#alexa please play red by taylor swift

[reignofrayne]

may i gain my spark as an artist once again during this period of solitude.

[creative-heart]

"My thoughts will echo your name"| Esteban Kukuriczka

Chapter four: "No one has to know what we do."

Lucia’s notes: First off, I’m so sorry about last chapter, might have been a bit of a downer, but I trust me, it’s gonna get better soon. We’re back to the usual POV now. BTW the playlist “my hot girl revenge era” really exists on Spotify and it’s amazing.

+18 ONLY: If you’re no interested in reading the smutty part, please stop reading at “Whatever you say babygirl”; you can go back to reading at the next cut.

Playlist: 

Bejeweled- Taylor Swift

Wildest dreams- Taylor Swift

Could you love me when I hate myself- Lily McAlpine

Love in the dark- Adele

August- Taylor Swift

Starving- Hailee Steinfeld.

Ready for it- Taylor Swift

Content Warnings: Some not too heavy smut, mainly a makeout session; Social Drinking; mention to smoking.

Word Count: 2.4k

Five days, five whole days had gone by since that night when Y/N had told Lucas to leave the apartment, not one single text or call to check how she was doing, much less him coming home and as much as the hazel eyed woman wanted to pretend like it didn’t hurt her, truth is she had been laying on the couch in her pj’s without moving, just watching Grey’s Anatomy for the fifth time. Y/N was curled up on the couch one evening when she heard the front door but she stayed in the way she was, not enough energy to move to see who it was, coming into her place. “Oh. My. God, babe….nuh, hell no, you need to get your shit together” she heard the voice of her best friend Gabriel coming in from the living room’s threshold as the tall guy made his way to her pulling the blanket off of her and turning the tv off she whined.

“Gabi, nooo. let me, I’m in the best part” Y/N protested pointing at the tv without looking at the arched brow on the black haired guy.

“You know Grey’s by heart, don’t know what this fucker did now, but I’m taking you out, you haven’t answered to my calls or texts in days, come on” as she reluctantly let her friend pick her up from the couch and walk her to the bathroom “also, you smell, and your hair is so greasy I can fry an egg on your head, you’re not this, come on, you take an all in all shower and I’ll make you something to eat, we’re going out tonight bitch” he smiled turning around and going straight to the kitchen after leaving Y/N to stare at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. As she took her image in, she rubbed her face and stepped into the shower letting the steaming water run through her body washing that week off her body, mind and soul; maybe Gabriel was right and going out would be good to her, after all, it was clear that Lucas wasn’t thinking about her, so why should she be sulking over that wanker.

Forty minutes later, she finished blowdrying and styling her hair, her staple beach waves adorning her strawberry blonde locks, she took her makeup bag out and looked at her friend who came into the room with a sandwich just as she said “Alexa, play my hot girl revenge era playlist” as …Ready for it? by Taylor Swift started playing through the speaker Gabriel handed her the plate. “This is my bad bitch bestie!” he smiled turning around to look at the outfit laid out on the bed “damn, red lace top, leather pants and jacket, you going out to eat! I love” Y/N chuckled as she ate her sandwich while doing her makeup. Once they were ready they ordered an Uber and headed out.

“Ok, so…you know how I am obsessed with Andy from La sociedad de la nieve? well, I saw he will be at this club tonight, so, that’s where we’re going, I ain’t asking, just letting ya know mkay?” Y/N chuckled softly nodding knowing that if Andy was there, there was a chance that Esteban would be and she bit the inside of her lip, because why did the thought of kuku being there made her insides flutter and the heat rise in her whole body, she hadn’t told Gabriel about the whole Esteban thing tho, and she decided to keep it that way.

“I’m gonna get so drunk tonight” Y/N chuckled as they got out of the uber before making their way inside with the passes Gabriel had secured for them. As soon as the blonde set foot in the club, she headed to the bar to get herself a drink needing to keep her mind quiet only knowing that way to do it. Y/N rested against the bar looking out into the dancefloor as she downed her mojito, searching for her first victim, determined as she was to two things, get herself drunk, and secure a hot man to make her forget about the fact that the man she had loved for 5 years had all but forgotten about her in the last week. She knew she was the one who had told him to leave, but Y/N never thought he wouldn’t come back after that night, they might be in a horrible spot, but Lucas was still her boyfriend, and in some way she still loved him, or maybe it was just the comfort of knowing what it was like.

As soon as Esteban walked into the club with the guys later that night, he could see Y/N. She was up on a table dancing and immediately a mixture of feelings cursed through his blood. A perfect combination of lust, desire, rage at seeing how the other men around her gawked and touched her legs and protectiveness over the fact that she was clearly intoxicated, the cigarette hanging from her lips quite a sexy sight as she moved to the beat of the music. Without even hesitating about it, he made his way across the dancefloor swiftly, he didn’t give a flying fuck anymore about Lucas, if he wasn’t going to take care of her, he would. When he got up to the table where Y/N was he pushed the men aside and looked at her “Y/N can you please get down from that table?” he held his hand out for her. When Y/N heard that voice over the music she knew exactly who it belonged to, only Esteban’s voice could send a jolt of electricity down her spine straight to her center and she turned around to face him shaking her head moving down just so she was at his level.

“Now…why would I handsome? can’t you see how many gentleman are offering to get me drinks?” she smirked whispering in his ear biting her lower lip as she moved in front of her face stopping just mere inches away from his, staring down into his eyes and kuku swore she could see right into his soul, those Hazel orbs were so deep and entrancing. Before she could get away he picked Y/N up in his arms, his hands resting on the back of her thighs just below her ass cheeks and put her down from the table walking away. “Esteban put me down” the girl said in a tone she hoped to be firm and demanding but that much against her will came out breathy and whiny. Once they were far enough from that table and closer to the rest of the guys the brown eye guy let her down purposefully running his hands up Y/N’s sides which caused a new wave of electricty and goosebumps to course through the younger one’s body.

“Whatever you say babygirl” Esteban said looking straight into Y/N’s eyes his hands resting on the girl’s exposed waist. Her skin is as soft and warm as he had dreamt it would be. His eyes switching between the blonde girl’s eyes and lips as she spoke, not that he could hear what she was really saying all he was really thinking about was how much he wanted to kiss her right now, press her against his body and finally taste her lips. As Y/N kept complaining about what a killjoy he had been for taking her down from the table she found herself quite intoxicated, not only by the booze running thought her bloodstream but also by the taller guy’s perfume flooding her senses, she couldn’t think straight, his hands were still on her waist, her boobs pressed to his chest and she could see how dark his eyes were while looking at her.

Y/N didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the fact that she couldn’t deny anymore how hot Kuku was but she grabbed his shirt in her fists to pull him down to her crushing her lips to his, her eyes fluttered closed and she felt the sigh escape from the eldest lips and she took the chance to deepen the kiss as they started fighting for dominance in the kiss. Esteban’s hands slowly moved around exploring Y/N’s body at the same time as he pulled her closer to him if that was even a possibility, the soft moans escaping the girl’s lips taking his chance to tug on her lip as he pushed her up against a nearby wall her hands wrapping around his neck holding him closer to her as his lips trailed down her jaw to her neck slowly kissing all over, each touch setting a fire on her skin that lingered after he had moved on to the next. When kuku placed a kiss onto the spot right under Y/N’s ear she moaned into his ear closing her eyes as she could feel the smirk on his face right before he bit down on it gently.

Before Y/N could even stop herself she pressed her center to his, eager to feel as much of him as she could without taking their clothes off, but as soon as kuku felt her doing that his hands went back to her hips and he pulled himself apart a bit biting his lip, their breathing heavy and irregular with desire and need. He looked at the girl and leaned in whispering in her ear “as much as this is turning me on, and no matter how much I wanna take you home and fuck you right now, you’re one, quite drunk, and two, still my friend’s girlfriend as far as I know, and no matter how much of a douchebag he may be, I won’t do that” kuku rested his forehead against hers closing his eyes and while Y/N wanted to hit him for cutting of the moment like that, the fact that he was so respectful made whatever she was feeling inside her at the moment for him, grow stronger and she nodded looking at every single one of his freckles.

When Esteban pulled up outside of Y/N’s place he turned around to find her looking at him “wanna come in for a cup of coffee?” she smiled softly, her eyes still slanted from the alcohol pumping through her “I swear I won’t try to jump your bones…not that I don’t want to” she whispered the last part hopefully quiet enough to not be heard by the elder guy, but judging by his smirk, she hadn’t been successful “I just wanna thank you for bringing me home, plus I think you could use the caffeine”.

The brunette nodded getting out of the car with her and locking it before walking into her place as he looked around “so…Lucas isn’t here?” As soon as she had stepped foot into her home Y/N remembered the state of the place and hurriedly picked up around so that it wouldn’t look too messy shaking her head “no….truth is….he hasn’t been here for the past 5 days” she bit her lip hard as admitting it outloud made it all the more real. Once she had thrown everything out of sight she went to start the coffee pot and rested against the countertop looking at kuku, was that a slight smile she saw on his face?

“Have you two…broken up then?” He knew he shouldn’t be this happy over this possibility, a break up is always shitty but he couldn’t help but feel at least hopeful over the chance of things working out for him. He sat down on the kitchen island in front of Y/N.

“Well…not in so many words no, I mean, not officially, but we did have an argument, five days ago, I told him I didn’t wanna see his face around here that night and he left, hasn’t come back, texted or called since then.” She whispered the last part wrapping her arms around her own body and looked down to the floor to try and blink away those stupid tears that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. Kuku frowned seeing her upset and reached out pulling her to him gently making room for her to stand between his knees and hugged her tight kissing her head.

“Honestly….if he doesn’t see the kind of woman he has standing next to him he’s even dumber than I thought, it’s his loss, truly, if I were lucky enough to be in his place…” he mumbled cutting himself short when he realized what he was about to say when he saw Y/N look up at him with glossy eyes. He sighed  gently wiping her tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath before picking up where he left off, there was no use on denying what he felt now, even more so after seeing her cry, he only wanted to protect her and take care of her “If I were lucky enough to be in his place. I’d make sure to show you how important you are to me, I would do anything and everything in my power to help you achieve your dreams, you’re a wonderful person, gorgeous inside an out from what I’ve gotten to know you, and you deserve to have as your partner someone who sees how special you are and helps you shine on your own, who builds your light up, not someone who tries to dim you down.” Y/N kept looking at Esteban, not only could she look at him all night because he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, but hearing him say that, not only made her insides burn with desire, it made her heart swell with love.

That night, standing on that kitchen floor between Esteban’s knees, she understood two things, not only she didn’t love Lucas anymore and was determined to officially break things off with him as soon as possible, but she was also falling in love with the man in front of her, she was falling fast, she was falling hard, and she was falling deep in love with him and this was either gonna be the love story she was gonna tell her kids, or the break up that was gonna ruin her life. But either way, she was ready to find out.

Lucia’s notes: I told you all it was gonna get better didn’t I? and you haven’t seen the half of it! If you wanna be tagged in coming posts, please coment below. Also, no comments or likes needed but they are much appreciated. I love hearing what you think!

Credit to @cafekitsune for the MDNI divider and the section divider, they're amazing!!! go follow her if you wanna find amazing resources!

Taglist: @madame-fear  @cyliarys-starlight @castawaycherry @luceracastro @espinasrubi @lastflowrr @koiibiito @candycanes19 @nperoconelcositoarriba @lxdyred @deepinsideyourbeing

[angeli-marco-writes]

Bucky Barnes - False God

A/N & WC - I think this was requested as a blurb for an event that closed a couple months ago, but I liked the idea so wove it into another concept I'd had, and this happened. I don't own the character of Bucky Barnes, nor do I claim to. Please remember that the views I write aren't always my own and that I don't condone these actions, specifically big age gap relationships and underage drinking. This is, first and foremost, a work of fiction. 8.3k.

Warnings - Family friend!Neighbour!suburban!artist!Bucky, pet names, age gap relationship (reader is 20), underage drinking, fake ID, creep in the bar, Bucky being protective, smut: thigh riding, boob play, mutual masturbation. 18+

Summary - Your plans to rile Mr Barnes up backfire, but you might just get away with it. Religion's in your lips, and Mr Barnes is New York City.

‘Just docked in Auckland! Are you keeping the house clean? Is Mr Barnes checking in? NO PARTIES! Text back ASAP!’

You throw your phone across the room the second it buzzes, interrupting your jam to Taylor Swift. When your parents went away on a four month, worldwide cruise, the last thing you expected was a text from them at every single port reminding you to clean the house and cook nutritious meals and not leave laundry lying around. Nothing about how much they miss you, if at all. The closest they got to that was telling you from Bangkok not to have a big party to fill the ‘parent-sized hole’ in the house. As if. Mr Barnes is company enough, and he pops over every few nights with fresh groceries or a new book, just to stop you from getting deathly bored. It’s been over a month, and other than commutes to college, he’s the only face you’ve seen. And a bloody gorgeous one, too. His check ins have been the highlight of your time in the new house. And, though you’d never outwardly confess it, he played a big part in your choice of an in-state college rather than another New England school, despite his promise to visit. He never had to, because he always saw you for bi-weekly dinners with your parents during term time, and now in the holidays, he’s been left ‘in charge’ of you. What a joke, even he knows you don’t need minding, which is why his visits are fleeting. But something tells you that’s not the only reason.

You finish swiping on red lipstick and adjust your LBD. Alexa turns off your music, halting right in the middle of False God. I still do it for you, babe. All that’s left to do is slip your phone into the hidden pocket of your dress and buckle up your heels.

You double check the house one last time, locking the door as you leave. Your house is tucked up a crescent that’s virtually just grass. Off the track are driveways enough for two cars, but space between houses is just lawn, to the point you share a yard with three other houses, including Mr Barnes’.

His is the smallest house on the crescent since he lives alone, but the cottage he swells in is by far the cutest home around, from it’s trimmed garden to florally-adorned porch. It’s a typical 1920s cottage with a dark-wood door and interior design, including the banister. It’s quintessential of Mr Barnes, and though you’ve only been in there a couple times, it’s homely.

You walk up the path, tottering in your heels, and step by the porch swing. Mr Barnes opens the door after a single knock, his tight, layered shirts rolled up to his elbows, displaying his single muscular forearm.

“Y/N!” he says cheerfully, meeting your eyes, but a frown appears on his face when he glances down at your outfit. “Good to see… so much of you.”

You smirk to yourself, his reaction the one you desired. “I was heading out into the city for drinks with some friends… Am I allowed?”

“To drink? No, you’re underage.”

His arms fold over his chest, accentuating the muscles rippling beneath.

“Mr Barnes, I’m just meeting some college friends,” you lie, cocking your head to the side and batting your lashes enticingly, “please?”

He rolls his eyes, and you begin to bounce on your feet, one hand coming up to grip the door frame. Led by blind faith.

“Only if you let me drive you, and let me wait until your friends arrive. I’m your guardian for the time being, I’m responsible for you. I’ll collect you at midnight, as well, and stay in the city just in case.”

“Mr Barnes—” you protest, pouting like a child. This was not the outcome you desired.

“Bucky, c’mon.”

“Fine, Bucky. You don’t have to treat me like I’m five. I am an adult.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, unfolding his arms to grab his leather jacket from the coat hook, “and you’re sure acting like it now. If you wanna go into the city to meet your friends, I will drive you there and back. Yes?”

Fuck. This is gonna backfire, and now you’ll still worship, and you might just get away with it. “Yes, Bucky.”

His car keys are in his hands a second later. “You’re wearing my jacket,” he then warns, “that boob-tube is unacceptable. You know what men are like.”

The warmth of his flesh hand bleeds into you from his hold on the small of your back. You want to shrug him off, prove you’re capable of walking to the car on your own, but it’s comforting. He opens and closes your door before sidling into the driver's seat and handing you the aux.

“Do you want me to stay closeby?” he asks, his voice tender, worried.

“What? No. Why would I?”

“In case anyone tries to pick on you and your friends. In case a man tries to spike your drink. In case a man comes too close. C’mon, doll,” his voice drops to a clandestine whisper, “I wish I could change all men, make them better people, but I can’t and I just want you safe.”

His heart is in the right place, as per, so you indulge him as Taylor Swift starts to play over the speakers.

“I’ll think about it.”

----

The drive is spent in relative silence while Bucky expertly navigates the backstreets of your suburb and out onto the highway until you approach the city. The navigation reads him the directions from there. Every now and again he turns his head towards you, his blue eyes catching on something, but the intrigue in him seems to have evaporated by the time you meet his gaze.

“Doll, why did you choose the lower east side? Are you sure you’re gonna be safe?”

“Um, yeah?” you say, albeit naively, because with his worry and, well, the fact you're a young woman, you can’t be too sure. “It’s convenient, close to the Williamsburg Bridge. You can wait with me if you want, though.”

“Just lemme find somewhere to park…” he trails off, strained, his eyes focussed on the road, his forehead lined, “this place is a goddamn slalom.”

“What’s a slalom?”

He deigns to face you, surprise pulling at his stubble-dusted cheeks as his metal hand controls the wheel. “An English major at NYU and you don’t know what a slalom is? You’re proper West Village.”

Whether you’re affronted or complimented you can’t be sure. Was it a compliment, an insult or a statement? Yes, NYU is right next to Greenwich, but you know… stuff.

“Well did you even go to college, Mr Barnes?” you challenge defiantly, enjoying watching his patience slip as he winds past honking yellow taxis into a side street just a five minute walk to the bar you claimed to be meeting your friends at. Maybe they’ll still turn up after you hectically texted them just after leaving Mr Barnes’ house. Doubtful.

“I attended Auburndale Art School in the thirties,” he announces, melancholy laced in every syllable. The car stalls, and the world hurries on outside your little bubble. “Graduated accelerated, first class with honours. Where do you think all the art in my house comes from?”

“You did all that?” Astonishment dizzies you as his home spins around your mind. Landscapes and contemporary pieces are in his hallway, kitchen and living room, framed and on canvas. You knew he did art, he always had a sketchpad and a pencil around, and you saw an easel that one time you slept over when you got locked out and your parents wouldn’t let you in. “Fuck, Mr Barnes, you’re incredible!”

“Well I’d better be,” he jokes, absently swearing at someone through the window, “because if my art didn’t sell then I wouldn’t be able to afford a place in the suburbs.”

“You could always live with me,” you blurt out, feeling his body temperature rise in the small vehicle. “Heaven knows my parents don’t give one, and I could do with the help.”

He chuckles again, but it’s not all in mirth, not as his flesh hand clasps around your thigh, sending electricity shocking throughout your every neuron. How does he always elicit such a reaction from a simple move?

“Maybe I’ll move in for the next three months, keep you in line, Doll.”

We might just get away with it. Religion’s in your lips.

“Or I could move in with you and just clean the house top to bottom before they get home?”

His lithe tongue darts out from between his lips, swiping over his upper lip and then his lower before it slips back in, before his arm finds its way around your shoulders, his darkening eyes honed in on your every precise move.

“As long as I have you all to myself doll. I might be able to teach you a thing or two about how to close your curtains…” ohhhh fuck. Your thighs clench involuntarily. “Or about how to hang laundry. Or how to use a lawnmower. Your domesticity is pitiful: I’m a man from the war era and I still know how to correctly iron linens.”

“Show off, you.”

He resumes laughing, deep and honeyed, feigning pain when you nudge him, only to dissolve into more laughter to match your giggles. He clicks open his door and slips, agile, around the side, opening your door and passing you the jacket.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s see if your friends arrive.”

He takes a vice grip on your wrist and hoists you up to the point your feet are barely on the ground. He then wraps his flesh arm around your waist, and uses his metal one to wave the traffic around the two of you until you reach the sidewalk on the street where the bar is. Even when he puts you down your heart doesn’t stop racing, your chest doesn’t stop tightening, your core doesn’t stop fluttering. He lifted you and carried you across the road like you were as light as a feather. Holy grief…

“Hand,” he demands.

“What?”

“Hand. You’re holding my hand before someone kidnaps you.” you arch a single brow at him, already knowing that pedestrians are going to be pissed at you for holding up New York walking traffic even in an evening. “I don’t trust men and I don’t trust you in the city.”

“You’re a man. Why should I trust you?”

Pain briefly flickers over his face before he realises you’re joking, exhaling as he seizes your hand with his flesh one and twines your fingers. He should know you trust him: he has a key to your home which he can use at any time, and he’s even used it before while you were asleep because he needed a cooking ingredient. He’s the trusted adult you turn to in times of need. How could he doubt himself? They all warned us about times like this.

“This is it,” you say after a few minutes of walking down the street hand in hand. “You can go now. I’m sure you have plans.”

“Doll, have you ever known me to do anything with anyone?”

You lean back against the wall of the establishment, thinking. That’s a good point actually. He’s a damn recluse. You’ve seen him with a nice man named Sam a couple times, but that’s been when you’ve taken sick days, and possibly with some girl you vaguely recall being called Rebecca at some point, but no. He rarely ever has company other than the neighbours, which is more of a courtesy than a friendship.

“Fair point, Mr Barnes.”

“Bucky. Call me Bucky. My name is Bucky, not Mr Barnes.”

“Sorry,” you say meekly, and shoot him an apologetic glance that you hope he catches in the dusk light closing in, tinged pink, on Manhattan. The silhouette of the skyscrapers looks heavenly, stars twinkling above, but you can barely see it all through the clouds of pollution that invade ninety percent of the sky. “My friends should be here soon.”

“No rush, doll.”

If you’re West Village, Bucky is New York City, and as he leans against you, his arm brushing mine, you don’t care whether or not your friends come… to the unconfirmed plans.

But then five minutes pass. And ten. Bucky hoists you up with one arm and sits you on his strong shoulders when he sees you’re struggling to stand in your heels. He says nothing to start a conversation, so you don’t either, and just thread your fingers through his dark locks. But then it’s been fifteen minutes. Twenty. And you don’t know what else to do.

Your cheeks flare, burning with an embarrassment that has you stumbling over your words and purposely avoiding his eyes when he settles you on your feet.

“They’re not coming are they?” he asks tenderly, sympathetically, tucking an errant lock of hair behind your ear. You shake your head. “I’m so sorry your friends are so flaky. You got all dolled up for nothing. Come inside with me, let me buy you a drink, hm? Then we can drive home.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “thanks Bucky.”

He holds the door for you to slip inside, shuffling over to the bar as he shucks his thumb over to the men’s room with a half smile. He may look in his late thirties—the age your parents believe him to be��but certain elements of his body, including his bladder, prove he’s a hundred. Chuckling, you shrug his jacket off once you reach the sleek black bar and lay it on the stool beneath you. Scanning the bottles, you begin to concoct your cocktail for the night depending on the brands. You’d usually order a strawberry daiquiri but you’re ont drunk enough to stomach their only brand of Malibu just yet. As you reach for your purse, though, there’s a looming presence behind you that doesn’t smell of cedarwood. This is why Bucky wanted to stay. We were stupid to jump, or at least you were, to the conclusion that you’d be safe from the creeps Bucky would carve his soul out to protect you from.

“Hey sweetheart,” his tenor voice croons, “you look like you need some company.”

Ew.

“No thank you,” you answer with confidence, not even bothering to look at him, “my neighbour is in the bathroom. He’ll be out in a moment.”

“Your neighbour?” He scoffs. “I’ll be your daddy if you let me buy you a drink. How about a vodka martini?”

“I said no thank you,” you repeat, grating out every word through gritted teeth.

“You don’t mean it though baby,” he slurs, beer scented breath invading your nostrils like poison, “just take the fuckin’ drink and don’t be a brat, eh? I’m giving you attention, complimenting you. That’s what you want in a dress like that, ain’t it?”

“HEY!” Bucky yells, and all of a sudden, the world is at rights again. “You get the fuck away from her, ok?”

His voice is warning as he speed walks, the villain walk that scares you. He’s got a very dangerous arm, you know he has, and he’s not afraid to use it.

“You the neighbour?” This bloke chokes. “She doesn’t need your ride home, she’s coming with me.”

Shit.

“Bucky...” you whimper, feeling him come closer.

“You’re okay, Doll,” he assures you.

This man won’t be, not as Bucky crowds towards him. He reveals his metal arm now, rotating it all the way round as he clenches his fist, metal crunching as he does so. One hand lands posessively on your shoulder.

“Jeez, ok I’ll leave her alone,” the sleaze concedes. “Maybe just wear a smarter dress next time.”

A flash of metal blurs in the corner of your eye, and the pound of flesh sounds through the entire bar, followed by the subtle squeaking of Bucky’s arm around this man’s throat.

“She said no. Multiple times. Her choice of dress reveals nothing about her sexual availability, just like your shitty talk says nothing about your dick size. Besides, she isn’t even old enough to drink. I warned you to get away from her. If you don’t leave right now then you won’t live to regret it. Yes?”

He nods and scampers away the minute Bucky’s metal fingers slacken, wheezing for breath. Bucky then sets his arm straight, brushes off his shirt, and shakes his head, sidling up on the barstool beside you. The bartender looks over at the two of you from the opposite end of the place, and nods. The singular movement says ‘he deserved it.’ Yes he did. But Bucky won’t meet your eyes, and instead stares out of the bar to where you were standing before. Staring out the window like I'm not your favorite town.

“Mr Barnes? What is it?”

“I’m looking for your friends. Are they the ones who come over for those pamper nights where you never close your balcony doors?”

Slightly startled, you reply, “Yeah, um, Ophelia and Yoe and Bon.”

“I thought so. They’re rude.”

“Bucky! You’ve never even met them!”

“Yeah I have.” His attention turns towards you now, his gaze fixated, focussed as he explains. “I’ve been outside gardening once or twice when they’ve come over. I said hello, shouted that the door was open, because it always is with you,” true, “and they didn’t even say anything, but went on gossipping.”

“That’s because you’re fit as fuck,” you deadpan, and his reaction clearly tells of his surprise, “they don’t know how to speak to you.”

“What? I’m not attractive! Well, I used to be. 40s handsome, y’know? But no one’s interested now.”

Before you can reply to his obliviousness, the bartender waltzes over and asks for your orders.

“Pink gin and elderflower tonic. Single, please,” you order, and flash your fake ID for long enough to pacify them.

Bucky sits, open mouthed staring at you with incredulity dancing in his eyes. A smile dissolves as he shakes his head a little. “Whiskey on ice, please. You don’t need my ID.”

“Got it, Sir,” they say, and nod to the both of you, heading off to make your drinks.

Bucky says, “Fake ID? Really?”

At the very same moment you tell him, “You’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.”

Which ends in a simultaneous, “What?!” But he gestures for you to go first once your glasses slide across the bar in front of you, sweat dripping from them.

“I have a fake ID so I can drink. Pretty self explanatory, I think. I rarely use it. And yes, you are very, very attractive.”

“You really think so?” he inquires, almost timid.

Is this 6-foot Herculean God seriously asking if his tall, dark and handsome (and peachy) ass is attractive?

“Yes.” You take a sip from your drink. “Everyone in the crescent does.”

The affrontation with which he blinks has you in giggles.

“I didn’t realise. Why? What makes me attractive?” He drinks from his glass, slamming it back down with his eyes widening the moment you arch a brow. “Shit, I keep forgetting that you’re twenty. I beg your pardon, don’t answer. God, I’m sorry…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure him, “you’re a ‘dilf’ by your age, even though you have no children.”

“And what, pray tell, is a dilf?”

“A dad I’d like to fuck,” you state, sipping your drink, “fuck, no not me. Just that’s what it means.”

“Alright, doll. Whatever you say.”

“Why?” you inquire, “did the girls not think you were handsome back on the day?”

He drums his fingers against the bar, deep in thought. He shifts his jean-clad legs until his knee brushes yours, the faintest contact rippling through you like a firework. His answer is pensive.

“In the forties, the ladies said I was attractive, like boyish cute. But they liked me for my reputation. I could please them, and I was pretty well, um, y’know…”

He darts his eyes away, subtly sipping on his drink.

“No, Mr Barnes. I don’t know. Please tell me. Please spell it out for my naive little mind.”

“You ain’t that naive,” he grumbles under his breath. If only he knew. “They said I was well endowed. The serum, um, built that up. I’m not sure if I’d even fit in anyone now.”

“I’m happy to be a test dummy,” you say, giggling drunkenly, the gin going to your head. You’re joking, of course, but watching Bucky pale and nearly spit the final mouthful of his whiskey out is worth it… even if you weren’t entirely kidding.

“Shut up. The point is that they liked me for my size, for sex, not looks. I was always insecure about that.”

“Bucky! I don’t want to know about your dick!” You do, but he can’t know that.

“Sorry, doll. My turn to ask.”

Devilishly, you smirk, daring him to go far. “Fire away.”

“Why did you kiss me last year?”

Not that fucking far, Jesus Christ. You wheeze so loudly you could swear the entire bar population turns to look at you, but as your eyes dart around the half-dim establishment, they all seem to be absorbed in their own worlds. Bucky’s head is cocked to the side, expectant. “Can you un-ask that question, please?”

“No take backs,” he smirks.

You huff, downing the rest of your gin and tonic, slamming the glass down with the stem. “Fine. I was drunk, stupid. I’d just turned nineteen and I wanted to be a little reckless. Besides, you kissed me first.”

Does he always look so owlish when he’s surprised? And since when has his voice gone that high? His cheeks so flushed?

“What, when?!” he demands.

“On your hundredth birthday. I bought round that cake, and the letter I petitioned for from the queen, and…” you trail off and squeak, the memory already flustering you despite the pure innocence of it, “you kissed me.”

“Yeah,” he laughs breathily, relief floating in his tone, “on your cheek you horndog.”

You raise my eyebrows, prying, “You don’t know what a ‘dilf’ is but you’ll call me a horndog? Wow.”

“Shut up!” He nudges you with his shoulder, electricity shocking your clouched frame upright. You cross your legs. “Your question now.”

“Why do you not like being called Mr Barnes?” You have some ideas…

“Because it makes me feel old.”

“But you are old.” Were we not just talking about his life in the forties? About his hundredth birthday? Christ…

He gapes momentarily, hastily adding, “That’s not the point,” before pushing his glass across the bar. “Come on, doll. Time to go.”

“No!” you whine in protest, keeping your feet planted on the legs of your barstool, eyes skimming the bottles on the shelves in debate of your next drink…

“Yes.”

And the next second you’re thrown in a fireman's lift over his shoulder, his metal arm hooked around your lower back: dangerously close to your bum. He fishes a ten dollar bill and a couple coins from his back pocket and slams them on the black, sticky bar before exiting. You can’t stop giggling over his shoulder even as he carries you unabashedly down busy New York streets at night, your fists playfully beating on his strong chest as the blood swirls in your head. It doesn’t even pass your mind that your dress is very short and that your panties are even smaller.

We were stupid to jump.

He all but throws you into the car, clearly not co-operating with your antics tonight, perhaps exacerbated by your daring questions. Or maybe, wishful thinking getting the best of you, it could be something else, for example something straining his jeans that definitely weren’t that tight when you left the house.

He hops into the car half-smiling and, jamming the key into the ignition, starts to roll away. One good evening together and you had to go and blow it all up by mentioning the very reason why your parents shouldn’t have left you under his ‘supervision’ for the months they’re away. Not only are you an adult, he’s clearly sensitive, and you don’t know your boundaries if one comment can cause him to react like this.

At least he still lets you choose the aux, Taylor Swift filling the car while no words are exchanged between the two of you.

They say the road gets hard. They aren’t wrong.

True dusk closes in and envelops your world as you drive further from the bright lights of the big city and approach the sparse suburbs, trees shadowed and arching around your hometown. Even the stars that shine don’t shine so bright, twinkling in the sky as you’re able to see the ink spilling over the earth.

Your romanticism of the journey home and the acoustic tracks that spill from the speakers don’t make the drive any less tense. He opens your door when you get back to his house, still, and makes his way up the path, unlocking his own door and leaving it open for you as he drops his keys in the bowl and saunters through the house. You half smile at the casualness of the action. We might just get away with it.

Gathering your belongings, you step out of the car on unsteady footing and totter inside, glimpsing at your house. It’s so… unhomely compared to Bucky’s. It barely even looks lived in. Both cars are in front of the house, the kitchen and landing lights on, the alarm system activated, the latter two which you can control with your phone. You can survive without going home.

“Mr Barnes?” you call when you step into his humble abode, closing the door behind you as you hang your coat and bag on the hooks built into the wood paneling by the front door. The house swallows your voice, but Bucky appears from the kitchen, his hair more mussed than before.

“Hey doll,” he says tiredly, “make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa and that. Pick a film out, your choice. Want anything?”

Your heart skips a beat, your body suddenly growing tingly as you direct yourself into his living room and tuck yourself up into the corner of his beat-up couch. The remote balances on the arm, half slipping between the cushions. You put his TV on and instantly hook up the netflix app from your phone, since it’s the most basic TV you’ve ever seen; big, yes, but with three channels and nothing else. He has a VCR player, but where he stores those you’ve no clue.

Just as the credits of your chosen movie begin to play, the fanfare blasting out through the speakers, you stand up and reach for the heavy curtains draped over the front bay window, but one warm, heavy hand lands on your hip before you can.

“They’re stubborn,” he whispers in a half-strained voice as an explanation for touching you in such a way and leaning right over you, his body pressed flush up against yours. He is built, and he’s making you incredibly flustered, so much so that he can probably feel the heat radiating off every part of your body right now. Nonetheless he sorts the curtains and leads you back to the couch with his hand still on your hip. He doesn’t even let go once he’s seated beside you, but shifts his grip lower and settles on your thigh. And, of course, he man-spreads, the sight instantly sending your hormones berserk. And with good reason, too. The sheer bliss riding one of those tree trunks would entail…

“What movie we watchin’, doll?”

“Notting Hill,” you tell him, batting your lashes.

“How long is it?”

“Two hours,” you trail off, but hasten to add, “b—but we can finish it another day, or not at all. I know it’s too late to stay and to bother you.”

His grip increases, his eyes darkening to a hard shade of royal blue as his metal arm plays absently with the spine falling off a book on one of the built-in shelves spanning the walls. “I thought we’d been through this. You can stay as long as you like. If you wanna grab some stuff from your place you can live here while your parents are gone, or even just stay for the night. If you don’t want to stay then you don’t have to, I’ll try not to be offended,” his smile softens this blow, “but whatever works, it’s up to you.”

Wow. Unfortunately you don’t hear that often. Everything in your life is centred around your parents, which isn’t exactly fun, especially when it gets you landed alone in the house for months on end, your only company the neighbour you made out with that one time when you were drunk out your mind. Staying sounds nice, though. Earlier it seemed like a joke, but now? You could see yourself living in his cosy home, at least for the foreseeable future.

“Thank you, Mr Barnes.”

“Bucky!” he cries. “My name is Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes so even calling me Mr is wrong. Doll, just call me Bucky.”

He’s not angry, thankfully. His outburst is one of tension release, not of fury thankfully.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me—”

“It’s ok, Bucky,” you assure him, calming the storm of remorse in his eyes. “I get it.”

Your smile segues into the start of the movie, Hugh Grant bespectacled and clad in his nice button-up shirt, and both you and Bucky are transfixed, but he still doesn’t move his hand.

I know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me.

You watch the film with the same enamoured expression you wore the first dozen times you watched it, warmth from Bucky’s unmoving hand seeping into your skin and intoxicating your soul.

Bucky pretends to be keeping up with the movie, pulls surprised faces at the right time and makes occasional comments about Spike in particular, but the entire time, his eyes are on you. You can feel it, the way his baby blues hone in on you when you bite your lip, or smile, or start to mime the words… yeah, his main focus is your lips. Other than when something big happens and you clasp his large bicep, or when a cringe scene comes on—“oh my fucking god, it’s the horse and hound bit,” you cried—and you bury into his shoulder.

You’re able to sit still with him for almost an hour and a half before you’re getting antsy.

“M— Bucky?” His head perks up as you call his name and pause the movie. “I’m going to the restroom and grabbing a drink. You need anything?”

He’s already scrambling up from the sofa, using your thigh as leverage. “I’ll get you a drink, doll. What do you want?”

“I’m already going that direction. Loo still behind the utility?” He nods. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You pry his fingers from your leg and adjust your dress, pulling it down your thighs as you stumble out of the room, clutching the wood paneling and glancing at the wonderful paintings spanning the house.

Meanwhile, your phone screen keeps flashing with notifications, and since you left it on the couch and on airplay, they’re all currently being projected onto the TV. Bucky couldn’t not see them even if he wanted to.

Mom: We’re back on the boat, niow. Why didn’t you text us back? Call us the second we text next!

He ignores that one, but those from your friends catch his attention more than a little.

Lia: we here! where u at?

Bon: did he not invite u in omfg wtf u looked too hot in that dress

Yoe: At the bar bby ,,, sorry we’re late ! Did he drive you home? Lmk xo

“Doll?” Bucky calls, “come here, please.”

Your stomach sinks. All you were doing was grabbing some water, what the fuck has happened?

“What is it, Mr Barnes?” Your eyes flicker to your phone in his hand, texts continually coming through in your notification bar, and then they fly to the TV screen.

He presses the power button, and it switches off. He then holds one arm, the metal one, out expectantly, waiting for you to fall, apparently, into his lap judging by the beckoning movements of his robot hand.

“Care to explain these?”

Your cheeks must be radiating heat at this point. You place your glass of water down as you settle into his grip. His vibranium hand slides to grip your waist.

“It’s not what it looks like, Mr Barnes.”

“Really?” He arches a dark brow. “Because it looks like you weren’t supposed to meet your friends in the first place, but were expecting someone to invite you in.”

You squeak, wilting under his intense gaze that you can’t seem to meet. Your voice is quiet when it comes out, “Okay it’s exactly what it looks like. But I wanted you to invite me in, not let me go out. You’re so nice… why did you have to let me do that when I could’ve come in the first time?”

“Because you deserve to be an adult and have your freedom, doll. But if you pull something like that again, I’ll send you back to your house, ok? No going out, no coming here.”

“So you’re not gonna punish me?” you ask naively, knowing the double entendre your words hold.

You can't talk to me when I'm like this, daring you to leave me just so I can try and scare you.

“No baby girl…” he trails off. “I know what you wanted.”

Shit. If he knows now, he can put it all together. Everything from tonight, from the past year…

You pluck at the couch cushion and whisper in a broken voice, “What did I want, Mr Barnes?”

“To not be alone,” he states, as plain as day. His flesh hand comes up to your cheek, brushing your hair away from your face as he cups your jaw with a tender caress, his cerulean eyes searching yours. “I know you’ve never been alone in the house for this long before. It must be a lot for you to suddenly be left alone for months on end. But you don’t have to— to plot in order to come round. Just drop me a text and ask to watch a movie with me, or knock on the door. I like you, y/n. I like spending time with you.”

Your heart is in your throat, your head swarming with memories as doubt settles like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach. “I didn’t think you would. Not after…”

“After you kissed me last year?” You nod sheepishly. “Why would I not want to spend time with you?”

“Because you never talked about it again.” He moves to speak, but you cut in first, suddenly finding your voice, your flame, your strength. A smith overtakes your lips “And I’m fine with being alone, Sergeant Barnes. I wanted you to see me in this dress and want me. I wanted you to pull me into the house and kiss me til I was breathless, take me the way you wanted to. I didn’t want company, Bucky. I wanted you.”

But we can patch it up good, make confessions and we're begging for forgiveness.

Flame darkens his eyes the second yours meet them, searching for something, anything. Just as they start to cloud with lust, his lips are on yours, rough and carnal and hard. You gasp at the sudden pressure and he grants himself the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, sweeping and tangling with your own tongue that takes a moment to react, your chest colliding with his, feeling every muscle ripple.

He’s certainly made you breathless, and his kiss alone brings back memories from your fateful nineteenth birthday. The way he pushed you away with a feeble hand on your bare shoulder after you planted one on him, only for it to fall to your hip the second you parted your kiss-swollen lips and batted your doe eyes at him. He pulled you in then similarly to today: his grip strong and his mouth hungry. He’s a man who knows what he wants, and the second he kisses you tonight, every ounce of guilt from the year before dissipates. Once he got a taste of you he knew he’d want more. And he has. Every. Single Day. Seeing you in your little skirts and your crop tops was a living hell… but you never mentioned it. So neither did he. Despite being able to taste the build up of wantonness in your first embrace. Every time he’s come over the past month he’s had to leave before pinning you to a wall and feasting on you until you cry from the pleasure he knows only he can provide.

You draw back for air, taking in your forgotten surroundings. Bucky leans back, his eyes transfixed by your chest, your pert nipples and heavy breasts.

“I’ve barely been able to keep my eyes off your tits all night, Doll. You really should’ve chosen a less see-through dress.”

“It’s see through?” you wheeze, eyes widening. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He leans back nonchalantly, slinging an arm on the sofa behind him, “I was enjoying the view.”

Just as you begin to shield your hands, your dress is ripped from your chest, your boobs spilling into Bucky’s awaiting hand. The metal only emphasises the back-arching pleasure he offers by pinching and teasing your buds, the harsh chill rising goose-bumps from head to toe.

“And don’t think I missed that wet patch in your…” he lets his words fall off pensively, “can you call that scrap of lace underwear?”

If your face turns any hotter you might let off steam. Embarrassment sizzles throughout your nerves, prickling at your fingertips.

“‘M sorry Bucky,” you mumble.

You know how he saw: carrying you over his damn shoulder. But then again a 6ft tall, dark & handsome man with chivalry last seen three-quarters of a century ago carrying one over his shoulder is enough to make anyone wet.

“Oh no, doll,” he reprimands, “don’t be. I really rather enjoyed the sight. Now what d’you say, we get rid of your dress all together.”

You nod, drawing your lower lip between your teeth as you ferret for the bottom of his shirt and begin peeling that up. It’s a fair exchange, and he indulges you. Using the hand prior on the back of the couch, he removes his tight shirts in one fell swoop and reveals his body to you, scars and all. You can’t help your eyes straying to the scratches by his prosthetic.

“Bucky…”

“No baby girl,” he shushes you, “look down.”

You’re met with sculpted abs galore, pale skin taut over his muscles, no hair in sight. A fine sheen of perspiration causes him to glow. When you glance further down, you see the bulge in his pants you felt just hours before. Wow. There ain’t a false god anywhere in sight if that’s what you’re dealing with.

Bucky’s eyes roll back into his head as your nails rake teasingly over his pecs, skimming his abs. He releases a low groan, and his strong hips involuntarily buck up into yours, eliciting a gasp as his hard member slips over your barely clothed core. The groan he emits this time is purely feral.

“You wanna ride my cock doll?” he asks gutturally.

Instantly you flush, body going rigid. “If you’re sure, Sergeant Barnes.”

Apparently this is a dead giveaway, the way you can’t meet his eyes with his vulgar use of language, your legs clamping around his, your chest tightening.

“You’re a virgin?” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, brushing tenderly. You nod abashedly. “Oh baby girl, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ll work our way up to that, no point tearing that pretty pussy open when you’ll look so good riding my thigh instead...”

And that is certainly not what you were expecting either: you were ready to be cast out the door.

“Really?” You bat your lashes.

“Really. Now let’s get you out of this dress.”

He helps you wriggle out of the flimsy material and flings it halfway across the room, discarding it before both of his hands are spanning your spine and drawing you in close until your bodies are so close together there isn’t even a sliver to separate you. And when he kisses you, long and passionate and viscerally raw, you wouldn’t have it any other way. He tastes of whiskey and hope. His shadow of stubble starts to tickle your cheeks, eliciting a faint giggle as you wriggle on his lap.

“Do that again,” he pants between placing kisses to your exposed jaw.

“Do what?”

“Fuck, rub yourself over me.”

As though you’re as light as a feather, he lifts you up with a bruising hold on your hips and situates you above one thick thigh. His muscles tense as you trap him there, lifting you a fraction and sending a ripple of stimulation through your core.

“Bucky!” you mewl.

“Fuckin’ love those pretty little noises baby doll,” he purrs, and upon watching the pleasure contort your face as he drags you over his leg, adds, “and your pretty little face all fucked out for me.”

“For you, Bucky, only for you!”

Your hips begin to move of their own accord, rocking against him desperately. He was on about your face but Christ if his rosy cheeks and parted lips aren’t heavenly. Your pushing and pulling movement causes heavy drags of your clit against his jeans.

��C’mon, you can do better than that.”

His condescension sends a whimper up your throat, your calves quivering trying to keep you upright. You shake your head.

“You want a hand, baby doll? Okay…”

By hand you certainly don’t expect his metal one to come clamping down on your hip, alleviating the tension in your calves which reignites itself right in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly spins into a coil when his movements speed up. And that’s before his flesh fingers pull your string of panties aside and he rubs the part of your pussy he can access between your heart grinds on his thigh.

“Ohmygod, Bucky!” seems to be the only sensical thing you can say.

He isn’t fazed by your outburst, your exasperation, the building heat rippling throughout your every cell. In fact, he’s all lazy smiles and nonchalance as he holds you at his whim and hums to himself in satisfaction, rubbing his fingers through your drenched folds.

It doesn’t just end there, with you barely able to blink from being so entranced by his pure beauty. No. He has to do the most Bucky thing in the world, that has your knees and your pussy quivering, and your throat hoarse from nearly crying out in pleasure.

He brings his slick fingers up to his mouth, holds your gaze, and wraps his tongue around them languorously, only dating his lashes to flutter once the taste of you is invading his senses.

“You taste delicious, Doll. I’ll have to get a proper taste one day.”

“Fuck!”

And this god of a man has the fucking audcaity to laugh. Two can play at that game.

Desperately trying to regain some degree of composure, you fumble for his belt. Then the button of his jeans. Then the zip. He’s too preoccupied with his fixation on your bouncing tits to care too much about it… until you wrap your hand around his length and girth, adjusting to his weight in your hand even within the constraints of his boxers.

His low chuckle rumbles through your chest, your knees digging into the sofa for purchase, “You’re salivating, baby.”

And you’re not even surprised, not when his huge member is pulsating with desire in your grip.

Freeing him from the constraints of his boxers, you revel in the glory of his cock, long and thick and beading with pre-cum. Bloody hell, he wasn’t wrong. If you weren’t already teetering so close to the edge with only his hold on you to give your movement a steady rhythm, you might say something about how hard he is just from watching you… You start to stroke him, skilfully, slowly, and you get to watch his resolve crumble, until he can’t take it anymore, and your nipple is in his mouth.

Your blasphemous moans must echo for miles.

“I was sick of watching them bounce,” he shrugs as an explanation, “your tits are so pretty they need to be marked up.”

So they do. Because your one boob looks spectacular with his teeth marks and a hickey forming. But you want to taste him now, feel his tongue wrapped around yours. And that you get, a messy, heated kiss that drives your hips back into action, your hand moving steadily up and down the flesh of his cock. He seems to be enjoying it.

As you ride his thigh, bouncing and grinding and circling your hips, your boobs bounce with you, as he said, but this time, while your mouths are pressed hotly together, he gets hit in the chin, but the groan that escapes him isn’t the anticipated one of annoyance, bur rather one of pleasure, as his grip on you increases, and his kiss becomes more passionate, stealing your breath away.

“Can feel you drenching my thigh, pretty doll. God I’ll need these jeans laundered but if this ain’t worth the hassle…”

Your hips begin canting of their own volition now, regaining the prior friction on his beefy, flexing thigh.

“I still worship you,” he groans.

“Even if I’m a false god, Sergeant Barnes?” you ask, fluttering your lashes.

His lips fuse with yours, “Religion’s in your lips, the altar is your hips. You still do it for me, Doll. You always fuckin’ will...”

With one final punishing drag, your clit tingles, and slowly those tingles ripple through every nerve in your entire body, and you’re falling off the cliff and into an ocean of euphoria you never want to stop swimming in. Your pussy flutters, your fingers lose their grip, but not before you feel a hot sticky substance spill over them. Your pleasure is heightened by the sole thought that you made him come.

When you come around, you find yourself in his arms, your chests flush together as he cradles you softly. Your legs feel a bit sticky from being stuck on the couch for so long, but that’s the least of your problems. You smile dazedly up at Bucky, half lidded eyes widening to see as much of his beautiful face as is humanly possible.

“Hi.”

“Hey, doll,” he greets, a lopsided grin matching his words.

“That was nice.”

“Very nice,” he chuckles, “I agree. More than nice.”

You nod, “What next?”

“Nothing.” This answer causes your eyes to widen, your head tilting to the side as you search his blue eyes for a twinkle of humour that may not have been present in his words, but you find nothing. “We’ve got time.”

“Does that mean I should go back home,” you ask, drawing your kiss-swollen lip between your teeth.

“Of course not! You can stay here tonight. My room or the spare?”

“Yours… if you’ll stay?”

Your final request comes out hushed, a clandestine whisper, but Bucky still hears, and brushes a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Course, doll.”

He scoops you up into both arms, your clothes long forgotten about, as he holds you close to his chest. His caution ensures your body doesn’t bounce as he makes his way up the stairs, and from the angle, you’re able to see more of the incredible art decorating his cottage. He kicks open the bedroom door with one foot, and lands you on the plush, king-sized bed.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he tells you.

You watch him disappear through a door built in to look like the wood paneling of his room, and hear his footsteps on the chequered floor as he runs the tap, returning a moment later with a shirt in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

“Open up, doll,” he prompts, his flesh hand prying your knees apart. He dabs around a little down there, gentle in every movement, before passing you his shirt. “Choose a side.”

You do, a smile etched upon your face as you peel back the duvet and snuggle underneath. The pillows smell like him, his woody cologne, and on the wall above you is a mural in Mr Barnes’ style. The night sky, with overhanging branches, mountain peaks and lilypad covered rivers. It feels like a hug from nature, but even that can’t beat the hug from bucky once he slides in beside you.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you mumble as he flicks off the light.

“Anything for you, doll. You feeling okay?”

You hum, but the next attempt he makes at speaking, he doesn’t even get that, since you’re fast asleep. He can’t help smiling to himself as he types out a message to your parents.

y/n is fine, safe and well. She’s just tired from a busy day. Don’t worry: I’ve got my eye on her.

He chuckles to himself at the double meaning, his eyes roving over your pretty face as you sleep, lips parted and lashes fluttering. But one thought passes through his mind as his message flickers over the ‘send’ button;

We might just get away with it.

[bisluthq]

Welcome to the first “Realistic” Kaylor Masterpost

Welcome, dear reader. You’re probably here because you’ve started to think that pop superstar Taylor Swift is… Shall we say... A teeny bit fruity… And you know what? You’re not alone. Many people think that. In fact, over the course of her illustrious career, gay rumors have continuously cropped up linking her to backup singers, band musicians and dancers (you’ll hear names like Emily Poe and Liz Huett) and fellow celebrities (like Julianne Hough, Dianna Agron and more). If you’re a baby Gaylor, you might enjoy this post about Taylor’s rumored relationship with Dianna Agron. 

But perhaps her most famous and persistent set of gay rumors centers on her ‘former bff’ Karlie Kloss. And that, dear reader, is what we’ll be unpacking today.

Now, before we get any further I want to say that I do not know any of these people so you know what? I could be totally off. But you know what else? Every single other stan account and every single anti account could also be wrong about just as much. We are all just taking our best, most educated guesses on this (admittedly odd) situation. If either side tells you something about this situation with complete certainty, take that as a red flag - because legitimately nobody knows anything for sure. In my opinion, where there’s this much smoke there’s usually a bit of a fire somewhere… and so I tend to think Kaylor happened (also because Alexa play illicit affairs). But the happily ever after narrative that’s been sold in fandom is just not supported by facts, or - for that matter - by Taylor’s music which oscillates between very anxious and downright sad. Still, you’re welcome to do your own research and make up your own mind about all this!

These posts are based on hours and hours of research. We trawled forums and gossip sites, watched hours of footage, read newspaper and magazine articles and contemporaneous blogs and whole ass investigative books. We talked to long-time stans and various other sources, we read any lyric Taylor ever wrote or had a hand in writing… And, of course, we listened to Taylor Swift’s music over and over again. In short, we turned over as many metaphorical stones as we could possibly find. And this is what we found.

If there’s something you think we missed, slide into my inbox and let me know. If you disagree (respectfully), feel free to do the same. As I said above, I don’t know these people! If you think this project is unhinged and deranged, well… Yeah, it absolutely is. I acknowledge this is an extremely weird thing to put together. The pandemic has had all of us doing weird things though! And this is what I did with my time inside lol. You’re welcome.

In our (now learned) opinion, the reason it is so difficult to make sense of Kaylor is because they had three types of relationships:

A genuine, authentic friendship between two successful women who both liked fashion, baking, dancing, and going to the gym

A romantic connection/relationship, as suggested by Taylor’s music

A PR stunt used to develop Karlie’s career and to ground Taylor’s 1989 era

We’ll try to show which is which at various points. But again, if you disagree (respectfully) slide into my inbox.

I could not have done it without a dedicated, brilliant and hilarious team of co-researchers, co-writers and beta readers. 

Firstly and most importantly my co-writer, co-researcher and editor Sim. I legitimately couldn’t have done this without you. Everyone go follow Sim. 

Next, in no particular order: Stripes, Marta, Fran, Vesper and various Swiftgrons on Twitter as well as all of the other lovely humans I’ve interacted with. If I haven’t credited you and you’d like to be here, I’m so sorry and please let me know.

We hope you enjoy xx

[astaralys]

Locked - a Frozen modern AU drabble

So the prompt for my writing group this week was ‘locked’ and, uh, I was giggling at all these ‘omg and then they were quarantined* fanfic memes....... and then I went and wrote one. I’m sorry? 😅

---

Kristoff can’t tell if these sisters know each other too well, or not well enough.

“Hey,” he says when Anna opens the door. “My ma has an apocalyptic stash of toilet rolls, so I thought with everything locked down—”

“Aww, you shouldn’t have!” Anna throws her arms around him, crushing the toilet rolls uncomfortably between them. “Don’t mention the lockdown in front of Elsa.”

“Err, does she not… know?” Kristoff can’t compute the idea of Anna’s freakishly well-informed sister being ignorant to, well, anything.

“Of course she knows—Elsa knows everything. Don’t be ridiculous,” Anna says dismissively, confirming his thoughts. “But you know how she gets. I just don’t want her to, you know, worry.”

“Is that Kristoff?” Elsa’s voice drifts out. “Would he like to stay for dinner?”

“He said ‘yes’!” Anna calls back.

“I said nothing.”

“Hush, man. I lost rock scissors paper so we’re playing Scrabble after dinner and I have no hope of beating Elsa alone. So you’re staying.”

Kristoff would like to point out that they could have Siri and Alexa on their team, and Elsa would still wipe the floor with them. But he shrugs off his parka and ducks into the kitchen to check on Elsa while Anna stashes away the toilet rolls.

He finds her frowning over a pot of soup, holding a ladle as if poised for battle. “Is it supposed to be this red?” she asks in precisely the tone of worry Kristoff was warned about. Anna must have asked her to watch the stove while she got the door, and Elsa is, of course, taking her responsibility very seriously.

Kristoff looks over her shoulder. “Depends. What kind of soup is it supposed to be?”

“Minestrone.”

“Yes, Elsa. Just… yes. It’s supposed to be this red.”

“Are you sure? Because the last time we went to an Italian restaurant—oh.” Elsa turns around and beckons him closer. “Please don’t mention the situation in Italy around Anna.”

They can hear Anna singing along to an old Taylor Swift song as she arranges items in the storage cupboard—followed by an “ack!” and the sound of things tumbling to the floor.

“Does she not know?” Kristoff asks dubiously for a second time, because he can believe that. But that’s a little ridiculous, even for Anna.

Elsa purses her lips. “I’m not sure. I think she does. I mean, I haven’t mentioned it around her. It’s just… the pandemic has taken so many lives overnight. You know Anna. I just don’t want her to get upset.”

“Why—won’t—this—fit! Argh!” Anna huffs in the background, sounding plenty upset to Kristoff.

They get through dinner and Kristoff spends the night trying to keep a straight face watching Anna and Elsa circle each other like they’re playing Taboo instead of Scrabble.

Then he and Anna lose for the third round and decide to split so they can tag team Elsa (he still doesn’t know how that will work)—and Kristoff takes one look at his tiles and chokes.

Anna smacks his back while Elsa passes him a glass of water. “Sounds like you have a good word,” she remarks.

Kristoff stares at C-O-R-O-N-A and says weakly, “Yep.”

It’s his turn. Think fast, Bjorgman.

“Elsa? Quick question…”

“Yes?”

“You can spell ‘raccoon’ with one ‘C’, right?”

---

If you’re bored and stuck indoors, searching the ‘drabble’ tag on my tumblr should come up with a couple more modern AU drabbles. My longer fics are on FF.net and there are a heap of good fics in my favourite stories list you can work your way down! Also taking modern AU requests from this prompt list.

Stay safe and kind, friends!

[thisissydtrying]

alexa please play the entirety of red (2012) by taylor swift

[betwixt-these-pages]

Lost Girls, by Merrie Destefano Publication Date: January 3, 2017 Publisher: Entangled Teen

Yesterday, Rachel went to sleep listening to Taylor Swift, curled up in her grammy’s quilt, worrying about geometry. Today, she woke up in a ditch, bloodied, bruised, and missing a year of her life.

She doesn’t recognize the person she’s become: she’s popular. She wears nothing but black.

Black to cover the blood.

And she can fight.

Tell no one.

She’s not the only girl to go missing within the last year…but she’s the only girl to come back. She desperately wants to unravel what happened to her, to try and recover the rest of the Lost Girls.

But the more she discovers, the more her memories return. And as much as her new life scares her, it calls to her. Seductively. The good girl gone bad, sex, drugs, and raves, and something darker…something she still craves—the rush of the fight, the thrill of the win—something she can’t resist, that might still get her killed…

The only rule is: There are no rules.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com  | B&N | iBooks | Kobo Amazon.com.au | Amazon.com/uk | Amazon.ca 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

I remember last night perfectly.

I know what we ate for dinner. I know my little brother didn’t do his homework. I know Dad drove me to my ballet lessons, then waited for me in the Starbucks across the street.

I know that, later in the evening, I fell asleep when I was supposed to be studying geometry, my earbuds in while I listened to Taylor Swift’s latest album.

That was my yesterday.

The problem is, everyone, from my parents to my teachers to the police, says that stuff didn’t happen yesterday.

It happened last year.

I went to sleep with music playing, curled up on my bed, and wrapped in the afghan Grams knitted for me when she was on chemo.

I woke up in a ditch, half-buried in a pile of leaves. I was shivering and wet, a soft rain falling, icy drops hitting me in the face and running down my neck. Trees towered overhead, black branches scratching the sky, wind howling, and from somewhere nearby came the muted sounds of traffic.

I sat up, confused and scared, grogginess giving way to an intense adrenaline rush.

Then I screamed, louder than I thought I could. The sound ripped out of my lungs and wouldn’t stop; it went on and on until I thought I would collapse because I knew I couldn’t breathe and scream at the same time. And then—when I was sure I would fall forward, bent over at the waist, my lungs empty and spots dancing before my eyes—then I found some way to yell

again. At first my shouts were primal and there were no words, just terror and pain and a black pit in my stomach that wouldn’t allow me to have conscious thoughts.

I began to cry the same thing, over and over.

“Help! Somebody help me!”

I tried to stand, but the gully was so slanted that I kept falling back to my knees, every stumble forcing me to become aware of another injury—the raw skin on my wrists and ankles, covered with dried blood and stinging with each drop of rain; the muscles in my legs sore and weak, like I’d been running for days; the soles of my feet aching, my tennis shoes ripped and stained with mud.

I stretched out my arms, latching onto tree roots to gain my balance, and I pulled myself up the incline, foot by foot. Fingers now coated with mud, I perched on the edge of a highway, nearly blinded by headlights whenever a car sped past.

There I stood, waving my arms and screaming again, not knowing that my hair was matted or that there was blood and dirt on my clothes or that my photo had been on the news for the past two weeks.

Lost girl. Disappeared on her way home from school. Anyone with information, please contact the Santa Madre police department.

Two cars drove past, headlights splashing me with brilliant light. I hadn’t realized until now that the sun tipped on the edge of the world, ready to disappear, or that twilight shadows were already stretching across the horizon. Great pockets of violet darkness yawned between each pair of lights that hurtled toward me, greedy fingers of darkness that wanted me to tumble back into that gully and remain hidden.

Please, somebody stop and help me.

I was screaming again and some sort of weird survival panic took over.

I walked into the middle of the two-lane southbound road and stood there.

Go ahead, run me over. I dare you.

Wait, what was I doing?

Several cars spun to a stop, skidding sideways, tires squealing, metal crashing metal and rubber burning. The old me, the girl who fell asleep listening to Taylor sing about a broken heart, never would have done this. What was wrong with me?

My heart thundered in my chest, but I refused to move, even when the wreckage screeched closer and closer, fenders crunching, bumpers twisting, windshields shattering. I stared all the passengers in the eye, glancing from one face to the next, coolly noting that none of them were hurt—nothing beyond a bump or a bruise.

You. Will. Stop. And. Help. Me.

Still the wreckage surged forward. I merely lifted one hand, palm up, signaling for them to stop. Like I was a traffic cop or something.

Everything finally slid to a stop, a few feet away from me.

Tears coursed down my cheeks and I began to shake uncontrollably. I sank to my knees, truly myself again. Frightened and alone and lost.

“Help me,” I begged, then buried my face in my hands.

Car doors opened: a strange cacophony of voices tumbled out, some yelling, some speaking in hushed tones.

“What’s going on?”

“Is that the missing girl from the news?”

“9-1-1, we have an emergency here—”

“Honey, you’re gonna be okay, don’t worry—”

An elderly woman with white hair and bright, pink lipstick pulled me close and draped her coat over me. When I glanced up I saw blood on her forehead, but she didn’t seem worried about herself. She smiled down at me, her face a map of connected wrinkles.

“We’re gonna get you home to your parents,” she said. “Do you want to call them?” She handed me her cell phone, but my fingers were shaking too much to dial. I told her the number and she punched it in, waiting while it rang. When a voice answered on the other end, the white-haired woman said, “I have someone who wants to talk to you.” Then she handed me the phone.

“Hello? Who is this?” It was my mom, a frantic tone in her voice that brought fresh tears to my eyes.

My words came out shaky, with long pauses between.

“Mom?”

Neither one of us could talk, not for a long time, because we were both crying. Then she finally whispered my name, like it was a magical word that could change the world.

“Rachel? Rachel, baby, where are you?”

I looked around. “I don’t know.”

“You’re on the 39, just north of Azusa,” the white-haired woman told me.

Flashing lights spun in the distance and sirens blared. An ambulance and a fire truck and two police cars were headed toward us. I blinked at the brightness, shielding my eyes with one hand.

“Rachel? Are you still there?” It was my father’s voice now, calling me back to the cell phone.

I pressed it against my ear. “Daddy?”

“Honey, when the ambulance gets there, you get inside and you stay there. Do you hear me? Don’t get in a car with anyone else!”

“I will—I mean, I won’t. I’ll go with the paramedics.” My teeth were chattering and I was shivering so much I could hardly hold the phone. I think I may have started talking gibberish, half-sentences with little meaning. I remember saying something about my geometry test and worrying that I wouldn’t make it to class tomorrow and I may have mentioned something about my biology class, too, because Dad interrupted me.

“Rachel, are you talking about the class you took with Miss Wallace?”

“Yeah. She always gives exams on Wednesday.”

There was a long silence. I wondered if we had gotten cut off. Meanwhile, the ambulance doors opened and someone wheeled a stretcher toward me.

“Honey, you had geometry with Miss Wallace last year. When you were a sophomore.”

I frowned. “But I’m a sophomore now.”

“Baby girl, you’re a junior. Don’t worry about it. All this will get straightened out when you get home—”

I dropped the phone. My hands were shaking too much to hold it. I glanced down at my hands, at the chipped red nail polish. But I hadn’t been wearing nail polish last night and I never use this color. I turned my hands over and discovered a tattoo on my inner wrist.

A tattoo?

Always and forever. That’s what it said. But there was no redness or swelling. I didn’t get this tattoo anytime recently.

The paramedics helped me onto the stretcher, and then the world was rushing past me, rain falling on my face, people staring down at me as the stretcher wheeled by, the air thick with the smell of oil and gasoline and burned rubber. Then another smell came suddenly and violently—a memory.

A thick, cloying scent of pine and cedar.

My stomach lurched and I couldn’t stop.

I started screaming again.

Check out the TOUR SCHEDULE here!

Giveaway Information:

Blog Tour: All prizes listed below will be given to one prize winner. Prizes listed are for a US winner only; if an International winner is chosen, the prize will be a $50 Amazon gift card. • 1 – Kindle Fire Tablet, black: 7″ Display, Wi-Fi, 8 GB, 1.3 GHz quad-core processor, with the Alexa cloud-based voice service—just press and ask. • 1 – digital Kindle copy of LOST GIRLS • 1 – Pack of 14 vintage-style Swan Lake postcards • 1 – pr. Black Swan earrings, handmade by author • 1 – “Always” temporary tattoo

a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the Author:

CURRENTLY A FULL-TIME NOVELIST and magazine editor, Merrie Destefano’s next novel, LOST GIRLS, releases on January 3, 2017. Her other novels include AFTERLIFE and FEAST, both published by HarperCollins, and FATHOM, which was self-published. The editor of Victorian Homes magazine, she has also been the editor of American Farmhouse Style, Vintage Gardens, and Zombies magazine, and was the founding editor of Cottages & Bungalows magazine.

With 20 years experience in publishing, she worked for a variety of publishing/broadcasting companies that include Focus on the Family, The Word For Today, and PJS Publications (now Primedia). Besides editing and writing, her background includes print buying, writing/producing radio promos, directing photo shoots, developing new products, writing jacket copy for books, creating sales media packets and organizing direct mail campaigns.

Born in the Midwest, she currently lives in Southern California with her husband, two German shepherds, a Siamese cat and the occasional wandering possum. Her favorite hobbies are reading speculative fiction and watching old Star Trek episodes, and her incurable addiction is writing. She loves to camp in the mountains, walk on the beach, watch old movies, listen to alternative music—although rarely all at the same time.

Website |Twitter |Facebook | Tumblr | Instagram | Pinterest | Blog

Quick Reasons: life ruiner alert!; this book swept me up in a tidal wave of emotion, and refused to let go; awesome use of unreliable narrator; the mystery and intrigue was so beautifully-written and complex; this is a race head-first toward an explosive ending, and I adored every second of it; I need more of Merrie Destefano’s writing in my life

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life-ruiner

fishing for more

devoured it

entertaining

heartbreaker

Huge thanks to Merrie Destefano, Entangled: Teen, Netgalley, and the crew at Chapter by Chapter for granting me free access to a digital ARC of this title in exchange for an honest review! This in no way altered my read of or opinions on this book.

After TWO MONTHS of no 5 Penguin reads…I’m closing out 2016 with a very high note. It’s New Years Eve for another hour, penguins (or at least, it is for another hour where I’m living now), and I’ve just closed the page on this read…and let me tell you, it was QUITE the whirlwind journey. I started this read this afternoon, thinking I’d get partway through it as this review goes live next week on my blog…and found myself instead finishing it off in one sitting. And OH, my heartstrings. This book? This book is life-ruiner material, and it RUINED me.

  So let’s talk nitty gritty, yes? I promise, I’m going to do my VERY VERY best to stray away from the icky spoilers territory…hopefully I can manage to convey how much I enjoyed this book, and the reasons why, without dropping some huge spoiler bomb or other. Hopefully. So…characters first, yes? Rachel is possibly one of the BEST, most effectively-written characters suffering from memory loss I’ve encountered in books in recent years. While I know this is a bit of a cliche trope…Merrie Destefano handles it so beautifully and makes it SO realistic, you’ll find yourself racing toward the answers instead of feeling bogged down by what little you actually know.

The focus on relationships throughout is also astounding and deliciously done. There’s a thin line between trust and paranoia that gets played on throughout this read, especially in Rachel’s case. She is, for all intents and purposes, the perfect unreliable narrator–and that makes it so easy for readers to both be enthralled by her, while also side-eyeing her. I give HUGE kudos to Merrie Destefano for managing this so beautifully; humans are complex and confusing creatures even on our best days, so adding in memory loss and internal conflicts only heightened such vast emotions.

  I was blown away by the complexity of this read, penguins. Rachel–and her relationships with those around her–goes through so many shifts and changes, so many trials and tribulations, you’ll find yourself biting your nails, sitting on the edge of your seat, needing the answers as much as being scared of them. And the ending! The ending was just… I have to admit, I didn’t see where the plot was going until we were already on the downhill track and racing fast to the crashing point. This book surprised me–immensely. That’s not such an easy thing to do, in my world.

I am just… Speechless, might be the closest way to explain how this book left me after the close. Merrie Destefano explored some heavy-handed, important subjects (which I won’t get into, because SPOOOOOILERS, people) and wrote a complex, beautifully engaging whirlwind of emotions and life-ruination. I definitely recommend this to lovers of contemporary novels with huge bite, strong-willed characters who know how to keep fighting, and life-ruining reads that will leave them thinking, “woah.” THIS is one book you don’t want to miss out on in 2017; pick it up, and let the fight for survival begin!

  Blog Tour, Excerpt, Giveaway, and Review: Lost Girls Lost Girls, by Merrie Destefano Publication Date: January 3, 2017 Publisher: Entangled Teen Yesterday, Rachel went to sleep listening to Taylor Swift, curled up in her grammy’s quilt, worrying about geometry.

[latestnews2018-blog]

Hands on with the Echo Dots Kids Edition

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/hands-on-with-the-echo-dots-kids-edition/

Hands on with the Echo Dots Kids Edition

Earlier this year, Amazon introduced an Echo Dot for kids, with its $80 Echo Dot Kids Edition device, which comes in your choice of a red, blue, or green protective case. The idea is to market a version of Amazon’s existing Dot hardware to families by bundling it with an existing subscription service, and by throwing in a few extra features – like having Alexa encourage kids to say “please” when making their demands, for example.

The device makes sense in a couple of scenarios – for helicopter parents who want to fully lock down an Echo device before putting it in a kid’s room, and for those who were in the market for a FreeTime Unlimited subscription anyway.

I’ve been testing out an Echo Dot Kids Edition, and ran into some challenges which I thought I’d share. This is not a hardware review – I’m sure you can find those elsewhere. 

Music Filtering

As a parent of an 8-year old myself, I’ve realized it’s too difficult to keep her from ever hearing bad words – especially in music, TV and movies – so I’ve just explained to her that while she will sometimes hear those words, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to say them. (We have a similar rule about art – sometimes people will be nude in paintings, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to walk around naked all the time.)

Surprisingly, I’ve been able to establish a level of shame around adult and inappropriate content to the point that she will confess to me when she hears it on places like YouTube. She will even turn it off without my instruction! I have a good kid, I guess.

But I understand some parents will only want kids to access the sanitized version of songs – especially if their children are still in the preschool years, or have a tendency to seek out explicit content because they’re little monsters.

Amazon FreeTime would be a good option in that case, but there are some caveats.

For starters, if you plan on using the explicit language filter on songs the Echo Dot plays, then you’re stuck with Amazon Music. While the Echo Dot itself can play music from a variety of services, including on-demand offerings from Pandora and Spotify, you can’t use these services when the explicit filter is enabled as “music services that do not support this filter will be blocked,” Amazon explains.

We’re a Spotify household, so that means my child’s favorite bedtime music playlist became unavailable when we swapped out her existing Echo Dot for the Kids Edition which had the explicit filter enabled.

Above: Parent Dashboard? Where? Maybe a link would help?

You can disable the explicit filter from the Parent Dashboard, but this option is inconveniently available just via the web. When you dig around in the Alexa app – which is where you’d think these controls would be found, there’s only a FreeTime On/Off toggle switch and instructions to “Go to the Parent Dashboard to see activity, manage time limits, and add content.”

It’s not even hyperlinked!

You have to just know the dashboard’s URL is parents.amazon.com. (And not www.parents.amazon.com, by the way. That doesn’t work.)

Then to actually disable the filter, it’s several more steps.

You’ll click the gear icon next to the child’s name, click on “Echo Dot Kids Edition” under “Alexa Settings,” then click “Manage Music.” Here, you can turn the switch on or off.

If you don’t have a subscription music service, the Echo Dot Kids Edition also ships with access to ad-free kid-safe stations on iHeartRadio Family.

Whitelisting Alexa skills…well, some skills!

Another issue with the way FreeTime works with Alexa, is that it’s not clear that nearly everything your child accesses on the device has to be whitelisted.

This leads to a confusing first-time user workflow.

Likely, you’ll start by browsing in the Alexa app’s Skills section or the Skills Store on the web to find some appropriate kid-friendly skills for your child to try. For example, I found and enabled a skill called “Math Facts – Math Practice for Kids.”

But when I instructed “Alexa, open Math Facts,” she responded, “I can’t do that.”

She didn’t say why.

As I hadn’t used FreeTime in quite a while, it didn’t occur to me that each Alexa skill would have to be toggled on – just like the third-party apps, videos, books and audiobooks the child has access to that didn’t ship with FreeTime Unlimited itself.

Instead, I mistakenly assumed that skills from the “Kids” section of the Skills store would just work.

Again, you’ll have to know to go to parents.amazon.com to toggle things on.

And again, the process for doing so is too many clicks deep in the user interface to be immediately obvious to newcomers. (You click the gear by the kid’s name, then “Add Content” – not “Echo Dot Kids Edition” as you might think! Then, on the “Add Content” screen, click over to the “Alexa Skills” tab and toggle on the skills you want the child to use.)

The issue with this system is that it prevents Echo Dot Kids Edition users – kids and adults alike – from discovering and enabling skills by voice. And it adds an unnecessary step by forcing parents to toggle skills on.

After all, if the parents are the ones signing in when visiting the Skills store in-app or on the web, that means they’re the ones choosing to enable the Skills, too.

And if they’re enabling a skill from Kids section, one would assume it’s for their kids to use on their device!

The problem, largely, is that FreeTime isn’t really integrated with the Alexa app. All of this – from explicit content filters to whitelisting skills to turning on or off calling, messaging and drop-ins – should be managed from within the Alexa app, not from a separate website.

Amazon obviously did minimal integration work in order to sell parents a pricier Echo Dot.

To make matters more confusing is the fact that Amazon has partnered with some kids skill publishers, similar to how it partnered with other content providers for apps and movies. That means there’s a list of skills that don’t appear in your Parent Dashboard that also don’t require whitelisting.

This includes: Disney Stories, Loud House Challenge, No Way That’s True, Funny Fill In, Spongebob Challenge, Weird but True, Name that Animal, This or That, Word world, Ben ten, Classroom thirteen, Batman Adventures, and Climb the Beanstalk.

But it’s confusing that you can immediately use these skills, and not others clearly meant for kids. You end up feeling like you did something wrong when some skills don’t work, before you figure out this whole whitelisting system.

In addition, it’s not clear that these “Premium” skills come with the FreeTime subscription – most are not available in the Skills store. If your FreeTime subscription expires, it seems you’ll lose access to these, as well.

Overall, the FreeTime experience for Echo feels disjointed, and there’s a steep learning curve for new users.

Your FreeTime Unlimited 1-year Subscription

It’s also frustrating that there’s no information on the FreeTime Parents dashboard about the nature of your subscription.

You can’t confirm that you’re currently subscribed to the paid product known as FreeTime Unlimited. You can’t see when that subscription expires, or when your first free year is up. It’s unclear if you’ll just be charged, or when that will take place. And there’s no toggle to turn the subscription off if you decide you no longer need it.

Instead, you can only “modify” which credit card you use with Amazon’s 1-click. Seriously. That’s it.

Above: want to manage your subscription?

Below: hahaha, good luck with that!

I still don’t know where to turn this subscription off – I guess the option to disable it doesn’t even appear until your free year is up? (Even clicking on “FreeTime Unlimited” from Amazon.com’s subscription management page routes you back to this useless Parent dashboard page for managing your 1-Click settings.)

So, ask me in a year, maybe?

That said, if you are in the market for both a FreeTime Unlimited subscription and an Echo Dot, you may as well buy the Kids Edition.

FreeTime Unlimited works on Fire tablets, Android devices, Kindle, and as of this month, iOS devices, providing access to over 15,000 kid-safe apps, games, videos, books and educational content. On Amazon devices, parents can also set screen time limits and educational goals.

The service by itself is $2.99 per month for Prime members (for one profile) or $4.99 per month for non-members. It’s more if you buy the Family subscription. Meanwhile, the regular 2nd gen Echo Dot is currently $49.99. So you’re basically looking at $50 + $36/year for FreeTime Unlimited if you bought these things separately as a Prime member.

The Echo Dot Kids Edition comes with one year of FreeTime Unlimited and is $79.99. So you’re saving a tiny bit there. Plus, you can always turn FreeTime off on the device, if you’d rather just use the kids Echo Dot as a regular Echo Dot – while still getting a free year of FreeTime for another device, like the kid’s iPad.

Still, watch out because Echo Dot often goes on sale – and probably will be on sale again for Prime Day this summer. Depending on the price cut it gets, it may not be worth it to buy the bundle.

Other Perks

There are other perks that Amazon tries to use to sell the Echo Dot Kids Edition to families, but the most notable is “Magic Word.”

This feature turns on when FreeTime is enabled, and thanks kids for saying “please” when they speak to Alexa. Yes, that seems like a small thing but it was something that a lot of parents were upset about. They thought kids were learning bad manners by barking commands at Alexa.

I don’t know about that. My kid seems to understand that we say “please” and “thank you” to people, but Alexa doesn’t get her feelings hurt by being told to “play Taylor Swift.” But to each their own!

This feature will thrill some parents, I’m sure.

Parents can also use FreeTime to pause the device or configure a bedtime so kids don’t stay up talking to Alexa, but honestly, LET ‘EM.

It’s far better than when they stall bedtime by badgering you for that extra glass of water, one more blanket, turn on that light, now crack the door…a little more…a little less…Honestly, escaping the kid’s room at bedtime is an art form.

If Alexa can keep them busy and less afraid of the dark, I’m calling it a win.

FreeTime with the Echo Dot Kids Edition also lets you set up “Character Alarms” – meaning, kids can configure Alexa to wake them up with an alarm click featuring characters from brands like Disney and Nickelodeon.

This is hilarious to me.

Because if you have a kid in the preschool to tween age range who actually requires an alarm clock to wake up in the morning instead of getting up at the crack of dawn (or maybe one who has gone through years of training so they DON’T ALSO WAKE YOU UP AT THE CRACK OF DAWN OH MY GOD) – then, I guess, um, enjoy character alarms?

I’m sorry, let me stop laughing….Hold on.

I’m sure somebody needs this.

Sorry for laughing. But please explain how you’ve taught your children to sleep in? Do they go to bed at a decent hour too? No seriously, email me. I have no idea.

The Echo Dot Kids Edition can also work as a household intercom, but so do regular Echo devices.

You can turn off voice purchasing on the Kids Edition, but you can do that on regular devices, too (despite what Amazon’s comparison chart says.)

Plus, kids can now control smart home devices with the Echo Dot Kids Edition – a feature that shamefully wasn’t available at launch, but is now.

And that cute protective case? Well, a regular Echo Dot is actually pretty sturdy. We’ve dropped ours probably a dozen times from dresser to floor (uncarpeted!) with no issues.

I like how Amazon tries to sell the case, though:

I guess if your kid plans to do CHEMISTRY EXPERIMENTS by the Echo Dot, you may need this.

In reality, the case is just cute – and can help the Echo better match the kid’s room.

The Echo Kids Edition, overall, is not a must-have device. You’ll have more flexibility with a regular Echo and a little old-school parenting.

[theinvinciblenoob]

Earlier this year, Amazon introduced an Echo Dot for kids, with its $80 Echo Dot Kids Edition device, which comes in your choice of a red, blue, or green protective case. The idea is to market a version of Amazon’s existing Dot hardware to families by bundling it with an existing subscription service, and by throwing in a few extra features – like having Alexa encourage kids to say “please” when making their demands, for example.

The device makes sense in a couple of scenarios – for helicopter parents who want to fully lock down an Echo device before putting it in a kid’s room, and for those who were in the market for a FreeTime Unlimited subscription anyway.

I’ve been testing out an Echo Dot Kids Edition, and ran into some challenges which I thought I’d share. This is not a hardware review – I’m sure you can find those elsewhere. 

Music Filtering

As a parent of an 8-year old myself, I’ve realized it’s too difficult to keep her from ever hearing bad words – especially in music, TV and movies – so I’ve just explained to her that while she will sometimes hear those words, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to say them. (We have a similar rule about art – sometimes people will be nude in paintings, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to walk around naked all the time.)

Surprisingly, I’ve been able to establish a level of shame around adult and inappropriate content to the point that she will confess to me when she hears it on places like YouTube. She will even turn it off without my instruction! I have a good kid, I guess.

But I understand some parents will only want kids to access the sanitized version of songs – especially if their children are still in the preschool years, or have a tendency to seek out explicit content because they’re little monsters.

Amazon FreeTime would be a good option in that case, but there are some caveats.

For starters, if you plan on using the explicit language filter on songs the Echo Dot plays, then you’re stuck with Amazon Music. While the Echo Dot itself can play music from a variety of services, including on-demand offerings from Pandora and Spotify, you can’t use these services when the explicit filter is enabled as “music services that do not support this filter will be blocked,” Amazon explains.

We’re a Spotify household, so that means my child’s favorite bedtime music playlist became unavailable when we swapped out her existing Echo Dot for the Kids Edition which had the explicit filter enabled.

Above: Parent Dashboard? Where? Maybe a link would help?

You can disable the explicit filter from the Parent Dashboard, but this option is inconveniently available just via the web. When you dig around in the Alexa app – which is where you’d think these controls would be found, there’s only a FreeTime On/Off toggle switch and instructions to “Go to the Parent Dashboard to see activity, manage time limits, and add content.”

It’s not even hyperlinked!

You have to just know the dashboard’s URL is parents.amazon.com. (And not www.parents.amazon.com, by the way. That doesn’t work.)

Then to actually disable the filter, it’s several more steps.

You’ll click the gear icon next to the child’s name, click on “Echo Dot Kids Edition” under “Alexa Settings,” then click “Manage Music.” Here, you can turn the switch on or off.

If you don’t have a subscription music service, the Echo Dot Kids Edition also ships with access to ad-free kid-safe stations on iHeartRadio Family.

Whitelisting Alexa skills…well, some skills!

Another issue with the way FreeTime works with Alexa, is that it’s not clear that nearly everything your child accesses on the device has to be whitelisted.

This leads to a confusing first-time user workflow.

Likely, you’ll start by browsing in the Alexa app’s Skills section or the Skills Store on the web to find some appropriate kid-friendly skills for your child to try. For example, I found and enabled a skill called “Math Facts – Math Practice for Kids.”

But when I instructed “Alexa, open Math Facts,” she responded, “I can’t do that.”

She didn’t say why.

As I hadn’t used FreeTime in quite a while, it didn’t occur to me that each Alexa skill would have to be toggled on – just like the third-party apps, videos, books and audiobooks the child has access to that didn’t ship with FreeTime Unlimited itself.

Instead, I mistakenly assumed that skills from the “Kids” section of the Skills store would just work.

Again, you’ll have to know to go to parents.amazon.com to toggle things on.

And again, the process for doing so is too many clicks deep in the user interface to be immediately obvious to newcomers. (You click the gear by the kid’s name, then “Add Content” – not “Echo Dot Kids Edition” as you might think! Then, on the “Add Content” screen, click over to the “Alexa Skills” tab and toggle on the skills you want the child to use.)

The issue with this system is that it prevents Echo Dot Kids Edition users – kids and adults alike – from discovering and enabling skills by voice. And it adds an unnecessary step by forcing parents to toggle skills on.

After all, if the parents are the ones signing in when visiting the Skills store in-app or on the web, that means they’re the ones choosing to enable the Skills, too.

And if they’re enabling a skill from Kids section, one would assume it’s for their kids to use on their device!

The problem, largely, is that FreeTime isn’t really integrated with the Alexa app. All of this – from explicit content filters to whitelisting skills to turning on or off calling, messaging and drop-ins – should be managed from within the Alexa app, not from a separate website.

Amazon obviously did minimal integration work in order to sell parents a pricier Echo Dot.

To make matters more confusing is the fact that Amazon has partnered with some kids skill publishers, similar to how it partnered with other content providers for apps and movies. That means there’s a list of skills that don’t appear in your Parent Dashboard that also don’t require whitelisting.

This includes: Disney Stories, Loud House Challenge, No Way That’s True, Funny Fill In, Spongebob Challenge, Weird but True, Name that Animal, This or That, Word world, Ben ten, Classroom thirteen, Batman Adventures, and Climb the Beanstalk.

But it’s confusing that you can immediately use these skills, and not others clearly meant for kids. You end up feeling like you did something wrong when some skills don’t work, before you figure out this whole whitelisting system.

In addition, it’s not clear that these “Premium” skills come with the FreeTime subscription – most are not available in the Skills store. If your FreeTime subscription expires, it seems you’ll lose access to these, as well.

Overall, the FreeTime experience for Echo feels disjointed, and there’s a steep learning curve for new users.

Your FreeTime Unlimited 1-year Subscription

It’s also frustrating that there’s no information on the FreeTime Parents dashboard about the nature of your subscription.

You can’t confirm that you’re currently subscribed to the paid product known as FreeTime Unlimited. You can’t see when that subscription expires, or when your first free year is up. It’s unclear if you’ll just be charged, or when that will take place. And there’s no toggle to turn the subscription off if you decide you no longer need it.

Instead, you can only “modify” which credit card you use with Amazon’s 1-click. Seriously. That’s it.

Above: want to manage your subscription?

Below: hahaha, good luck with that!

I still don’t know where to turn this subscription off – I guess the option to disable it doesn’t even appear until your free year is up? (Even clicking on “FreeTime Unlimited” from Amazon.com’s subscription management page routes you back to this useless Parent dashboard page for managing your 1-Click settings.)

So, ask me in a year, maybe?

That said, if you are in the market for both a FreeTime Unlimited subscription and an Echo Dot, you may as well buy the Kids Edition.

FreeTime Unlimited works on Fire tablets, Android devices, Kindle, and as of this month, iOS devices, providing access to over 15,000 kid-safe apps, games, videos, books and educational content. On Amazon devices, parents can also set screen time limits and educational goals.

The service by itself is $2.99 per month for Prime members (for one profile) or $4.99 per month for non-members. It’s more if you buy the Family subscription. Meanwhile, the regular 2nd gen Echo Dot is currently $49.99. So you’re basically looking at $50 + $36/year for FreeTime Unlimited if you bought these things separately as a Prime member.

The Echo Dot Kids Edition comes with one year of FreeTime Unlimited and is $79.99. So you’re saving a tiny bit there. Plus, you can always turn FreeTime off on the device, if you’d rather just use the kids Echo Dot as a regular Echo Dot – while still getting a free year of FreeTime for another device, like the kid’s iPad.

Still, watch out because Echo Dot often goes on sale – and probably will be on sale again for Prime Day this summer. Depending on the price cut it gets, it may not be worth it to buy the bundle.

Other Perks

There are other perks that Amazon tries to use to sell the Echo Dot Kids Edition to families, but the most notable is “Magic Word.”

This feature turns on when FreeTime is enabled, and thanks kids for saying “please” when they speak to Alexa. Yes, that seems like a small thing but it was something that a lot of parents were upset about. They thought kids were learning bad manners by barking commands at Alexa.

I don’t know about that. My kid seems to understand that we say “please” and “thank you” to people, but Alexa doesn’t get her feelings hurt by being told to “play Taylor Swift.” But to each their own!

This feature will thrill some parents, I’m sure.

Parents can also use FreeTime to pause the device or configure a bedtime so kids don’t stay up talking to Alexa, but honestly, LET ‘EM.

It’s far better than when they stall bedtime by badgering you for that extra glass of water, one more blanket, turn on that light, now crack the door…a little more…a little less…Honestly, escaping the kid’s room at bedtime is an art form.

If Alexa can keep them busy and less afraid of the dark, I’m calling it a win.

FreeTime with the Echo Dot Kids Edition also lets you set up “Character Alarms” – meaning, kids can configure Alexa to wake them up with an alarm click featuring characters from brands like Disney and Nickelodeon.

This is hilarious to me.

Because if you have a kid in the preschool to tween age range who actually requires an alarm clock to wake up in the morning instead of getting up at the crack of dawn (or maybe one who has gone through years of training so they DON’T ALSO WAKE YOU UP AT THE CRACK OF DAWN OH MY GOD) – then, I guess, um, enjoy character alarms?

I’m sorry, let me stop laughing….Hold on.

I’m sure somebody needs this.

Sorry for laughing. But please explain how you’ve taught your children to sleep in? Do they go to bed at a decent hour too? No seriously, email me. I have no idea.

The Echo Dot Kids Edition can also work as a household intercom, but so do regular Echo devices.

You can turn off voice purchasing on the Kids Edition, but you can do that on regular devices, too (despite what Amazon’s comparison chart says.)

Plus, kids can now control smart home devices with the Echo Dot Kids Edition – a feature that shamefully wasn’t available at launch, but is now.

And that cute protective case? Well, a regular Echo Dot is actually pretty sturdy. We’ve dropped ours probably a dozen times from dresser to floor (uncarpeted!) with no issues.

I like how Amazon tries to sell the case, though:

I guess if your kid plans to do CHEMISTRY EXPERIMENTS by the Echo Dot, you may need this.

In reality, the case is just cute – and can help the Echo better match the kid’s room.

The Echo Kids Edition, overall, is not a must-have device. You’ll have more flexibility with a regular Echo and a little old-school parenting.

via TechCrunch