I say yes, she is growing very quickly indeed. We should get more of the oil I use in her hair as well.” He nods, and after the preparations are made, you set out with your family. 

-

She grows like wheat, one minute she is a bundle at your breast, and the next she is up to your hip, arguing with her father over a horse. 

“But, I need one.” She pleads, seven years old and determined.

“Do you?” He smiles, entertaining her. You know in your heart he will give in, he always does, but he requires her to give him a good reason before inevitably spoiling her.

“You have asked, you have begged, and now you tell me that you need one, but you have not yet given me a reason as to why.” He sits at your table to your left, breaking his fast as he looks over some letters. She sits at her own place to his left across from you. She looks to you and you can see your own frown on her face but you shake your head. 

“Do not look to me, Diana, it is your father who decides.” You smile, it is all a game that she will eventually win. She lets out a sigh and your smile widens.

“Father, you know I am learning, and I would like to learn on a horse that knows me. If it is my horse and not yours then I will learn all the quicker.” He nods sagely, setting his letters aside and picking at his bread. 

“Yes, that is a good reason but will you care for it? You must feed it, brush it and bond with it.” 

She nods as he speaks, hopeful. 

“It is not just about getting one, riding it for a few days and then leaving it in the stable for others to care for it. It is a living thing, and it requires love and attention and food and I expect you to do your part.”

You reach for his hand and his eyes find yours, you give him a look, one that you hope he can read as ‘remember her age’, he takes a breath, smiling to himself and you know you have been together long enough that he understands what you are thinking. 

“I do not think to leave the sole care of this horse to you Diana, you have your studies and lessons, you have your duties with your mother and you are still quite little.” She frowns and he laughs, “You are but seven, not seventeen. If I were to get you this horse, you must promise me, swear to me here in front of your mother, that you will feed, brush and water it daily. This means you will wake up with me, we will go to the stable together for your lesson and once you are done, you will brush, feed and water it.”  

She grins, despite herself and he narrows his eyes, the game still very much afoot. 

“Diana.” He tries to be serious, tries to put the steel into his tone and for a moment it works, she straightens up and wipes the grin away, nodding at him with her big brown eyes. 

“You must swear it, little love. You must swear that you will do as your father says.” You chime in gently, and she nods faster. 

“I swear it father, I swear it. I will do as you say. May I please have a new horse?” She pouts, and the deal is sealed. He sighs, the corners of his mouth lifting and you catch her eye, gesturing for her to go to him and she does, flying out of her chair to hug him tightly. He laughs, all of the toughness leached away by her little hands, by her smile and by her kiss on his cheek. 

“Very well, we will go by the end of the week.” He relents, letting her hug him, and hugging her in return. “If you are finished breaking your fast, you may go and start your lessons.” She nods, skipping away, laughing loudly. 

“You are a cloud.” You smile at him, pushing your plate away. 

“When did it happen? I used to inspire fear and unquestioning loyalty, obedience.” He shakes his head, half laughing, half astounded. You take his hand in yours, and press it to your mouth. 

“She has made a lump of honey out of you Marcus, there is no other way around it.” 

“She? I think you will find that you have your own part to play in this.” He lets a bark of laughter out at the shocked expression on your face, pulling you from your chair to sit across his lap. 

“Do you not think yourself spoiled? Do you not realise that you yourself have turned me into this?” His arms wrap tightly around you, and you roll your eyes, goodnaturedly. 

“Have I? Have I tamed you, General?” You run your fingers through his curls, more grey than brown now. His eyes are soft, kind and full of love. He doesn’t respond right away, instead his gaze bores into yours, the same honey brown as Diana.

“I would say more than tamed.” Diana screams laughing from somewhere and he smiles wide, his soul fed by her happiness for a moment before his hand cups your cheek. 

“I do not have the words for what you have done to me, for me–I do not have the words to describe the depths of my love for you.” 

You press forward, kissing him with all of the words you yourself cannot speak, pressing your love into him. His hands sweep softly along your back, your lips skimming against his when you pull away to breathe. 

“A lump of honey–” You laugh when he digs his fingers into your sides, euphoria thrumming through your veins. 

-

He finds you teaching Diana how to sew, the both of you hunched over a torn robe, Sabina in tow and the expression on his face gives you pause.

“Diana, my little flower, your mother and I have some important matters to discuss.” He gestures to Sabina and she steps forward. 

“Why don’t you come with me, little one, let us go and raid the cellar for some honeycomb.” Sabina smiles, urging her to follow but Diana frowns, sensing the wrongness of the situation. She looks at you for a moment, clutching at your arm. 

“Go on, let me speak to your father.” You smile, keeping your composure for her benefit despite the way your heart races. She nods, carefully handing you her needle and thread and you put everything aside. Sabina holds her arm out for her, Diana gives her father a quick hug around the middle before leaving the room. 

“What is it? What is the matter?” A fear grips you, some unknown danger lurks through your lungs, threading through your ribs and curling around your heart. 

“Peace, do not fear.” He takes your hands in his, pressing them to his lips and you take a deep breath.

“Is it another war? Will you leave me again?” Memories of his injury resurface, the wound that almost took him from you, the scar that greets you whenever he undresses. Tears gather at the thought of him going off to fight once more, with him older now, they threaten to fall but he shakes his head and pulls you close. 

“No, Gods above, no my love. There is no war–” you sigh into his neck, relief pulling a few tears down your cheeks. He wipes them away, but the frown on his face remains and the relief is short lived. 

“Tell me then, what troubles you?” 

“There is a man, a Legate, who is known to have a heavy hand with his slaves. I am not on friendly terms with him but there are some in this house whom I purchased from him.” He sighs, squeezing your hands in his. You follow along, grateful all over again that he treated the people in your house with dignity. 

“I have been informed that he has a child on the way by a slave, a child he does not want.” He frowns and again, you try again to understand his meaning. 

“I have purchased her.” He comes out with it. 

“You have purchased her? A slave?” You feel nothing, it isn’t something you ever question, from personal experience you are aware of the way they are treated in your home, of the respect afforded to them by both you and your husband, and by your daughter. Your confusion is in why he feels the need to explain himself to you. 

“Yes, I have paid a hefty sum for her because I feared for her life.” He lets out a heavy breath, “Sabina saw her in the market not a day ago, and not only is she quite young, she also had…injuries.” His gaze turns steely, and the implications hurt you. 

“You bought her, to spare her.” He smiles under your hand, but it is a tired, weary thing.

“I could not bear the thought of this young girl fearing for her life, it made me think of my own daughter, of you when I first saw you.” Your heart melts a little, the softness of him, the anger he has for what has been done to this poor girl. 

“I just want her to be safe, I want her child to be safe.” You don’t respond, instead you pull him in, pressing your face into his neck. 

“You are a good man, Marcus. My heart fills with joy that she will be safe here, that her child should survive.” Your fingers thread through his waves and his expression softens, “did you imagine I would be angry with you?” It’s not an accusation, more so a need to understand him.

“No, but you are my wife, this is your house and I would honour your wishes,” He kisses your wrist, “and the purchasing of a girl expecting a baby, the prospect of there being another child in this house warrants your consideration.”

“It is thoughtful of you to consider me, but I see no harm in it. So long as this girl is here for her safety, it is not as though the child is yours. It is not as though you have feelings for this girl—“ 

“Gods above, no my love. You know that is not my way. You know that you are above all others, that you alone hold my love and my interest. She is practically a child herself—“ You laugh, calming him with soft touch.

“Yes Marcus, I know. I trust you, implicitly. Let the girl come, let her be safe and let her child live a good life here—it would be good for Diana as well.” You press kisses to his cheeks, the relief of knowing there is no war is too great to worry about anything except the tight squeeze of his embrace.

-

She is so much younger than you had imagined and the sight of her almost brings tears to your eyes. Quietly she stands, her little belly just starting to show, her eye purple and bruised and anger only adds to your heartbreak. 

“Sabina will show you to your new quarters–make sure she rests, bring her fresh water and food.” You can feel the anger coming off of Marcus in waves, the state of her, the obvious fear–when you’d first entered into Marcus’ service you had been fearful too, but Sabina herself had assuaged you of it. Marcus had been cold, but never cruel.

“I can work Dominus, I can be useful–” He stops her, shaking his head. 

“There is no need, you must rest and heal. I will call for a medicus to see to your health and the child, peace, there is no expectation of you.” You stepped forward, doing your best to smile soft, she stepped back slightly and again your heart wilted. 

“Peace, when all is well and you have rested, I will bring you some things to help with the skin. Some oils and ointments leftover from when I carried my own child.” She frowns in confusion before bowing her head. 

“Gratitude Domina.” Sabina nods to you both, and takes her away. 

“Did you see her eye? I fear that is not her only injury.” He practically fumes and you soothe him with your touch.

“I saw, there are some faded bruises on her arms, some poking out just at the bottom of her tunic–” 

“She is a child.” He turns, the weariness on his face, the fury. “I fear to know her age. I fear what the medicus will say.” He pulls you close, rubbing at your back. 

“We must be gentle with her, assure her that she is not required to serve in that fashion.”

“Sabina will inform her. It was never my way, you were the exception.” He smiles, small and full of fondness, pressing his lips to yours. 

-

When the medicus arrives a week later, her eyes bulge in fear.

“Do not fear, it is only to see if you are healthy and if the child is in good shape.” You sit with her on her bed, comforting her while Diana has her lessons. Although still weary, you can see that Sabina has assured her that you are not anyone that she must fear, that although Marcus has his reputation, inside this house he gives just as much respect as he expects. 

“I will stay with you.” She squeezes your hand for a moment, nodding at you before letting go. 

The Medicus asks her questions and you learn that her name is Vesta. He asks about her first blood, about when the child was conceived. He asks her age, and when she timidly says fifteen your stomach drops. She should have been married, she should have been courted and treated gently but she is a slave, and slaves are not often afforded kindness. You worry about the toll of the pregnancy especially with the size of her, still so small that the birth would surely be a concern. 

You hold her hand as he does his examination, smile reassuringly when he measures her belly and when he does the more invasive check. 

“Everything right now is as we want it to be but you must eat more, we shall have to monitor the growth as your hips are still quite narrow, Gods willing everything will turn out.” She smiles, placated but doubts of your own take root within, her hips are small and if the child grows too large, the birth will be very difficult.

-

The sun shines brightly, shafts of light filter through the olive trees that grow taller and taller within the peristyle. Diana sits with you in a little bit of shade, the two of you continuing with your sewing. She huffs when she does not get the stitch just right. 

“Patience, little love, it will come to you with time and practice.” She nods, lip caught between teeth as she continues. Her head lifts when Vesta finds you, her belly growing seemingly by the minute. 

“I have brought you fresh water, Domina, and some fruit as well.” The tray is heavy and you frown, taking it from her and setting it down on the little table beside you.

“Gratitude, but as Marcus and I have told you, we do not require anything of you but rest.” 

“I must be useful, I cannot just sit idle.” She bows her head, “I am filled with gratitude at the kindness you and the Dominus have shown me but I want to earn my place–”

“Enough of that, your only task is to heal, and grow that child. With what the medicus has advised you need to be very careful.” You guide her to sit, pouring for her, ignoring the protests. “Peace Vesta, this is not new to me.” You smile. 

“Is it painful?” Diana puts her sewing things away and moves closer, inquisitive, and it hurts to know they are not very far apart in age. 

“Sometimes, my lady. Mostly I feel that I am full of stones.” They smile at each other. 

“Is that how it was for you, Mother? Did I feel like stones?” 

“You, my child, felt like a storm.” You kiss the top of her head and she beams, she has always loved hearing about her birth. Vesta winces, her hand lands on her belly and after a moment she lets out a sigh. 

“Are you well?” Diana frowns, and Vesta nods. 

“Yes, it has started kicking and sometimes it startles me a bit.” Her face has healed, in truth she is a lovely girl, hair dark as night, eyes the green of fresh laurel and skin golden as though from days spent in the sun. “Would you like to feel?” 

Diana nods quickly, jumping at the chance and the picture of them together fills your heart with something, you are old enough to be her mother. You could almost imagine it then, an older child, one that was happily married to a good man, happiness, the thought of a grandchild. It shocks you, but in an unexpected, happy way.

“I feel it!” Diana smiles wide, her fathers dimple shines on her face and you let them have the moment. 

Later on, when Diana has gone riding with Marcus, you sit with Vesta alone. 

“Domina, may I ask you something?” She helps with the sewing Diana had not finished. 

“Speak freely.” 

“I–I would ask about the future of my child, once it is born.” She looks up, worry clear on her face. “Will the child be permitted to remain? Or will it be sold off?” You frown, noticing the way her hands shake and all at once you are reminded of the way things are in most houses. 

“Vesta, you and your child are to remain here, together.” When you level your gaze at her, she breaks down into tears, heavy sobs clawing at her throat. You take the needle and the cloth from her, sitting beside her to gather her into your arms. “I know it is difficult to believe, but you must trust me when I say that you are safe here.” You stroke her hair, letting her cry into your shoulder. 

“I myself came to this house as a slave.” She looks at you in shock, eyes red and you cannot help but laugh, “I speak the truth, when I came here I was just a slave, older than you and scared of how I might be treated. Marcus has always had a reputation for brutality. He was cold, he was reserved, but he was never cruel. You can speak to anyone in this house, he is a good man, he is a loving husband, he is a wonderful father, and he will not hurt you or separate you from your child.” You wipe her tears away, “The only thing he requires from you, is respect, and he will give it right back. We all have our place, but within it there is dignity. You never need fear of unwanted advances again. Understood?” 

She sobs for a moment, taking in the knowledge that despite the things she has survived, the indignities she has suffered, life here will be better. She nods, and you continue with your sewing.

-

Diana takes to her, whenever she isn’t busy with her lessons, whenever she has a spare moment she sits with Vesta, listening to her speak about the baby and about her life up until arriving in your house. You are grateful that she spares your daughter from the more brutal details, and you rejoice in the fact that she has another young girl to speak to. 

Marcus has Diana’s baby things brought into Vestas chambers, despite her insistence that they are too fine. He waves her concerns away and a small chest is brought in, full of small robes along with the cradle. 

He buys the teas and potions recommended by the midwife to aid in her birth, he makes sure the oils for her skin are on hand and seeing him care for her as though she were another daughter only makes your love for him grow.

“Will you be this way when Diana marries? When she is with her husband and with child?” You lie with him, naked in bed one night and he groans. 

“Gods above, I cannot imagine my baby marrying.” He grimaces, “She is not yet ten years of age, we still have years yet.” 

“It sounds as though you are reassuring yourself.” You tease him, smiling at his discomfort, “It is terrifying to think that soon she will be of the age for such things, proposals and a marriage, she will leave us–” He pulls you close, stopping your musings with a loud groan into your neck. 

“Please my love, do not torture me.” He sighs, pressing his lips to your neck, “I cannot bear the thought of our little girl being a grown woman. Time is moving far too fast, can we not stop it for a while? Bask in the joy of it all?” 

“If only it were possible to do so.” You cradle his head, massaging his scalp softly. “We are in the midst of joy Marcus, we are blessed, we have a beautiful daughter and a loving home. You are here, Rome is peaceful, what else could we ask for without tempting the Gods?” 

“You are right, of course.” His hands sweep up, stroking at your hips, your belly until he palms the weight of your breast.

“What would I do without you?” His lips move across your neck, his tongue tasting your skin as his thumb strums softly at your nipple. Arousal pools low in your belly at the slow steady sweep of his thumb, and when he lowers his head and takes the other in his mouth it pulls a moan from you. 

“I feel as though I have not touched you in ages–” His warm breath against the wet peak of your nipple sends a shiver down your spine, you let out a low laugh, lip caught between your teeth as his own tease at the sensitive peak. 

“Ages? Are you sure it has not been a mere week?” You scratch at silver scruff on his cheeks. His kiss moves to the valley between your breasts, smiling his mischievous smile. 

“A week is an age, I need you constantly.” You laugh, pulling him up for a kiss. 

“I remember a time when you had me daily, scarcely let me have a moment's rest.” His playful shock makes you laugh, “Now I must content myself alone–” You laugh harder when he buries his face into your neck, his scruff tickling you. 

“You wound me–” He settles between your legs, fitting himself into the wide spread of them. His cock slips between the lips of your sex, hard, hot and heavy enough to pull a steady flow of arousal from your cunt. 

“Have I been neglectful of you?” He shifts, coating himself in you.

“Oh yes, exceedingly so.” The pout is an exaggerated thing and he bites at your lip.

“My poor, empty little wife,” with a shift, he reaches down and notches the blunt tip of his cock at your entrance, “let me redeem myself—“

A mutual sigh fills the room when he sinks himself inside you to the hilt. The moon shines in through the window, casting dark shadows across his face as he holds himself above you. Even after all of the years you’ve spent together, the deepening of lines on his face, the way the silver has overtaken the dark brown of his hair, the slight softening of his middle—it does nothing to hinder his beauty. Even now, the strength in his arms, arms that you’ve touched and been held by a thousand times over still make you dizzy with want. 

His pace is unhurried, languid, decadent. 

Your mouth opens under him when you pull him closer, needing the weight of him and he obliges. You sigh when his hand lands heavy on your thigh to shift it higher, up onto his ribs. His tongue tastes of honey, of devotion and you drink his passion down like fine wine. 

Your heart pounds, a loud boom in your ears, a pleasurable pulse in your cunt, a warmth flooding the corners of you with every heavy stroke of his cock. He huffs out a low laugh, cocky and confident at the way your hips cant up to meet his rhythm, his eyes a lust-blown black when he thrusts harder.

Your arousal for him is a river between your thighs, a holy fountain. It soaks the hair at the base of his cock, it rings loudly with every snap of his hips, a vulgar hymn at the altar of your cunt. 

Sweat beads in his hairline and between the press of your bodies, you feel it at the base of his skull when you clutch at him, his breath a damp pant into the crook of your neck. The pleasure builds like a fire in your core and he fans the flames, his steady stroke turns into a heavy grind and the pressure of it at your clit is almost enough.

With fingers gripping his hair like talons, you focus on the pleasure of it, shift your hips and spread your legs a little wider and it’s perfect.

“Yes, yes, yes, just there—“ with a clench and a heavy sigh the dam breaks and it flows like water. His low groan only heightens it, a heavier push to get deeper still, a firm grip on your thigh; all of it only intensifies the climax.

-

As the months progress, so does her pregnancy and your fears for the birth.

Your affection for her grows as well, swells within you with every laugh you share, with every meal she takes with your family, with every smile that blooms on her face. Marcus takes to her as well, in a fatherly way. It is evident in the way he cares for her, the way he considers her needs the same way he considers Dianas but whereas you enjoy her company and rejoice in her finding peace within your house, Marcus harbous anger that she has been put in this position. 

He focuses on the preparations, calling for the midwife and her attendants to have rooms in your home once it is clear that labour is imminent. He hides his fears in practicality, hides his anger within his focus. 

-

It is not the knock that wakes you, rather Marcus’ reaction to it. All his time in Rome's army had made him a light sleeper, and the slightest disturbance could thrust him into full alertness. You felt him stir, felt the shift of him sliding out of bed, heard soft words exchanged at the door. 

“What is the matter, Marcus?” You rise, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

“Vesta’s labours have begun.” With a candle given to him by the attendant at the door, he lights the one in your room before handing you your robe to dress. 

“I will go to her, she will need support.” You had already discussed it, and he nods, listening as he dressed and splashed water onto his face.

“I will wake the midwife.” 

-

Her face is pale when you find her, eyes bulging in fear as she paces around her chamber. Sabina rubs her back, keeping pace with her as she moves and you almost feel the echo of your own labours when she clutches at her belly in agony. 

“Breathe, Vesta. With me–” You take a deep breath in, guiding her. She nods, watching and syncing her breaths with yours. “Good, let us continue with the walking, it will help. Has the water come yet?” 

“No Domina, it is just pain, low and sharp but it does not last, it comes and goes.” 

“Okay, let us walk throughout the house, Sabina, would you please make her some tea?” You take over, threading her arm through yours to keep her steady. 

“At once, Domina.” She moves quickly, leaving you with the young girl as you both make your way slowly down the dark hall. 

“I am scared.” Her voice is whisper thin, but you did not need her to voice it out loud. Her fear is palpable and how could you blame her? Your eyes drift to the size of her hips, to the slight frame of her. Despite your own fear, despite your own silent prayer to all of the Gods you pat her hand softly and speak with more confidence than you feel.

“I will be there with you, the midwife will guide us and we must be brave, yes? Now, have you thought of a name?” She lets out a shaky breath, smiling before focusing on her breathing once again. 

“If it is a girl, I thought maybe Flora.” 

“That would be a lovely name, and for a boy?” The light coming through the windows is a deep blue, dawn is creeping up on the horizon. 

“For a boy, I am torn. I like the name Atticus, as well as Linus.” The house is quiet, the low shuffle of your footsteps echo throughout the hallway. Diana will be up soon, moving about her chambers in preparation to feed and water her horse. You are still not sure whether you want her to be present for the birth of Vesta’s child, no matter how much you know she desires it.

“Those are also very fine choices.” 

“Which would you choose, Domina? If I may ask.” 

“For a boy? I confess they both have their merits, I do like Atticus, it is a strong name, they both are.” Sabina greets you with the tea at the mouth of the hall, carefully handing it to Vesta. She takes it with a grateful nod. 

“I think you are right, Atticus is my first choice.” She smiles, wincing through another grip of pain. 

“Sit, rest and drink while we wait for the midwife.” You guide her to one of the more comfortable chairs in the room where you took your meals. 

When Marcus finds you a few hours later the sun has risen and despite the pain gripping her regularly, her water has not yet come. The midwife is with him when he finds you rubbing her lower back. You almost laugh at how awkward he is, a nervous shifting of his feet, some mumbling words of encouragement for her before taking his leave. 

“Deep breath in, that’s it.” She has a surprising amount of strength in her grip around your hand, you can feel the blunt ends of her nails pressing deep, leaving little half-moon marks in their wake. She nods, trying her best to listen when the pain grips her. They come quicker and quicker as the sun follows its path, stronger too. Sweat beads on her skin, her dark hair sticks to her neck and to her brow. 

The midwife checks Vestas progress between short walks throughout the room. She sends her outside for fresh air, and makes her drink the tea. Her good spirits, her easy smiles despite the pain you know she's in inspires a flame of hope. The Gods have been good to you after all and your faith in them whispers of how it will be once she has made it through her labours, of the glow of life that will fill her just as it did for you once Diana had come into the world. 

The flame dwindles slightly at the sight of the blood in her water, the corruption of it is a test of that faith but you meet it head on. You face her dead on, meeting her terrified, laurel-green gaze and speak to her with a confidence you do not feel. The midwife does not panic, she speaks with authority, guides her to the birthing stool and the real fight begins. 

Her screams echo through the house, they fill every corner of it. 

With a damp linen you wipe at her brow, speaking to her softly as she does her best to push the child out but as the hours pass, that little flame begins to flicker. 

“You’re almost there Vesta, you are so close–” You tie her hair back, wipe the tears from her reddened cheeks. 

“I am going to try to use my hands, the pain will be great but for now it is the best chance we have.” The midwife catches your eye, and you feel it in your heart that it is worse than she is letting on. Vesta grits her teeth though, and you keep it inside. 

“I am ready.” Her lip trembles, her eyes fill with tears and so do yours, but she grits her teeth and pushes anyway, showing an amount of bravery that few people twice her age possess. The midwife encourages her as she screams through the pushing, the blood drips down her arms and pools on the linens below. 

It is an eternity, the push, the pull, the blood–and then a baby screams and your heart rejoices. Vesta smiles through her sigh, but her colour drains and she wilts like a crushed flower in your arms. 

“Vesta, Vesta do not sleep–wake up, you must hold the child, you have done it!” She does not respond however, and you use all the strength you can muster to hold her up as the midwife works feverishly to stop the steady river of blood from between her legs. 

“Domina–” It is a breathy whisper, a moment of clarity between a sightless flutter of her eyelids. 

“Vesta!” Her colour scares you, and the frantic movements of the midwife do nothing to bring her back to full wakefulness. 

“Vesta!”

-

The Gods are many things. They are generous, they have bestowed you with a happy home; a loving, devoted husband and a healthy child. They have plucked you from a life of servitude and made you Lady Acacius, wife of the General of the Roman army. 

They are merciful, they have guided your husband through countless battles and wars and made him victorious. They have blessed him with the love of the Emperor and the respect of the people of Rome, and made him a wealthy man. 

The Gods are also cruel.

All of the generosity, all of the gifts and blessings, every wonderful aspect of life must be paid for and they do not accept anything less than blood. 

She is smaller in death. Younger still than the picture of her you hold within your mind. The gauze covers her from head to foot but it does not move, her breath does not disturb the sheer fabric, her breast does not rise and fall with the breath of life. Her laughter, her easy smile is a ghost that haunts the corners of your house, her short life echoes in the cries of her son. 

Marcus handles everything to do with the procession, he arranges for her body to be burned, for all of the rights and proceedings required for a person after death. He spared you the details, and you were grateful for it. 

Diana’s grief for Vesta is an immense, untameable thing. It was a hurt you could not fix, a want that Marcus could not indulge. Seeing the gravity of it on her face, hearing it in her cries somehow seemed to magnify your own grief, it gained a new aspect. Her pain gave your pain dimension.

Atticus so resembled his mother that it was sometimes hard to hold him. 

Harder still was the little bit of reluctance within Marcus to get too close to the boy, a fear that he couldn’t hide whenever he held him—a slight crease between his brow, the careful way he cradled him so opposite of the natural connection he held with Diana from the second she had come to this world. There were aspects to that too, his feelings towards this orphaned boy. Reluctance of course, but also pity, empathy, a fierce protectiveness and above all, love.

-

The grief was still a sharp blade between the ribs when the letter came, and all it did was twist it, scrape it against your bones and bleed you dry.

“This must be a jest, a very poor jest.” Atticus sleeps against your breast, a long piece of linen wrapped about your middle holding him to you. 

“It is no jest my love, he is quite clear.” His tone is indecipherable and the glimpse of that more strategic aspect of him fills you with anger. 

“He writes to collect his son—“

“Atticus is not his son.” He sighs, resigned and tired rather than angry.

“In all truth, Atticus is his son—regardless of how we may feel about it.” He raises his hands to forestall the rage burning within. “He does have the right to claim him, take him and raise him as he sees fit.”

“Raise him? He did not even want him! He sold his mother to you without a second thought!” 

“I know, it is a difficult situation but we must think about this. In the end, he is the boy's father.” 

He sets his letters down and you can see a glimpse of something, that love you knew was there, that space within his heart—within his soul for another child shining through the anger and practicality; shining through the logic.

“No.” The blood in your veins boils, fizzles and cracks and lights up your bones with the injustice of it all, your hands cradle the small bundle at your breast almost involuntarily, an unconscious protection. His frown deepens.

“He is—“

“No Marcus. No.” Tears of frustration gather in the corners of your eyes, fed and watered by the shadow of grief that follows you like a cloud. Atticus moves and when you look at him Vestas face is so clear in his, her black hair a soft down on his head.

“I am a good wife, Marcus, I have never disobeyed you, never dishonoured you or questioned your word. Not during my servitude, and not during our years as husband and wife, but I will not stand for this. This child, Vestas' child, belongs in this house. She died here, bringing him into this world and I gave her my word that he would stay. I have said my prayers and made the sacrifices so that he may live here, loved and well-cared for and neither you, nor that man will take him from me.” The ire of it burns within your breast, shines out through your steady, unflinching gaze. 

He does not respond and the silence between you fills the space. You do not fear what he may say, you do not worry about what he may think, the anger and the grief are too big for that. He sighs, heavy and resigned before giving you a small, proud smile. 

“Very well, my love. He will stay.”

-

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