#the heating that I do have; imperfect as it is; it's still nice

[medicinemane]

I don't know, in the end it comes down to you see people saying "you should do this, you should do that" and it's like... yeah... probably so, but can't or won't, don't know which it is with me, but it's not happening

I get that much of what's wrong with me is probably my fault, that my depression probably doesn't improve because of some step I'm not taking, but in the end I just can't or maybe don't manage those things you're saying to do

That's just kind of how it is, so you'll forgive me perhaps if I just do things my way. My mood may stay about the same as every, but at least I have a house and no trailer to deal with now

[orcelito]

anytime people complain about golfers (like real golf, not mini-golf) i think of my rich ex step family where we’d take family trips down to south carolina and every trip without fail there would be a day where all the men would go golfing and all the women & children would just hang around the house. which like i was 100% fine with, i was perfectly happy just hanging out and swimming in the pool or whatever. 

but like. in hindsight. what a fucking Rich Person thing to do lmao

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3

Italy in July was miserable. Rome itself was even worse with all the blacktops and the people crammed together. Tourists mingled with locals, moving in crowds so large Elain thought it was a wonder no one got lost inside. How many parents lost track of their children that way, she wondered?

Elain sidestepped a vendor thrusting flowers into her face, one hand up as she shook her head back and forth. She’d lived in Rome for the past five years and thought she knew it like the back of her hand. All its imperfections, the warts it hid, the secrets it tried to keep buried—Elain knew it all.

Or, she thought she did. But when she got a call from University higher-ups that a couple had accidentally uncovered a mosaic floor that, at least on first glance, looked as though it belonged to the Imperial period, which Elain found exciting. She’d been tapped to lead the excavation, her first ever. 

She was prepared, ready to go…and wandering toward the Spanish steps for reasons that were still unclear to her. She ought to be in her office running through her plans one last time. Something called her the way it so often did, pulling like a thread tied to her ribs. Elain often found herself jerking awake at night covered in a thin sheen of sweat, trying to recall what, exactly, woke her.

It was driving her fiance crazy. Graysen was ready to leave Rome altogether and return to the United States where Elain would spend more time teaching than she would doing actual archeological work. It sounded miserable to her…and yet she’d promised when he’d slid that ring on her finger.

She didn’t want to go back. She was buying herself time with the mosaic floor but once that was done, she knew Graysen’s patience would reach its end. Maybe that was what drove Elain into the hot Italian sun with only a half-filled bottle of sunscreen taking up space at the bottom of her bag. At least she had her hat.

Battling tourists, Elain made her way up the steps, skin sweat soaked before she’d made it even a third of the way up. Why did she keep doing this to herself? 

Because you’ll miss it.

Even the heat, miserable as it could be, was a welcome friend Elain didn’t want to lose. Gray was from the rainy northwest and spoke often about how he longed to return to cloud cover and days that rarely topped the mid-70s. 

No more sunburns, he’d reminded her cheerfully just the night before. And sure, the bridge of Elain’s nose was sunburned so often she suspected she’d be in trouble when she was older, but it wasn’t from a lack of trying. And she tanned so nicely in the aftermath that she almost didn’t care. 

As she reached the top of the steps, a new, yet persistent thought wormed its way through her mind. You don’t have to marry him. 

Catching her breath, Elain banished it. She did have to marry him. They’d been together for years, he’d moved across the world to be with her, had stayed the last five years when it would have been easier to leave. He’d never acclimated to Italian culture, could barely speak the language despite being immersed in it, and he loathed the weather, the tourists, and the locals on scooters who did, on occasion, attempt to mow down a pedestrian in their way. 

As if life in the US was so much better. It was merely familiar to him. Elain thought it would all feel foreign and strange, too bright and too loud for her eyes and ears. She didn’t want to return, didn’t want to find a new job or give up a career she was passionate about.

But she couldn’t tell him. Elain knew if she told him, Graysen would ask why they were even getting married, a question he’d broached the first time she’d dug in her heels and said she didn’t want to go. Maybe he’d known it would scare her—she’d certainly folded fairly quickly—or maybe it was how he felt.

All she knew was that if he left, no one would ever be able to love her again. Not like he did. No one would have done even half of what Gray had done for her and she knew she’d never find another man willing to tolerate her obsession, her long hours, and her unwillingness to leave Rome. 

Her whole life was a love letter to the city. Elain still remembered how the love affair had begun. She’d heard a story about the goddess Diana turning the hunter Acteaon into a deer when he’d accidentally spied her bathing and Elain had been desperate to hear more. Learn more. It had started with mythology, which spawned an interest in the emperor's themselves. So much of their lives had been mythologized that it felt like listening to a particularly bloody story on par with the gods themselves.

That had spawned a love affair with Roman architecture and history that persisted even to that day. Elain had a doctorate in archeology, was tenured at [Roman University], and lived in the city. It all felt like a dream—one that was slowly becoming a nightmare.

Elain took a breath, intending to return to work if only to get her out of the sun and out of her head. She turned, delighted to see a familiar blonde grinning as she made her way toward her.

“You’re not working today?” Arina asked in her thick, Italian accent. She was the first friend Elain had made when she landed in Rome, bright eyed and so painfully American that people could clock her on the street. 

“I should be,” Elain replied, falling into step with Arina. Arina wasn’t from Rome, but Florence, though Elain never would have been able to tell given the way Arina moved through the city. She wasn’t concerned with the men constantly trying to stop her to talk, nor did she care about the vehicles on the road not paying attention when she was in the street. Elain had once watched her scream at a man, hands in the air, curses flying as vicious as any knife.

Arina joked that Elain was the lover, she the fighter. 

“What are you doing out here?” Arina demanded, eyeing a woman in khakis with that familiar, Roman judgment Elain hoped to never be on the opposite end of. 

“Graysen got a job up in Oregon,” Elain told her, earning an eye roll from Arina.

“Let him go,” she said dismissively. “As if there aren’t men in Rome. They’re all awful, but they’re here. Maybe you could find the one good one, wherever he is.”

“I don’t want another man,” Elain said, a familiar refrain. Arina rolled her eyes again, mumbling something Elain didn’t quite catch under her breath. 

“Explain it to me again. Like I’m stupid,” Arina ordered, weaving in and out of crowds without batting an eye. “What about him is so special?”

“You’ve never been in love?” Elain questioned, certain they’d had this conversation a million times before.

Arina shrugged. “Every time I see a beautiful face. So what? What does love have to do with anything?”

“Love is everything—”

“He’s holding you back. He’d see your career crumble to dust if it meant he could be comfortable. Let him go back if that’s what he wants, and let him realize the best thing that ever happened to him was this city.”

“You just don’t understand,” Elain said without anger. Arina didn’t—Elain knew her friend wasn’t lying about how often she fell in love. The problem was how easily Arina fell out of love, too.

The light would shift, dawn would break, and Arina was over it. A lifetime had passed in her mind and whoever she’d imagined herself to be while she’d been with that man was gone, too. Elain envied Arina’s ability to put herself above everything else, to walk away when things no longer suited her.

A greater woman wouldn’t let a man dictate her entire life. Was she pathetic? She’d wondered that many times throughout her relationship with Graysen. Elain simply did not know how to love herself more than she loved him. She wanted love, the kind that people wrote songs about. The kind that transcended time itself. Elain knew that Graysen wasn’t that kind of love, and yet she still couldn’t leave.

She simply wanted to be with him more than she wanted to start all over again. What if there was no one else? What if no one else could love her? She was scared and if she was honest with herself, she knew that was what would convince her to resign and return to the United States. 

“I understand perfectly well,” Arina disagreed, pulling Elain from her thoughts. “We lose too many good women to these losers that have nothing going on for them. He’ll have you in his kitchen, pregnant while your research is dustier than Cicero’s writings and the world will be a worse place for it. You’re on the verge of something big, Elain. What if this is the missing estate of Emperor Lucius—”

“It’s not,” she said firmly, heart pounding in her throat. Arina had hurt her feelings just enough that Elain didn’t want to play the what-if game. Finding the missing home of the late Emperor would give Elain the one thing she’d always wanted—true insight into the missing Empress Helena . Every piece of research she’d done over the past five years had centered around the two of them.

In the later writings before Lucius died, he lamented the loss of Helena , though he never spoke of what happened to her. Only that she had gone on the eve of a great battle, leaving scholars to speculate she had returned to the fringes of the Empire, back to Britania where she had been born. There was no record of her departure, no writings that confirmed she’d ever arrived. Elain’s thesis had been that Elena had been slaughtered by Saxons before she made it home and could write to the Emperor, and Lucius had been so heartbroken, he’d never been able to write the whole story down.

Not everyone agreed, of course. A myriad of other scholars believed she’d died in childbirth or Lucius had divorced her, bending to public pressure around his foreign born wife. The one thing they all agreed on, however, was that he’d loved her. If Elain could find the home he’d had outside the city—the home it was rumored that she often stayed in during the final months of their marriage—Elain could piece together the final days of the Empress and validate her research.

Finding proof of the Empress right as Graysen wanted to leave would put Elain in a terrible position. Did she stay and end her relationship? Or did she pick Graysen and leave someone else to finish what she’d started, taking all the credit while she became exactly what Arina accused her of? 

Elain could think of nothing else that night as she made her way back to the little apartment she shared with Graysen. He had the shutters closed tight like he always did because he hated the sounds of the city that Elain loved so much. While he stared down at his phone, she made her way methodically through the home and unlatched the windows, ignoring the heavy sigh he exhaled behind her.

“So,” she began, Arina’s words still ringing in her head, “tomorrow is the beginning of the excavation.”

Graysen seemed to perk up. “How long will it take?”

Months. Elain shrugged. “A month, maybe less.”

Better to lie and drag it out than tell him the truth and let him tell her no right away. 

“I’m looking at houses,” Graysen told her as he rose from a black leather chair. “I want you to look at some of them, tell me what you think.”

Elain’s heart began to race all over again. “Houses?”

Graysen stepped around her, shoes still on, to make his way toward the kitchen. “Yes, Elain. Houses. Aren’t you tired of these tiny ass apartments in these dirty fucking cities?”

No. “Where are you looking?”

“Outside Portland. Close enough to commute but quiet. A place with a lawn, and neighbors for our kids to play with.”

Elain thought she might be sick. “Kids?”

Graysen whipped around so fast Elain stumbled back a step. “We’ve talked about this, Elain. Kids, a family, a life.”

“I know…I just thought…” She didn’t know what she thought, honestly. Biting her bottom lip, Elain said, “I’m not ready for kids, Gray.”

“Let’s just get out of here, first, and get married. This is just a plan, okay? Don’t freak out, baby.”

But she was freaking out. Even as Graysen pulled her into his chest, all she could think about was Arina’s accusation that Graysen wanted to turn her into his housewife. “In a year, who knows? Maybe you’ll be tired of all this, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she lied.

Elain knew she’d never be tired of it. 

—

Lucien glanced over at his brother, lounging casually against a pillar. They weren’t alone. As they waited just outside the Curia. Voices echoed off the high ceiling, slipping into the ether before any one could be untangled for a curious eavesdropper. Normally, Lucien would try and pick out the philosophers from the politicians but today he was focused.

If they succeeded—and it was a big if—he needed to be entirely focused. The same was true if they failed, honestly. If their plot was revealed before they could carry it out, Lucien would be jailed for treason before being made into a public spectacle. 

Beron would see the Empire laid to ruin under his madness. The people starved, their coffers were dwindling by the day, and the city was still reeling from a recent fire. They needed stability. They’d tried other means first. Eris had poisoned multiple goblets of wine, they’d sent snakes, assassins—everyone failed.

It was time to get their own hands bloody. 

For the sixth time that day, Lucien adjusted the fabric of his toga draped over an arm, careful to ensure the purple stripe was visible. Across the room, Jurian glanced out the open bronze doors, cheeks flushed from the heat. It was a miserable day already, the sun bearing down on them unbearably. Lucien wanted to retreat to the countryside where he swore to the gods it was never this hot.

The entry went silent as Beron swept in, devoid of the guards Octavian had once commanded. Beron believed himself to be divine, more god than man. Lucien intended to show him otherwise. 

Eris stepped forward, immaculate despite the heat, and bowed his head in a show of deference. “Are we ready?”

Beron’s brown eyes swept the room. “Is this everyone today?”

“There’s a war, if you recall,” Lucien reminded the Emperor, trying not to grind his teeth. Another costly war with the gauls that was unlikely to yield anything but more widows and wasted money. Beron was going to cost them Britania if he wasn’t careful—Lucien knew the Saxons were watching, waiting to see how things shook out on the Germanic border. How long before Beron was sending Lucien out to war, too?

And Eris? 

Before every enemy he had in Rome was marching on a battlefield where a knife to the back was much easier to orchestrate? Lucien didn’t intend on dying that way. No, if he died it was going to be in his bed because old age had finally come for him. If he was lucky, he’d be surrounded by children and grandchildren, though that assumed he had a wife and Lucien had not been lucky on that front.

If he let himself think about Jesminda, Lucien would utterly fail in his part in their plot. He couldn’t help himself, ruminating on his failures that had led to her death. It had been no one's fault…and yet he blamed himself anyway. Married for just a year—the best year of Lucien’s life, if he was honest with himself. He’d been just a junior Senator then, a nobles son from the Galatia province desperate to cut his teeth on Roman politics.

And Jesminda had been…well. She’d been wild. Too wild for patrician life and yet she’d tried anyway. If Lucien had been smart, he would have given it all up and taken her far, far away from the city. He’d merely loved it too much and assured himself she would learn to love it, too. Everything had been for her. The money, the social climbing—everything.

She should have been with him, listening to him plotting from beside him in their shared bed. And their child…he should have been there, too. He’d have been toddling around by then, speaking his first words with a mop of Jesminda’s dark curls. Lucien thought of them often, wishing Jesminda hadn’t lost her life trying to bring his son into the world. 

By the time Lucien realized what was happening, it was all too late. Jesminda was gone, hair stained red from all the blood she’d lost. He hadn’t even been able to tell her goodbye. And the babe…the baby hadn’t lasted the night, taking his last, frail breaths from Lucien’s trembling arms. He’d prayed on his knees to the gods, begging them to let the baby to live.

And then he’d prayed to bring her back. He’d offered a trade—his life for hers. He’d go into the underworld himself if he could only just find it. The gods were silent, their decision final. So he raged, instead, and then he fell silent when it was clear there was no undoing what was done. No bringing either of them back, no happiness the way he’d envisioned it. 

And he knew eventually he’d marry another Senator's daughter, likely to cement some powerful alliance between them. Lucien dreaded it all the same. 

Lost in thought, he’d forgotten where he was or what he was doing until Jurian’s elbow connected with his rib. No words were exchanged between them, but Lucien knew what Jurian was asking.

Are you still coming? 

There was time to back out if he wanted. Lucien might have if he’d been a coward, but he wasn’t. He was going to see Eris crowned Emperor if it was the last thing he did and it might be. Beron wasn’t known for being merciful. In one particular instance of lunacy, Beron had decided to wage war with Neptune himself, marching an army all the way to the shores of Britannia only to slash at the sea with his sword.

That had been Lucien’s final breaking point. He’d read the report through clenched teeth and decided right then and there that he’d had enough. Beron made a mockery of Rome’s greatness and threatened to undo everything their predecessors had worked for. Lucien would be damned if he let the Empire fall to ruin when there was a simple fix.

He followed Jurian into the Curia, closing the bronze doors behind him with a heavy click. Dragging his eyes around the room, Lucien focused on the bright green and red tiles adorning the floors rather than look behind Beron at the fountain of Saturn bubbling cheerfully in a stream of bright, golden light. In a few moments—just as soon as Eris gave the signal—those same tiles would be soaked with blood.

“Is this everyone who means to attend today?” Beron demanded, unaware this session had been called in secret. Of the six hundred Senators, only fifty were in attendance and that was by design. By the time the rest learned of what happened, Eris’s guards would have taken the city and he’d be crowned Emperor. 

Eris only shrugged, fingers flexing over his chest. That was the signal. The rest of them made their way toward Beron, still unaware, while Jurian stood against the door to keep Beron from getting out or his guards, were they to show up, from getting in. 

Eris’s blade connected with Beron’s stomach first—he’d wanted the first cut given Beron had raised him. He’d been a cruel father before he’d been a crueler Emperor. It was only right that Eris got the satisfaction of looking Beron in the eye and Beron knowing the plot had been orchestrated by Eris. 

Beron’s knees buckled, eyes wide not with fear but blazing, burning hatred. “Omnis homo mendax,” he spat, clearly caught off guard. Lucien joined the fray, his blade bloodied by the time Beron gasped out his last. 

It wasn’t the first death he’d ever seen—but it was one of the more satisfying ones. Panting, arm aching from the effort it took to pierce flesh and bone, Lucien looked up at Eris. 

“We must go, brother,” he warned as Jurian pushed off the door. “Quickly, before this was all for nothing.” They’d made it five steps across the room, Senators trailing behind Eris, when the doors shoved open. Armed guards with familiar faces made their way into the room. They weren’t Eris’s men, but Lucien’s and when they saw him, they immediately took a knee. 

“What are you doing?” Lucien demanded. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Beron’s men swept the city,” Antonius began apprehensive, looking from the pooling blood to Lucien. “Say the word and we’ll secure the city in your name.”

“Where are my—”

“Dead, Senator,” Antonius told him, jaw set with determination. They had seconds to act before word spread—before one of the Senators standing behind them had a change of heart and declared himself Dictator. “Say the word.”

Lucien turned to Eris, thinking of Beron’s last words. Omnis homo mendax. Every man is a liar. Eris must have been thinking it, too. Would they become enemies? Lucien needed Eris’s support, not just politically, but generally. They were brothers in every way that mattered, though also technically as Lucien’s mother was Eris’s mother. He’d been sent away when he’d been born rather than shame Beron’s good name and Lucien imagined it must have rankled Beron to see the product of his wife’s infidelity turn up in Rome as a man.

Lucien wouldn’t give the word until Eris did.

“Better you than anyone else,” Eris finally said, sweeping aside the fabric of his toga to kneel before Lucien. “Take the city.”

“Go,” Lucien ordered, heart racing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It should have been him on his knees while Eris was crowned, not the other way around. Lucien had never been so ambitious, hadn’t spent the years cultivating allies and purging his enemies. Right then, Lucien wasn’t sure if he could trust anyone in that room. Even as Antonius stood, barking orders to lock the city down until everyone loyal to Beron was removed, Lucien wondered if there wouldn’t be a dagger in his back by the end of the day. 

There was no taking it back. Only Jurian had a sense of humor about the whole thing, laughing loudly as Lucien approached.

“Well,” he said with a broad, unrestrained grin, “long live the Emperor.”

Lucien very much doubted he’d live long at all.

And still.

Long live the Emperor. 

ELAIN: 

The whole drive out into the countryside, all Elain could think about was Graysen and the plans he’d made. She felt like a doll in a toy box, one that could be moved around at will but had no say in where she went or what she did. He’d sent her the houses he was looking into, aided by his parents who were already touring them back in the states and sending pictures of each room. 

This would be perfect for a nursery. That had been the message his mother had sent over, showing off a large room with bay windows overlooking a spacious, lush backyard. Elain’s stomach was still churning as she thought about it. Her future was decided—all she had to do was smile and nod her head.

Truthfully, she probably didn’t need to even do that much. Just stay with him and Graysen would decide it all for her. She could be passive, even in her own life. A leaf blown along stronger winds until she was a stranger even to herself. If she thought about it too hard, Elain started to cry though she didn’t understand why.

This was what she wanted. She’d told Graysen so for years—she wanted kids, wanted marriage, wanted the white picket fence and the house in the suburbs. So why did it fill her with panic now that she was so close to getting everything she’d ever wanted? 

The bus jostled, tire slamming into a pothole. Arina slammed against Elain from the seat beside her, elbow hitting her rib as Elain’s temple collided with the glass. Arina mumbled out a quick apology, her own expression as moody as the sky overhead. Elain didn’t think it was going to rain, though the cloud cover was a welcome relief after the week they’d had. She didn’t think she could withstand a straight month of nothing but sun. 

Though, she would. Elain needed good news. She wanted to excavate a whole estate, with statues and a fountain—and if she was lucky, and the current homeowners unlucky, a bath house too. 

For now, though, she had a mosaic floor and that was enough to keep her busy and away from home. She and Arina had booked a room in the village and would stay for the next week before returning to Rome for the weekend. Elain considered, briefly, telling Graysen her cell reception was bad. 

And yet there she was, right then, texting him.

Miss you already.

What was wrong with her, she wondered? She ought to be studied. Crack open her skull and see where the disconnect between her heart and mind was because rationally Elain knew what she needed to do. It was emotionally that tangled her all up. She still loved him, still wanted everything they’d talked about. And part of her hoped, foolishly, that she could have everything if she simply refused to make a choice.

“I can hear your thoughts,” Arina complained when Elain remained uncharacteristically quiet. “You might as well scream them at me.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I won’t shut up,” Arina replied without malice. “What did he do now?”

“Nothing,” Elain said, resting her head on the window of the bus. “He’s looking at houses in Portland.”

Arina wrinkled her nose with distaste, though Elain was willing to bet if she laid out a map of the United States, Arina couldn’t tell her where Portland even was. It didn’t matter when Elain also knew that Arina simply thought there was nowhere better to live but Italy. Elain agreed, though she had no intention of admitting that to Arina just then. Her smugness would be unbearable.

“Did you tell him you don’t want to go?”

Elain sighed, earning an even heavier sigh from Arina.

“Why not? What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know? A sign from Jupiter?” she joked weakly. “If he could just…tell me what I should do—”

“That’s what your gut is for but you’re not listening,” Arina replied, poking Elain in the ribs. “He’s already there telling you to dump Gray and step into your destiny.”

“What a cliche,” Elain lamented, turning her eyes back toward the green Italian landscape. “She’s married to her work.”

“Better than being some man’s slave,” Arina muttered darkly.

“How do you do that? Turn it all off, I mean?” Elain asked curiously. “My parents were so in love and I just want a sliver of what they had.”

“Well, my parents were not in love—not like that, anyway. My father was loud and mean and my mother tolerated it. Abuse wasn’t in her vocabulary, and she’d been taught that was just how men were. And I told myself I would never let a man steal my life from me. You’re going to die one day, Elain. Is this how you want to spend it?”

“If I could make myself love him less, I would.”

“You don’t have to love him less, just love yourself more,” Arina told her softly. Her words struck Elain harder than any physical blow, robbing her of breath. Love yourself more. Elain didn’t know how. Her whole life had been in service of others—keeping the peace between her two sisters and their loud personalities, taking care of her father when her mother died, making sure everyone was happy no matter what. When Graysen came along, Elain was working toward something that made her happy at the expense of what everyone else wanted for her and he’d seemed supportive. How many times had Gray said he wanted to take care of her, for once?

He’d encouraged her to apply for the professorship in Italy, had been so willing to pack up his life and move that she felt selfish, suddenly, for denying him something he clearly wanted.

Relationships were give and take, right? 

Arina shook her head, reading Elain’s mind like she always did. Elain wore her every thought against her expression, making it easy for the rest of the world to know what she was thinking. Or maybe Arina just understood Elain better than anyone else—she couldn’t be sure. 

They arrived not much later, arriving in idyllic Caprarola. From there it was a decent walk hauling all their supplies toward the home nestled among rolling hills and the remnants of the Italian Renaissance. Arina was in heaven, pointing out this architectural style and that type of stone while Elain tried to stay present in the moment.

Her thoughts kept shifting back to Gray. Glancing upward at the cloud-filled sky, she wondered if it was foolish to send a prayer to a god she didn’t believe in. Still, as Elain climbed out after Arina, she decided to try.

Saturn, if you can hear me- give me a sign. Anything. I’ll take any sign at all. 

Elain didn’t know why she settled on Saturn other than she was thinking about Rome, still, and the old temple of Saturn that had once stood in the forum. It didn’t matter. Saturn didn’t exist and there would be no divine intervention. No signs, no watchful gods trying to steer her on the right path. 

“Are you ready?” Arina whispered, lacing her fingers through Elain’s for a moment to offer an excited squeeze. Elain was desperate, her plans tucked up under her arms. The first few days would be carefully excavating the existing floor and looking for anything else that may be nearby. Elain felt a little bad for the homeowners—if their home was on top of Roman ruins, it belonged to the Italian government. 

Arina had no business being there other than Elain had invited her. They didn’t need an art historian this early in the process and yet as they all descended on the backyard, Elain was glad she’d brought Arina.

“Wow,” Arina murmured, eyes as bright as the midday Italian sun. Time had faded the once vibrant blue and red tiles and still they were visible beneath the scattered layer of dirt. There, a good six feet or more underground, lay the one glorious floor of a Roman. If she was lucky, the rumors would be true and she'd uncover it belonged to Emperor Lucien.

And if she was less lucky, she’d still get to excavate a piece of Roman history. 

“Let’s get started.”

So much of the day was inching along carefully—Elain spent the vast majority of the day creating a grid of the site and assigning her grad students to each square. From there they took pictures in an attempt to see what lay beneath the soil, all of which was noted very carefully in logs. Though she was desperate to start digging, it was important to ensure nothing was damaged.

There was more than just a floor there—Elain was certain that it had a whole bath house within that yard and the one connected to the neighbors. No matter what happened next, Elain knew she had a patrician’s home under her feet.

She didn’t sleep well. Her dreams were drenched in color so bright she woke with a pounding headache and aching eyes, her skin so sweaty the sheets stuck to her body. Elain had fallen asleep texting Graysen, frustrated he wasn’t more excited about her potential discovery. He’d mustered a, that’s great, babe! before going right back to sending her house listings and pictures from his mom.

Make a choice.

Elain wanted to throw her life to the wolves and see what happened. She was frustrated and tired and if she was honest with herself, bored to death. The idea that this was the future waiting for her made her stomach tumble viciously, not with excitement but dread.

Wasn’t that enough of a sign?

She still loved him. Loved him enough to want to want the life he was offering her. What was so bad about it? Other than the dreary monotony and the fact that it was only her sacrificing her dreams? People went their whole lives without the kind of security Graysen was promising. Why couldn’t she just decide? Why couldn’t she get over herself and be the right woman for him? Elain vowed that night she’d show more enthusiasm, pick a house, and get on board. It wasn’t fair to punish him for her indecision and she couldn’t stay with him if it made her unhappy. If they were going to be together then they needed to be together. 

Elain shook the thought from her head and laced up her boots. Today she was getting dirty, which meant utility pants and a white shirt tucked neatly into the waistband. She’d pulled her thick curls into a messy french braid and slathered sunscreen over her face before jamming her wide brim sun hat against her head. 

Arina was waiting in a soft, blue cotton dress that looked beautiful against the golden brown of her skin. She’s left her hair down, her face uncovered and a little mascara slicked over her eyelashes. Elain envied Arina’s ability to seem effortlessly put together regardless of the circumstances, though she was absurdly overdressed for excavating. 

“I’ll leave the dirt to you,” Arina said with a grin, reading Elain’s thoughts as she so often did. “I want to see that Roman bath.”

“I think we’ve got a genuine hot tub,” Elain said, pulling out some of the pictures taken the day before. “Intact and well preserved, though we won’t know until we’re looking at it.”

“Let’s get to it, then,” Arina replied.

And so they did. The morning was spent carefully digging. Her grad students were obviously frustrated by the afternoon, having grown up on a steady diet of The Mummy and Indiana Jones. Real life archeology was slower, careful and precise. After all, no one wanted to be the person who destroyed a priceless piece of history because they’d been too eager and careless. 

And Elain was desperate at that point—she’d been right. A whole bath house was emerging, pieces crumbling from centuries of disuse, its lead pipes cracked, the tiles chipped. She’d resketched their area to include the new discovery, demolishing nearly the entire back garden. The owners of the home watched from the window, scowls on their faces. Maybe it had been unkind of Elain to send the grad student she liked the least to let them know what had been found. She’d been in that position, once, though not to this degree, and decided it was a character defining moment. 

The afternoon was spent going layer by layer in the soil, careful not to accidentally miss anything that may have shifted over the centuries. They dug up a couple necklaces and the broken pieces of an amphora that once had held water or wine—or maybe oil. It was hard to tell given the few shards they had.

Elain worked well into the night, turning overhead lights on as she crept closer and closer to a true, Roman bath. Arina stayed with her, even after they cut their grad students loose.

“Should we be here this late?” Arina asked, climbing gingerly down into the trench Elain had dug.

“No…but I want to see it before anyone else.”

Elain swore the world felt different down in that hole. Surrounded by the white and red mosaic, cracked and in some places completely gone, Elain could almost imagine what it would have been like. 

“Look at this,” Arina breathed, running her fingers over a half ruined fresco on what was left of an archway. 

“What’s the time period?” 

“Imperial for sure,” Arina told her, echoing what Elain already knew. Still, the confirmation was nice. There would be no narrowing it down tonight, though they both were thinking the same thing—this could belong to the period Lucius had ruled. This could be the home he’d died in, where he’d penned those journals lamenting the loss of his late wife Elena. 

“Look at this,” Arina said, beckoning for Elain to follow after her. Careful of where they stepped, the pair made their way to the furthest wall to look at what once would have been a vibrant fresco. The reds had faded to a rusty colored orange, the faces worn away by time.

“It’s Chronos,” Arina breathed, fingers hovering without quite touching. “See how he hunches over? His beard is still there…just barely. And here, it’s Kairos I think. Usually a younger, handsome man beside Chronos would be Kairos—”

“Greek?”

She shrugged. “The Romans borrowed a lot from the Greeks. Perfected it, I’m sure they’d say. The wealthy would have known all the Greek philosophers and they would have been familiar with Greek mythology. I suppose our Emperor was a fan.”

“Why have the Greek god of time on the wall?” Arina looked around in the dark, trying to make out the rest of the wall. “It’s probably some larger theme. Maybe he was worried about the years passing? Or not seizing an opportunity?”

Static had caused pieces of Arina’s blonde hair to stand on end and the smell of something sulfuric had begun to fill the air. Elain, like Arina, was transfixed by the image and the space they currently stood in. 

Arina glanced at Elain. “No one would know if we just—”

“Carefully,” she said, heart thudding with excitement. “If the oil from our fingers—”

“Think about how they used to excavate things. No gloves, just dirty hands,” Arina said as she pulled a thing of vanilla scented hand sanitizer from the bag wrapped around her waist. “We can’t be any worse than them.”

Elain didn’t know about that, though she didn’t argue. With one hand, she clasped Arina’s, linking them inextricably and with the other she reached for the wall at the same moment Arina did. 

A hook jerked just behind her navel, ripping her forward so quickly Elain’s eyes slammed shut to avoid the inevitable crash against solid, Roman concrete. She was going to be in so much trouble—the university would be irate when they realized she and Arina had destroyed a priceless piece of Roman architecture.

Elain and Arina tumbled to the ground, elbow connecting with the solid floor. The smell of sulfur was more present as heat danced along her skin. Elain felt condensation on her cheek, mopped up  from the floor she was sprawled against. 

Arina groaned, dragging her lower body off of Elain. “I’m sorry…” she began, voice trailing off. Opening her eyes, Elain expected to be engulfed by darkness. Instead, she found bronze lamps hanging from the ceiling blazing, illuminating a truly magnificent room. A bath room, complete with a massive pool with glittering blue water that wafted steam up toward the vaulted ceiling. Empty chaises with plush, red fabric were set along the wall painted in colors so vivid Elain was certain she must be hallucinating.

Arina stood, her white dress ripped just above the knee from where they’d fallen. While Elain remained on the ground, desperately trying to catch her breath, Arina went to look at the painting.

“Look,” she said, her voice too breathless for Elain’s liking. “It’s the same fresco. There he is…Chronos—”

“Qu quidnam facis?” 

Elain and Arina turned, Elain clambering to her feet as the latin words slithered through the warm air. There, just outside an open bronzed door, stood two men in belted brown tunics and worn, leather sandals. Dark curls spilled over olive skin, while two sets of brown eyes stared at them accusingly.

“We…” Elain trailed off, unsure what to make about any of this.

“Chi sei esattamente?!” Arina snapped back in sharp Italian. It was the wrong thing to say in perhaps the wrong language, because the two men began calling for guards in Latin. In Latin. Elain couldn’t get her mind to keep up with what was happening because Latin was a dead language and no one spoke it outside of academia. She was dreaming, she decided, and not even having iron cuffs clamped around her wrist could convince her otherwise. 

“Elain,” Arina whispered when the doors to the room they were being held in were locked, “I think we’re in trouble.”

“Wake up,” Elain whispered to herself.

But she never did.

—

Lucien was in hell. Declared Emperor by the cohortes praetoriae, Lucien found himself standing before a packed Senate, about to be crowned. Among the gathered crowd of patricians, Lucien found his older brother looking back at him, cheeks reddened from the heat. There was no taking it back, not without making his whole line look weak and painting a target on their backs.

He didn’t understand how it had happened. Somewhere in the very back, Lucien saw his father talking with another Senator, deliberately not looking at his son. 

This kind of maneuver had his father written all over it. 

It was tempting to touch the golden fibula on his shoulder, each bearing the symbols of Rome. Lucien still felt like he was dreaming and had ever since the purple paludamentum had been brought to him, now fluttering behind his armor. He was the picture of Roman strength, the promise of the Roman future. And as he stood before his peers, Lucien felt like a fraud.

He hadn’t been born to rule. And still, he had the recognition and support of the Roman Army—all he needed was the Senate to declare him Imperator Caesar and Lucien as he’d once been would be no more. 

The room went silent as Eris stood, the only living consul available to Lucien at the moment—they’d executed the other just the morning before. Lucien could still hear the wails of the man’s widow as Jurian had dragged him cowering from his home where Lucien had been waiting, sword in hand. He may not have considered himself worthy of the title, but he’d be damned if some sniveling coward put a knife in his back. 

Eris could refuse. Could spit at Lucien’s feet if he’d wanted. Lucien knew he wouldn’t, though he could see the furious resentment burning in Eris’ gaze. The only thing that would spare Lucien was the knowledge that Lucien had not been the one to betray Eris. He doubted it would save his father from Eris’ wrath, and it had occurred to Lucien that he might be better off sending Eris to a far-flung province and forgetting him entirely.

He needed his brother. Eris was just as cunning, just as conniving, but with a talent for surviving. Lucien wanted Eris at his right hand until the day he died, and so when his brother who should have been Emperor approached, Lucien let him. He knew the vipers surrounding them were half hoping for a spectacle—a little more blood spilled on the floor, a little more violence to satisfy their hunger.

Eris held a golden crown made to look like laurel leaves. “Behold,” Eris said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings overhead, “Imperator Caesar Augustus Lucius. Long may He serve Rome.” Lucien inclined his head just enough for Eris to set that crown atop his head before his eyes swept over the room, trying to meet the eyes of everyone who was still living. I let you live, he hoped his expression said, I will not be so generous if you betray me. 

And then he launched into the speech he’d spent the night working on. Lucien had read from predecessors long past, looking at those who had done the job well and the words they’d spoken. He wanted to evoke a sense of safety and trust—he was here to take care of the Roman people, not enrich himself at their expense. And to that end, Lucien had ordered a month of games starting on the next kalendes to give him time to prepare a true spectacle and get himself mostly settled into his new position.

His proclamation was received with thunderous applause—everyone loved an excuse to celebrate and it had been a long time since they’d had cause for it. Beron had all but banned the games, calling them too expensive and too distracting to a populace better suited for work than pleasure.

It wasn’t the Roman way. Had Eris not orchestrated his death, Beron was well on his way to being declared enemy of the people much like Nero before him. Lucien had been content to wait and watch before Eris put his foot down. Did his brother regret it, he wondered? 

With the Senate convened, Lucien was free to accept congratulations from his fellow patricians. Jurian and Eris hung back by the door, waiting for the rest to file out so they could descend on Lucien like wolves.

He needed to speak with his father. Catching the older man by the wrist, Lucien muttered, “Was this your doing?” Helion was unrepentant. “Blasphemy, son.”

“You—”

“Not here. Dinner with your mother and I? I assume our new Imperator isn’t so busy he can’t spare a little time for his mother?”

Lucien ground his teeth together before nodding. “Fine. Send word when you’d like me.”

“You have a standing invitation,” Helion reminded him before sauntering out, the last of the stragglers. 

 “How does it feel?” Jurian asked once Helion was gone. Lucien glanced toward Eris. 

“I didn’t—”

“I know,” Eris said, jaw set all the same. “That dead bastard guessing my plan is my fault—I should have planned for that inevitably.”

Lucien opened his mouth to offer to step down but the scathing look Eris shot him silenced him. Eris had always been good at reading his mind.

“What’s done is done,” Eris said, his disappointment clear. “I won’t be wasting any more time on what might have been. The gods have spoken.”

“Well I—”

“Princeps,” a servant bowed low, stopping Lucien in the hall leading out of the Curia, eyes on the marble below them. 

“Speak.”

“Word has come from your estate in Eturia. Two spies have infiltrated and are being held while we await your instruction.”

Already? “Spies? From where?”

The slave winced, olive skin already burned in the sun. They spoke like a Roman, though their accent betrayed them. They sounded suspiciously Dacian, though he couldn’t be sure and truthfully, he cared very little. 

The servant shrugged beneath their brown tunic. “They are difficult to understand.”

Eris and Jurian cut a glance to Lucien. “Germanic?”

“Possibly.”

“Bring them to Rome,” Lucien ordered. “I’ll question them myself.”

They waited for the servant to depart before they began speaking among themselves. “A barbarian this close to the city?” Jurian asked with amusement as they stepped out into the bright sunlight of the late morning. Light reflected from the marble, blinding Lucien temporarily before his eyes adjusted. Bustling crowds jostled for space, their conversations blurring into a murmuring jumble of words. 

Slipping past a group arguing passionately about rising olive prices, Lucien continued his conversation with Eris and Jurian.

“Do you really think two germanic barbarians came all this way to rob you?” Jurian questioned, eyes sliding upward toward the markets, built not with marble like the rest of the forum, but with brick directly against the hillside. Lucien could smell cooking meat, mingled alongside sweat, leather, and citrus. 

“No,” Lucien replied. “Scouts would have been swept up in Gaul before they ever made it this far.” If he hadn’t just been made Emperor, Lucien would have gone himself just to keep things quiet. He didn’t need word spreading and causing a panic–though, if he was clever, Lucien saw a future in which he could deploy troops back to the Rhine and take more territory. 

“Assassins, then,” Eris said with a little too much amusement. “You’re better off cutting their throats before they ever reach Rome.”

“I’ll make them part of the games,” Lucien declared, running his fingers over a large pillar depicting the accomplishments of an emperor long before him. He needed one of his own—a project for later, he decided privately. “If they’re assassins, the lions can have them, and if they’re barbarians, the gladiators can show them what happens when one attempts to challenge Rome.”

It was settled, leaving Lucien to make the rounds. His praetorian guards trailed just behind, their mere presence a warning to anyone who thought to get too close. Those, Lucien kept a weapon on his person as well, paranoid of every face he didn’t recognize—and many he did. 

He didn’t sleep well that night—nor the next one. Everything was happening quickly. Decisions needed to be made and a legacy built. Lucien, like so many before him, was interested in expansion to add to the glory of Rome and prove to the Romans he was worthy of his title and position. 

Lucien commissioned works of art—and not just of himself—and began his preparations for the games. Animals needed to be brought in which took time—of which he had very little. Lucien had nearly forgotten about the intruders until Eris came around Palatine Hill, strolling into the palace that had once belonged to Beron—and every emperor that had come before him—as though it belonged to him.

“Your captives have arrived,” Eris said, a grin on his face. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Apparently your captives have been giving your soldiers a difficult time.”

“And that amuses you?”

“Come with me,” Eris said, beckoning Lucien to leave his place at his desk. “You’ll see why.”

And indeed, Lucien did find the source of Eris’s amusement when they descended into the bowels of Mamertine. It reeked of human suffering and filth and was so dark and damp that despite the heat of the day, Lucien felt cold. 

Eris ordered for the door of the cell to be opened, revealing not two barbaric soldiers itching for blood…but two slim, dirty women peering back at him from the gloom. Lucien turned to look at Eris, exasperated.

“Is this supposed to be funny? You wrangled two prostitutes—”

The blonde woman began snarling words in a language he didn’t recognize, though the tone conveyed just what she thought about what he’d said.

The brunette, however, spoke Latin. “We’re not prostitutes,” she said earnestly, leaning forward in an attempt to really look at him. “This is a misunderstanding.”

Eris held his hands up, iron ring glinting in the firelight. “I had no part in this.”

“You were caught trespassing,” Lucien informed them, stepping a few feet into the tiny cell. “How do you account for that?”

The women exchanged a glance and Lucien knew, without needing to read their thoughts, that they were about to tell him a lie. What would they invent, he wondered? 

“We’re from Britannia,” she said—and Lucien believed that, given the fairness of her skin and the blonde hair of the woman beside her. “We were overtaken on the road and forced to continue alone on foot. When we saw your estate, we hoped someone might welcome us inside—”

“And instead we’ve been imprisoned, assaulted, and accused of prostitution!” the blonde beside her bit out. Their accents were unusual, tinged with an inflection he didn’t recognize. They weren’t even the same accent—the blonde’s words were sharper while the brunette spoke with a rolling drawl he found oddly charming. 

“Prove you’re not a prostitute,” Eris said, clearly willing to provoke an angry woman. Lucien didn’t move, still curious as the blonde offered him a deceptively sweet smile.

“Come and see for yourself,” she offered. Lucien wouldn’t have dared—he knew an armed opponent when he saw one. Eris should have known better and yet he crossed the stone floor and reached out a hand, perhaps curious about the mass of blonde hair tangled around her face.

“Arina—” the brunette tried to stop her friend, but the woman bit Eris hard enough that Lucien saw the blood before he heard Eris’s furious curse. 

With bloody lips, the blonde looked up at him and said, “Biting is bad for business.”

Eris turned to look at Lucien, mouth agape. 

“This whole thing is merely a misunderstanding,” the brunette told him. “If you let us go—”

“Where would I release you to? A husband? Father?” Lucien questioned.

Both women exchanged a glance. “I…”

Liars, the pair of them. He could leave them, of course—it was tempting to wash his hands of the entire thing and return back to a world filled with daylight. The light from the hall shifted, through firelight onto the brunettes features and Lucien found himself unable to do so. She was…well.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, even with dirt staining her features. And she was looking at him with soft pleading, brown eyes and Lucien simply could not bring himself to treat her cruelly. 

“You’ll stay in my household as guests,” he declared as Eris swore softly beside him, shaking out his injured hand. “Just until we can find a relative to place you with.”

The blonde muttered something to the brunette in a third language—not the sharp constants from before, but something harsher and angrier sounding. 

“Um,” the brunette began, gaze darting between the three of them. “Will we stay here in Rome, or can we—”

“In Rome,” Lucien said, nose burning from the stench of suffering. “That is where you were headed, is it not?”

The brunette didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then there should be no problems.”

Whatever these women had been doing would reveal itself in time, and until then, keeping them in his household allowed Lucien to keep watch on them. He swore that was all he cared about—the safety of his city and the security of his position. But as the brunette stood, in clothes so strange he couldn’t figure them out at all, he knew this was more than pragmatism. She was beautiful and Lucien was still a man. 

Eris, too, was taking in their clothing, his nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Be careful of your next words,” the blonde warned, eyes wide.

Eris scowled. “Be careful of yours. Is this how men are treated in your home?”

“Worse,” she replied with a savage, bloodstained smile. 

“You look like a whore,” Eris snapped, clearly still pissed. Lucien’s head whipped around, a warning to silence himself on his tongue. The brunette clearly had the same thought because she gripped her friend’s wrist and whispered a clear, harsh warning in the ugly native tongue of hers. She was too beautiful to speak such a barbaric language, and more beautiful still when she turned to him and said, in Latin, “We’re so grateful for your hospitality.”

“Your name?” Lucien heard himself asking. Tell me the truth. 

“Elain,” she said, the word easily the most beautiful thing that had come from her lips since they’d met. “And this is Arina.”

Eris’ scowl deepened. “The soldiers. Did they touch you?”

Elain and Arina exchanged another glance, a yes if Lucien had ever seen it. It was unlike his brother to care and yet it was clear Eris wanted an answer, and intended to exact punishment on those who he felt had done wrong. 

“And if they did?” Arina demanded, crossing her arms over a ripped, white shift that made Lucien uncomfortable to look at. 

Eris nodded, pointing a finger in her face. “You will point them out to me—”

“That’s not…we’re unharmed,” Elain hastened to assure him, but Lucien found himself agreeing with Eris. If they’d been touched unwillingly, maybe he might like to see some justice done, too. 

“You will tell him which of my soldiers harmed you,” Lucien said, his word law. Did they know? Or had they departed believing Beron was Emperor. He gestured toward his brother and added,

“This is Consul Eris,” Lucien began, strangely pleased to tell Elain who he was, “and I am Lucien, Caesar Imperator Augustus.”

Elain and Arina both inclined their heads, knees bending strangely. Were they bowing? That was wholly unnecessary though…Lucien allowed it. He couldn’t explain himself, certainly not to his brother who was watching…but he liked the sight of Elain sinking to her knees before him. He beckoned for them to follow him out, gulping down fresh air the moment they were back outside.

“See them to my home,” he told his brother, wanting a minute to himself. “Ensure they’re made comfortable.”

Eris nodded. “You’ll regret this.”

Lucien smiled.

He had no doubts about that.

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY WINTER SOLACE SHANA HELL YEAH I MADE IT IN TIME!!! CAN I GET ME SOME TONKS AND PERCY AS A BIRTHDAY TREAT? 👉🏻👈🏻 (My birthday is the 22nd) HAVE AN AWESOME HOLIDAY! 🎄🎄🎄

 Percy is supposed to focusing on these reports that he technically shouldn’t have taken out of the office, but technically Crouch is supposed to be handling these, so.

While his absolute piece of shit apartment usually holds no more appeal than being stuck in the office overnight, it currently has Tonks resting with her head on his thigh “resting her eyes” since she refuses to go to bed before him because she believes in blackmail and manipulation. Which he can’t reasonably say he’s surprised by, considering, but it is a little inconvenient.

His work is important or he wouldn’t be doing it, but if he falls asleep at work the worst that happens is he embarrasses himself. If Tonks goes out on a call without getting proper rest, she could be putting herself in danger. Leveraging her own safety to get him to sleep is underhanded and irresponsible.

She’s going to do exceptionally well working under Shackbolt. He’d plucked her out from the other trainees from the beginning. It has nothing to do with him, but he can’t help the smug furl of pride anyway.

He clears his throat and her eyes flutter open. She has to blink a couple times for them to settle to her natural dark brown, cycling through several shades of blue and yellow. He wonders what she was dreaming about. “Bill has a meeting at Gringott’s on Thursday. He’s going to come by the office after and we’re going to go to the cafeteria to catch up.”

“That sounds nice,” she says, turning to press her face into his stomach and rubbing her nose against his sweater. He makes a mental note to try and talk to the landlord about doing something about the heating system, or at least refreshing the charms himself, but he’s not good enough to make them last long. Maybe Bill wouldn’t mind doing it before he returns to Egypt? “Are you done going through the Russian reports?”

No. Translation charms are imperfect and it takes him forever to parse through and figure out what’s actually being described. If Crouch wasn’t such a dick to them, they’d submit in English. “Do you want to join us? If you can. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

That gets her attention. “Really? I mean, sure. I’m pretty sure I’ve spoke to Bill twice ever. One time he gave me detention.”

His lips twitch. Bill remembers that. “Thank you. He wants to meet my girlfriend. Or re-meet, technically.”

She beams, so pleased whenever he calls her that. She’s been calling herself his girlfriend for a months, but it still makes him warm to see how pleased she is with the title. He’d really though he was just a passing interest, a distraction while she was desk bound, but she’s still here. “Yeah, of course. It’ll be fun!”

He hums in agreement, the sound interrupted midway with a yawn.

“Come on,” she says, pushing herself to her feet then tugging him up after her. “We both need sleep. That’ll all still be there in the morning.”

That’s the problem. But he says, “Alright,” and lets her maneuver him as she likes.

Giving in to Tonks doesn’t sting like it does with other people. It’s always a relief and a pleasure to see her satisfied and happy.

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge pt. 4

AN: This chapter was supposed to be out yesterday but I got kinda sick so I couldn't edit it, Anyways, enjoy!!

“Would you mind spotting me?” 

The question seems innocent enough, if you weren’t asking it to the scariest man on the base, much less your lieutenant.

Ghost lifted his head from where he was sitting on a bench, unwrapping his hands after his own training session. 

You quickly back tracked at his expression, rethinking your choice. “You don’t have too, I think I got this set-“

“No, no I got it.” He stood, moving behind you, standing a little too close, but you chose to ignore it. 

The set was fairly easy, and you finished quickly, thanking him quietly as you moved to put the weights back on their stand. 

“Can I ask you somethin?” Ghost questioned, and you turned to see that he was studying you intently. 

“Yeah?” You prompted, tilting your head slightly. 

“That bet… Why’d you do it?” 

You shrugged. “I was drunk, mostly. Figured there couldn’t be any harm. What’s the worst that can happen, anyways?” 

That made him chuckle. “You have no idea, do you?” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, furrowing your brow in confusion. The tall man walked closer to you, moving you slowly till your back hit the wall. 

“This ain’t just a game to those boys, it’s a challenge. Whoever wins you won’t be kind, I hope you know that.” He places an arm above your head, effectively pinning you against the wall. You can feel his breath through the mask, and the warmth against your neck sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Honestly, darlin’ You’re a right fuckin tease when you wanna be, hm? Acting all innocent, like you don’t know how much we all want to-“

“I’ve got it!!” 

Soap’s voice cut through the whole training room, as he ran in frantically waving a piece of paper in the air. “I found one! Take that bitch, I’m in the lead!” 

“Wait, what? Found what?” You and Ghost jumped apart from each other, both running over to where Johnny was doing a -frankly crude- victory dance. Your heart was absolutely pounding, heat still flying through your body at the encounter with Ghost. 

We all want to what? What do they want to do…

“You did not find it, I did.” Kyle huffed, diving for the photo in Soap’s hand. “Give it back you pathetic excuse for a-“ 

“Hey,” Price said in warning. Kyle just huffed and backed away from Soap. 

“Finders keepers,” Soap teased in a sing song voice, throwing the photo on the bench. “The first of ten. Which puts me in the lead.” 

“You aren’t in the lead if you stole a photo, that’s not how it works.” Ghost said, kneeling down to pick up the image.

“Like I said, finders keepers. S’not my fault Gaz wanted tae hoard the photos till ‘e got all ten. His loss aye?” Soap nudged you playfully on the shoulder, but you were too busy trying to see the image to acknowledge him. 

Gaz looked pathetically over to Price, opening his mouth to plead his case. Price beat him to it, however. “Soap, that’s not nice. Gaz found it, he takes the credit.”

“Awe, come off it captain, It’s just a bit of fun  huh?” 

“Johnny.”

“Yes sir.”

“Still dont think it’s fair,” Ghost threw in. 

“Whadya mean? I found the image-“ Kyle protested, turning to Ghost now. 

“Yeah but from where?” Ghost challenged, placing the photo back on the bench 

“Online? Don’t see how it matters, it’s a photo.” 

“But it’s not creditable, this could be edited-“

And so it continued. You had long since tuned out the bickering, leaning down to look at the photo. It did look like you, a smiling child holding an award for something you couldn’t really read. 

The closer you looked, however, the more you started to see the imperfections. The girl in the photo had straight hair, at that age yours was more curly. And she was holding a ball in her hands, a basketball. 

Of all the sports you played, basketball was never one of them. 

“That’s not me.”

They were still shouting, yelling over each other to be heard above the voices. Johnny was pressing Kyle for where he got the information, and Kyle was refusing to say, under the excuse it would give them a ‘better advantage’ than he had. Johnny was still trying to insist they should share the win, and Price was just yelling for everyone to calm the fuck down. 

“Hello?” You called, trying to raise your voice above all of them. “Hey, I said that isn’t me.”

But the yelling continued. It seemed to go on forever, all of them arguing over one small image. The topic slowly changed, however, till they started crossing into uncharted territory. 

“Look-“ Gaz snapped, breathing heavily. “I found the photo, just like the deal said. That makes one out of ten for me. You lot can do what you will but I’m not sharing.”

“You didn’t have a problem sharing last night, isn’t that right?” Ghost hissed, and the gym was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Your head ached trying to figure out what the boys were saying, the double meanings behind everything, but you couldn’t keep up. 

“I don’t give a fuck what I did and didn’t do last night, what’s fair is fair.” Kyle snapped, turning to grab the photo. 

“You’re just mad cause you don’t want to think about one of us fu-“ 

“That’s enough!” Now it was you who was yelling, and the boys watching you in disbelief. 

“Look, this isn’t like that, okay! I’m sick of you all objectifying me like i’m some fucking doll. I don’t know what side bets you have going on but I want out of this one. I made the deal drunk and you all watched me try to get out of it the next morning, and now you’re yelling like fucking children over a picture that doesn’t even have me in it. I never even did basketball for fucks sake! And you would know this if you acted like normal fucking human beings, much less behave like the grown men you are and ask me.” They all looked at you in absolute shame, as you threw the photo on the ground. 

“And for the record, I am not fucking one of you on a deal. I don’t work like that so get the thought out of your head.”

You shoved past the wall of muscle made up by both Price and Ghost, storming off to your room.

For the longest time, he sat there and thought about exactly what happened in the gym. 

Kyle was no fool. He understood what bringing up the photo would do, and he knew Soap would try and take the credit, as they had agreed the night before. 

He didn’t actually know why he changed his mind. Kyle had no problem sharing you with the others, they were right anyways. 

He shared all the time. 

But something about introducing you to… this… scared him. As if they could frighten you off. 

He knew that wasn’t true, so why did he think that way?

An apology message sat, typed out on his phone. He was procrastinating, heavily, on sending it, worried that it might be a little too much for you to handle. 

Was it? You had taken your the whole team so nicely, he thought you would be ready… 

 More photos of you sad scattered on his desk. A lot of them looked like what Price had found before, a bunch of family photos with you missing or images of a girl who looked exactly like you but she wasn’t you. 

Today’s events proved that. 

Anyone else might have been saddened at the revelation. Putting weeks of work into one image, just to be wrong? Enough to crush a man, if it was done correctly.  

But Kyle Gaz Garric is no ordinary man.

Before he can think about it too much, he hurriedly hits send on the message and closes his phone. 

Now, we wait.

My Masterlist

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (TEASER)

- pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem Reader

- summary: Soldier Boy was not a good man, by any means, but you’d, somehow, managed to dig a nice little hole in his heart and settle there comfortably. When he dies in ‘84, your enter life changes. You take on his role as leader of Payback, and try to live up to his legacy — a harder burden than anticipated. You manage, just about. And, in 2021, Soldier Boy turns up at your home, vengeance on his mind, ready to kill you. If your life was already difficult, it was about to get a lot harder.

TEASER OF CHAPTER ONE:

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

[harlowsbby]

Routines 💘

“Baby, come on baby I’m tired and I just wanna sleep already.” Jack pouted while you dragged him into the hotel bathroom.

The thing with you was you didn’t care what city or country you were in you were going to make sure you had a night time routine. With running around with Jack all day you needed a few minutes to just take care of yourself.

Jack on the other hand didn’t care for it all he needed was a quick shower and he was good but tonight you were forcing him to do your routine.

“It’ll be real quick Jack we just need to do some face care and drink some lemon water and we’ll be all set.” You told him but he wasn’t having it.

“Lemon water? What is lemon water going to do for me babe please enlighten me.” He stated as he sat on the edge of the bath tub watching as you took a few of your skincare products out your travel bag.

“Lemon water actually has a lot of benefits it gives you more hydration, clearer skin and better digestion.” You told him as you stood in front of him and started applying your green tea mask to his face.

“Is that right baby? Who would’ve thought my girl was a dermatologist now.” He joked and smacked your lips. “Stay still I need to apply this before it dries.” You scolded him softly but nonetheless he sat still and rested his hands on your waist and watched how you carefully and steadily applied the mask to his face.

Jack would never admit to but he loved moments like this with you at times he got busy and wasn’t able to give you all of his undivided attention but he had to admit doing this silly little night routine with you had his heart fluttering.

You stood back and smiled in approval at your work Jack stood up to inspect himself in the mirror. “I look like a bird shit on my face babe.” You chuckled at him. “Whatever but you won’t be saying all that when your got that glass skin now will you?”

“Glass skin? Baby can you start speaking English what is glass skin?” You sighed you weren’t sure how you ended up with a man as slow as Jack at times.

“Glass skin like your skin is going to look flawless with no imperfection or anything.” He stood there confused still not fully understanding.

“Let’s just go get some lemon water.” You took his hand and dragged him into the little living room era of the suite.

He looked at the bag of lemons on the table with a confused expression he wasn’t exactly sure how you got those but he knew better than to question it. You poured the two of you glasses of iced cold water before chopping up the lemons and squeezing them in the water.

“Here and make sure you drink it all.” You demanded. “Yes mother.” He stated sarcastically before drinking the water, his tongue immediately flew out his mouth and his face scrunched up.

“This shit is nasty baby I’m not drinking this.”

“Yes you are.” You told him. “No I’m not.” He argued back. “I already did the face mask and drank half of this so I’m good.” You rolled your eyes and finished up your drink.

“Let’s go wash off our mask.” After the two of you washed off your mask you made your way into bed. Jack laid down with your laying on his chest and touching his face.

“See your skin feels so much softer now.”

“So my skin wasn’t softer before?” He asked.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it Jack I saw you smiling when I was applying your mask.” His cheeks heated up a bit when he realized you caught him.

“It was nice, just don’t tell the guys alright? The last thing I need is for Urban and Sunni to be making jokes about it.”

Jack loved this friends he did but hated how they always called him a simp whenever it came to doing things with you, he knew for a fact you had him wrapped around your finger but he didn’t care because seeing you happy was the only thing that mattered.

“I promise I won’t.” You lied because when he wasn’t looking you snapped a quick picture and sent it to Urban who of course showed Sunni along with everyone else.

“Let’s get some sleep yeah? I’m tired.” He grumbled and turned off the light.

“I love you baby.” He tiredly mumbled and rested his head on-top of your head.

“I love you more Jack.” You stated and pressed a kiss to his bare chest before falling in a deep and peaceful sleep.

(Just something that came into my head 😭💘 I got more stuff coming soon)

[pretty-toru]

some geto relationship headcanons

☁ Boyfriend Suguru, who loves you a little more when you don't hide your imperfections. Your messy up-do and the dab of dried toothpaste you'd accidentally got on your (his) shirt after brushing your teeth and comes into view when you pour yourself a cup of coffee/tea and kiss him good morning as he's going about his usual routine. You don't notice the blemish until much later and it's adorable seeing you fuss over nothing.

☁ Boyfriend Suguru, who doesn't question (he teases you instead) your preference for cold lattes or frozen desserts when the weather outside suggests for something warming from within. You're a shivering mess midway through finishing your sweet treat and his natural instincts drape his jacket over your shoulders, the fleeting warmth from his body heat seeping into your own and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face.

☁ Boyfriend Suguru, who reserves an afternoon/evening for something you've mentioned you always wanted to do but never made plans for whatever reason (maybe it’s just your impulse thoughts again), such as pottery basics, wine and paint night, or candy making. He encourages you to experience it first-hand to see if you'd want to take it up as a hobby or just to have a good time, and even if you don't enjoy it as much as you thought you would then at least you tried it.

☁ Boyfriend Suguru, who appreciates the time and effort you put into making him his favorite dinner because you wanted to do something special for him, but it hadn't turned out the way you envisioned it and you overcooked and over-salted everything. "Err, looks like I missed a couple of steps? I'm sorry, I just wanted to do something nice for you." He's so gentle in comforting you and lucky that you still have some spare ingredients and takes the opportunity to walk you through the recipe for next time.

(Your attempts will be his lunch tomorrow since he doesn't want to waste it and he also wants you to have a good meal).

[griombrioch]

Soft Dom Hob Hours

“What do you want?”

“Hob.” 

“You have to use your words, my love.” 

“What?” Dream spits out, about a hair’s breadth away from baring his teeth like a weapon. Is it not enough that he’s shown up uninvited in his friend’s home? That he’s disrobed for Hob, despite the discomfort his bare skin brings? That he’s dropped himself into this human’s lap as a desperate, scrabbling thing? He’s made himself most desirable for Robert Gadling and yet the man is staring at him, inquisitive, hands settled steady on Dream’s waist but moving no farther. 

“I’m the Lord of Dreams. And Nightmares. And you need me to tell you?” Dream knows he’s being cruel to belittle Hob’s intelligence, but the self reflection does nothing to calm the clawing emptiness inside of him. He somehow feels too much and also nothing at all. The dreamers are screaming inside of his head but they still feel so far away. Like he’s cut off from himself but he still knows that he’s bleeding out. 

It is agony. 

“My subjects know me better than you, clearly,” he sneers, “Perhaps I should return then. Take from them what you will not give to me.”

“That’s nice,” Hob says, passive as ever, like they’re having a conversation about one of his students or the objectively correct way to brew Irish Breakfast. But he’s leaning in close so that Dream can smell the toothpaste off his breath. It is infuriating. “But we are not in The Dreaming, and I am not your subject. Use your words. What do you want?” 

He doesn’t have to tell his subjects what he wants, what he needs. They are part of him. His needs are simply met. Dream is not accustomed to needing to explain himself. Having to do so is crude and basic and primitive.

Dreams glares and opens his mouth and is suddenly very, very concerned that he doesn’t actually know what it is that he wants. He doesn’t have the words. He just knows that he needs. He needs something to fill the empty hole that Roderick and Alex Burgess left behind when they took and took and took from him.

 He needs Hob to do it. It has to be him. 

“I want…” Dream trails off, and suddenly breathing feels like too laborious of a task, but his chest heaves anyway. He’s starting to lose control of this chosen physical form. His edges are blurring. What does he want? He is the Prince of Stories. Where are the words to describe what he needs from this human? “I…I want..I-” 

“Easy, easy, love,” he hears Hob say, impossibly gentle in his ear. “You’re okay. You’re doing so well, see?”

Hob is not one of his subjects. Hob is human and imperfect and so, so infuriatingly patient. Why can he not be as other humans and take what he pleases? 

“You can have anything you want, sweetheart.” Hob presses a kiss to the shell of his ear and Dream tells himself that the keening sound between them is not coming from his own mouth. “Anything at all. That isn’t the problem here.”

He wants. So much. Too much. He can’t possibly ask it of Hob. He can’t. He needs to go. Leave now before he makes more mistakes and ruins this man-

“You are not stealing anything, Dream. Stop punishing yourself,” the touch of lips is replaced with just the barest hint of teeth. “Have you forgotten? This is mine and mine alone to give you freely. But you must tell me what it is you need.” 

“I need…” Dream takes a stuttering, ragged breath that he doesn’t need for life preservation but rather to calm down. “You. To touch me.”

“Good. And?” Hob fingers run across the plane of Dream’s ribs, teasing the sensitive troughs and valleys of his bones.

“I need you to hold me down. Make me. Make me work for it.”

“That’s it, love.” Dream shivers and his skin heats up at the praise. It is humiliating to be praised by this human and yet, he craves more of it. Oh, how he craves. “And you’re going to tell me when it’s too much, yes?” 

He nods. 

Hob drops his hands and pulls away. “Your words, Dream.” 

“Yes,” Dreams gasps out then, and it comes easier this time, his mind slipping to an undefined somewhere - where Roderick Burgess is nothing but a distant memory and he doesn’t hurt because Hob is here and Hob will not hurt him. This he knows to be true. “I will tell you. I promise.”

“Good boy.”

“Please, I-”

“Hush,” Hob cuts him off with a rough kiss, a complete contrast to the murmur he’s still speaking with. When they part, Dream feels the calluses of his fingers where they grip his chin. “You need not beg, my King. Not for this. Never for this.”

[villainessprefect]

~Tell It to My Heart~

title: Break Free

dialogue #10: "I know you aren't perfect. But it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else."

Jamil x fem!reader

Read on AO3

The nights in Scarabia always bring you comfort. As the lights from the dorm begin to dim, you're granted a full view of the sky. Clouds hardly ever filter in as the stars shine while the moon casts its light upon the world below.

You take in a breath of the night air, getting a taste of the desert-like breeze. Sand manages to wiggle its way into your system but you've grown so accustomed to it that it hardly bothers you.

The sound of flowing water coming from behind you helps you relax. It's a tranquil melody that offers you company out here in the darkness. You're tempted to run a hand through the fountain's waters, but reconsider thanks to the thought of getting caught. Even if no one else is around, you still feel like there's a set of eyes on you.

"Prefect?" A familiar voice calls. You internally grin as if you knew he'd been hiding behind the fountain. You don't move from your spot, comfortable where you are. All you do is cast a glance in his direction as he comes into full view.

"Yes, Jamil?"

"What are you doing out here?" He asks with a slight look of annoyance. "It's late and cold."

You shrug. "I like it out here. It's nice." You scoot over to offer him a spot beside you. "Wanna join me?"

He pauses with his eyes set on you. There's an internal debate going on inside of him. Shooing you off to bed is his main priority, but he hardly gets a chance to spend time alone with you. That troublemaker of a housewarden is already in bed and it's not like he'll be waking up any time soon. If anything, this is the perfect chance to indulge in some privacy by your side.

"Alright, but first..." Another pause as he begins to slide his coat off. Gently, he places it over your shoulders, his touch lingering a little longer than normal. Once it's settled perfectly on you, he sits beside you.

"You come over often enough to know how the nights are yet you still dress lightly," he sighs. Despite being seemingly annoyed, he wears a little smile.

Your cheeks warm as does your body. Hands clutch onto the fresh coat as you adjust it slightly. The tank top you wore throughout the day was perfect to fight off Scarabia's heat, but it did nothing to prepare you against the cold nights. While you could endure the change in temperature for so long, it was still nice to have something to protect you.

"Thanks," you breathe out. You shut your eyes and take in his scent. The coat smells like a mixture of spices and fire. And with it hanging around you it's almost as if he's embracing you to keep you warm. It's the second best way to get affection from him, you think.

"You're welcome. Next time, please come with a sweater."

"I will," you hum. You're tempted to roll your eyes and say something like, 'yes mother' but hold your tongue. You don't feel like ruining this moment, not tonight.

"Do you like them?" You ask. "The stars?"

"Hm. I don't know. I've never really gazed at them like this."

When did he have the time to? Time is never really on his side. He's always busy. Never for himself, always for someone else. Kalim, mostly. It irks him knowing that he's the answer to more than one of his problems. Yet, now that he isn't in the picture, he still can't find himself admiring the gold hanging in the sky.

Dark eyes slither their way toward you.

"How about you?"

"I like them. It reminds me of home. They look the same."

Jamil hums in response before you both fall into silence.

Moments like these are...strange. But welcoming, he thinks. It takes some getting used to the serene nature of the world when there's nothing that needs his constant attention. It's a nice change of pace. Rare yet magical despite you being without it.

"Hey, Jamil?"

"Hm?"

"I like you."

An odd noise comes from the one beside you. It's a mix of attempting to clear his throat while keeping a cough back. It's so sudden you think that you misheard, especially when you turn your head to find a shocked expression disappear into a more neutral one.

"I would assume as a friend?"

"No, more than that."

There's a frazzled look and this time you catch it in full view.

"You..." He takes in a sharp breath and puts a hand to his head. "I don't know how you can say that so casually."

You laugh.

"It's not funny," he hisses. "You know you could like someone better."

The moment that leaves his lips, he regrets it. He knows that is better, better than most of the lot here. He's smarter and smarter. But, he's trained to never be first. Someone, no matter who it may be, always has to be put before him. Despite his wanting to break free from those chains, old habits really do die hard.

"Like who?" You question, curious to see who he would suggest.

"Someone perfect." He almost, almost says Kalim, and that makes him want to vomit. He's used to putting that boy before him, but Sevens even he knows that he's far from perfect. Kalim is a goddamn mess and he doubts he'd ever say it even with a knife pressed against his throat. "Perhaps Vil?"

You roll your eyes.

"I guess he kinda fits the definition of perfect. But I like you more." You smile and shift your legs. You play with the sleeves of his coat as you continue. "You don't have to be perfect to be liked by someone. And I know you aren't perfect, but it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else." You say that with such a sweet, genuine smile. Your gaze softens as your eyes meet with his.

Jamil holds his breath yet feels his cheeks flare up, just a bit. He remains calm despite the confession. To be chosen over Kalim, over others despite everything. It truly warms his heart. A part of him feels like he doesn't deserve it, but the other that demands he has worth says otherwise. Who cares if he isn't perfect, he doesn't need to be. Kalim and Vil might, but that's their problem, not his.

Still, he likes the thought of being perfect for you.

"Who knew you could have a way with words?" He replies with a sly grin. His eyes lock onto yours, never leaving and looking at you as if you're his prey. Jamil inches closer to you, an arm sliding around your waist while a hand cups your cheek. The sudden contact makes your face turn bright red.

"I hope you don't regret your decision." His breath warms your lips and causes you to shiver. How had he come so close to you in such little time? It makes your head spin and your heart race. "Because I will make you mine."

As his lips meet with yours the cold winds are fended off by the fire lighting between you.

[missvelvetsstuff]

Just A Number

Bucky Barnes x Older Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky at a party and the attraction is more than either one of them wants to resist.

Notes: Since most stories are younger readers I felt like having a more mature reader could be a nice change of pace. Especially since I'm creeping up on senior discounts and want to believe Bucky could fall in love with someone like me.

I try to keep my readers description vague but, as always, she's female, tall and this one is obviously 40+

Last chapter.......

Y/N looked at him with lust darkened eyes "Shut up and carry me to my room, Sarge."

Buckys breath caught "Anything you want doll, is yours."

Chapter 12

Warnings: swearing, tiny angst, fluff, dirty talk

***SMUT*** 18+ ONLY

Bucky grabbed the back of her thighs and whispered in her ear "Jump"

She almost asked how high but simply smiled and complied, wrapping her legs around his waist, robe falling behind her and night shirt pushed up to her waist, until he could feel her heat leaking through her panties.

"Jamie, please..." She moaned as he stopped to hold her up against a wall and kissed down her neck to the swell of her breasts.

He mumbled into her skin "Where is your fucking room? I need to be inside you sweetheart."

Y/N pulled one of her hands out of his hair and pointed to the stairs "Stairs, right, purple door." Then returned her hand to the back of his head and pulled him up to kiss her again.

They were halfway up the stairs when she bit his bottom lip and he almost stumbled "Careful honey, don't wanna distract me and fall down the stairs."

In a breathy voice she replied "I trust you to keep me safe, Sarge."

Bucky groaned "Do you even know what you do to me doll? So perfect." *kiss* "Smart" *kiss* "and beautiful" kiss*nibble*groan "and funny" *kiss*grunt "and so goddamn sexy I've been losing my mind." *panting*

"I don't think I had so many wet dreams even when I was a teenager. I couldn't share a room with Sam for fear he would hear me. Waking up most mornings with the whisper of your touch and sticky sheets."

Y/N giggled breathily in his ear "I missed you too, Sarge."

Bucky groaned.

He finally found her door and dropped her on the bed before closing and locking it. He looked around her room as he unbuttoned his shirt "So how's the sound carry around here? I suppose sound proof rooms would be too much to ask."

She giggled and he felt his cock throb before she answered "It's not completely soundproof but we bought this when I turned 21 and the trust fund from my biological parents came to me. Michael was still a toddler.

Dawn moved into the apartment upstairs when she turned 21, so with everything we made sure it's all very well insulated. She won't hear much and if we're too much she has fancy headphones."

She smirked at him "I hope you're not too shy because you're going to hear about it in the morning, whether she can hear us or not."

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll just have to make this night worth whatever she can come up with." Bucky kissed her hard before ripping off what little clothing she had and then stripping the rest of his clothes off.

When he was done he stood back to look at her, laid out on her bed like the most decadent dessert he had ever seen, and blushed at how she was checking him out right back.

After a moment she started feeling self conscious and moved to cover her body's evidence of child bearing.

Bucky growled "Don't do that doll, I want to see you."

She shivered as she looked down "You don't need to see my c section scar and stretch marks."

He shook his head "I want all of you, even the scars and imperfections. Don't hide from me. I have some nasty scars myself, you know."

"Yeah but yours are from combat, not taking a stubborn baby out or your skin stretching over the fat from two pregnancies that never quite goes away.

Fighting scars are sexy, definitely not the same."

"Let me show you baby."

He crawled up the bed, stopping to kiss and caress on his way up. He took a quick taste of her dripping heat and groaned at her sweetness. Before she could get too into it he moved up to kiss and nibble at her c section scar. He kissed and traced every one of the stretch marks on her hips, stomach and breasts.

"So beautiful" he whispered in awe of her beauty and willingness to share it with him. Thankful that Sharon hadn't ruined the best thing he ever had.

When he was up to her face he kissed her hard, trying to pour all his love for her into it. The love that scared him and seemed too soon but he didn't care anymore and couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be than with her.

While they kissed he slowly slid into her drenched heat, the squelching sound just making him harder and needier.

"Goddamn doll, you feel so fucking good. So tight and dripping wet, I don't ever want to leave your sweet pussy." Bucky was rambling into her ear as he thrust into her, already gone for the feelings he had given up on controlling. The more he fucked into her the more that was chipped away at his restraint, the less he could hold back so deep into the moment and how she felt around him.

He sped up until he was slamming into her, hitting her spot every time he thrust into her, encouraged by her moans and whines, trying to become part of her, until he felt his orgasm creeping up and slowed back down. He reached down to rub her clit and groaned when he felt her tighten around him.

"Fuck, Y/N, I can feel you're getting close. I need you to cum for me sweetheart." He grunted, trying to hold his finish back until she came but it was getting to be impossible "Oh god honey, I can't hold back. C'mon baby, give it to me." He sped up "Yesyes, shitshit s'good baby."

Y/N was lost in the moment, in him and the feelings he brought, physical and emotional. She felt her orgasm rushing up on her and was too overwhelmed to do anything but shudder and groan and whine, "Jamie, please".

She felt him swelling inside her, becoming impossibly harder, before he painted her walls with his cum.

As he panted in her ear she couldn't stop the sob from escaping her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. She tried to speak but couldn't. She clawed at his back, needing him closer.

Bucky pulled back to look at her but she turned her head in an attempt to hide the tears from him.

"Y/N? Are you ok? Did I hurt you? Talk to me honey, please." He looked at her anxiously, afraid he had done something wrong.

After a few minutes she was able to stop the crying and looked at him embarrassed "I'm sorry, tonight has been very intense and I get emotional because, hormones." She smiled softly at him "You didn't do anything wrong, you were perfect and I'm....." She mumbled the rest so he didn't understand.

He wiped the tears off of her face, hoping she wouldn't notice his eyes were watery as well.

"You're what doll? You can tell me anything."

She shook her head "No, I don't want to scare you off. It's too soon."

"Too soon for what? I don't think there's anything you could do to scare me off. Just tell me." He coaxed.

Her face heated up and she was grateful for the darkness "I'm falling in love with you." She whispered so softly he almost couldn't hear. Almost.

Bucky smiled and kissed her all over her face then nuzzled in her neck before nibbling on her ear

"I'm in love with you too, Y/N. And I'm not going anywhere."

He got up to get a wet towel and clean them both up before he kissed her slow and deep, laying on his side and pulling her into him.

They both fell asleep quickly, sated and content.

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

Y/N was disturbed by knocking on her bedroom door and grumbled "Go'way, sleepin'.

The person on the other side of the door knocked harder "It's after noon, you bum. It's Sunday, you're late for brunch and the kids are coming tonite." Dawn kept knocking.

"Fine dammit, I'm up. Go'way."

Dawn laughed "Tell your soldier you have to eat to keep your strength up or you'll be a dead lay."

Y/N grumbled and tried to wake Bucky "James." She gently rubbed his right arm "Jamie. Time to get up."

Bucky grunted, rolled to his side and pulled her closer "Mmmm, five more minutes doll."

She shook him "No Jamie. It's time for food, you heard her."

He groaned again "Three more minutes?"

She shook him harder "No Jamie, now. You don't understand, she will come in here if we aren't up soon."

"I'm not afraid of your tiny sister."

Y/N chuckled "You should be. Don't let her size fool you. Besides I smell coffee and bacon. I'm hungry, dammit!"

She tried to crawl over him but he grabbed her and pulled her close with a smirk on his face "Yeah? Me too."

She kissed him hard, licked the tip of his nose then jumped out of bed while he was distracted wiping his nose off "Later sarge, a girls gotta eat."

Bucky grinned "I'll give you something-"

Dawn knocked again "At the table in two minutes or I'm coming in there."

Y/N stuck her tongue out at him and threw on some sweats and a t-shirt. "Don't worry, we have plenty of time to fool around but I'm about to pass out from hunger."

"Fine" Bucky relented "but I'm having dessert after brunch."

As they went to get up they could hear the doorbell and the dogs barking. Y/N gave him a kiss before they headed for the front door to see who was there.

@supraveng @cjand10 @440mxs-wife @kandis-mom @dtba-grey81 @calwitch @ozwriterchick

Chapter 13

[enquire]

my core four/initial six dra ponies post

Designing Mikako has been a bit of a struggle for some reason, so I figured I'd post some of these and finish the group drawing I've been working on instead.

First, here's a quick lineup of the core four.

From right to left: Radiant Ember (Rei Mekaru), Thrift Twinkle (Teruya Otori), Saber Frost (Tsurugi Kinjo), and Clover Shores (Yuki)

I took away Thrift's rainbow horseshoes and coat dye for this lineup.

I'm still figuring out all their sizes relative to each other, but hey these four look good together color wise, sucess! It's been a while since I've designed characters as a set like this. Drawing stylized ponies is kind of a struggle (particularly the legs send help) but I'm happy with them so far despite that.

I'll probably actually share lore next time but this one'll just be art. I do have some stuff written/thought up about Saber, Scarlet, Clover, and Kismet in particular.

Also, here's one of Saber and Ember, in the middle of a heated argument, with poor Thrift in the background. Clover wasn't around that day so he has to put up with it on his own. Saber probably started this somehow and likely deserves whatever verbal lashing Ember is about to give him, I imagine. You can ignore that I didn't bother with the details of Ember's crystal hair lol.

And finally, I was able to finish this hangout for them all. This group is kind of the main 6 of this little AU, (initial six? fun group names anyone?) though Gizmo and Moonshade aren't always around, since they live in Canterlot. And other characters carousel through of course.

The still unnamed small main town (if you have any ideas let me know I haven't thought of any appropriately horse pun filled or cozy sounding names yet.) is near the mountains. This scene is from one of Gizmo and Moonshade's visits to see the other four. Nothing like hot cocoa around a campfire. It was pretty nice to just work on a piece like this for a while. Adding all the little details and not worrying too much about it being 'good' you know? just self indulgent, cozy art.

I'll be honest, I don't think I've ever drawn mlp magic before in full, that turned out a little ehh... and there are other things that bug me about this. (mikako/moonshade's design may or may not be accurate later lol) But honestly being able to draw and make art is kind of more than enough for me at the moment haha. It made me smile on a bad day, imperfections and silly ass subject matter be damned.

[havethetouch]

project kitchen sideboard >d

With AF concluded I can finally spare some more bandwith for a project I stared like last weekend. The kitchen sideboard.

I was so in the zone I forgot to take a pic of it before I started removing all them doors and hinges XD But I was like.. I needed to sand it down on Saturday obviously so I can put on new paint on it on Sunday yeh?

This thing has been in a shed for a couple of years and as I have been informed my father tried to sell it but the buyer that was interested did not want it after seeing it in RL. His loss, my gain because this thing is a sturdy beauty and probably older than me and despite being subjected to the cold of winter and the heat of summer in a not temp regulated shed this thing held up well. So this is now in my kitchen >d

Back in its natural habitat with all it's lovely storage possibility glory. I did not do anything fancy with the corpus itself, just sanded that and put on some nice white lacquer. The doors however... >d

See I want celestial pizzazz on this kitchen sideboard and I found some nice blue lacquer for them. I also found gold lacquer in a spray can >d And wonders of wonders, I also found some stencils that suit my needs.

So now I am at the wonderful stage of paper barrier and fixate the stencils and all that jazz. The lacquer needs like 20 min to dry stable and 24h to dry completely.

A bit of bleed-trough that idk how that happened maybe the paper was too thin idk I will use foil next I think, less of a hassle. But the imperfections I can correct with a brush and leftover blue paint for sure. Gonna add some stars via stencils too and maybe per hand bc I have a lot of gold paint lying about >d We'll see. Still have some work ahead with those doors. But the metallic effect of the gold lacquer is really nice IRL. Gonna make my home nice and "me" bit by bit (and apparently pray can by spray can xd) Imma update once I am done but I am really pleased with what I got so far.

[medusapelagia]

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out ('Cause that's what young love is all about) [NSFW]

written for the @st-rarepair-roulette

Thank you so much @shieldofiron for being my beta!

Rating: Explicit - like VERY Explicit Relationship: Steve/Jason, mentioned Steve/Billy/Eddie TW: Omega Verse, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Steve Harrington, Bratty Bottom Steve Harrington, Alpha Jason Carver, Alpha Eddie Munson, Alpha Billy Hargrove, Omega Chrissy Cunningham, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Verbal Humiliation, Feminization, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, blood play (sort of), implied reference to threesome, Edging, Mention of sex toys, Muzzles, a little somnophilia, Courting Rituals, Smut, Face-Sitting Words: 9864

Read on AO3

a little snippet under the cut

Jason stares at the large exposition of blankets, sheets, and pillows, while a gentle clerk asks him if he is searching for something in particular. Of course, he is looking for something in particular! He is a fucking alpha who has been staring at the omega’s supplies for at least half an hour. “I… I’m just looking.” He says, trying to hide his nervousness, but he knows that he reeks of anxiety like a lost puppy. He grabs a fluffy pink blanket, ready to leave the shop, but when he caresses it he finds that it’s really soft and really nice, he wonders if starting with a blanket is too much. There are a lot of pillows from every dimension, some of them have feathers, others sparkle, but the one that catches his attention is a small velvety one. He takes it, holds it in his hands, looks for any imperfection, and finds none, so he takes it to the counter and the clerk smiles at him “Do you want me to wrap it for you?” Jason freezes “Why should I…” “Oh, I thought it was a courting gift. My bad.” The woman, a beta, replies, putting the pillow in a bag. “It’s for my sister.” Jason states while paying and the woman nods but it’s clear that she doesn’t believe a single word Jason is saying, so he takes his bag and goes back home, once there he runs to his room to hide the purchase he made in the back of his wardrobe, so deep that he will forget about it and will not make a fool out of himself. The next day he drives to school, resolved to forget about the pillow he bought and put it in the trash as soon as he came back, but when he sees the omega of his dreams he can’t hide the scent of arousal that comes from him: Steve the Hair Harrington, the only male omega of the school, walks just a few steps away from him, surrounded by his numerous admirers and his bodyguards, and Jason can’t help but stare at him until the group disappears in the corridor. “So, did you go?” A blond omega asks him, and Jason startles. “Hey, Chrissy. Hi.” “Tell me, did you go to the shop I told you about?” Jason nods, blushing “It was really… omegan.” “I know! It’s the best, isn’t it? Their products are all top quality!” she winks at him, “So, what did you get? A set of bed sheets for your first shared heat?” “Stop it!” Jason complains, putting a hand on her mouth to make her shut up, but the girl keeps giggling. “I know you bought something. Just tell me what!” she demands, still laughing. “I… I bought a pillow, ok? Nothing too fancy. Just… I’m going to throw it away as soon as I get home. This is a mistake. I could never… I have no possibility.” “Why no?” Chrissy asks while they walk toward their first class. There are so many reasons that Jason doesn’t even know where to start. First of all Steve Harrington, the omega he is wanting to court, is the King of the school and everyone who doesn’t dream to be him certainly would like to fuck him! Not only he is older than Jason and even taller, but he is surrounded by alphas and Jason can’t compete with Hargrove or Munson. Hagan maybe, but the other two are almost Steve’s bodyguards: wherever Steve goes they go, ready to growl at any alpha that gets too close to him. The only moment Steve is alone is in the lockers before or after PE, but Munson is outside of the door making sure no one gets too close to the king, and that is exactly where he is when Chrissy and Jason turn the corner.

[ladythornofrivia]

The Imperfection of Sound

In a world of sound, reader is deaf. Until she meets Ran Haitani, who shows her that life is more than just hoping for a miracle.

Pair: Ran x Reader

Part: Five-part series

Warning: Mature Content

(If you’re under 18, I’m sorry but you can’t read this)

Author’s Note: Sorry for the wait. I want to make the second chapter to be great. So much has been going on this month, but here I am, watching a funny Filipino movie, then downloading Webtoons which I should’ve done a long time ago. Is it too late to start? Oh, and the Filipino movie I watch is on Netflix, and then I also watched Bridgerton. I’m also thankful that you guys enjoy the stories I wrote; you have no idea how much it means to me that it captures your attention. I also wanted to say that I hope you guys are doing okay, being happy and well. 🥹

(Please report if someone decides to plagiarizes/steals my work. And notify me. Thank you.)

Chapter 2: This Feeling…

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Everyday, every minute and second, in weeks, months and years, Ran acquires to make everything perfect. Appearances are a must. First impressions last, unless making a greater impression for the next occasion, which occasions turned to daily events.

But for the first time, he’s distressed. Beyond the ultimate perfection, it created another layer of fear to achieve more perfectionism.

For the first weeks, it took you a while to open up with Ran. Though Ran is used to girls throwing themselves at him whether in person or phone, he tried his best to communicate with you without going too fast with a ‘bang’.

Though a while it took, everything fell into place within 3 months. Everything was a success. Though one day, after their busy hours, they started texting each other non-stop, then a summon of simple 20 questions and facts about themselves. Then they twist a game into a more fun one by doing two truths and a lie.

(y/n): I want to make our conversation more interesting.

Ran: 😏 What kind of interesting? 😉

(y/n): don’t get any dirty minded ideas, Ran.

Ran: Why do you assume I’m thinking something dirty?

(y/n): the wink emoji. The side smirk emoji. 😂 i know everything. I see all.

Ran: what do you mean? I’m just sitting here anticipating, darling. Teasing you is so fun to watch, Sauron, the eye that sees all.

(y/n) is typing…

(y/n): it’ll be simple and quick.

Ran: Go on, I’m still here, waiting. 😉😏

(y/n): two truths and a lie. We have to tells facts about ourselves, and you have to guess which one is a lie, same goes for me. Self-explanatory.

Ran: alright. Bring it. 😎

(y/n): i used to ice skate, I won a dance competition at the age of 13, and I can do 3 sign languages—Japanese, English and Italian.

Ran: 🤔 hmmm…interesting…

(y/n): what? What are you thinking at the moment?

Ran: nothing, I feel as if you can do it all. So much sophistication in you. 😏😉

In an instant, you found yourself tucking half of your face in the sheets, flushing heat from his comment. But you regathered yourself that Ran Haitani is capable of making alluring comments to any girl. Not even the air condition would cool down the hot shivers on your limbs and hands, with tiny tingles tickling on your fingertips.

(y/n): so, which is the lie?

Ran: the second one.

Smiling, you typed, “wrong! It’s the first one. Your turn!”

Ran: I have own some designs from Mont Blanc. I’m a part-time model and an actor. I own a building at Roppongi.

(y/n): hmmmm…

Ran: did i offend you? 😱😥

(y/n): not really. I thought it’d be…ordinary like mine.

Ran: what do you mean?

(y/n): my accomplishments felt so mundane compare to yours.but it’s riveting.

Ran: which one?

(y/n): if anything, they all sound like you. Tricky…I have to say an actor or model.

Ran: you’re right! You chose your answer wisely.

(y/n): but you do look like a model. You’re tall and you have nice hair and good bone structure on your legs and a nice complexion. What’s your secret on making your hair look nice? Why do guys always have longer and healthier locks than mine? 😂

Ran: believe me if I say that maintaining hairstyle is hard. Good bone structure on my legs?

(y/n): yeah, we girls have to get used to being pretty. Being pretty cost a lot of hurt. Well you’re tall. Like a giant.

Ran: a handsome giant, I hope? 🙈

(y/n): like one of the fairy tales.

Ran: that’s not what I meant. I meant to say that when it comes to hair salons, they have their prices ranged up. A tall handsome giant, maybe? A confirmation from a talented, sophisticated lady? 🥺

(y/n): I wish everything is cheap. Life isn’t fair. You’re like a tall elvish prince, I’d say.

Ran: I agree. But when it comes to money, anyone can pretty much do anything. As long as everything is legal. Elvish prince? Lord of the Rings?

(y/n): you know it! 🤭🫣

(y/n): I always wanted to become a ballerina, but I dislocated my leg and foot in the process at a young age. I used to dye my hair blonde a lot. And I used to go to homeschool.

Ran: dislocated? Are you okay?

(y/n): 😂. You have to pick which one is a lie.

Ran: if I have to guess…homeschool!

(y/n): nope! Dyeing my hair blonde. I wouldn’t risk it. My head is too precious to be ruined.

Ran: is your leg okay?

(y/n): I’m okay. I can walk and sit perfectly. But if I slip, it tends to get worse. So I had to be careful.

Ran: want me to help you?

(y/n): you don’t have to, actually. I’ve been pretty cautious ever since I was a little girl.

Ran: I can help you to get to a location. I have a car. Driving is not an issue for me.

(y/n): very kind of you, Ran, but I’d rather get exercise for my leg. I don’t want to rely on anyone for the burdens I’ve been carrying for my whole life.

Ran couldn’t let you go on a risky route. He’ll have to find a way to make an excuse to help you, to ease your burdens.

Ran: I overslept over a day. I can cook food. I…have my eyes and heart set on someone.

Your heart skipped a beat. You were sure that your mind is still present, not strayed by the last fact about Ran. He has his eyes set on someone.

Nah, that can’t be. His love life is his precious kingdom—his kingdom of roppongi. You already know this by now. A part of you felt like your heart is screeched into an imploded shock.

Drinking water to calm the burn in your chest and throat, you licked your lips dry, focusing on other facts.

Ran: (y/n)?

(y/n): sorry, I was thinking long and hard on this. They all sound like you.

Ran: are you sure about that? You might want to think long and hard again. 🙈 i know what’s long and hard, if you catch my drift.

(y/n): maybe…the second one?

Ran: you got it!

You couldn’t breathe anymore. Your head turned with hot spiraling motion, even when sitting still. You drank another bottle of water.

(y/n): that was fun! 🤭👏

Ran: do you play video games?

(y/n): no, unfortunately. Besides, I suck at playing video games. I watched a lot of dramas.

Ran: drama?

(y/n): you wouldn’t be interested in it.

Ran: tell me, anyway. 😊🫣

Your heart skipped a beat again, but with your watered eyes prickle, engaging on changing your inner channel to a happier one.

(y/n): um, I either watch Underworld—which is NOT a drama, but rather a supernatural action movie, or I would watch those cheesy romantic movies. Like ‘the fault in our stars’ or anything with historical drama. Sometimes I watch a lot of cartoons like Shrek or anything that has musical parts on it. Putting on subtitles is part of the routine.

Ran: you should invite me sometime.

The hitched on your throat came, nearly choking. Almost as if you’re rendered speechless.

(y/n): are you sure? I mean, there are some parts that are boring. I can set up Fast & Furious or any of the action movies you prefer, like ones with money heist or something.

Ran: it’s okay. Besides, my brother is trying to host a party at the building I live in.

(y/n): why don’t you join him? I mean, you told me before that you can do DJ.I’m sure the people you want to see will be there.

Ran: I want to get away from party life for once. Are you interested in going to a party?

(y/n): I haven’t been into one since the prom.

Ran: we never have a prom here.

(y/n): I know, you’re very wild, unlike me.

Ran: taming is the only way for me to cooperate with somebody.

(y/n): I’m sure someone will tame you one of these times. Maybe sooner than later. I have to go to sleep. My eyes are getting heavy. I’ll text you whenever I can. 😴

Ran’s hands are coated in sweat, reading the last message you sent. Under the lying world of darkness, even a dimmed screen on his phone, he was sure he’s been sparked brighter. The movements shifted in his bed with his limbs were somewhat hyper and awake.

You, on the other hand, are lying. Your eyes weren’t getting heavier. You wish your heart would stop listening and responding from his messages. All of this, will be nothing in the end but just a thin string of temporary comfort. This will all be but a smoke and mirrors to you.

This feeling….you couldn’t survive it. Your inner voices unruly spiked, then drowned.

Like Scarlett O’Hara said, ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow.’ Is a way for you to forget what he previously declared.

Meanwhile…

“Fuck, why did I say that I set my eyes and heart on someone…” Ran scolded himself, throwing himself on the tucked bed. “I’m so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! It’s not like she’ll make a big deal out of it…right? I’m sure she’ll forget. By the time tomorrow, she’ll talk to me again, like nothing occurs. And I’ll talk to her, too. I’ll just go to take for a walk…”

“Ran, it’s time to go!” Rindou interrupted through the closed door. “We can’t miss the party!”

With Ran’s head hung low, he said, “Guess not.”

Taglist: @colored-tr-panels @galactict3a @onyx-blossom @f1yh1gh @glamourkills18 @akemiixx01 @penguinlovestowrite @mrssano04 @sehunnies-hunnie96

[darsynia]

Sneak Peek: Shipping and Handling Ch 1

SERIES MASTERLIST | HAND(S) OFF MASTER | STORY LINK

Story Summary: Whether it's fair or not, you and Steve are chemically linked. The circumstances may have been unusual, but they aren't impossible to replicate, meaning there could be other couples going through the same thing. Dr. Bruce Banner has asked the two of you to submit to a series of tests over a period of weeks, tests that are meant to keep the side-effects you're experiencing at a minimum, but which also mean you'll be seeing more of each other.

As the days pass, two things become clear: proximity doesn't lift the ardor as much as Banner expected... and though you try to keep it to themselves, both you and Steve feel just as emotionally drawn to each other as you are physically. Are those feelings also prompted by Mistress? Is there any way to figure it out ethically? Will the new way you're both seeing Bucky make things worse... or better?

Length/Warnings: snippet is 530 / this is a horny (but not sexual) snippet, minors DNI

The guy at the security counter calls the apartment with a dubious expression that makes you worried about just how much like a vagabond you look, but eventually nods and directs you to an elevator.

“He’ll meet you in the hallway,” the man says, leaning into the elevator car once you’ve boarded to call out a code phrase you don’t recognize. He gives you one last once-over and adds, “It changes every week.”

When the door closes, your imperfect reflection in the silver coating has you scrambling to adjust the moist cling of your blouse on your breasts. Unkempt twists of hair are glued to your cheeks and forehead with perspiration, and you’d completely forgot that for an easy ego boost, you always apply performance-quality red lipstick for final rehearsal.

In short, the security guy had a point.

The doors open before you get a chance for a last once-over after your adjustments. The best you can do is a weird crossed-arms stance with your hands spread wide to obscure just how lovingly your damp red top is cupping your assets.

Thankfully, the man standing in the hallway is Bucky Barnes.

You rush out, dropping your hands to gesture at yourself with one as you laugh into the other. “Do you see this?” you ask, eyes wide. “I guess I’m lucky the guard downstairs didn’t call the cops instead of the apartment!”

Bucky trails his piercing blue eyes along your outfit, his expression impassive. For the first time ever in his presence, you feel a little objectified, but you shake that off. After all, you told him to look-- and given the growing appreciation in his gaze, he’s at least giving you a bit of a self-esteem boost. When Bucky’s finished, having followed through by taking in your pencil skirt and crimson sandals with his head tipped to the side, he finally looks you in the eyes.

“Nice toenail polish,” he smirks.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” you gripe under your breath. “Please tell me you have a shirt I can borrow? They still have the heat on at the venue, Babs is tearing out her hair. If the forecast is right about how hot it’ll be tomorrow night, we’ll have to hand out free cups of ice to keep an audience.”

“Yeah, but we got a gauntlet to run before that,” he tells you. The apartment door’s open, and he stands to the side, gesturing for you to precede him.

“If it’s related to another set of metal doors and a scary British man telling me to hide, I’ll just walk home, spring heatwave or not.”

“She’s here?” Steve says from inside. He comes out right as you walk over, and both of you stop within inches of each other. “You’re late,” he says-- but the tone of his voice is the exact same stressed, desperate, needy one you’ve tried not to fondly remember. The words, ‘Oh, Steve, if you’re going for ‘stern,’ be careful! hover up as a possible response, but you can’t imagine saying them in anything other than your flirty lounge singer persona, and that would cross too many lines, especially today.