#like nobody cares about like Sugar Ray in the same way that they still care about Smash Mouth

[redwingrose]

I feel like the internet has tried to re-write history a little bit, so I feel like it's worth pointing out that:

In 2001, the year Shrek had been released, Smash Mouth had 3 songs hit the top 10 of Billboards Hot 100 Airplay charts. All Star specifically reached #1 for six weeks in it's release year of 1999, and peaked at #4 on Billboards Singles chart in August of the same year. Astro Lounge, the album that All Star comes from, peaked at #6 in the US's Billboard top 200 of its release week, and #34 on Billboards end of year list. Before being in Shrek, the song had already been featured in 2 other movies; in 1999 it was included in the movie Mystery Men (which clips of the movie and the characters would appear in the music video) and in Digimon: The Movie in 2000.

[mypoisonedvine]

A Year Gone By | dark!Bucky Barnes x reader

happy birthday @nsfwsebbie​!!

it was supposed to be a surprise but then I couldn’t stop myself from telling you I was writing something, I managed to keep most of it under wraps though!  I hope the suspense pays off.  

idk if it’s weird that i made it a doctor reader when you’re not a doctor but listen...half the fun of reader insert is getting to vicariously live through a cool career right??  the other half of the fun is the obvious thing.  and it seemed a little creepy if i made the reader exactly like you but if you want it to be more accurate i will totally write you something with actual you in it lol

ANYWAYS I hope you enjoy it and most of all I hope you have a lovely, relaxing, fun birthday.  and i hope it makes you h word lmao.  ily darling <3

warnings: noncon, dubcon, stalking/kidnapping, ddlg, loss of virginity, bondage, oral sex (m and f receiving), anal sex, d/s, pet play, degradation, painful sex/pain kink, cockwarming, breeding, somnophilia (slightly), spitting, pregnancy mention, breeding kink, mention of drugging... I think that’s everything.

word count: just over 15.5k (YIIIIKES my bad)

Bucky always looked forward to appointments with you.  It wasn’t just because he had a crush on you, honest; you really were the best doctor he ever had.  Then again, between chain-smoking Brooklyn doctors who handed out morphine like candy and cruel Nazi or Soviet scientists, you weren’t competing with anybody too incredible.

“It’s not so bad,” he bluffed, but he couldn’t hide the wince when you touched his bruise.

“You’re not a very good liar, Sergeant,” you told him with a smile.  God, he loved when you called him that.  He hoped his body wouldn’t react to it in any uncomfortably obvious ways.  “Honestly, I’m a little worried about the bones.  I want to do an X-ray, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead,” he shrugged, “but you’re probably worrying too much.”

“You plan to walk off a compound fracture?” you scoffed.

“Bet I could, if you kiss it to make it better,” he smiled.  He was expecting you to giggle a little at the casual flirtation, which you did, but he was surprised when you bit your lip at the end of it.  That made it impossible to stop his cock from getting a bit interested, but thankfully it was still easy enough to hide.  Clearly his casual flirting was starting to get to you, and it made him especially impatient but he tried to stay calm.

“I’m a good doctor, but I’m not that good.  A prescription will do more for you,” you replied as you wrote something in his chart-- presumably that he needed to go down the hall for some x-ray work.

“If you say so.”

“Anything else bothering you?” you asked him.

“Oh, no, I won’t waste your time,” he dismissed.

“I’m getting paid, don’t worry,” you laughed.  “I don’t have any more appointments until after lunch.  Is there anything else going on?”

He shifted a little, the paper on the examination table crinkling as he did it.  “Um… it’s nothing, I just--” he glanced up at you but then looked away again, still embarrassed to admit it-- “I’ve had a little trouble sleeping…”

“Nightmares?” you pressed.  “Or general insomnia?”

“Um, nightmares,” he finally admitted, “not as bad as normal.  The meds helped.  Just… I still get them sometimes.”

“How many nights a week would you guess?” you asked.  But you didn’t look to his chart like it was a quiz or something, you kept looking at him with patience and compassion.  That was what really made his heart melt.

“Probably 2 or 3.”

“So we’re down from 6 to 7,” you remembered from what he’d said before you’d given him the medication he was on now, “that’s good.  That’s progress.  But, maybe we need to up your dosage if you haven’t seen better results after 4 weeks.  You haven’t missed any doses, have you?”

He tried to fight his embarrassed smirk but it was too late.

“Bucky!” you scolded playfully.  “I can’t up your dosage until you’re actually being consistent on the amount you already have, okay?  I know it can be easy to forget but you have to stay on it.  Set a timer on your phone or something if you need to.”

He nodded, but the problem wasn’t forgetting to take them as much as it was being ashamed that he needed them at all.  But he’d stay on them if it made you happy.

“Anything else?  Headache, twisted ankle, burns when you pee?”

He laughed and shook his head.  “No, I think that’s everything.”

“Great, then I’ll let you get to your newly-booked X-ray appointment.”  You handed him a sheet of paper for him to take to the X-ray office which informed the nurses there what angles you wanted on his ribs.  “Just know that you can call me if you need anything, alright?”

He took the slip of paper but suddenly couldn’t respond, too lost in looking at you and wondering if you’d felt that same jolt of electricity when his hand brushed yours.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“You take care of so many people,” Bucky pondered aloud, “I just wonder if someone takes care of you.”

He could tell by your face that you didn’t like the way his tone shifted, but he refused to backpedal.  Just this once, he wanted to see you squirm a little bit.  

“Wanna lollipop?” you asked him nervously as you handed him the plastic-wrapped red sucker in offering, but he waved it away.  

He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how you would look with the cherry lollipop in your mouth: the way it would push your cheek out from the inside, stain your lips and tongue bright red, make your mouth taste like pure sugar.  

Of all the things he’d imagined before, that was the one that made him realize it couldn’t just be a fantasy anymore.  Thankfully, he hadn’t just been thinking of all the filthy things he wanted to do to you; he’d also been coming up with a plan.

~

The first thing you perceived when you woke up was the smell.  It didn’t smell like your room.  Such a simple difference, one you hadn’t even realized you would notice, but one that stood out instantly.

You opened your eyes and instantly spun your head around when you saw the grey cement room you were in.  The bed underneath you creaked, unlike your bed, and you looked down at it as if you somehow expected to be in an unknown room but still be in your own bed.  

It was then that you realized you were restrained with, of all things, satiny pink rope which pulled each of your limbs to the nearest bedpost.  There was enough slack that you could wiggle around some, but it wasn’t exactly roomy either.  Your heart raced as you pondered who could have possibly done this, and why.

You startled when you heard the door open, but relaxed when the menacing form suddenly struck you as familiar.

“Bucky,” you sighed with relief, “oh thank god you’re here-- quick, help untie me.”

As soon as you said it, though, you realized something wasn’t right.  He didn’t look concerned at all, or confused.  And that should be a good thing because it meant he had answers, except that you were suddenly realizing this was more complex than you were prepared for.

“Bucky… where are we?” you asked him, quieter, as you realized that he was not going to untie you immediately.  Even still you were coming to terms with the possibility that it wasn’t really a matter of where we were and where, specifically, you were.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered simply, stepping closer.

You didn’t exactly believe that.  

“Please, help untie me,” you requested again.

“I will,” he assured, “but I want to explain something first.”

Your heart sank straight through your stomach.  You didn’t understand what was going on quite yet, but you were getting the gist enough to know that this was really fucking bad.

“Bucky,” you pleaded as he sat down beside you on the bed, “please let me go.”  You felt very aware of how thin your pajama set was, how if he tried hard enough he could see your nipples hardening underneath your top for no apparent reason.

“Don’t get upset,” he soothed, “everything’s fine.  I’m not going to hurt you-- nobody will anymore.  You’re gonna stay here, with me, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Your eyes burned with tears you couldn’t fight anymore.  “Don’t do this,” you begged, “I’m your friend-- we’re friends, remember?”

“Of course I know that,” he sighed, “but that’s not enough.  Couldn’t you tell I’d fallen in love with you?”

You shook your head, trying to process everything you were hearing.  “This is insane.  This is not what you do when you have feelings for somebody, Bucky.”

“What, you’re saying I should’ve just asked you out?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to say yes-- because you’re my patient--”

“See?  That’s what the ropes are for!” he smiled, like he was actually proud of his problem-solving skills.  “You would’ve said yes if you could, I know.  But you couldn’t.  And now you don’t have to.”

You resented that he was right, that you would’ve dated him in a heartbeat if it wasn’t an ethical violation.  You got the sense there were going to be even more severe ethical violations in your future, though.

You continued to beg him to stop, but it fell on deaf ears as he reached under the elastic waistband of your pajama shorts and pulled them down slowly.  He gasped when he saw your pussy and you wished you could just disappear, turn invisible or, best of all, teleport out of here; anything to avoid this humiliation.

“Baby, you’re wet,” he observed.  You weren’t sure if the first or second half of the sentence made you more uncomfortable, but either way, you couldn’t stop the shivers from dancing up your spine.  “This all for me?  Do you like being tied up?”

You refused to answer, looking to the side as if the concrete wall was suddenly fascinating to you, but he grabbed your jaw and turned you to look at him.

“I know you don’t know all the rules yet, but here’s the first one, and maybe the most important: answer me when I speak to you.”

It was cold but not quite threatening; still scared you senseless, though.  You nodded.

“Do you like being tied up?” he repeated.

“N-no,” you answered.

“Answer honestly,” he specified.

You had, but you realized it was going to be safer to do what he wanted, so you cleared your throat and spoke again.

“Yes,” you whispered, “I like… being tied up.”

“That’s it?” he pressed.  “It’s not me being here, is it?  You never got wet when you saw me in appointments?”

This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.  It seemed like there was no right answer.

“Didja ever get wet for somebody else?  It was Steve, wasn’t it?”

“No!” you instinctively answered.  “Um, I like Steve.  But just as a friend.”

“Aw,” he smiled, “I knew you were the loyal type.  Remember just a minute ago when you were begging me to stop cause you were my friend?  I think you were lying then too, doll.  You didn’t want to be just friends with me.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, just do it,” you grimaced.  “I’m getting irritated.”

You yelped when he slapped the inside of your thigh, trying to pull away but only making it easier for him to dip under your leg so that he was between them, sitting back on the bed in front of you.

“Respect gets you a long way with me,” he promised, pulling a knife from a strap on his thigh and using it to quickly cut off the shorts.  “Sass does not.”

You winced as he slipped a finger into you-- metal, and it was cold, too.  Soothed the burn a bit, at least.

“Oh god,” he sighed, “just one finger and it barely fits…”  You watched realization pass over his face as his gaze moved to your eyes.  “Baby, are you a virgin?”

You closed your eyes because you knew they would reveal the truth.  In all honesty it was probably better that he knew so there was at least some chance of him going easy on you, and yet you were still embarrassed for him to find out.

“Oh, you’re going to spoil me,” he grinned.  “You really are too good to be true.”

A second finger pushed into you and a bite to the lip suppressed your moan.  

“I’ll warm you up first, don’t worry,” he cooed.  “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Then why did you tie me up?”

“That’s for your safety, baby.  I don’t wanna have to hurt you,” he clarified.

A third finger, immediately after you had adjusted to the second.  You had never had so much inside you before and it made you feel a bit dizzy.  His thumb grazed over your clit and you nearly jumped right off the bed as your hips bucked suddenly-- since when were you so sensitive?!

“Oh, poor little baby, you need it so bad,” he faux-pouted.  You couldn’t tell if it was a mockery or genuine concern.  “You’ll get it angel, don’t worry.  Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

That word made you feel a little sick.  No wonder he needed to kidnap girls to get his rocks off, clearly this was the kind of stuff a normal date wouldn’t agree to.

Then again, it was Bucky Barnes.  He could probably get any girl he wanted, even if he had some weird tastes.  You still didn’t understand why it had to be you, specifically.  

His thumb stayed on your clit, the pressure moving from teasing to firm to nearly too much.  You tried to angle your hips away but the ropes stopped you (of course), and you were forced to take every sensation he gave you.

“You’re trying so hard to stay quiet, just let go,” he encouraged.  “I wanna hear how good I make you feel.”

“Maybe I’m just naturally quiet,” you bluffed, but even just those few words were strained, and surrounded by panting as you failed to catch your breath.

“Oh, we both know that’s not true.  I’ve heard you when you thought you were alone, doll.”

You knew what he must have meant, but it still made you whimper when he leaned in to whisper in your ear: “I heard you touching yourself.”

Your face was burning and you were sure you’d never blushed so hard in your life.  You couldn’t be sure how much he’d heard, but just the way he smiled down at you made you sure he must have heard the times that his name passed your lips as you reached your peak.  

Of course he couldn’t just let you stew in that, he had to mock you even further.

“Oh Bucky,” he recalled, raising the pitch of his voice a little, “please let me come, I’m so close, please…”

“Stop,” you begged, tears sliding down your temples.  The fingers twisted inside you as both of you groaned.

“Yeah, it’s not a very good impression,” he sighed, “it’ll sound better when you do it.  Don’t you wanna moan for me again?”

“You stalked me,” you realized aloud, “you spied on me at night, you kidnapped me--”

“And now we’re both getting what we want.  I know you wished it was my fingers instead of yours.  Doesn’t it feel good baby?  Admit it.  Tell me it feels good.”

You were determined to resist until he pulled his fingers out and used the metal hand to slap your pussy, both of you gasping at the wet noise it made.  He did it again and your hips bucked wildly even as you were trying with everything in you not to react.  One more and you finally moaned, the pain brief but strong while the pleasure never seemed to lessen.

“Just be honest,” he demanded, “I know you love it.  I just need you to say it.”

One more spank and you were finally willing to cut your losses.  “It feels good!” you exclaimed.  You cried out when he hit you again, not having seen it coming at all since you’d done as he asked.  “Say it again.”

“It feels good, Bucky, your fingers feel good,” you whimpered.

He finally seemed to calm down, giving you an oddly friendly smile.  “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head, just trying to appreciate the stillness while you could.  

“One little thing though: you don’t call me Bucky anymore.  My friends call me Bucky; you’re so much more special than that.  You’re my perfect little angel, and you call me Daddy.”

You saw it coming, but it didn’t make it any less awful.  You squirmed a bit as he pushed up your top, biting his lip when he got a glimpse of your breasts.

“Oh, when did these get hard, huh?” he smiled as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers.

“It’s… cold in here,” you explained uncomfortably.

“Uh huh,” he pretended to believe you.  “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to warm you up.”

He let go of your tits so he could pull back and start undoing his belt; you swallowed dryly, not wanting to watch but unable to look away.

Of course he was big.  It explained his personality, and you’d had your suspicions (and/or fantasies), but now all it did was scare you.

“Will it hurt?” you asked weakly.  He smiled as he pulled off his shirt from behind his neck, tossing it aside.  

“No baby, I stretched you with my fingers so you can take me.  Might be a little bit of an adjustment at first, but we’ll go slow, okay?”

You couldn’t decide if it was sweet or patronizing.  A little of both, perhaps.

He leaned over you, resting one hand beside your head as the other guided his cock to rub through your folds.  You struggled again, barely able to process that this was actually going to happen, that you were going to lose your virginity tied up in some creepy sex dungeon to an obsessive patient who demanded you call him ‘Daddy.’  This wasn’t exactly the situation you had been saving it for.

“Ready for me, baby?  Want me to make you mine?” he asked with a look of excitement, even vulnerability.  Your body craved more after he’d left you dangling on the edge from his fingering, but your brain was thankfully still functioning properly.

“Please don’t,” you whimpered, “you can stop now, and I won’t tell anyone, and--”

“Baby, don’t talk like that,” he frowned.  “This is it, okay?  Us.  Just us.  Nobody else to get in the way.  You’re not gonna tell anyone ‘cause there’s no one to tell.”

“You can’t,” you denied, “I have a life-- people who care about me, who are going to notice that I’m gone--”

“No, babygirl, stop-- you’re not listening to me,” he growled.  “Stop fighting.  You’re mine.  You’re finally where you belong.”

“This is crazy,” you spat, “you’re crazy!”

“Baby…” he looked dejected, crestfallen.  “You’re the only one who’s ever helped me feel normal again.  If I’m crazy it’s only because I love you so much; I need you, doll.”

“You need intensive psychiatric care!”

Sadness shifted to anger as he sat back and stuffed his cock back into his trousers, even though it barely fit now that it was fully hard and leaking from the tip.

“I realize now I’ve given you more than you can handle.  I knew you liked me back so I figured you would understand a little sooner but… I should’ve known you need more time before you really admit to yourself that you need someone to take care of you.”

Your relief shifted to fear when he stood back up off the bed and stepped away.

“Wait, don’t leave me here,” you squeaked, “untie me, please.”

Instead he knelt down and pulled a box out from under the bed.  You couldn’t see what was inside when he opened it, but he seemed to find what he was looking for when he pulled out a vibrator and shut the lid.  It was thin and a little curved, so when he roughly shoved it into you it hit right on your g-spot.  You tried to squirm away but he held your hips down and turned it on to a setting that strobed the vibrations, teasing your spot but never giving you enough to get very far.

“I’ll come back when I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he informed you quickly as he started to leave the room.

“Bucky-- Bucky wait!” you called after him.  “There’s no food or water you can’t leave me here wait don’t go BUCKY!”

But he was long gone.  The door slammed behind him and echoed around the room; only when the sound was completely dead were you sure that he wasn’t coming back any time soon.

You had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity of you wiggling against the ropes, trying to either knock the vibrator out of you somehow or get it to move enough that you could at least come and feel some relief.  Trying to push it out with your muscles was useless since the curved shape kept it inside of you, and you couldn’t arch your back enough to press it into the bed-- and if you could, you weren’t sure what good that would do.

Every once in a while the vibration would echo through your clit and it made your eyes water.  You sobbed and bit your lip, hoping he would come back soon.

It was at least twice as long before he did, and at that point your voice had gone hoarse from calling out to him.  You cried out for Bucky at least a hundred times and got nothing; but when you called for ‘Daddy’ just once, he suddenly appeared.

Somehow his return didn’t bring much relief, because you weren’t exactly safe with him around… but at least you weren’t alone.

He reached between your legs and turned the vibrator off, though he left it inside of you.  You took a deep breath and appreciated the stillness, though your body panged with hunger from so much pleasure with no release.

“I hated doing that to you,” he breathed deeply as he sat beside you on the bed, “but it had to be done.  You were behaving so poorly.  I’ve gone easy on you up until now but I can’t tolerate any more rebelliousness, alright?”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his disappointment sink over you.  

When he pulled out the vibrator, the tip of it grazed over your abused and sensitive g-spot and you bit back a groan.  He set it aside and admired the mess you’d made; you couldn’t see it, of course, but you could tell that there was a wet patch of arousal beneath you on the sheets.

“Your body is ready for me, but I’m not sure your mind is right yet,” he explained, steely gaze finally meeting yours.  “Are you going to be good, little girl?”

You were too exhausted to notice the nickname, or even to speak your reply.  You just nodded again, watching him as he started unlacing his boots and slipped them off, then took his socks, trousers, and underwear off along with them.

Shit, you’d nearly forgotten how big he was.  You swallowed with a dry throat and closed your eyes, just hoping it would be over with quickly.  

“Open your eyes babygirl, I wanna look at you,” he murmured, running a finger across your cheek.  You reluctantly obeyed and saw him hovering above you.  He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and it felt so wrong, so empty and peculiar.  It was a weak facsimile of what a kiss was supposed to be like.  He closed his eyes and ran his fingers into your hair, and it had all the trappings of the kind of kiss you’d share as a goodbye after a first or second date, but without any of the stuff that mattered like positive feelings or consent or not being in a creepy cement sex dungeon-- or whatever this was supposed to be.

He pulled away and looked down at you again, anger just starting to brew in his eyes.  “Kiss me back,” he demanded.  This time when he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue slid between them and it made you feel a little sick but you did your best to reciprocate.  You found yourself trying to reach up to put your hands on his hair or neck but of course, the ropes made it impossible.

You felt his cock pressing between your thighs, rubbing up and down slowly, and your heart began to race.  One hand slid between your bodies to guide his cock towards your entrance and he said something but you couldn’t hear it because your ears were ringing.  

As soon as he pushed into you, your body jolted, trying to squirm away, but he just kept going, sliding into you in one long stroke.

Physically, it wasn’t painful.  The vibrator had helped relax your walls, even numbed them a little bit.  And yet, even without pain it was so much.  You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, like you were so full you couldn’t even breathe.  

When he was fully seated inside you, Bucky moaned deeply, kissing your neck and mumbling something about how perfect you were.  But all you could focus on was his cock pulling back only to slam home again.  

“Fuck!” you yelped.  You had no idea anything could be so deep inside you.  

“Watch your language, angel,” he purred, biting at your earlobe.  “You promised to be good, remember?”

The hand that had been gripping your thigh suddenly moved to rub your clit and you choked on a moan.  

“It’s okay, it’s supposed to feel good,” he encouraged.  “It’s okay to come, baby.  I know how bad you wanna come for me.”

You were embarrassingly close as he had observed, a side effect of having been left on the edge for so long.  You could feel your walls rippling around him, and you wondered if he could feel it, too.  Every thrust stroked parts of you that you hadn’t even realized existed, and when he pushed as deep as he could into you, the tip of his cock hit something so sensitive that you genuinely couldn’t tell if it was painful or pleasurable.  

“Are you close?  I don’t know how much longer I can last, you’re so tight,” he groaned.  “Fuck, you want me to fill you up don’t you?  Wanna be full of Daddy’s cum?”

Before you could even consider ignoring his question, he wrapped his left hand around your neck.

“Yes, Daddy,” you croaked through the weight on your windpipe, “fill me up, please.”

Talking like that made your heart twist with shame but somehow pushed you even closer to your peak.  You knew he could tell that you were turned on by it from the way your muscles tightened around him.

“I will baby, I promise,” he smiled.  “Do you wanna beg to come, like you did when you were by yourself?”

You moaned because it was like a fantasy come true, in a monkey’s paw sort of way.  This is what you had wanted, right?  Just… in a way completely different from how it was turning out?

“Daddy, please,” you answered, so quiet and heavy with embarrassment that it was barely above a whisper, “please let me come.”

“Oh fuck,” he responded hoarsely as his thrusts came faster, more ragged.  “Come, princess.  I wantcha to scream for me.”

As you started to fall over the edge, you felt like you had lost control over your body; your arms and legs tugged at the ropes as jolts of pleasure coursed through them, and your mouth was spilling moans and whimpers and even his name.  His real name, specifically, though he thankfully didn’t seem to mind.  He kissed you again as he came, moaning into your lips and still inside you.  

You felt cold and sticky and humiliated as he sat up and pulled out, admiring the way your hole leaked out his seed and flexed involuntarily around nothing.

“Oh look at you,” he praised, “my perfect little girl.  You’re even more amazing than I dreamed, doll.”

You tried not to listen or watch him as he got off the bed, coming back with boxers on and a damp washcloth to clean you.

“I’m gonna untie you now, okay?  Promise you won’t kick me or anything?” 

You quickly nodded, willing to promise anything if it meant getting untied.  “You’ll just do more harm to you than to me if you try anything, angel,” he reminded you quickly as he started work on your right ankle.  The ropes were silky so they hadn’t been rubbing your skin too raw, but there was still soreness from the tight knots.  You were a bit surprised when he gave your ankle and foot a brief massage once he was done untying the rope, and did the same to your other foot, and then your wrists and hands.  It helped a lot with getting the blood flow back to normal, and you almost considered thanking him but that would’ve been ridiculous.  ‘Hey, thanks for the foot massage, next time don’t tie me up and rape me first but, otherwise 10/10.’  

~

Bucky was so impressed with the progress you’d made in a week.  Only two escape attempts and you’d taken your punishment quite well both times.  He had expected a rocky start, he’d understood what he was getting himself into, so none of it really came as a surprise.  You’d managed to get a good crack at his nose once, kicking him straight between the eyes before making a run for it.  Yes, it hurt like a bitch and took a few days to heal, but it had actually been a blessing in disguise; that day you’d made it out the front door and realized that you were in the middle of nowhere.  When he’d caught up to you, you were standing barefoot and half-naked in the snow, not even running anymore because, apparently, you’d realized there was nowhere to run to.  

“I built this place for us, for you,” he explained.  “Somewhere far away, all to ourselves.  Nobody for miles.”

“How many miles?”

He chuckled a bit to himself.  “Baby, it’s a really big number.  You’re too little to understand.”

Normally you resisted that sort of talk but this time it shut you up.  Hopefully you were beginning to properly realize that this was your new life.

“Are we in New York?” you asked, quieter.

“I’m not sure if I should tell you that yet.  I don’t want you to get any complicated ideas in that pretty little head,” he cooed, kissing your forehead for emphasis before leaving you behind to start cooking dinner.

“I’m not eating with these,” you announced firmly as he set your place at the table with a set of pink, rubber-coated utensils.  

“It’s too messy to eat with your hands,” he frowned.

“Do you honestly not realize that I want to eat with normal utensils?  Or are you just trying to drive me insane?”

Bucky set your plate down a little too firmly, making you and the food on top jump.  “Don’t talk back to me.”  

“I just… it’ll take me forever to finish an adult-sized portion of food with child-sized utensils.”

“Then maybe you’re not ready for an adult-sized portion,” he threatened.  That seemed to get your attention, but you stayed quiet.  “Maybe you’re not hungry at all?”

“I’m hungry,” you denied.  “Please, I want to eat.”

“And I want to eat with you.  But this roundabout is getting on my last nerve, doll.  Now are you gonna be good and eat your dinner?”

“...yes, Daddy,” you sighed.  He smiled and sat down across from you.  You were learning.  Slowly, but surely.

Bath time was always a fight, though.  You still had some ridiculous notions about ‘privacy’ and ‘autonomy’ and crap like that, and it meant that you were likely to act up and refuse to be washed.

“I can do it myself!”

“But you don’t have to, don’t you see?”

“I want to.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around what you want, angel.”

“Let me guess: it revolves around what you want?” “No,” Bucky shook his head and tried to summon some more patience, “I have to take care of you.  Sometimes that means doing things you don’t like, because I know what’s best for you.”

“I hate you,” you mumbled as you turned away, and that really broke his heart.  He knew you didn’t really mean it, but it still hurt.

“Baby… don’t say that,” he pleaded as he turned your face to him.  “It hurts Daddy’s feelings when you say things like that.”

“Yes, that was the idea,” you hissed.  “I just want to take a shower, alone.”

“Any chance you had at that is long gone,” he grimaced.  “What you’re getting is a bath, with me, and if you quit this attitude now you might still be able to avoid getting a spanking as well, do you understand?”

Your shoulders slumped as you nodded.  He knew your poor little bottom was still sore from the last spanking, and as he helped you undress for the bath, he could still see a few welts along the skin.  He kissed them quickly, a reminder to both of you what he was capable of, before helping you into the water and slipping in behind you.  It was spacious, so there was ample room for the two of you, but he still held you close and pressed your back into his chest.  

He had a lot of ideas about what you two could do in this bath, but he knew that now was not the time.  Still, he let his mind wander and smiled to himself when you gasped from his erection pressing into your thigh.

He helped you wash your hair, and for that moment where your head was nearly submerged and he was using his fingers to massage out the shampoo, you looked so peaceful.  He normally only got to appreciate this look on your face as you slept, but you were almost smiling this time, and it made his heart sing.  A week of tantrums was worth it for just a few quiet moments like this.

“I’m gonna let you finish up on your own, okay?  I trust you not to do anything dangerous…” he decided as he stepped out.  

“Really?” your face instantly lit up.  Sure, you’re never supposed to leave them alone in the bath, but he was feeling extra generous and he sympathized with your desire for control.  Freedom could be good for you, in moderation.

“Of course.”

“T-thank you, Daddy,” you awkwardly responded.

He dried off and dressed, and waited nearby in the living room, listening to you drain the bathwater and start a shower.    

You emerged wrapped in a towel and looking slightly lost.

"Honey, where are your clothes?" he asked you with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you informed him.  Oh, right.  You were being resistant to wearing the clothes he had picked out for you.  Apparently you found the overwhelming presence of baby pink to be tacky, and you hated that everything was cute and tiny… he couldn't understand seeing something cute and tiny and not liking it.  After all, you were the most adorable thing he'd laid eyes on and it made it impossible not to like you.  You just needed clothes to match.

“I have clothes laid out for you,” he explained.

“I’d rather be naked than wear what you pick for me,” you snarled.

“Hey, I wouldn’t complain,” he shrugged, trying to suppress his frustration.  “Don’t come bitchin’ to me when you’re cold, though.”

You sat next to him on the couch, defiantly naked and confidently ignoring him.  He admired your stubbornness, or at least he found it amusing.

“Do you wanna watch a movie now?” he asked, but he knew you had figured out that this was a mandatory activity.

“Don’t see any reason to wait,” you smiled sarcastically.

Of course, when he got up to show you some DVDs so you could pick what you wanted (Wall-E; he knew you didn’t actually want to watch that since your typical fare was horror and action movies, but it was your favorite of the options), he quickly turned down the thermostat.  Perhaps a comfortable 55 Fahrenheit would help you remember why it’s important to take what Daddy gives you.

He hadn’t seen Wall-E before but he found it oddly relatable.  A robot, built for someone else’s purpose, abandoned in a filthy, empty world… it brought back some old feelings that he managed to press back down.  

Regardless, he was distracted from it when he could literally feel you shivering from across the couch.

“Are you cold, darling?” he asked presumptuously.

“No,” you denied, barely managing to suppress the chattering of your teeth.

“Do you want the clothes?” 

“Shut up.”

He just laughed a little to himself, ignoring your rude language and turning back to the TV.

It did kill him a bit to have to pretend he didn’t care when you were obviously uncomfortable, but you would’ve been even more irritated with him if he’d held you down and forced you to put the outfit on.

~

This fucker was smart, you’d give him that.  Or maybe it was just that you were stupid.  Not stupid, really, but having no sense of self-preservation.  Why had you chosen this hill to die on?  You couldn’t even remember why you’d put up a fight at all.  You were so cold that you couldn’t even understand what could’ve ever compelled you to reject an offer of clothes.  Didn’t help that you knew he was so close, that if you cuddled up to him you would be warm, but that it would mean the loss of your last shred of dignity.

Only a week and you were starting to completely lose your sense of yourself.  You searched within and couldn’t find any of the fight you’d had so many times before.  You remembered that time you kicked him right in the face, and where you once found pride at the memory, you found guilt.  You felt guilty for hurting him, after everything he’d done to you-- why?

“B-bucky…” you finally relented not even an hour into the movie, stammering from the force of your shivers.

“Hm?”

“I want… I want the c-clothes.”

He smiled a little, in an insulting way.  “Ask nicely, doll.”

“P-please, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He came back with the clothes in hand, but when you reached out for them, he shook his head and motioned for you to stand up.  You sighed but obeyed, your entire body shaking with violent shivers as your bare feet hit the cool concrete floor.  

He knelt down, holding the lace panties open for you as you shyly stepped into them.  He pulled them up to your hips and let the elastic slap your skin a little as he let go, making you jump.  He did the same with the fuzzy pink pyjama pants, running his hands over soft fabric for just a second as he stood up, helping you into the loose grey sweatshirt.  It was the least feminine thing he’d ever let you wear, noticeably absent in anything pink or fuzzy or girly or adorned with bows.  You only realized as it slipped over your head that it was his, because once you plunged into darkness inside of it, you were overwhelmed with the smell of him.  You wouldn’t have known that you could recognize his smell, but now that you were in it, it was undeniable.

You were almost surprised to see him when your head popped through the neckline, somehow.  It’s not as if you had forgotten he was there in the three seconds you couldn’t see him, just that he looked so different to you now.  He had this stoic, nearly stern look on his face as he helped you get your hands through the sleeves, and the way he caressed your fingers as they emerged from the cotton was so upsettingly tender.

“Daddy…” you mumbled, and he looked back at your face.  

“Is this better?  Are you warmer?”

“My feet…” you realized, looking down at them.  

“I’ll get you some socks, baby,” he nodded, dashing away for a moment.  You felt colder with him gone.  It couldn’t be loneliness, could it?  Even knowing he’d only be gone less than a minute, you were unduly anxious for his return.

He came back and held your feet up by the ankle one at a time as he rolled pink fuzzy socks-- with lace at the ankle, of course-- over your feet.  You wiggled your toes into them, finally feeling like you’d be able to get warm again.

“Let’s finish the movie, okay?” he suggested, rubbing his hands on your arms.  You nodded, allowing him to guide you back to the couch and finding yourself cuddling into his side as he laid an arm over your shoulders.

You barely managed to pay attention as you felt his hand slip lower, resting on your waist.  Then your hip, then your thigh.

Something about the way the lace panties rubbed against your pussy made you feel so oddly sensitive, and even the inside of his sweatshirt was just rough enough to make your nipples react every time you adjusted your position.

You figured he realized your condition pretty quickly, but he didn’t react until a moan, so quiet that you were sure he wouldn’t hear it, passed your lips.

“Everything alright, doll?” he asked, failing to hide the fact that he clearly knew the answer.

You didn’t respond, distracted by his other hand reaching over and stroking your thigh.  You were caged in his embrace now, and your heart raced in a way that was oddly lacking in fear.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he demanded, watching your nervous reaction to his intensity.

“Daddy I… I feel tingly,” you murmured, feeling yourself blush.

“Where, baby?”

“D-down there,” you admitted as you forced your eyes shut, too embarrassed to look him in the face as you said it.

“You need Daddy’s help?”

“Please,” you whispered, hating yourself a little for needing him but too desperate to really care.

In one motion he’d already turned the TV off, pulled you onto his lap, and started kissing where the baggy neckline of the sweatshirt exposed your collarbone.

You were rubbing yourself on his thigh and you didn’t even know how to stop.  It felt so good.  It made your skin warm up even faster as you recovered from the cold.  

He slipped his right hand into your pants as the other pulled you closer until your face was buried in his neck.  If there was anything worth appreciating about Bucky, it was how good he was with his fingers.  He knew your body better than you did at this point-- but then again, he had spent so much time exploring it in one week that he was probably competing with you already in terms of practice time.  

“Oh my god,” you moaned as his fingers moved faster and firmer, making your hips jerk forward unexpectedly.  

“It feels good?” he asked in that way that made it obvious he knew the answer.

“Yes, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whimpered.  You’d gotten pretty good by now at appeasing him by performing the role he wanted you to play… so good, in fact, that it was starting to feel very real.

Just as you were grabbing onto his shoulders to hold you steady through your orgasm, he was pulling out his hand and reaching for his own pants instead.

“Need to be inside you,” he explained quickly as he pushed them down and revealed his hard, leaking cock.  “I need to be inside you when I make you come.”

He helped you slide off your pants and underwear but pulled you back into his lap the absolute second they were discarded.  He slid you down onto his cock with a groan, and your face was so hot as you processed how wet you were, how easily he entered you.  Your joy halted, though, when he held your hips down.  You tried to wiggle around for some friction but he was so strong that it was a complete waste.

“Daddy,” you mumbled with confusion, “what are you doing?”

“You’re mine, baby, ‘m gonna use you how I please,” he reminded you darkly, “and right now I want you to stay still and wait.”

“But--” 

He slapped your ass harshly, and you whimpered but decided not to put up much more of a fight.

All the while as you tried to stay still, he was kissing your neck and jaw and cheeks, murmuring praises and leaving the softest bite marks every once in a while.

“Please let me move,” you sobbed against his shoulder, having to fight everything in you not to start grinding on him like your life depended on it.

“I’m not ready yet,” he denied.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you whimpered.  “I’ll do anything.  I just need to come, and I need to make you come, please…”

With a hand on either side of your hips, he started to move you on top of him, excruciatingly slow.  Your head fell back from how wonderful just that felt.  

“Anything?  You’re gonna spoil me talking like that, doll.”

“Oh god, anything, just move a little faster, please,” you begged.  Of course you knew it was a bad idea, and you figured you were going to regret saying it, but your need was surpassing your sanity at the moment.

He grabbed your face and pulled you down until your lips were almost brushing his, but not quite.  “Keep riding my cock, babygirl.”  You nodded, finally free to pick up the pace to where you wanted it, and you bit your lip as his cock stretched you exactly how you needed it to.

“Daddy, you feel so good inside me,” you moaned.

“I can tell,” he smiled, “you’re making those perfect noises, it’s killing me not to flip you over and fuck you so hard right now.”

You were much more inspired by that mental image than you expected to be.  Those few times he’d gotten really rough with you, it had made you so wet you thought you might get dehydrated.

When he spoke again, his voice was so low that it sounded like a growl, echoing in his chest and making shivers run up your spine.  “I know what I want you to do for me.”

You swallowed and braced yourself as he pulled you even closer, looking right into your eyes.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded.

You gasped, tears starting to burn at the back of your eyes.  It was the last thing you expected, but it also tracked.  Of course that was what he wanted.  But now that you were trying to form words and nothing would come out, you were kind of wishing he’d just said he wanted anal.

“D-daddy,” you stammered, distracted by him grabbing your hips and moving you even faster on top of him.  He was practically throwing you up and down on top of him, and somehow doing it effortlessly.

“Just say it,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you whispered back.  He smiled and pulled you into a deep kiss, swallowing every moan as you felt yourself barrelling towards your peak.

“Please, I’m about to come-- can I come, Daddy?”

“Almost,” he nodded, “say it again, babygirl.”

“I love you,” you panted, “Daddy, I love you, please--”

“One more time,” he grunted, watching your face. 

“I love you!” you yelped, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer and feeling your walls flutter as sensation washed over you.  Thankfully he wasn’t far behind, only thrusting up into you a few more times before he spilled himself with a groan.

He kissed you long and slow, staying inside you even as his cock began to soften a little.  When he pulled away, he looked up at you with an expression that brimmed with restrained excitement.

“Oh, doll, you have no idea how good it is to finally hear you say that,” he beamed.  “We’re gonna be so happy here together… just me and my best girl, right?”

“Right,” you smiled, but as soon as you blinked a tear was rolling down your cheek.  He wiped it away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, “everything’s finally the way it’s supposed to be.  You’re finally where you belong, with me.”

You nodded weakly and felt whatever grip you had on your sanity loosening.  Dreams of escape faded as he carried you to bed, holding you in his arms all night long.  You were beginning to embrace the simplicity of just letting life happen to you.  For every time you felt belittled and patronized by his coddling, there was another time that you secretly felt protected and loved.  The truth was, even though you had experienced so much that you couldn’t begin to describe in the past week, you had been relieved of so much of the stress you dealt with before.  As you drifted to sleep, you only hoped that you could manage to hide that truth from yourself just a little bit longer.

~

He was honestly proud of himself for managing to keep his hands off you while you slept all this time.  But it wasn’t too much longer before you woke him up with your stirring.  At first he was just going to give you a quick hug and then get back to sleep, but then as he pulled you closer, he realized you were dreaming.  And when you moaned quietly in your sleep, he realized it wasn’t just any dream.

He smiled to himself as he kissed your neck gently, wondering if you would wake up or not.  It was sort of a win-win either way for him.  He let his hands slide down your body, listening to your breathing as it began to pick up.  Your mouth fell open and it made your sounds even more apparent as he carefully opened your legs.

“Oh baby, you’re drenched,” he murmured to no one in particular, admiring the way your pussy glistened in the low light of the room.  This was one of those times that he really appreciated his choice to make you sleep naked almost every night.

One metal finger sliding through your folds made you shiver.  He wondered if it was from arousal or if the metal felt cold on your warm skin.  Your clit was swollen, and apparently extra sensitive from the way your sleeping body erupted in goosebumps when he drew lazy circles around it.

Suddenly lacking in the patience more foreplay would require, he found himself shoving down his boxers and stroking his cock, preparing to push into you.  If that didn’t wake you up, he’d be slightly concerned… but he wasn’t sure if he’d be concerned enough to stop fucking you.  Thankfully he didn’t have to face that dilemma because the second he was pressing his head into your opening, your eyes flew open.

“Daddy!” you yelped, your voice sounding a little strange as you were torn from your sleep.

He bottomed out and groaned softly, relishing how tightly you wrapped around him.  “You looked so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t help myself.”

You mewled but said nothing, only wrapping your hands around his biceps as he pulled back to thrust into you again.  

“What were you dreaming about?” he asked firmly.

“N-nobody-- I mean, uh, nothing,” you stumbled over your words.

“Oh, you can’t lie to me very well can you?  It’s okay doll, you can tell me, but if it’s someone other than me I’m probably gonna kill him.”

He felt you tense up a little and he knew he’d scared you.  He sort of wanted to do it again, because he loved the way your cunt tightened in that moment, but he decided against it.

“Aw, I’m just joking,” he dismissed, though he wasn’t quite sure if he actually was or not.  “Go ahead, tell me what you were dreaming.”

“Y-you were there,” you explained, “but it wasn’t just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Um, yeah,” you deflected nervously.

“Go ahead, spit it out,” he hissed as he started to thrust into you a bit harder.  

“Well, uh, Steve was there too,” you finally admitted.  A lot of emotions hit him at once when he heard you say that.  Of course jealousy was prominent, but it was different than it would’ve been before... you were home now, and nobody could take you away.  Both of you knew that.  So it might have been a slight blow to the ego, but he didn’t see Steve as a threat.  What he did see was an opportunity to make you squirm, which he was always looking for.

“Was he watching us?” Bucky pressed.

“Uh, sort of…” you trailed off.

He leaned down, putting his lips right against your ear.  “Was he fucking you?”

You whimpered but he could tell you were turned on.  He reached down and roughly rubbed at your clit.  “Be honest, darling.”

“He wasn’t,” you explained, “you were; you said he wasn’t allowed to… but I gave him a-- a blowjob.”

As much as Bucky wasn’t exactly the sharing type, he was intrigued by the mental image of you stuffed with cock at both ends like that.  Even more so he was intrigued by the fact that it apparently turned you on.

“Is that what you want, huh?  One cock isn’t good enough for you?  Who knew you were such a fucking slut.”

“‘M not!” you denied.

“Then why are you soaked from dreaming about choking on somebody else’s cock while I fuck you, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“And how did you feel when I told Stevie he wasn’t allowed to fuck you?  Even in your sleep you know your Daddy owns you.  That this is my hole and I decide everything that happens to it.”

You moaned so loud that he was afraid he would come right then and there.  You sounded like heaven.  He thrust into you as hard and deep as he could, slamming into your cervix and hitting your clit with his pelvis with each brutal motion.  You cried out and dug your nails into his skin.  

“Fuck, you like it rough don’t you?  Of course you do.  ‘Cause you’re Daddy’s needy little whore.”

“Yes, I’m close!” you yelped.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna let you come until you beg for it.  Seems like you need to remember that I’m the only one for you.”

“Just you, Daddy, I only want you!” you reassured, but he wasn’t buying it.

“I’d die before I let you get on your knees for another man, do you believe me babygirl?”

“Yes, I know Daddy, I’m yours, there’s nobody else.”

“If you wanna come you better start askin’ really nice,” he growled.

“Please, Daddy, I want you to make me come!  It feels so good, please…”

“Keep going.”

“You’re amazing, your cock feels amazing, I wanna come for you so bad--”

“Fuck, baby, beg me to use you.”

He knew you were flustered by that.

“I-- I don’t know how,” you protested.

“Oh come on, you’re dumb but you’re not that dumb,” he grinned.  “Just how I said it.”

“Use me,” you murmured in defeat, “please.”

“That’s it,” he praised, “just like that-- come for me, doll.”

You were so obedient, tightening around him and nearly screaming with pleasure the moment he commanded you to.  He wasn’t far behind, succumbing to the perfection of your wet heat and filling it with his climax.

“Fuck!” he groaned when he hit the peak of it, trying somehow to focus entirely on both the way you felt and the way you sounded.

Normally he cleaned you up after this but right now he wanted his come to leak out of you all night, make your thighs and the sheets sticky.  Apparently you had some sort of implant or something which kept you safe… he was trying not to count the days until it wore off.  He figured you would totally lose it if he told you that he wanted to get you pregnant, and yet, he was surprised that you hadn’t asked him about getting your implant replaced.

~

You knew that life was unpredictable and all that, but if never in a million years would you have expected for the Winter Soldier to be painting your nails.  But there he was, focused intently on each stroke of the tiny brush as he held your hand still.

“This’ll help you stop chewing your nails,” he gave as his excuse.  It was almost believable, except that he did your toes too.  Amazingly enough, you’d never chewed on those.

They were actually sort of pretty, if you were being honest.  You admired them a little, as they dried.  It wasn’t a perfect paint job by any means, but much better than you expected from Bucky and honestly, a bit better than you would’ve done it in all likelihood.  The baby pink color was a little nauseating as always, but it admittedly did look nice with your skin tone. 

“What do you say?” he prompted.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you smiled.  “It looks nice.”

“You’re welcome, angel.  I think so too.  We’ll take ‘em for a spin when they’re dry.”

You swallowed.  You had a pretty good idea of what that would entail.

Next was your hair.  Pigtails, the way he always did it.  You never quite understood what he liked so much about turning you into a girlier, more childish version of yourself, but you were finally embracing the things that you liked about being in this role.  He certainly pampered you, which was hard to complain about.  In your whole time here (you struggled to keep track but it must have been over a month now) you'd never cooked once.

After lunch he had you on your knees, looking up at him while you started to unzip his fly.  You found yourself salivating a little as you pulled his half-hard cock out of his boxers.

“Baby, your hands are so small…” he noticed reverently.  “Barely fit around it.”

“It’s not that they’re small, it’s that you’re so big,” you replied, more honest than you were used to being with him.

“You flatter me,” he grinned.  “Do it some more.”

You felt put on the spot, but feared disappointing him.  “Daddy, your cock is… so big,” you improvised, still stroking him as he got harder for you, “I can’t believe it fits inside me.”

“Hmm, it almost doesn’t,” he recalled.

“But it feels so good when-- when I get used to you and, um, your cock… stretches me…”

He groaned a little, and you moved your hand faster.

“Fills me up so good, Daddy,” you moaned, getting more into it than you had intended to.  “Your cock feels so fucking good, it’s like it’s made for me--”

He cut you off suddenly by pushing you back onto the mattress, hovering over you as a muscular hand wrapped around your throat.

“Got quite the mouth on ya, doll,” he growled.  “Do I need to wash it out with soap?” 

You shook your head; he wasn’t choking you hard enough to stop you from speaking entirely if you had really wanted to, but you were too stunned to say much.  His attitude could flip on a dime like this, and you could never see it coming.  The fear made your heart race; the anticipation made your thighs clench together.  

He smiled as he pulled back, letting go of your neck and reaching for his cock instead.  “I can tell you’re worked up.  Go ahead, touch yourself.”

You hesitated because typically that would be an infraction, but he nodded for you to continue as you nervously reached between your legs.   

You gasped softly when you touched your clit: it was swollen, and especially sensitive.  You hadn't realized how turned on you really were.  Slowly, you started to rub circles around it as your hips rocked with your movements.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, and when you looked up at him, he was stroking himself as well.  You nodded quickly.  "'M gonna come on that pretty face, little one.  Beg me for it."

"Daddy…" you murmured in shock, "I… want you to come on my face, please.  Wanna be covered in it."

"You're not a good liar," he grinned.  "I know you really want me to fuck you."

He wasn't wrong, so you nodded again and watched his hand speed up as it moved up and down his length.

"You poor thing," he cooed.  "I fuck you daily and you're so disappointed to be going without, to just be getting my come on your face like the dirty little whore you are."

His words stung but your hand was moving faster between your legs.

"You're getting close, aren't you?  Wait until I'm ready," he ordered.  You swallowed dryly but slowed down a little to buy yourself some time.  

He grunted a bit and you really hoped it was signalling an orgasm because you felt yours building unstoppably.  You didn't even think you could pull your hand away from yourself if he asked you to, you needed to come so bad.

"Fuck, open your mouth baby-- stick your tongue out," he commanded quickly, stepping forward until his cock was casting a shadow over your face.  "Oh god, just like that… ready baby?"

You nodded one more time and heard yourself panting loudly through your open mouth, your moans only interrupted by a wince as his come spurted forward and painted your face and exposed tongue in hot stripes.  Your orgasm hit just in time, embarrassingly spurred on by the degrading position you were in.  

When he was done-- which seemed to take forever because he came so much-- he started to catch his breath before slipping his softening cock onto your come-coated tongue and into your waiting mouth.

"Mm, you look so good like this," he praised, "I'm not sure I wanna let you wipe it off."

A flesh thumb moved down to your cheek and rubbed a stray drop of spend into your skin.  

"My perfect little cum dumpster, huh?" he said proudly, as if it was an award or achievement or something, and not a sick, insulting term.

Weird thing was, you felt proud of yourself, too.

~

He’d been working outside all day, chopping firewood in preparation for the upcoming winter.  Sure, the cabin had heating, but he had a lot of ideas about cuddling in front of the fire, or maybe making love beside it.  

Regardless, even super soldiers tire and must rest after working.  He decided to head inside and heat up something warm to stave off the cold.  You were still sleeping last he’d checked, exhausted from a long night-- yes, that kind of long night.  He almost felt guilty for putting your body through so much…  you were so delicate, sometimes he forgot you couldn’t always handle what he could.  However, you were stronger than you realized, and such a perfectly obedient little girl; he smiled at the memory of your skin under his fingertips, your fragile form writhing and whimpering beneath him as he’d taken you for hours.  As he daydreamed and began to enter the kitchen, he was torn from his imagination by a sound from your room.  At first he wondered if he’d misheard it, but when he heard you cry out again, he assumed you were hurt and nearly tripped over himself to run to you.  His heart was racing and he almost considered reaching for his sidearm-- there was no way someone could’ve broken in and tried to hurt you, right?

But as he flung open the door, instead he found you alone with your hand between your legs.  You jumped up when you saw him, but it was too late.

“The fuck are you doing?!” he exclaimed, climbing onto the bed and trapping you before you could crawl backwards away from him.

“I-- I was just--”

He cut you off with a quick slap to the face.  Not to hurt you, just to get you to focus on him.

“You know you can’t touch yourself without my permission.  Did you forget?”

“No…” you murmured ashamedly.

“If you knew it was wrong, why did you do it?”

“I… I just missed you…”

“Why didn’t you call me for help?  I can’t take care of you if you don’t ask.”

“I knew you were busy, I didn’t want to bother you--”

“Show me what you did,” he growled, watching you sheepishly spread your legs again to reveal your wet pussy and swollen clit.  “Oh doll, you really did a number on yourself.  Did you come without me?”

You looked away.

“Don’t bother lying.  Did you make yourself come with your fingers?”

“Yes…” 

You were hiding something.  He almost didn’t want to know the entire truth because it was breaking his heart to know you’d disobeyed so severely, but he had to know what happened if he was going to discipline you properly.

“Was it more than once?”

You shook your head and his blood went cold upon the realization that you were hiding something worse.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked you slowly.  He could hear your breathing quickened and he was sure he might die if you said what he was afraid of.  “Answer me.”

“I was thinking about… being fucked…”

“By who?” he asked.  You opened your mouth instantly but he cut you off.  “Don’t lie.”

You spoke but it was so weak that it wasn’t even a whisper.  “What was that?” he pressed.

“Sam,” you finally relented, “it was Sam.”

He was livid, but at least it wasn’t Steve.  

“Go stand beside the bed and kneel,” he commanded firmly.  You nodded weakly and slithered out from under him to do as he asked.  

He took a deep, slow breath hoping to calm himself a little.  He had heard that you shouldn’t punish little girls when you’re angry.  But he needed to nip this in the bud.

He got off the bed and approached you after a moment, running a finger under your chin and guiding you to look up at him.

“You understand you’ve been very naughty, don’t you?” he asked with a cold fury tinting his voice.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answered.  Clearly you were trying to be extra good and dutiful, hoping that strict adherence to the rules from here on out could save you some pain.  You weren’t wrong, but he wished that you would’ve had that attitude a little sooner.

“And if I don’t teach you a lesson, that would be unfair to both of us.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and opened his belt and fly, pulling out his cock.  He sensed that you were compelled to lean forward and take it in your mouth, but you stayed still; you knew he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do.

As he stroked his cock to full hardness, he glared at you so intensely that you couldn’t keep his gaze, looking up briefly but always glancing back down to the floor shamefully.  

“I-I’m sorry, Da-” you began weakly.

“You’ll speak when spoken to,” he interjected harshly.  Finally, he held your jaw with one hand, the other holding his cock forward as he plunged it between your lips.  He moaned a little when you swirled your tongue over it, doing your best to coat every inch of it in wetness.

As quickly as he had pushed in, he pulled out again.  He slapped his cock on your face, smearing your own spit on your cheek.  He rubbed his tip over your lips in a circle, but when you opened up your mouth for him, instead he leaned forward and spit into your open mouth.

“Swallow it,” he demanded through his teeth, and you did though it made you shudder with disgust.

Only then did he shove his cock in again, and with brutal force as well.  He used fistfuls of your hair to pull your face up and down on his cock, ignoring your whimpers of pain.

The room was filled with the sounds of your choking and coughing, until those extended periods of silence when his cock was shoved all the way into your throat and you couldn’t even get enough air for that.  It was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard in his life.

When he pulled you off of him to look at your face, he grinned proudly.  “Doll, you look like a fuckin’ mess.”  And it was true; spit and pre-cum dribbling down your chin and onto the floor, red nose and puffy eyes from crying… truly a sight to behold.

He gave you one more slap for good measure, the fist in your hair preventing your head from spinning to the side.  

“Gonna fuckin’ come in your throat.  You’d better swallow it all, bitch.”

He could feel your whole body jerk when he said it, and it only served to make your throat even tighter around him.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, “just like that, choke on me, fuck, oh god, fuck--”

He came with a stuttered moan and the sounds of protest you tried to make were lost as cum filled your throat and mouth.  

He smiled when you swallowed quickly, determined to obey.  He wasn’t even done coming yet and you were swallowing it.  Probably a good strategy; he had been pent up for a while now and he probably could’ve filled your tiny mouth until it was leaking.

When he was sure every drop of come had been spilled and swallowed, he pulled out and gave you some reprieve.  You gasped for air loudly, coughing a few times but mostly maintaining your composure like the good little slut you were.

He watched you shift your hip uncomfortably and realized you must be quite agitated yourself.

“If you want something from me, just ask,” he encouraged.  “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?”

“Please fuck me,” you whimpered.

He wagged his finger disapprovingly.  “I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Please!” you yelped, and he yanked you off the floor and into his lap quickly.

“You get so dumb when you need me,” he growled into your ear.  “So desperate that you don’t know how to think about anything else but cock.  Isn’t that right?”

You nodded with a gasp.

“You’re my dumb little baby, aren’t you?  Say it," he hissed in demand.

“I’m your dumb little baby,” you repeated breathlessly.

“Get on your hands and knees and get that ass up.”

You obeyed quickly, almost eagerly, and he grinned at your obedience.  You really needed it bad, and he was helpless but to oblige you.  As soon as he was on his knees behind you and lining up with your sopping entrance, he was shoving his cock into you all at once.

You yelped at the brutality of the intrusion; he stayed still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your warmth, before pulling back out again.

“Wh-?” you began to protest in confusion, but he was a step ahead of you.

“That was just to get my cock wet, baby.”

One metal finger slipped into your puckered hole and you yelped.  “D-daddy, not there!”

“Shhh, just relax,” he soothed.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you whined.

“That’s sort of the idea,” he explained.  “I know what you can handle, doll.”

“And I can handle this?”

“I never said that.”

And with only one more finger and a few more minutes of hasty preparation, he was pushing his cock into your tighter hole.

“Shh,” he soothed when he felt you clench around him, but still pushing forward, indifferent to your hiss of pain.  

“It hurts!” you sobbed.

“I know baby, you’re just gonna have to take it.  This wouldn’t be happening if you had just asked me to help you.”

You pouted and it was equal parts adorable and pathetic.  “I’m sorry!”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time to apologize.  Right now you just need to be quiet.  Don’t you wanna be a good little girl?”

“Y-yes.”

He started to move his cock inside you and you shivered under him.  

“Please come,” you begged weakly after a few more minutes of thrusting.

“You wanna get it over with?  Don’t like it?”

You nodded and he did feel bad for you, but he knew it was what you needed.

“I’ll come when I’m ready, doll.  Just take Daddy’s cock, ‘s all you’re good for anyways, right angel?”

You nodded and bit back another sob, blissfully unaware of his adoring gaze; you looked so cute crying for his cock.  He liked being strong enough to hurt you almost as much as he liked being strong enough to protect you.

“My perfect little crybaby,” he cooed.  “Don’t whine too much or I’ll have to stuff that filthy mouth with a paci, alright?”

He watched you bite your lip and try to stay calm.  Out of pity, he moved a little slower than he wanted to, giving you some more time to adjust.  Eventually he felt you relaxing, though you still yelped a little when he pushed in all the way.  It was hard to choose between watching your face or watching his cock stretch open your hole.

“God, you’re takin’ me so well,” he praised.  “Who knew you were such a whore, huh?”

Before you could deny it, he reached down and swiped his fingers through your folds quickly, groaning when he felt how swollen and wet they were.  “Fuck, baby, you’re drenched.  You like getting fucked up the ass; such a dirty little slut.”

“Just for you, Daddy,” you informed him with a weak voice.  He was still angry with you, of course, but he was so proud of you, too.  He could remember all those times you’d tried to run or fight, now you were just laying there and taking it like a champ-- no restraints, no threats, just the desire to be good for him.  You were everything he’d ever dreamed you could be and more.

The thought spurred his orgasm ahead sooner than he expected, but he still wanted to hold back.  You needed more to learn your lesson, and he wanted to savor this feeling as long as possible.

His fingers had been digging into the supple flesh of your hips and ass, hard enough to bruise, but you felt too warm and too soft, so he gripped the sheets instead in his attempts to stave off his rupture.

But it wasn’t much longer until the tightness of you, the heat of you, the sweetness of your sobs all became too perfect to ignore.  His cock was aching for release, and if he denied himself much more, he figured his balls would never relax from their tightened state.

“I think you’re ready to apologize now,” he groaned.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you sobbed.  “I swear, I’ll never touch myself without your permission again-- and I’ll never think about anybody but you!  I only want you, I swear!”

“You sure, baby?  You don’t think Sam would treat you better?” he mocked.  Sam definitely would be nicer to you, but there was no way he could treat you better than Bucky did.  Maybe you wanted a guy who was sweeter, more traditional, but this was what you needed and only your Daddy could give that to you.

“I’m sure!  I only want you, please!  Please, please come.”

“Is that what you want, angel?  Want me to come in your tight little ass?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please…?”

“Please, Daddy.”

And he came, though it was a little more physically taxing since it was the second of the night.  You whimpered a little but he could tell you were relieved it was over.

You didn’t put up any fight at bath time that night, just curled into his arms and let him wash you as you whispered more apologies.  

“Shh, it’s alright,” he soothed as he washed your hair, whispering right against your ear before giving it a little kiss.  “You did good, baby.  You made a mistake but you’re gonna learn from it and we’re gonna be better than ever.  You took your punishment so well, darling, you should be proud.”

~

Today you'd woken up to an empty house, with a note on the kitchen table:

Gone for groceries, I'll be back in the afternoon.  When I get home, greet me at the door wearing what I've laid out for you in your closet.

You figured it wasn't going to be something conservative by any means, but you were still taken aback by finding a tail, collar, and cat-ear headband.  The collar was pink leather with a tiny bell and a little heart-shaped steel tag with your name on it.  The realization that he had this custom-made sent a shiver down your back.  On the back of the tag was another engraving:

IF LOST RETURN TO BUCKY BARNES

You were a little concerned about wearing only a collar, ears and tail… especially when you realized how the tail was intended to be worn.

Still, you had become thoroughly obedient, and you trusted that this would make him happy which was all you could hope for.  You fought past your hesitation and changed out of your pajamas into the outfit (if it could even be called that when it contained no actual clothing).

He had the biggest grin on his face when he opened the door to find you on your knees just outside the entryway.

“Oh look at you, kitten,” he beamed.

Being naked on the floor was cold and awkward.  You crossed your arms to cover your chest, frowning as you tried to avoid his penetrating gaze.  “This is stupid.  I feel stupid.”

“You are stupid," he smiled.  "But you look great!  Now behave or you’ll have to eat out of a bowl on the floor until you’ve learned to love being Daddy’s pet.”

Your eyes went wide.

“You’re gonna behave, right?”

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

He smiled and curled his finger, motioning for you to come closer.  You awkwardly crawled towards him on your hands and knees, biting your lip absent-mindedly.  When you were on the floor in front of his legs, he knelt down a bit and grabbed a handful of your ass.  It made the plug inside you shift and you whimpered.

“Mm, this tail looks lovely on you,” he praised.  “And the ears… you’re a natural.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you shyly accepted the compliment.

"I bet you got wet putting this on, huh?" he presumed.  You nodded as he moved to rub two fingers through your folds, proving himself right.

When he leaned back and pulled his cock from his jeans, you were surprised at how hard it already was.  Clearly the kitten thing was working for him.

"Go ahead kitty, I know you want a taste," he encouraged.

You leaned forward and gave, fittingly, small kitten licks to the tip of his cock and he groaned.  “Just like that, fuck.”

You hummed when you tasted his pre-cum on your tongue.  You’d gotten so accustomed to it that you actually enjoyed the flavor now.

Hesitantly, you wrapped your lips around the head and suckled on it gently.  Apparently, he didn’t care much for the slow-but-steady method; he slipped two fingers under your collar and used it to pull you down further until you choked.  

He continued to guide you forward and back, moaning every time your throat accepted the leaking head of his cock.

“You don’t want me to come in your mouth, do you?” he asked with a grunt.

You shook your head.  

He grinned knowingly, pushing you back until your mouth was empty and free to respond.  “Where do you want it?” 

“In my pussy.”

“Full sentences only, please.”

“I want you to come in my pussy, Daddy, please.”

“Hmm, you did ask very nicely,” he smiled.  “But I have something else to do first.  Go get on the couch, kitten, hands and knees.”

You almost stood up but realized he wanted you to crawl again.  As soon as you’d done it, he was behind you, humming contentedly as he ran his rough hands over your skin.  You mewled when he started to kiss along your back, down your ass and between your thighs until he was licking long stripes through your folds.  Both of you moaned when he sucked your clit into his mouth, even allowing it to graze against his teeth which nearly hurt but made you gush with wetness anyways.

"Please-- I'm close, Daddy, can I come?" you whimpered.

"Go ahead," he mumbled before returning to his work, knowing exactly how to use his tongue to take you apart in mere minutes.  Your hands grabbed desperately at the back of the couch for stability as your legs began to quiver with the force of your orgasm.  You yelped and bit down on your lip as it crashed over you; sometimes when he ate you out, he wouldn't stop after you'd came and keep going until you were begging for mercy, but he was apparently feeling generous today and stopped once you'd finished.

That, of course, did not mean he was finished with you.

He pushed his jeans down to his thighs and laid back onto the mattress, cock so hard that it was pressing into his abs.

“Come on kitten, ride me,” he grinned, motioning for you to climb on top of him.  The moment you did he was rubbing his cock against you, pushing it upwards for you to sink down onto it.  You moaned as it stretched you open, and when your hips met his, the tip of it brushed against the deepest places inside you.  You yelped and tried to move back up but he suddenly grabbed your legs and held you down.

“Nuh-uh, kitten, no running away.  You’re gonna take all of me.”

“It’s too deep,” you protested weakly, even though you felt your walls throbbing with pleasure.

“Not at all, angel; you’re made for me, so you fit me perfectly,” he explained.  “If I let you go, you’re gonna ride me properly, take my whole cock, right?”

You nodded and he eased up his grip.  You felt your legs shaking as little as you pushed yourself up only to drop back down, wincing as he filled you so completely once again.  You repeated the movement over and over, picking up pace and moaning every time.  You could feel his cock moving the plug inside your ass, and each bounce on top of him made your collar jingle a little.

You did your best to keep up the pace, but to lift yourself required use of a muscle that you clearly hadn't been getting much exercise for; it wasn't more than a few minutes before you were faltering, your moans of pleasure accented with the struggling groans of exhaustion.

"Oh kitty, are you too weak?  Too wimpy and small to ride my cock?  Baby… that's pathetic," he moped.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," you pouted.  "I'm just tired…"

"Just a little longer, kitten, just ride my cock a little more then I'll help you out, okay?  I know you can do it.  I know you can be a good girl."

You hoped he was right.  You nodded weakly as he looked at you expectantly, before slowly beginning to move again in spite of your sore thighs.

Soon, as he'd promised, he pulled you down and wrapped his arms around you, thrusting up into you.  Your moans echoed against his skin when your face was shoved into the crook of his neck.  When his cock slammed into your most sensitive spot, you bit him there as a way to stifle yourself and he slapped your ass.

“Only bad kittens bite, doll.  I thought you were going to be a good kitten for me?”

“Feels so good,” you tried to explain though it came out slurred, “please don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop, baby.  Not gonna stop until that pussy is full of my come.  That what you want?”

“Yes,” you pleaded, “oh god, yes, please…”

He moaned loudly as his thrusts lost all rhythm, his cock moving so fast inside you that the sensation became one hot blur against your walls.  Finally, as he groaned and gripped you tight enough to bruise, he spilled inside you. 

As he let out a long breath and his body relaxed under you, he smiled softly.  "You really are perfect, pet."

"C-can I take off the ears now?  And the tail?"

"Hmm, not yet," he grinned, "we need to take a few pictures of you like this first."

~

He was working in the kitchen when he heard your footsteps approaching.

"Don't come in here!" he ordered you.  "Wait for me at the dining table."

"Why, Daddy?" he heard you respond from the hall.  He smiled just to hear your sweet voice.

"It's a surprise, babydoll," he explained.  "It's almost ready-- just wait, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," you answered dutifully, your footsteps moving to the dining area as he'd requested.

Stepping back and admiring his work, he lifted it and turned out the door to deliver your surprise: a cake, with pink frosting and one pink candle.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him holding the cake stand, being careful not to tilt it or get the flame of the candle near his long hair.

He smiled and set it in front of you, looking to your face for a reaction.  Suddenly he felt self-conscious about it, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.   "Um, I made it myself.  Sorry if the decorating isn't that nice…"

"It's beautiful, Daddy, and I bet it'll taste great, too," you beamed.  "What's the occasion?"

"It's our anniversary," he replied, his voice suddenly low and dark.

He saw recognition cross your face, though you looked confused as well.  The meds he'd given you throughout the year had disrupted your memories, and probably distorted your perception of the passage of time as well, but it was all necessary to get you compliant.  He hoped reminding you of that somewhat violent first day wouldn't set back any of your progress.

"I've… been here a year?" you asked weakly.

"We've been here a year," he corrected, sitting down beside you and wrapping an arm around you, "but that's not what we're celebrating."

The hand on your shoulder slipped down to the underside of your arm, stroking it slowly.

"We're celebrating that a medication somebody gave you a long time ago, before we were together, is finally worn off," he explained slowly, a grin creeping across his face. "We're celebrating that the next time I come inside you, I'm gonna get you pregnant."

He didn't fuck you for three days after that, loving the way you were clearly on edge as you waited for him to make good on his promise.  And he didn't blame you for being nervous about it, even if you seemed to understand that any protest from you would fall on deaf ears.

So, he was quite taken aback when you came onto him one night, bedtime cuddling quickly turning into something more as you rubbed your ass against his crotch.  He hadn't even realized that you would want it all on your own.

God, you were so fucking perfect he couldn't stand it.

"What are you doing, angel?" he asked you with a growl as he grabbed your hips and forced them to still.

"Nothing, Daddy," you answered coyly.  He grinned and nipped at your earlobe.

"Are you horny, babygirl?  Because you're acting like a whore."

You nodded and gasped, shivering under his touch.

"Want Daddy's cock inside you?" he pressed, voice getting darker.

"Yes, please!" you begged.

He sat up and flipped you onto your back, caging you in with his arms as he hovered above you.

“You wanna have my baby?” he asked in a husky whisper.

“Yes,” you nodded your head quickly.

“Want me to knock you up, doll?  Right now?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

He leaned down, almost close enough to kiss you, as his gaze wandered over your face  “I don’t want it to be like the other times.  None of the crazy shit, nothing rough.  If I’m gonna get you pregnant--”

“Whatever you want,” you pleaded.

He kissed you suddenly, deep and slow.  “I love you,” he told you quickly as he pulled back, breathless but confident.  

“I love you too,” you answered without even questioning it.

He was gentle, and thorough, and patient.  It was love-making in a way that was out of character for him.  He lifted your legs to wrap around his hips, pushing into you as deep as he could but with a contemplative slowness; he cradled your face in his hands and kissed all over it as he praised you in whispers.

My pretty girl, my perfect little girl, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.

You were only moans and sobs, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.  

The first time you came was unexpected, building slowly but crashing into you all at once, judging by the way you went from softly whimpering to nearly screaming in seconds.  The second was quieter, more subtle, but he could tell by the way your walls tightened around him.  The third left you in tears, beyond overstimulated and broken down into a babbling mess.

“Please,” you cried, “please I need you to come-- come inside me.”

He struggled to resist that offer, but he didn't want it to be over too quickly.

“Soon,” he promised, “I’m close.  You feel so good.”

You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close for a kiss but stopping as his mouth brushed against yours.

“Please, Bucky… please come…” you whispered.

He moaned, his thrusts getting a little more erratic.

“Need it so bad,” you whimpered, “need you to put your baby in me--”

“Fuck,” he hissed, “‘m gonna, promise.”

“Now,” you demanded through your teeth, “I need it now.”

“Not until you come one more time,” he responded.  You whined and he knew you were questioning whether it was possible.  “I know you can, just gimme one more.”

His angle shifted and he stayed deep within you, grinding his hips on yours just the right way to rub your clit with his pubic bone.  Your back arched but he held you close, barraging you with the sensation and pressing his forehead to yours.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for dear life, as if you were afraid to fall.  He smiled and kissed your neck, feeling your walls flutter around him once again.

“That’s it,” he praised, “I know you’re close.  Just let go.  I’ve got you.”

Tears streamed down your face as it tore through you, hitting you so hard that instead of moans it was just silence.  He watched your face intently, breathing through his teeth as he summoned all his willpower to hold on just a little longer.  

"Daddy!" you yelped, and he couldn't take any more: with a high-pitched, stuttered moan, he felt his cock flexed as he came harder than maybe he ever had before.  Knowing that you were fertile made it all so much more intense.  Normally, his orgasm just meant the end of sex-- maybe just for a few minutes on a good day.  But now?  Now it was the beginning of something.  His perfect little angel was going to finally fulfill her final purpose and give him a baby.  He'd waited so long, dreamed of it every day for years, and finally it was going to happen.  

He refused to pull out or let you move until he was sure it would take; he killed the time by kissing every part of your face and neck that he could reach.

He hadn't even gotten you pregnant yet, technically, and he already couldn't wait for more children.  He'd always wanted to have a big family, but he gave up on that dream years ago; meeting you had brought it all back, and made him realize that all this time he'd just been waiting for the perfect wife to start it with.

You were well worth the wait.

[earnestly-endlessly]

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

[jjungkookislife]

Secret ||PJM || Pt. 5: I’ll Be Good (M)

pairing: sugar daddy!jimin x sugar baby!reader

genre: smut, angst, some fluff

wc: 5.1k

warnings: [not in order] cursing, mentions about mental health (depression and anxiety), loneliness, daddy!kink, pet names (baby, baby girl, babe, good girl, doll, love), alcohol use/mentions, spit kink, choking, nudes, oral sex, nipple play, marking (hickeys, bruising, biting), hair pulling, thigh riding mentions, unprotected sex, mention of birth control, jealousy, possessiveness, creampie

date: March 31, 2021

The last thing Jimin wanted to be was stuck in a meeting with men who still didn’t trust him with the company, despite his great efforts. He made sure to keep his demeanor hard— frigid— refusing to allow them to see him as weak. It took a toll on him, a large heavy weight on his mental health, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that now because he had you to help him carry the burden.

You.

You were wonderful in his eyes. Smart, beautiful, funny, but that mouth of yours often got you in trouble. You liked to push his buttons, liked to rile him up to see how far he’d go. You were a brat at heart, but a princess at any other time when it suited you. He lov—he liked that about you.

Ever since he had first met you, he’d been drawn to you. He wasn’t sure if it was your smile, your laugh, or the way your eyes caught his at the bar of some party he couldn’t even remember the occasion of. You smiled at him, excusing yourself from the man that had been chatting you up. Jimin paid him no mind as you strutted toward him, head held high and your drink clasped in your perfectly manicured hand.

You were stunning. A true vision in your red dress that hugged your body just right. Your makeup was spectacular and as he eyed you shamelessly, you giggled. He knew he was gone then, more so when you smiled brightly at him, hand held out for him to bring to his lips to kiss as you told him your name.

Jimin repeated it, as sweet as a lullaby. Your hand remained in his after introducing himself, not wanting to let you fall through his fingers. He was the envy of every man in attendance that night, but a quick romp in the sheets wasn’t what he was looking for, and frankly, neither were you.

After the night of the party, Jimin contacted you. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of you, fantasizing about all the naughty things he’d like to do to you... if you’d let him. You were eager, a pawn in his hand, ready to bend at his whim… for compensation.

You were a sugar baby. And definitely not a new one. You knew your way around, knew your worth, and knew when someone just wasn’t going to pay up. But Jimin would. Of course he would. Companionship, sex, and a pretty face with a personality that drew him in, keeping him on his toes… what else could he want? 

Now, although Jimin didn’t date or had the time to, honestly. He got laid pretty often, if he so desired. He’d had his share of flings, some lasting longer than others, but they all took off when he wouldn’t commit. He had no desire to, not when he had first taken over the company and not in the present either.

Jimin liked his life easy. Liked to spend time with his friends, do his hobbies (tennis, skydiving, swimming, and fucking) whenever he damned well pleased. 

Loneliness did creep in. Lonely nights of tossing and turning in an empty penthouse with nobody to share it with. Those dark thoughts consuming him, calling him back to bed when there was work to be done.

He was tired of it. Tired of feeling lost and alone, carving a hole in him that his friends just couldn’t fill, despite their best efforts.

Easily, Jimin agreed to your terms. He’d spoil you rotten, absolutely rotten in exchange for your companionship and sex. He didn’t need a girlfriend, just someone who could act the part without the commitment; the jealousy. Someone to fill the hole in his chest.

Your affection and friendship came with a price tag and some other suitors, suitors Jimin paid you to disperse off. You had put a fight to keep them, but money talked and those other daddies walked.

Jimin had smirked, sitting beside you as you cut off all your other sugar daddies. Some confused, some enraged, and some asking if you were okay. 

When he was your only daddy left, you’d smiled smugly. You’d crossed one leg over the other, ignoring the way your dress rode up your thighs, a peek of your panties drawing Jimin’s eyes as you said, “I expect the same from you. No other babies, no other women, just me.”

“You can’t be serious?” Jimin had gasped, his pouty lips in a frown.

“How bad do you want me?” You’d asked, crossing your arms under your chest to draw his attention to your breasts. Jimin had gulped, eyes wide as he licked his lips. You were a temptress, a seductress who knew how to play the game, and Jimin was at your mercy. He was your pawn and with your hand reaching for his belt, he knew he was doomed.

And doomed he was from the very start. He fell into the role very easily, thrived in it and still did. You were wonderful. A ray of sunshine in his otherwise gloomy days. He wasn’t sure how he lived before you; he was sure he didn’t. You were everything he could have ever wanted in a person and so much more, and when his friends loved you as well, he was set.

His baby. 

You were his baby and he would take care of you in any way possible, not just financially. He had bought you cars, diamonds, vacations, clothes, iPads, cell phones. You named it; he bought it. All you had to do was send a link, a screenshot, or simply point to it before it was in your hands. The more he got to know you, the more he found caring about you, wanting nothing but your happiness. He didn’t understand what he was feeling, and he didn’t think he was ready to understand it, if he was honest. So, he suppressed his feelings and did what he did best; spoil you with materialistic items. If only he knew you wanted him, and not his gifts.

Jimin looked down at his shoes, concealing the smile that tugged on his lips at the thought of you. He carded a hand through his hair, forcing himself to pay attention as the dull voices wore on and on. Time couldn’t go fast enough as he daydreamed about you waiting in his bed when he eventually got home tonight. 

It was the weekend. Maybe he could have you stay the night without you rushing out the door tomorrow morning. He liked when you stayed over, liked having you in his arms all night and being buried between your thighs in the morning.

Why were you consuming his thoughts like this? What kind of spell did you have him under? Recently he’d begun feeling… different around you. 

Jimin hadn’t been jealous since you cut off your other sugar daddies. He wanted you for himself and only himself. Mostly because it would be safer (no condoms and you were on the pill), but also, he didn’t want to share you with anyone else. You felt the same way, although you’d never admit it to his face. You’d rather choke.

Lately, these feelings—whatever they were—had made his head spin. He didn’t want to feel more. The thought alone sent him into a panic. But… he also didn’t want to end things. Could he be lying to himself? Sure. Most definitely, as his friends constantly reminded him. 

Feelings were dangerous. Feelings—especially one-sided—could cause the beautiful relationship you both had to crumble into smithereens. And then what would he have? Nothing. Not a damn thing if you weren’t in his life. He’d be lonely again. Miserable. A shell of a man like he was before he met you. 

Jimin would not go back to that. Not ever. He refused! And so with that, he buried his feelings deep in his chest, under lock and key. And nobody, not even you, was going to let them out.

“Mr. Park? Are there any issues you’d like to address or perhaps some questions?” One of the board members asked. Jimin looked at his assistant, “did you get all that?”

At the nod of her head, Jimin responded, “No, we’re all done here. I’ll see you next week. Dismissed.”

Jimin rose from his seat at the head of the table, passing by everyone to go out the door before they even had a chance to blink. His assistant was hot on his heels, with barely an inch of distance between them.

“Marissa?” Jimin stopped, his assistant halting in her tracks just before an impact could occur.

“Yes, Mr. Park?”

“Is anything on my agenda time sensitive? I’m suddenly feeling ill and would like to go home.”

Marissa looks at her tablet, scrolling through the rest of the afternoon. The sun would set within the hour, and Jimin’s most pressing meetings and appointments had been conducted earlier in the day.

“You have a call scheduled with your father. He says it concerns your brother.” Marissa informs him. Jimin rolls his eyes.  He knew that phone call could drag on, and frankly, he didn’t care to know what his younger brother was up to.

“Reschedule for next week. I’m sure he can wait,” Jimin waves his hand, popping into his office to grab his belongings before announcing his departure. Marissa calls the driver, alerting him of Mr. Park’s departure, and Jimin smirks as the doors of his private elevator shut.

It felt good to be the boss.

Jimin sat back in his limo, growing more inpatient as the minutes ticked by. You’d already sent him some racy photos, each growing more and more risqué until you were down to just your panties, back arched and fingers dangerously close to slipping into your panties.

‘I’m waiting, daddy.’

Jimin cursed, biting his lip as his building finally came into view. He wanted to devour you in kisses, consume every bit of you until you were writhing beneath him, hands pinned above your head as your pretty eyes locked with his.

“We’ve arrived, sir.” The driver stares down at his boss, who is just staring down at his phone, finally noticing his door has been opened and his driver is waiting for him to get out. Jimin immediately locks his phone, stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket before getting out.

“Thank you,” he says as he walks past him and into his building, greeting the doorman as he gets into the elevator. He swears it’s dragging today, but it could be his eagerness to get to you, knowing you’re waiting for him in his bed in nothing but a pair of flimsy panties is torturous.

Jimin rushes inside his penthouse, “Baby, I’m home.”

“I’m in here,” you call back as Jimin heads down the hallway, a smirk on his lips as he opens his bedroom door.  

He bites his lip. You’re a vision. A true vision as you lie on his bed, a teasing smile on your lips.

“I missed you,” you say softly as Jimin walks further into his bedroom. His hand begins to loosen his tie as he kicks his shoes off, ignoring how they clatter on his bedroom floor.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, princess,” he apologizes as he climbs onto the bed and you get on your knees, crawling over to him.

“Really? Are you going to show me how sorry you are? I’ve been waiting such a long time, daddy. I almost had to take care of myself,” you pout, your hand tightening his tie, eyes hard. Jimin licks his lips, his hand wrapping around yours before he’s caressing your face.

“Is that so?” he asks, moving his hand to undo his tie. He holds the black silk in his hands, twining it as he looks at you, his eyes drawn to your bare breasts.

“Very. It’s not nice to keep me waiting,” you whisper as you inch closer, lips pressing a featherlight kiss to his neck. Jimin swallows thickly. You quickly work your way through the buttons of his shirt, untucking it from his black slacks. You push his jacket off his shoulders, letting it crumple on the floor.

Jimin raises a brow. You ignore it. Your lips are planting kisses on every inch of his neck, pushing his shirt down his arms. You feel his bicep, looking up at him with a grin before he’s pulling you to him. You gasp, your chest pressed against his as he threads his fingers in your hair to pull you into a deep passionate kiss that has you moaning into his lips.

“Jimin,” a sigh of his name has him grunting, eyes wild as he kisses you once again, pushing you onto your back. You giggle, loving how he sloppily kisses your face and neck.

“Jimin! Jimin!” you exclaim, giggles filling his bedroom as you look up at him. Jimin feels his heart skip a beat, cheeks tinted pink as he grins widely at you, “am I forgiven, princess?”

“If I say yes, will you stop slobbering on my face?” Jimin smirks, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing the sides. You gasp, moaning and melting under him. 

“Open,” you do as instructed, sticking your tongue out for him. So obedient. Such a good girl for him.

Jimin releases your throat, a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes as he squeezes your cheeks. He spits on your tongue, releasing you, “swallow.”

You do.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses, carding a hand through his hair. You stick your tongue out again for him, watching as he undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor carelessly. He straddles your hips, leaning in to kiss you, his tongue twining with yours. He grinds down on you, swallowing the dulcet moans that escape you as your hands weave in his hair, tugging at the locks. Your hips meet his, feeling his erection with every roll of your hips. Your panties are soaked, utterly ruined as you beg him to touch you… to fuck you.

Jimin smirks, pressing a kiss to your kiss-swollen lips to silence you. His lips trail downward to your jaw, down to your neck where he nips and suckles at the sensitive skin as his hands cup your breast, thumbs circling your pert nipples before it’s his tongue swirling around them. Teeth gently nipping your nipple, your back arched into him as he palms himself over his slacks.

“Tell me,” Jimin starts as he rises, one hand palming his dick, the other kneading your breast. “What did you do while I was gone, doll?”

“N-nothing,” you answer honestly. Your body is heated, sweat beading at your hairline, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to you obscenely.

Jimin looks into your eyes, his hand moving over your chest. He can tell when you’re lying, having figured it out right from the start. Simple little tells: lack of eye contact, biting your lip and a racing heart.

Grinning, Jimin brushes his lips against yours, “good baby.” You preen at the praise, smiling bashfully before his hand is unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down as he climbs off of you to pull his pants down the rest of the way. He takes a second to remove his socks, knowing you don’t like them on during sex.

Jimin shoots you a knowing smile as you sit up on your elbow, hungrily admiring his body. He was sin incarnate. Perfectly sculpted from his strong shoulders and neck down to his thighs that you just loved to ride until you were nothing but a creamy mess. The thought makes you clench, licking your lips as you crawl toward him, getting off the bed. Jimin eyes you curiously, slightly amused when you drop to your knees in front of him.

You look up at him, resting your weight on your heels as you lean back. Jimin can’t resist you, running his thumb over your lips.

“So pretty,” he whispers, hand cupping your cheek. You lean into his touch, feeling soft and secure. Warmth overwhelms you as you maintain eye contact, swallowing thickly. “So, so pretty.”

“Jimin,” you whine, your hand resting on his. You look at his cock, licking your lips. It’s straining against his boxers, pre-cum staining the material; it makes your mouth water. “Please?”

Jimin knows he’s putty in your hands, that look alone is enough for him to buy you the world, hell maybe the universe. How can he ever say no to you, his princess?

“Sure, baby.” That’s all you need to hear as your tongue laps at his boxers. Jimin is surprised but his fingers thread in your hair regardless, tugging gently as a warning not to tease. He’s been hard since this afternoon and the last thing he wants to be is teased. He aches to feel the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him, your nose pressed to his pelvis. 

You tease the head of his cock through his boxers, earning a tug of your hair before you’re pulled back. Jimin’s heated gaze sends a tingle down your spine, “baby.”

A simple warning, one that has you pulsating as you lick your lips, hand reaching for the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down his muscular thighs before they pool at his feet and he kicks them away. 

A curse escapes him when your lips wrap around him, your tongue swirling around the head as your hand strokes him. Jimin groans at the feeling. He could never grow tired of you. 

Jimin caresses your face when you pause to look up at him, “so pretty.” You grow flustered, ignoring the way your cheek heat as you begin bobbing up and down instead, making him moan and groan instead of complimenting you. Your plan works, Jimin overcome by the pleasure your sweet lips provide as you suck harder, sloppier, gagging on his big thick cock, hoping your throat won’t get bruised once again. You didn’t want to go through that embarrassment at the dentist again.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck,” Jimin grunts, your name spilling from his lips as he tugs on your hair, guiding you and setting the pace. “You’re so pretty when you’re choking on my dick. So good for me.”

You deep throat him, loving the sinful sounds that tumble from his pretty lips. His head lolls back, eyes fluttering shut as utter bliss crosses his ethereal features. Moans of your name, curses, grunts, and praises escape his lips as he praises you to the high heavens as his cock sits heavy on your cock, lips sucking the soul out of him.

A whine falls from your lips when you’re tugged off his cock by your hair, your adorable confused gaze meeting his cocky one. 

“Up,” he commands as you rise to your feet. He kisses you, his tongue meeting yours as you grip his biceps to hold your balance as he kisses you passionately. Arousal pools deep in your abdomen, body fueled with lust.

“Daddy, please.” Jimin chuckles, kissing his way to the column of your throat, nipping at the skin. A moan of his name rolls off your tongue as he wraps your legs around his waist to take you to his bed. 

Jimin sets you down with care, having you lie back as he climbs over you. His lips brush against yours, a featherlight kiss that has butterflies fluttering in your tummy. His hand cups your face, saying nothing as he admires your body. You were aroused, panting and aching for him. Nobody else. Just Jimin. 

The soft look you give him is what sends him over the edge, kissing you roughly as he holds you tight. Maybe… just maybe, you could love him. Love him the way he’d deny loving you. You were everything for him, but was he to you? He didn’t want to think about it right now, not when you were wet, ready, and his cock was throbbing, leaking pre-cum.

“Jimin…” your hand cups his cheek, his dark eyes flitting to yours. 

God, he loved you.

“Please,” you whisper as your hand moves down to his neck and then his chest. Jimin swallows thickly, nodding as he takes your hand in his, fingers laced together as he pins it by your head, earning a gasp from your pretty lips.

With one last squeeze of your hand and fleeting kiss to your lips, he moves down your body. He wants to mark you as his, leave love-bites on your skin for the world to see but he resists if he wants to keep his plans for tomorrow.

Jimin’s fingers toy with the waistband of your panties, tugging them down to suck a tiny mark on your hip. You roll your eyes, but you love the slight possessiveness.

“I’m yours,” you assure him regardless. It works. Jimin presses a kiss on the mark, gently tugging your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to aid him. He tosses them over his shoulder to be forgotten.

His hands immediately grab your thighs, spreading them.

“Fuck, so wet for me. All for me,” Jimin licks his lips, looking up at you. You resist the urge to cover your face as he kisses his way up your thigh until he’s pressing a gentle kiss to your clit. A sigh escapes you, making him smirk before he’s diving right in. Your hands seek purchase in his sheets, fisting them as he works wonders on your cunt.

“J-Jimin,” you stutter, hand embedded in his thick locks, hips rising from the bed to chase after his tongue. His hand pushes you back onto the mattress while he continues to feast on you, one leg thrown over his shoulder as his fingers slip right in, curling and scissoring inside you. His tongue flicks your clit, swirling in circles before his lips are suckling it. 

You arch, crying out for him over and over again. Sweat beads between your brows, a sheen of sweat appearing on your body as you writhe beneath Jimin, wanting to crush his head between your thighs. 

Jimin looks up at you, watching as pleasure overwhelms you, his fiery tongue the source of all your curses and pleas. Your hands cup your breasts, rolling your hard nipples between your fingertips as you cry out, “Jimin… Daddy… I can’t!”

Your body is overwhelmed with pleasure. Your skin is hot, flushed as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten before you cry out, “I’m coming! Fuck!”

Jimin doesn’t stop his ministrations, continuing as you fall over the edge. His name rolls off your tongue in a mantra, eyes squeezed shut and the sheets fisted in your hand once again as you arch your back. Jimin waits until you’ve fallen slack before he slips his fingers out of you, placing them in his mouth, tongue swirling around them as he sucks them clean.

“Feel good, princess?” Jimin asks, a smirk on his lips.

“Mmm,” you murmur, your eyes still closed as you try to regulate your breathing.

Jimin chuckles, “you good, love?”

“More than okay,” you answer, sitting up to crawl over to him until you’re straddling his lap. Jimin’s hands immediately grip your hips, your lips pressing against his. Your arms wrap around his neck, keeping him from going anywhere. 

Jimin buries his face into your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as you line him up at your entrance, sinking on to him when he least expects it.

“Baby, fuck,” he grunts, his forehead falling onto your shoulder as you hold him close while he finally bottoms out. You bite your lip, groaning at the stretch that has your eyes fluttering shut, nails digging into his perfect muscular back.

Hesitantly, Jimin looks at you. Three words sit heavy on his tongue as you stroke his face, biting your lip as you roll your hips. Your eyes flutter shut, your hand falling to his shoulder, moans of his name filling the space between your bodies. 

“Y/n,” your name is a delicate whisper, his hold on you tightening, swallowing the heavy words instead. He kisses you, losing himself in you instead. Lust is easy, lust he can deal with. That’s all this is, he lies to himself once again as you ride him. 

You hold Jimin close, fingers threaded in his hair, tugging it to make him meet your gaze, “you always fuck me so good, baby. So, so good.”

“This tight cunt is all I can think about at work. You’re such a fucking distraction but coming home to you waiting on my bed wet and horny is so worth it,” Jimin kisses you, tongue pushing past your lips before he’s rolling you over so he’s on top.

“Jimin,” you moan, his thrusts hitting all the right spots. 

“On your knees, baby.” You do as you’re told, getting on your knees and arching perfectly for him. Jimin smacks your ass, mesmerized by the way it jiggles. He smacks it harder, your cry of his name making his cock throb in his hand as he strokes it before lining himself up at your entrance, grunting when the thick head of his cock is welcomed into your cunt.

“Fuck,” you curse, face in the pillow, turning your head to the side. Jimin grabs your arms, putting them behind your back, wrists crossed together as he holds them with one hand while he fucks into you. His head is thrown back, saccharine moans escaping him as you fuck back into him, moaning when his fingers rub at your clit.

“That’s it, baby girl. Fuck, you feel so good..” Jimin bites his bottom lip, a poor effort to try to muffle the moan that threatens to escape his pretty lips. His eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the warmth and wetness of your cunt. Your sweet moans fuel him, consume him as he pistons in and out of you to coax more of those dulcet moans from your lips. His hand moves to raise you, wrapping around your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, melting into his touch as he squeezes. 

“Jimin,” you rasp, overcome with pleasure as he continues to rub at your clit. You shutter, your hand wrapping around his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Jimin grunts, kissing your cheek as he grinds his hips into you, slamming them when you cry out that you’re close.

“Come for me, princess. Please,” his angelic voice has you pulsating, doing as he’s asked as you grip his wrist and come. Jimin moans, lips planting kisses on your shoulder before he’s biting down and coming with you.

“Jimin… Jimin!”

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, love. Come for daddy,” Jimin moans, eyes shut and lips parted as he moans your name repeatedly, filling you with cum until you’re unable to hold yourself up. Jimin chuckles, lying you on your back on his bed before he lies beside you.

“Fuck,” you giggle, pushing your hair out of your eyes as Jimin takes the chance to kiss your sweat beaded forehead. You grimace, “gross, I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care, princess.” Jimin covers your face in kisses, making you laugh until you’re pressing your palms on his chest to push him away. 

“Jimin!” You squeal, kissing his cheek before cuddling up to his side. He kisses your temple, holding you for a few minutes before he’s pulling away from you to get you some water and lead you to the bathroom to help you get cleaned up.

You end up taking a quick shower, exchanging kisses and lingering touches before you’re wrapped up in a towel in his bedroom. You’ve brought your own clothes to sleep in, but you take one of Jimin’s baggy shirts instead, climbing into his bed while he puts on a pair of boxers.

“Go to sleep, baby. We’ve got plans tomorrow,” he tells you as you snuggle into your side of the bed, pulling the comforter up to your chest.

“Goodnight, Jimin.”

“Goodnight, princess.” Jimin whispers, caressing your cheek before you close your eyes. He watches you until he’s sure you’re asleep, hoping you can’t hear how loud his heart beats.

The morning sunlight streams in through the cracks between the curtains, the light stirring Jimin awake. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes with his hands until all he can see is black dots before his eyesight settles once again. 

Beside him, you’re still sleeping, clutching the pillow to your chest. He sits up, admiring the serene look on your face as you snooze away beside him, so comfortable, stress free. 

Jimin’s heart thunders in his chest when you stir, rolling over and seeking out his hand with yours. He easily gives it to you, squeezing softly when you settle soundly. 

As the world outside begins to wake, he can’t help but want to stay in this bubble the two of you have created in his home. Nobody to bother you, nobody hounding you to do this or that. Nobody to disturb your utopia. 

Jimin caresses your face, his delicate touch makes you moan softly as his fingers push your hair out of your eyes. He stares at you freely, admiring your features. You were beautiful. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and it still baffled him how you’d agreed to this arrangement. He knew he couldn’t give you more, and on days like today, he desperately wished he could. But what would that get him? Get you? A broken heart and the loss of his best friend? He couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t risk it. Money was easy. Money came and went, but you stayed regardless if money appeared in your account at the end of the day. That scared him.  Why would you stay?

“If we’re having a staring contest, you gotta wake me up first, Minie.” Your voice startles him, his hand hastily pulling away from your face as you sit up. He hopes you can’t see the pinkness in his cheeks or the embarrassed smile on his lips. 

“Way to ruin the moment,” he laughs, shaking his head, and your heart skips a beat when he gives you his radiant smile. 

“I didn’t know there was a moment to ruin, baby. I’ll close my eyes and you can keep staring at me,” you giggle, rolling over and shutting your eyes. Jimin settles behind you, draping his arm over your waist before you wiggle into him. 

“I hate you,” he jokes, kissing your temple. 

“Mhm, your cock is way too hard for you to lie about that,” you smirk, wiggling further into him. 

“Shh,” he chuckles deeply, kissing your cheek, moving your hair out of the way to kiss your neck. 

“Show me how much you hate me, Min,” you goad him, turning to face him. Your eyes lock on his and Jimin can’t help but fall for you even more. He wonders if it’s obvious to you like everyone else? He wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, not to himself and certainly not to you. You were destined to fail, and who was he to stand in the way of destiny?

“Lie back, princess. Let me get a taste of you.”

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[flaminpumpkin]

Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes. 

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement. 

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen. 

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels. 

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion. 

“What?”

Something caught his eyes. 

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center. 

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce, 

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

A.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing. 

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time? 

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen. 

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place. 

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor. 

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night. 

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to. 

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries. 

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis. 

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites. 

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions. 

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway. 

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in. 

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness. 

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.  

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him. 

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin. 

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace. 

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family. 

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing. 

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room. 

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest. 

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts. 

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone. 

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket. 

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

“That’s my wife”

Carol:

Carol, your beautiful, amazing, powerful wife, asked you to pick up some papers from the Avengers Tower, you had never been to the city so you were eager to leave as quickly as possible.

Tony's A.I. (whatever the hell that was) took you up to the floor they were on, he apparently he told her you were coming and she did some facial recognition to let you into the building.

When you walked into the floor the avengers were around the corner in some room, before you walked in you scanned the room with your X-Ray vision through the wall. In the room was Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Clint, Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes. You recalled their names from the file that you had read on them, you wanted to know names when meeting them for the first time.

You heard Clint ask, "why are you cleaning?" It was Tony's voice you heard next, "because Carols wife is coming by to pick up some documents. And I enjoy Carols company and I'm excited to meet her wife so don't be an ass." Tony scolded. "Ugh, thank god its not Carol." Your blood sizzled, what was that in his tone. The little incompetent ass.

You heard Clint huff, "Carols such a show off."

You rolled your eyes, of course, when a woman does it, she's a show off but you don't say him saying that about any of the guys.

"She's not that much of one." Wanda said, folding  her arms, her eyes becoming a steel gaze on Clint. Tony was just giving him a look. The rest of them all looked annoyed.

"Yeah, what's your deal?" Peter asked getting defensive. You rose your brows in surprise, Carol mentioned Peter Parker, the timid 16 year old who never "fought back". Your heart warmed at the idea of him sticking up for her.

She told you he was a good kid, and she was right.

"I don't care, it's annoying." He sighed. Hearing enough of the woman you were lucky enough to call your wife.

You stepped around the corner, "yet if she was a man, you'd say she was a powerful badass." You glared, holding your powers back from hurting someone.

"And who are you?" He snapped, not liking being called out for his bullshit. You smiled, "her wife. Y/N L/N-Danvers. I would say it was nice to meet you but I was raised not to lie."

You saw Tony look at you with a look of approval, the rest of them laughed and you asked, "papers?" He gestured to Steve who handed you the thick folder. Steve asked you, "you staying for a while?" You shook your head, "nah, I have a beautiful wife at home. But I promise we'll stop by in the future." With one warning glance at Clint who was sitting wordlessly, jaw slightly dropped. You said your goodbyes, spun on your heel and walked out. You were stiff as a board, head held high and heeled boots clicking you exited the room.

With your super-hearing you heard someone smack something, "nice going dumbass, way to make a first person." The voice was husky and not filled with laughter.

You grinned to yourself and flew home to your wife.

Wanda: Amica mia= my love

Being on missions with Wanda was both a blessing and a curse. There were times where one of you had to be the "catfish" or "slut" in order to get answers, usually you were the one who volunteered, much to Wanda's dismay.

"You give the signal when you need it, don't hesitate, please amica mia." "I know what to do Wanda, this isn't my first time." You smiled gently, kissing her head.

As the others set up, Bucky and Sam were your escorts into the club. Bucky's arm was hidden within his suit and his droid thing was waiting in the shadows for an attack.

Bucky elbowed you, "Wanda doesn't like this." He told you in russian.

You shrugged gently, "I'd rather be out here than her. Besides, I have my wife and my friends looking out for me, I'm not too bothered." You responded back, you smiled a pearly white look at the guard. As three walked by, he stopped your guards.

"Please sir," you said in a russian accent, "I'm new, and these are my guides, surely... you don't mind." You angled your body so your cleavage was on display and you gave him a hundred dollars.

He let you three in without another word. As you two walked away, Wanda's voice was in your head, I want to hurt him.

Oh relax, you said back, all in a days work my love.

You didn't mind doing this, it saved lives, you being the bait. You would rather be out there than Wanda, but you knew exactly where she was in the bar. She was by the bar, keeping an eye out. You didn't find any shame in being the bait, in fact it was empowering in a way. You knew exactly what you were supposed to do and you were good at what you did.

Bucky and Sam went to their corners to watch and wait for the bait. All you were to the "client" was a prostitute who had information, Stark managed to sell your profile as a valuable person who slept with his enemy. The clients, not Stark.

You felt a hand brush your shoulder, and it took everything in your power to not tense up.

That's him. Wanda said to you, you forced yourself to become neutral as the asshole walked and sat next to you.

"Hi, beautiful." He was slimy and gross.

You forced your sweet girl smile, "hello."

You two talked and talked so much that you felt like you were losing brain cells, listening to this pathetic man drone on and on about how hard his life was. You were patiently nodding your head and then suggested to go to the back room.

He anxiously followed, you ignored the fact that he popped a viagra, you tried not to roll your eyes again.

Men like this, liked dominance, you pinned him against the wall and let your thigh rub against his crotch. "I just have a few questions, sweetheart."

"I have the answers." He moaned out, his vodka breath making you wince.

Of course your technique revolved around getting him to talk about his kinks and make him vulnerable. You held a knife up against his throat, "now tell me where the bombs are?" You hissed.

He popped his eyes open to find the knife against his throat, "what- You bitch." He pushed you away, he was a lot stronger and a lot less drunk than you anticipated. He managed to get a knife out and slice your face which caused you to cry out. Luckily, your wife wasn't too far away.

You saw a blur of red come between you and him, Bucky and Sam followed in suit. They knew not to help you or check to see if you were okay, then let the asshole know about vulnerabilities.

"That bitch." Wanda hissed, "is my wife, and you will treat her with respect." Red flared around her arms, and you felt a kernel of her power rest around your waist. Not demanding you to be near her, but more like a warning, marking her territory.

Which you weren't gonna lie, you loved.

You four managed to get him into a quinjet and brought him to Fury.

Eventually you got him to talk about bombs and all the plans for future attacks, you two retired to your quarters and you looked in the mirror. The jagged red line was flaring down your face. She walked up behind you, "sit down." You leaned against the counter, she wet a cloth and grabbed the antiseptic, something that works fast that Banner came up with it.

You tried not to flinch as she rubbed the wound clean. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, just a scratch." You said.

"It's not fine, he should be in pain for laying a hand on you."

"Imagine the other girls he did this to. We know he hurt others."

"Exactly, they didn't have a team." She put a bandage on the cut. "I know better than telling you to not do it anymore just..." she put her forehead on yours, "I love you very much."

"I love you too." You smiled and kissed her.

Maria:

Nobody except Fury knew you existed. They had worked hard to make sure you and Maria's home was off the of SHIELDS grid.

Then one day, you decided to surprise her at work, you were tired of being the secret wife, even though you didn't mind it at first. But, you wanted to meet the Avengers and help them out every once and a while or just be their friend.

It got lonely.

You showed up with a bunch of freshly baked cookies to a meeting, you greeted the other agents with a smile even though they didn't know who you were.

"Hiya!" "Y/N, what're you....what're you doing here?" Maria asked, panic evident in her voice. "I wanted to visit you and Nick, the farm gets lonely." You shrugged and set cookies down on the table, "feel free to grab any!"

Of course they all went for your homemade snickerdoodles. Your smile was so bright as you talked to them that Maria couldn't even be mad.

"Who is she?" Banner asked her. "That's my wife." Maria said smiling as she ignored his look while she walked up to you and kissed you full on the lips.

She tasted the cinnamon sugar from your lips and felt your soft hands on her cheeks. You guys pulled away, you blushed at the attention from the Avengers while she smiled proudly, pulling you by the waist closer to her.

"Everybody, this is my wife, Y/N."

Natasha: This mission scared you, Nat had gotten shot a few months back, nearly lost her life and now she was back in the field with you. You felt better that you were with her but it was still scary.

You honestly should be used to it by now.

You two were with a group of people who refused to do the dirty work themselves and saying how you and Nat "had to" because you were more experienced.

"Here's the thing, dumbass," you said, "to get more experienced you have to actually do stuff and not let anyone do anything for you. I know you're used to mommy and daddy handing you everything but that isn't how this shit works." You hissed.

You didn't have to look at Natasha to know she was biting back a smile. She loved when you got feisty and you really took the point home with him.

"You can't talk to me like that you bitch." "Hey, that's my wife you're talking about," Natasha snapped, "and she can talk to you however she damn well pleases." Natasha snapped.

They all went quiet, "yeah you see how its quiet?" She asked, "I want that same reaction when she talks. Understood?"

It was quiet so she repeated, "I said, understood?"

They all nodded and she looked at you, "great." You clapped, "go get your gear! Now!"

They scattered and she looked at you, "sexy L/N." She said wrapping her arms around your waist, "I like when you get in charge." She said kissing your cheek.

You shrugged, "you're welcome I guess." You laughed.

Shuri: (Shuri is 23)

Shuri and you had been married for six months, yet the Royal Council didn't see your advice fit in situations, despite the fact that both King T'challa and Princess Shuri vouched for you.

You said how people in Wakanda needed more same-sex education when it came to sex because you had to go on YouTube to find out how to practice safe sex. They got all upset because A. you said sex and B. they didn't wanna listen.

They kept blowing you off and you just sighed sitting in your seat, Shuri noticed this and held your hand.

One of the Elders had asked, "any more comments?" "Yes, actually."  Shuri said standing up, "when my wife says something, you listen , understood?"

They nodded, afraid of Shuri for once because they had never seen the young queen mad, Shuri looked at you, "my love?"

You smiled, and continued with what you were trying to say, the Elders hanging on your every word.

Sorry shuri's is so short! I lost momentum.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 120: The Beetle at Bay

The place felt weirdly small and cramped despite the fact there were only eight teenagers inside. The air smelt strongly of coffee, and Lily got a firsthand account as she landed on top of a booth and got the hot drink splashed across her lap for it, and she prayed they came across another dorm room in the castle to get the stain out of Alice's skirt. Sirius disrupted the lace as he smacked the window, Alice was brushing sugar out of her hair from an overturned table, and they all had pink confetti in every crease of their clothes from circling golden cherubs above as they got wearily to their feet, but none immediately recognized the place.

"Well, we're in Hogsmeade," Sirius offered, nose still pressed to the rain pattering window as he recognized the street and even Scrivenshaft's down the ways a bit. There was something odd on the window though, like a huge poster of someone moving. It didn't look flashy enough to be some new advertised product. It was raining too hard, and he couldn't get a good view to see it. He'd have liked to just go over there and hear the chapter from that store, but Alice already gave the door an experimental tug to no avail. "I just don't recognize this place," the scandal in his voice was eye-roll-inducing to the four non-Marauders. Even knowing exactly how they knew these grounds so well with their monthly romps with a werewolf didn't make their pigheaded assurances they knew every inch of this place feel less annoying.

"I suppose it stands to reason they'd add a few more buildings in time," Peter offered, wandering behind the counter and offering if anyone else would like a drink. He spotted the book in the booth behind Evans, the large black volume wasn't hard to miss in this place of reds and pinks, but nobody made a move towards it straight away. That last, horrible lingering sentence as heavy in the air as the brewed beans. They'd put it off for a bit and try to breathe the strong scent instead. "Let's just hope it wasn't Umbridge getting a foot out in this place," he added in disgust.

Lily didn't think it a particularly good idea when Pettigrew began handing out the highly caffeinated coffee to everyone, those boys didn't need any extra energy, but she was also starting to feel a little fatigued herself, and they weren't even slightly showing the same. Their sleep schedules were a bit off now, this would definitely do some good.

She slunk off to a corner booth by herself, deciding to leave Alice and Frank be in this clearly coupley place as Pettigrew handed them his first batch with a smile, and she watched in fascination once more as Potter and Lupin began quietly asking Sirius Black how his side was doing. He brushed off their concern with a grin that looked natural, not at all his usual haughty demeanor.

Regulus Black went shuffling behind the counter and began browsing through some of the pastries available, while Pettigrew surprised her by placing a mug down in front of her, she still somehow accidentally kept overlooking him when he'd been walking right towards her. He called over to Regulus though and the two joined the other three, Pettigrew had even grabbed the book on his pass through the place and read out the strange chapter title. Beetle at Bay? The only beatle that came to mind had to do with Rita Skeeter, but what could she be doing back here?

All conversations were silenced as he read the horrible opening, both somehow a good and bad thing all at once. The good news, they didn't have to wait and wonder what had made You-Know-Who so happy. The bad news?

Everything else.

The ten escaped convicts, and what they'd been in Azkaban for, plus blaming it all on Sirius.

Somehow Peter had remembered from the one time Remus had come over and last tasted coffee he'd hated the stuff, and had slipped him hot chocolate instead. It was this little detail that made all the difference to him as he alternately blew and sipped on it watching Peter read that awful article, seeing the color bleeding back out of his face and how very aware all of them were it wasn't Sirius those Death Eaters had more in common with in this future.

Regulus shifted imperceptibly closer to him, hiding his own face with his long hair as he put far too much care in stirring the drink with a biscuit. The other three just chose not to acknowledge the moment and shifted restlessly in place, but the fact that none of them left the table or punched Wormtail was the best improvement he could currently have asked for.

Lily startled and nearly spilt her piping hot drink back into her lap when Frank and Alice joined her anyways, she sliding in the booth beside her and Frank across, both still cradling their own lurid pink steaming cups.

"Oh, you don't have to," she quickly tried to say, even though she wouldn't deny for a second their mere presence comforted her from thinking of that ghastly white-haired version of the kind faced girl beside her. "You can have an alone moment without me always hanging around."

"You're not bothering us," Frank scoffed at the notion.

"We've loved your company," Alice quickly agreed, "I only wish we'd talked more before all this began." She went a little red at the end though and stammered a bit, before stopping herself from saying anything else and wincing as she took a too-fast sip and scalded her tongue.

Lily sighed and looked back out the window, she knew full well why Alice and Frank had barely been on passing terms with her, the same as the rest of the school, and it wasn't because they were a year above her. Her association with Severus put her in the same bad company as those friends of his, no matter how much she begged of him to be rid of them as well, nobody in school wanted much to do with her because of him.

The most uneasy silence that had yet passed between them festered as Pettigrew read through Umbridge passing yet another ludicrous Decree, stopping the teachers from talking about anything but their own subject in light of this news. The following DA lessons that were the subsequent of this as well lit the couple's face with such pride and admiration for Neville's response that she felt almost dirty sitting next to them.

Her and Harry's father were barely on speaking terms. Her best friend made Harry's dreams and scar problem quantifiably worse, and now Ron was even voicing the thought Severus's motives were clear to no one, no matter how much Hermione continued assuring Dumbledore trusted him, that should have been good enough for everyone.

It only gave her a few more feeble rays of hope their wise headmaster must know something they didn't. He'd already been wrong before though during Harry's life, and she'd been having her own doubts long before now.

Finally Harry was setting out on his date with Cho, and Alice wasn't going to let Lily keep stewing in such thoughts that had her face puckered up like that when she should be enjoying hearing about Harry on his first date just like all of them were hoping to get a laugh at.

"Lily," she reached over and kindly put a hand on her arm, smiling wider when she didn't even attempt to shrug her off. "We're not going to stop talking to you when we get out of this, even if you do keep talking to Snape."

Lily winced for the 'if', was it so obvious even she was having doubts? She listened mournfully as Pettigrew began describing Harry and Cho's light conversation about Quidditch and watched as Frank began pouring heavy amounts of creamer into his coffee and then casually reaching over and doing so for Alice as well, then she turned back to watching Potter as he started trying to stack all of their finished drinks, and then go around fetching more cups with laughs and further challenges to his task from his friends.

"I've noticed you've been a little easier on him lately," Frank offered as he followed her wandering eye and offered a change of subject.

She snorted and immediately turned away as if she'd been doing no such thing, but Alice had a teasing smile in place now and a quirked brow to stop her from denying any such thing.

"He's still an arse," Lily said at once, summoning a biscuit to her from the counter and dunking it into her now cool drink. "Just because he hasn't gone around cursing us every time we've annoyed him during this doesn't mean he'll stop doing it the second we get back."

"Maybe, maybe not," Alice agreed passively, but there was still something in her tone that hinted she was holding back laughter at Lily's insistence of this. She hadn't told them of where she'd been that full moon night, how he'd let himself be separated from Black just to protect her like that- She flushed in frustration and gulped at her drink, unable to deny even to herself she'd been watching him quite a bit lately. So she found the arsehole had some fascinating layers and wouldn't mind dissecting him to see what some of those were now, he was still an arsehole first.

The name of this place was finally given to them, Madam Puddifoot's, how frilly, but Harry's date was quickly growing more memorable than even this quaint shop, as the poor teen blundered one disastrous answer after another with Cho, until finally she went out into the storm, in more tears than the rain could do. Regulus found himself watching in pure fascination, making a mental list of things he now at least knew not to do.

"Well, I finally don't feel so embarrassed about our first date," Frank chuckled a bit into the awkward silence.

"I told you not to worry about that darling, natural selection would have done that bird in," Alice laughed.

"What's this?" Sirius swiveled curiously in his seat, a dangerous decision as the cups were now listing precariously towards him, and he had a galleon going this would last until the end of the chapter.

"Butt out Black," Alice said quickly while Frank blushed slightly.

"Good luck with that," Remus snorted softly.

"He's always been the nosy one," his little brother quietly agreed.

"He doesn't just keep up with the school gossip for Moony's sake, don't let him tell you otherwise," Peter agreed without looking up.

"Why do I put up with any of you?" He asked in exasperation.

Alice was laughing even harder at the exchange by the end, a stark contrast to Hagrid's dour mood and still not revealing how he got those injuries.

"So, should I be jealous?" Frank finally swooped in and saved Lily from getting anything further directed at her, as his girlfriend fell back into chuckles and looked to turn back to the redhead. "Don't think I haven't noticed him flirting with you." He lovingly teased.

"I wouldn't leave you if Viktor Krum walked in the door right now," Alice assured, blowing him a kiss.

Lily was smiling fondly at the exchange as the beetle was finally explained, and indeed it was referring back to Rita Skeeter, having a rough go of life by the sounds of her description. As Hermione blackmailed her into helping, and Luna Lovegood all pulled together to put Harry's story out there his way, the boys were being such a loud mess it was a wonder if they could hear him at all as each were chanting at Peter to either hurry up, or slow down in his reading as the tower of cups was now tilting this way and that dangerously.

Finally, as they were teleported out of sight, they were all laughing at the show no matter the outcome.

[hargrove-mayfields]

A Stake of Holly in Her Heart Pt. 5

Pt. 1   Pt. 2    Pt. 3    Pt. 4  

Benny’s is nothing special, Max thinks as they pull up into the mostly empty parking lot, which is nothing but a slab of concrete without any lines painted on it.

From the outside, it looks like a dingy old diner with about the same charm as the middle school cafeteria. On the inside, well, it’s just a dingy old diner with the same charm as a school cafeteria, with its greasy tiled floors and stained up old walls painted a sickening baby blue.

It’s about as full as you’d expect a place like that to be on Christmas Day, as in, other than a handful of elderly customers on the stools at the counter, they are completely alone.

They sit down at a cracking booth by the window, which Max notes was probably last cleaned before she was even born, and an older woman approaches them with a menu.

Steve must know her, chats up a storm about the daily special and school, about life in general and the old owner of the place before ordering for the both of them, and all the while Max just sits back and watches.

Even after the waitress comes back with a pot of coffee, and the two slices of pie Steve promised, she stays leaning back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, watching.

There’s a tension burning under her skin, and she wants nothing to do with the pleasantries. If they were here to talk, then talk they would.

Steve goes to say something between bites of sugar cream pie, an Indiana specialty apparently, but Max cuts him off, her tone harsh. “Why did you bring me here?”

He looks confused, looking up as her with a stupid look on his face. “We’re avoiding the Christmas party?”

“Oh, sure, so you’re totally not trying to lay your claim now that my brother’s not here to stop you, right?” That might’ve been a little mean, but she doesn’t really know what to think right now.

He takes her to a remote location on the very edge of town when she’s supposed to be with a crowd of people because, what did he say, he didn’t want her to deal with them right now? She thinks she has the right to be concerned.

“I-No, I’m not.” Steve sits up straight in his seat. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

She nods over-exaggeratedly. “Is that before or after you make your move?”

There’s a certain pleading tone in his voice, one that obviously means he doesn’t want Max to think poorly of him, as he says, “Max, really I’m not trying to be a weirdo, I just figured you’d want to talk about Billy.”

She would be lying if she said hearing his name doesn’t take the air right out of her lungs. If just for a moment, she’s frozen.

Because nobody actually says Billy’s name anymore, just things like ‘your step brother’ or ‘Neil’s boy’. Sometimes Hargrove, and maybe even William once or twice, but never Billy.

It takes some effort for her to muster up the will to keep arguing after that, but Max has a retort at the ready, once she evens her breaths and moves past the initial shock. “What’s there to talk about? Everyone’s already forgotten about him anyways.”

“I haven’t.” Steve looks her dead in the eye, the most serious she’s ever seen him outside of a life threatening situation. “Don’t think I ever will.”

She scoffs, “Yeah, well, negative sentiments don’t count for much either.”

Everyone knows things were a little rocky between Billy and Steve, so she’s expecting him to rub it in her face that her brother was a bad person who beat people up for fun, or whatever the general opinion of those who didn’t know him was.

But Steve shocks her again by saying, “I never said that.”

And it's so beyond frustrating, talking in circles with Steve, that Max decides to cut her losses. Bites her tongue and sinks further back in the pleather booth, casting her eyes down to show him that she’s done with this.

If she would’ve known he’d be this annoying, she would’ve just made him take her to the Wheeler’s and leave her alone for the rest of her life.

But he doesn’t get the message, though shes not sure if he’s even smart enough to, because he keeps talking. “Me and Billy, we didn’t- we were friends, in the end.”

“You probably don’t want to hear it from me, but we all, you know, like, feel pretty shitty after a, um, a personal loss like this.” The words come out slow as he tries to think of the best thing to say, and it’s her instinct to cut him off, but Max listens.

“E-Especially when it’s someone we care about so much.” There’s a focused sort of look on his face, like he’s trying to get Max to understand that there’s some reason behind what all he’s saying. “Just, what I’m trying to get at is that, I think I understand that in a way probably no one else in your life does.”

That sentence is what finally makes it click into place for Max, the reason why Steve won’t just get on with it and say what he means, the reason she’s even here in the first place.

Because Steve lost Billy too.

She realizes that they must have had a thing. The kind that was kept secret, unknown by anyone but maybe a select few for their safety. A thing not much at all unlike what she and Lucas have.

Of course she knew about Billy, about the ex-boyfriends in Cali and the fake girlfriend he acquired last spring around the same time a paternal rage-induced scar appeared in his eyebrow, but she never would’ve guessed that he he had someone, and especially not for that someone to be Steve Harrington.

The realization hits her like a freight train. A snotty, teary-eyed freight train.

Just knowing that he hadn’t been able to show up at Billy’s funeral, or grieve in public the loss that to him must have been earth-shattering, and that he even had to tell her in vague secrets about his relationship to her brother, her heart hurts incredibly for Steve, and she sheds a few silent tears for him

But then there’s this other feeling, this creeping warmth of something like relief deep inside Max. To know she wasn’t alone in her misery or her heartbreak, she feels seen for the very first time since they’d put Billy in the back of that ambulance.

All in one morning, she’d gone from feeling so iced out by her grief, the singular embodiment of mourning being orbited by the ignorant, the selfish, the cruel, and now there were at least two other people out there in the world who could share that pain with her.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t such a humbug after all.

To say that Max doesn’t know what to say now would be the understatement of the century. She’s totally floored, her mind still slowly trying to recuperate from the weight of what Steve just confessed to her.

Eventually she’s able to get her thoughts in order enough to ask, “How long were you guys, like, cool for?”

“He apologized in December.” Looking down into his mug, he takes a sip of coffee, reminding Max that hers is getting cold. “Two months later we were friends.”

She knows what that really means, that ‘friends’ meant he and Billy had started dating in February, and suddenly a couple of things start to come together.

Like the time when Billy had taken her into the city with promises of a shopping spree, but only bought a couple of little gifts and a bouquet of fancy roses that she never saw again. And the days when she’d wake up for school and he’d be missing because he spent the night somewhere without telling anybody, so Susan would have to drive her. Or when she would find him with things too expensive for his pool wages, like a new pair of ray bans, obvious gifts from the secret admirer.

It’s bittersweet, knowing it Steve was behind all of that.

Despite the tears welling up in her eyes, Max decides to try to crack a joke. “Does this mean you’re my brother in law now?”

Steve returns it by shrugging and saying, “I guess it does, shitbird.”

There is a moment where Max allows herself to laugh with Steve, her quiet giggle echoing in their empty little corner of the diner, but in her heart, she feels a pang of guilt when she looks to the booth in front of her, and thinks about how Billy should be there with them too, with his own slice of pie and a whole life ahead of him.

So Max sniffles, a gentle tear sliding down her cheek when she blinks, and says, “I’m sorry.”

Steve sighs heavily, and sets his cup down. “You don’t have a thing to be sorry for, Max.”

The tears make her voice wobbly, and it hardly comes out as she asks, “Don’t you miss him?”

“‘Course I do. All the time.” Steve says softly.

“Then I’m sorry.” Her bottom lip quivers, and she bites it to try to hold back the sob that comes after.

She can be grateful that Benny’s isn’t a very popular hangout spot these days, so that the only ones around to hear her crying are a couple of geezers whose hearing is probably too poor to notice anyways and Steve.

“Hey, don’t,” Steve starts to say, but his voice cracks, and there’s tears streaking his cheeks to match those on Max’s.

It’s probably good for them, crying it out over pie and coffee, and there’s something about the whole thing that just feels so right to Max, being able to talk with somebody who’s felt exactly what she’s been going through for these five grueling months of isolation.

To her, it feels like this is just where Billy would want her to be.

Eventually they get it out of their systems, crying until there are no tears left, and with a final dab at their eyes with wadded up printed napkins, they’re good to keep going.

Max is the first to strike the conversation back up, having noticed something particularly familiar about Steve’s denim vest. She has a sneaking suspicion it’s not too much unlike the jacket she’s wearing, in that both articles had at one point belonged to her brother.

She nods her head towards him. “Is that Billy’s?”

“What?” Steve looks down at himself like he’s completely forgotten what he’s wearing. “Oh, yeah. He forgot it at my place ages ago.”

She smiles to herself and says, “He did that a lot, forgot things.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” She nods assuredly and explains, “One time, he forgot to pick me up from school, and I didn’t have a bus pass so he had to drive all the way back and get me.”

“Sounds about like Billy.” There’s a warm smile spreading across Steve’s tear-stained face and an equally as warm chuckle. “You know I brought him here last year?”

Max raises an eyebrow and sips her coffee, but doesn’t say anything back. Steve continues in her place. “It was the night of the snowball, and, I’m sure you remember, his face was super messed up.”

“He wanted to talk, I told him we should come here, so we wouldn’t have to sit in his car.” Steve’s sort of staring off into space, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “We sat at this booth, and that was when he apologized.”

He looks back at Max now to say, “He told me about you too. How last Christmas was different because he didn’t know how to make it up to you.”

“He really loved you, Max.” His voice is thick, like he might start crying again.

Hers is barely above a whisper as she returns the sentiment. “I’m not the only one.”

For the rest of the night until closing, they spent their time exchanging stories of their memories with Billy, of times when he’d made them happy that they felt inclined to share.

They talked about how clumsy he could be, how weird his sense of humor was, his favorite off the wall music, anything and everything that comes to mind that encapsulated the Billy they knew.

One thing they don’t feel the need bring up is abusive parents or accidents at the mall, because that’s not the Billy they want to remember him by. They just talk and talk until they felt as close to one another as they had been to her brother, to his lover.

Just before 10, being that they’re the only stragglers left and Benny’s is about to close, the woman from before who’d taken their orders shoos them out with her politest smile.

From behind the counter, she had watched very moment of their emotional exchange, and some of the cheer in her own heart had been awakened, so she sent them away with some more baked goods before closing up.

Steve takes the long way back to old Cherry Road, trying to stretch this out for as long as he can. They didn’t much talk about it, sure, but his knowledge of how things were in the Hargrove-Mayfield house was enough that he knows he doesn’t want to send Max back there, not yet.

There’s a comfortable silence settled over them in the front seat, no sound but tires on wet pavement and faint Christmas carols drifting quietly through the radio.

Everything they could’ve possibly needed or wanted to say had already been aired out at Benny’s, minus some of the less than subtle stories they didn’t think they should share, so they both just take the time to appreciate the peace.

He’s able to get Max another forty five minutes away from home, letting her settle down in her seat with the heat as high as it can go, taking her drearily down scenic routes and back alley ways, but he can’t delay it forever.

He wishes he could, that didn’t have to take her back there at all, but rather give her the same chance for her freedom from that house that he’d pleaded so desperately with Billy to take before it was too late, but that was a discussion he knew very well she wasn’t ready for.

They pull up outside of the house to see the lights still on, and Max gives him a weak smile before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

She shuts the door behind herself, but she doesn’t budge, doesn’t take any further steps to leave, and Steve doesn’t either.

Rolling down the bimmers window, Steve leans across the seat and says to her, “Listen, if you ever need anything at all just, please let me know. We can do this again anytime.”

She nods and stuffs her hands in her pockets, a look on her face like she’s deep in thought. Steve takes that as his cue that it’s time to leave.

One last smile, a “Merry Christmas, Max,” and he’s pulling away, leaving her to stand alone in the icy breeze.

Making sure he’s well and gone, the sight of his taillights no longer visible from where she's standing, Max takes the envelope that contains Maria’s card out of her pocket, rubbing her thumb over the back of the smooth red paper.

She doesn’t know why she kept it a secret. Of all people, Steve deserves to know, but she figures this is something she’s got to work through on her own.

The front door creaks open behind her, and Susan, dressed in a robe and with her hair up in curlers, calls her inside with scorn in her voice for being out so late.

But not even that can deflate the growing feeling in her chest, of camaraderie, of belonging, of having a friend worth more to her than her mothers bitterness could ever take away.

No, Max goes up the steps to meet her mother in the doorway not with fear or apprehension, but with a certain pride about her, one that might have even been compared to the very swagger that Billy would’ve carried himself with, were he the one to come home after his curfew to find Neil at the door.

Read also on ao3!

[baekchelor]

ａｓｈｏｒｅ[x]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 1.7k a/n: Hello, hello! Let’s pretend we’re all hugging while I thank you all fro reading this story. I’m so sorry it took me so long to finally end it, but i really struggled with the outcome. Yes, she staying with Ethan was considered.🤭🤭 I hope you like the outcome. All the love, boos. ❤️❤️

❝I  am  longing  to  be  with  you,  and  by  the  sea,  where  we  can  talk  together  freely  and  build  our  castles  in  the  air.❞                                                                                               ― bram stoker

EPILOGUE

ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｅｎｄｌｅｓｓ ｄａｙｓ ◄ ｐｒｅｖ Bodevan wrote, "If you know I'm dying, and I know you still love me. Come back to me..." He wasn't dying; obviously, the only person inhabiting Bo's teepee whose days were numbered —unless a medical miracle occurred, was Danny. Although nobody was exempt on an accident or to suddenly drown in the sea, pushed by the strong winds at the Skeleton Coast, Danny's health was Bodevan's biggest concern. It grew worse each passing day, he barely had the strength to keep his lids open, and a despaired Peera held onto his fingertips with blood-shooted eyes. With careful words, and in response to your frantic call at 4am, Rellian explained the intended purpose between the lines in Bodevan's email. He was a professional, no doubt, he valued saving lives more than anything in the world, and that included you. Danny was his priority at the moment. Nevertheless, your absence had stolen further the already restless nights, it had triggered a loss of appetite in his rare lunch breaks. Bo's hunger for life started to fade away, he felt like dying each passing day you woke up across the world instead of wrapped around his limbs. It broke your heart because you knew —he confided in you—, it was a nightmare that haunted him at nights. To experience the same pain his father dealt with when Bo's mother left and later committed suicide, frightening him, and you've induced it to him. He feared the undying love you shared in Namibia was purely circumstantial, and the more days you spent in New York, the more the odds were against him and on Ethan's favour.  Bodevan was wrong.

Because all the time you spent with him, left a thread knitted inside your soul. Bo's face never failed to taunt you in dreamland or drifted you into memories about África and its morning skies. You haven't stopped thinking about him either, not for a second, despite the lies you told yourself. Bendel's and Butter lost their attraction. The sole deeds you appeared to enjoy were Maoism books, Yo-Yo Ma and Glen Gloud's music —anything related to the boy with long hair and a mustard jacket. But Bodevan was right to an extent. When you saw Ethan's face amongst the crowd at JFK, your first instinct was to deny it all, settled to forget Namibia and the eccentric doctor that spent his nights restlessly sleeping in a sofá of a combi-turned-reception. So you found yourself in Manhattan, wanting to convert the shores in the city, mixing the sky with the Atlantic sea, letting Bo escape as you agreed to lose him. Problem was, despite your efforts, Ethan's caresses couldn't erase the trace of Bodevan. Inside Ethan's bed, wrapped underneath Ethan's sheets and Ethan's arms, your heart still belong to Bodevan. You started drowning in photos, dreams, songs, memories that connected you to him, and even though you couldn't understand it, you began to feel insane. How could you deceive your soul? It was evident, Bodevan Cash held it under his possession. No matter how many times, how many people said you were drowning in an empty glass because there was no comparison between Ethan Gandy and some unknown, weird-named joke of a Doctor [in their exact words], you couldn't forget the night he kissed you and laid you down on the sand. Both them and Ethan, and your family, and even your own subconscious —you wanted to shut them all up, arguing you've forgotten him, that Bodevan was meaningless to your life and to your heart. The thing is, he wasn't... He taught you to stole the seconds away from time, to admire the sky, to say little white lies if it meant to spend more time with him, and to replace words with stares. You learnt more than a thousand ways to kiss, thanks to Bo, and it was because of him that you discovered what is to truly love. He forgot one final instruction though because you still didn't know how to live without him. Your mouth dreamed it kissed him, coffee tasted like sorrow and you couldn't gulp a single sip without recalling the mornings in your cabin, writing words into Bodevan's skin. Yet, it took you, eight more Sundays to finally break things off with Ethan. He didn't yell, you didn't cry, neither even mentioned Bodevan. Deep in your soul, though, you knew you've finally managed to let go of his hand due to an email you got from Namibia, where Bodevan stated that if you still thought about him, be assured that he still waited for you. Bo's words didn't push you out of Ethan to come running back to África, but they hit you the strong enough to make you realize, you were hurting people you loved and cared about. To finally be able to be with any of them, first, you needed to be with yourself, and let go of Namibia's rendezvouses and Ethan's divorce. You kissed Ethan one last time, you made love to him till the early hours of the morning, and after he said, "I'll love you forever, even when we're not together." And you responded, "Me too." You left. 

Today, almost six months later, you're about to start a new chapter in your life. You left New York, only this time you weren't running away from a lie, or trying to figure yourself out. You are where you stand, to follow the dreams you've finally discovered. There's no ring around your finger, there is no remorse of what you left behind at your studio in Dumbo, neither on the apartment at the Upper East Side, where you seemed to spend more nights than in your own. The sky complains above you, roaring and ready to let free all the tears condensed inside black clouds. You're facing what —hopefully— will be the rest of your life, the future you are sure to desire. Instead of feeling nervous, you're overwhelmed by happiness. This time you are confident. It took you a long time, but now you can firmly express what you want, what you need, what you believe. You don't believe the sea will ever lose the taste of salt. You don't believe in luck, or in miracles. You don't believe in Karl Marx's ideas. You don't believe in the principles of Maoism. You don't believe in God.And certainly, you don't believe in coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. So be it. With a deep breath, you walk into your future. You pass by the Australian boy who just had a heart transplant and the happy nurse feeding him breakfast. A smile curves your lips when a blue-eyed doctor nods in the direction of the beach, encouraging you to follow the path of shells and seaweed. You take off your sandals and allow your toes to relish in the sensation of the wet sand beneath. But the joy turns mundane when your eyes spot your very own belief. Yes, you believe in medicine. Moreover, you believe in his shy smile, in the kisses he gifts you, in everything he says. And in his morning-sky gaze. Bodevan hasn't seen you yet, he is standing at the shore, eyes closed and slowly breathing in and out. You try not to make noise, but you hurry because he's waiting there and you genuinely hope he's waiting for you. Once you're close enough to touch him, you hesitate, fearful that he will vanish at your touch because you've ached for him so long that it just hit you this might be a dream. And you're not in Namibia, and he's not here, and you're still laying down in Ethan's bed. But he is breathing, and he smells like vanilla and pinecones, and when your trembling fingertips write a greeting over the skin of his back, he turns around immediately. You're not dreaming anymore, he is real, but who's thinking the contrary seems to be him. Bodevan's ocean eyes are decorated with purple bags under it, and around his irises, sadness traces can be tracked easily. It takes one look at this boy to realize wherever he is, you'll go. He is your home. Your happy place. He is spring, a stairway straight to heaven, and you want to walk with him forever. He has given you so much, and you wanna give him so many more in return. You wanna be his ray of sunshine, the chords on his guitar, the cub of sugar in his coffee. The reason for his smile, not his heartache. "Please, I beg you, tell me you're real," Bo whispers in a very careful thread of words. "I haven't slept in days." A timorous hand reaches out to rest over his face, tenderly, "I am. I am here, Bo." "I believed you weren't coming back. That what we were, time left it behind." "I was an idiot," you answer. "I wrote to you emails that I never sent." Bodevan shakes his head, incredulous and almost giggling, "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, really. If you're here to stay."He is afraid of your answer, you know it, and you want to ease it all away with pampering kisses all over his face. But you know he needs the reassurance od promises and words. "Are you? Truthfully?" "I am. Truthfully." "One last thing," he says, his usual shy eyes facing you in bravery. "You love me. Truth or Untruth?" "Truth," you whisper, no hesitation in your voice. You could live without Ethan, you could live without New York, hell, you could even live without medicine. As long as you have Bodevan, and the haven that is his arms around your waist, and his kisses... Yes, you depend on him. And if you still have him left, then you have life. "More than anything and anyone. Above everything." Water starts to pour, and you bless the rains down in Africa, for always being a witness, as Bodevan cups your face to bring your lips together, and never let you go.

[for-your-therapeutic-smile]

They Never Teach You How to Stop

Rarely do I lack the words to express myself. Perhaps this reflects my failure to maintain my journal consistently throughout 2020. Here goes an honest attempt to capture and document my mental state and the fatigue of Covid, the inertia of this shelter-in-place, the anxiety of this political crisis we face as a nation, the pressure of being a 1L in law school against the backdrop of civil unrest and Justice Ginsburg’s death, coming out - my dad told me he was disappointed -, the possible erosion of my relationship with someone I love, and this feeling of absolute dread and resentment for a system that continuously fails my and future generations (robbing us of a social contract that promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness), among many other things I’m too tired to consider. When did we accept a $0 baseline as the American Dream? Oh, to be debt free - free from this punishment for having pursued an education. Stifling the educated to prevent them (myself included) from organizing and mobilizing the masses so we can supplant this system with a better one is the overall objective of the oppressive class (read: Pedagogy of the Oppressed); it’s the conflict between the bourgeois and the proletariat. The proletariat has swallowed the middle class, leaving only the ruling class. I am essentially on autopilot, forcing myself to go through the motions so I can survive another day. I know others join me in this mental gymnastics of unparalleled proportions, one social scientists and medical researchers will soon study and subsequently publish their findings in an attempt to explain the unexplainable. Despite a lack of air circulation, we are breathing history; the constitution, like our societal norms, must adapt accordingly. Judge Barrett: there is no place for originalism. While I seldom admit weakness or an inability to manage life’s curveballs, this series of unfortunate events seems almost too much to bear. 

And yet somehow I continue to find the energy to submit assignments due at 11:59 p.m., write this post at 1:38 a.m., “sleep”, wake at 7 a.m. so I can read and prepare (last minute!) the assigned material leading into my torts or contracts class. I find the energy to text my boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend) so I can attempt to salvage the real and genuine connection we have, cook elaborate meals to find some solace, wrestle with whether or not to hit my yoga mat (I don’t), apply to a fellowship for the school year and summer internships, prepare my dual citizenship paperwork, manage a campaign for two progressive politicians, and listen to music in an attempt to stay sane . . . ~*Queues John Mayer’s “War of My Life” and “Stop This Train”*~ . . . I realize I have to be kinder to myself, give credit where credit is due. I hate feeling self-congratulatory though.

Mostly, I am too afraid of the repercussions if I stop moving at a mile/minute, that I can just work away the pain and be the superhuman who numbs himself from the low-grade depression and nervous breakdown. My body tells me to slow down, as evidenced by the grinding of my teeth, but I take on more responsibility because people rely on me. I must show up. I am a masochist in that way. This is what I signed up for and I’ll be damned if I don’t carry through on my promise to do the work. Pieces of my soul scattered about like Horcruxes, though they’re pure, not evil, so I hope nobody resolves to destroy them. 

My mind rarely rests. It’s 3:08 a.m., one of the lonelier hours where night meets morning; it’s the hour for and of intense introspection. It makes you consider pulling an all-nighter, one you reserve for an “important” school or work deadline. We always put our personal lives on the back-burner. 3 a.m. sets the tone for a potentially awful day. But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m letting some of my favorite albums play in the background: Joni Mitchell’s Blue, Mac Miller’s Circles, Rhye’s Blood, Alicia Keys’ ALICIA, Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, Frank Ocean’s Blonde, Miley Cyrus’ Dead Petz in addition to other playlists, Tiny Desk performances, and tracks (I unearthed last week, like When It’s Over by Sugar Ray). I need to feel something. I need to feel anything. I need to feel everything. We experience such a broad spectrum of emotions throughout the day that we lose track of if we don’t pause to absorb them. Music reinforces empathy; it releases dopamine.

I spent the past two hours reading through old journals and posts, as scattered as they were, on a wide range of topics: poems I had written about falling in and out love, anecdotes about my world travels, and entries on personal, political, and professional epiphanies. The other night I found one of my favorites, a previous post from my time living in Indonesia, centering on the dualities of technology. It resonated with me more than the others. To summarize, I wrote about my tendency to equate the Internet with a sense of interconnectedness (shoutout to Tumblr for being my digital journal; to Twitter for being a place of comedy and revolution; to Instagram for curating my *aesthetic*; to Facebook where I track my family’s accomplishments and connect with travel buddies displaced around the globe all searching for a home). And yet I feel incredibly lonely and disconnected whenever I spend too much time using technology, so much so that I set screen time limitations on my phone recently to curtail this obsession with constant communication and information gathering. Trump and Biden admitted that it’s unlikely we’ll know the results of the election on November 3rd during their first presidential debate. Push notifications don’t allow us to learn of trauma within the comforts of our own homes. I’m already fearing where I will be when that news breaks. 

This global pandemic and indefinite shutdown of the world (economy) undeniably exacerbates these feelings. This is some personal and collective turmoil. But I was complicit in the endless scrolling and swiping of faces and places long before Covid-19. Instead of choosing to interact with my direct environment (today’s research links this behavior to the same levels of depression one feels when they play slot machines), I am still an active on all these platforms, participating the least in the most tangible one: my physical life. I am tired of pretending. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of embodying fake energy to exist in systems that fail me. I am tired of the quagmire. Like Anaïs Nin, I must be a mermaid [because] I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living. This particular excerpt from that 2016 entry was difficult for me to read: “The fantasy of what could have been if a certain plan had unfolded will haunt you forever if you do not come to peace with the reality of the situation. I hope you come to terms with reality.” I am not at peace with my current reality. But is anyone?

It’s a bit surreal for my peers to have suddenly started caring about international relations theory. It’s transported me back to my 2012 IR lecture at Northeastern: are you a constructivist or a feminist? Realist or liberalist? Neo? Marxist? The one no one wants you to talk about. Absent upward mobility, this is class warfare. But I cannot be “a singular expression of myself . . . there are too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers” . . . It feels like America’s wake-up call. But I know people will retreat into the comforts of capitalism if Biden wins and, well, we all enter uncharted waters together if the Electoral College re-elects #45. For those who weren’t paying attention: the world is multipolar and we are not the hegemon. Norms matter. People tend to be self-interested and shortsighted. Look to the past in order to understand the future. History, as the old adage goes, repeats itself. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Taxation without representation. Indoctrination. Welcome to the language of political discourse. Students of IR and polisci have long awaited your participation. Too little too late? Plot twist: it’s a lifelong commitment. You must continue to engage irrespective of the election outcome or else we will regress just as quickly as we progress. Now dive into international human rights treaties (International Covenant on Civil & Political Rights; International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights), political refugees, FGM. No one said it wasn’t dismal. But it’s important. We need buy-in.  

While I am grateful for the continuation of my education, for this extended time with family, for this opportunity to be a campaign manager for two local progressive candidates (driving to Boston to pick up revised yard signs as proof that the work never stops), it would be remiss of me, however, not to admit that I am lonely: I am buried in my books, in the depressing news both nationally and globally, and in precedent-setting Supreme Court cases (sometimes for the worst, e.g. against the preservation of our environment). In my nonexistent free time I work on political asylum cases, essentially creating an enforceability framework of international law, for people fleeing country conditions so unthinkable (the irony of that work when my country falls greater into authoritarianism and oligarchy is not lost on me). I am fulfilling my dream of becoming a human rights lawyer which stems back to middle school. I saw Things I Imagined (thank you Solange). I have held an original copy of the Declaration of Independence that we sent to the House of Lords in 1778 and the Human Rights Act of 1998 while visiting the U.K. Parliamentary Archives as an intern for a Member of Parliament. This success terrifies and exhausts me; it also oxygenizes and saves me. Every decision, every sacrifice, has led me to this point. 

“It’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?,” Lois Lowry of The Giver rhetorically asks. This post is not intended to be woe is me! I am fortunate to be in this position, to have this vantage point at such an early age, and I understand the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My life has purpose. I am committed to the work that transcends boundaries; it is larger than life itself. It provides a unique perspective. But it makes it difficult to coexist with people so preoccupied in the drama they create in their lives and the general shallowness of the world we live. It feels like there is no option to pump the brakes on any of this work, especially in light of our current climate, and that pressure oftentimes feels insurmountable. Time is of the essence. It feels, whether true or not, that hardly anyone relates to my experience, so if I don’t carve out this time to write about it, then I am neither recording nor processing it. 

Tonight, in between preparing tomorrow’s coursework, I realize that I have an unprecedented number of questions about life, which startles me because typically I have the answers or at least have a goal in mind that launches me into the next phase of life or contextualizes the current one. These goals, often rooted in this capitalistic framework, in this falsity of “needing” to advance my career as a means of helping people, distract me from asking myself the existential questions, the reasons for why we live and what we fundamentally want our systems to look like; they have distracted me from real grassroots community organizing until now. They distract me from the fact that, like John Mayer, I don’t know which walls to smash; similarly, I don’t know which train to board. Right now feels like we are living through impossible and hopeless times and I don’t want to placate myself into thinking otherwise despite my relatively optimistic outlook on life. As we face catastrophic circumstances – the consequences of this election and climate change (famine, refugees, lack of resources) – I do not want to live in perpetual sadness. I am searching for clarity and direction so I can step into a better, fuller version of myself. 

It’s now 3:33 a.m. Here is the list of questions that I have often asked myself in different stages of life, but recently, until now, I have not been willing to confront for fear that I might not be able to answers them. But I owe it to myself to pose them here so I can have the overdue conversation, the one I know leads me to better understanding myself:

Are you happy? Why or why not?

What do you want the future to hold? What groundwork are you going to do to ensure it happens?

What does your ideal day/week/month/year/decade look like? Why?

With whom do you want to spend your days? Why?

Who do you love and care about? Have you told people you care about that you love them? Does love and vulnerability scare you?

What do you expect of people – of yourself, of your partner, of your family, and of your friends? Should you have those expectations? Why or why not?

What do you feel and why?

What relaxes you? What scares you? What brings you joy?

What do you want to improve? Why?

What do you want to forgive yourself for and why?

Does the desire to reinvent yourself diminish your ability to be present?

Do you have a greater fear of failure or success? Why?

How do you escape the confines of this broken system? How do you break from the guilt of participation in it and having benefited from it?

How do we reconcile our daily lives with the fact that we’re living through an extinction event? This one comes from my friend (hi Jeanne) and a podcast she listened to recently.

How do you help people? How do you help yourself? Are you pouring from an empty cup?

How will you find joy in your everyday responsibilities, in the mission you have chosen for yourself? What, if any, will be the warning signs to walk away from this work, in part or in its entirety? Without being a martyr, do you believe in dying for the cause?

So here are some of the lessons I have learned during this quarantine/past year:

“I’ve Got Dreams to Remember,” so do not take your eyes off them. Chasing paper does not bring you happiness.

Be autonomous, particularly in your professional life.

Focus on values instead of accolades.

Do everything with intention and honest energy.

Listen to Tracy Chapman’s “Crossroads” & Talkin’ Bout a Revolution for an energy boost and reminder that other revolutionaries have shared and continue to share your fervent passion . . . “I’m trying to protect what I keep inside, all the reasons why I live my life” . . . When self-doubt nearly cripples you and you yearn a few minutes to run away when in reality you can’t escape your responsibilities, go for a drive and queue up “Fast Car” . . . “I got no plans, I ain’t going nowhere, so take your fast car and keep on driving.”

With that said, take every opportunity to travel (you can take the work with you if absolutely necessary). Go to Italy. Buy the concert ticket and lose yourself in the moment. Remember that solo excursions are equally as important as collective ones. But, from personal experience, you prefer the company. Find the balance.

Detach from the numbers people keep trying to assign to measure your personhood.

Closely examine the people in your inner circle and ask them for help when you need it.

“And life is just too short to keep playing the game . . . because if you really want somebody [or something], you’ll figure it out later, or else you will just spend the rest of the night with a BlackBerry on your chest hoping it goes *vibration, vibration*” (John Mayer’s Edge of Desire) . . . so love fiercely and unapologetically.

Be specific.

Go to therapy even when life is good.

[taste-in-music]

My Favorite Hit Songs of 2019

This year’s crop of popular music was... absolutely bonkers? I mean, this year we had Billie Eilish crash into the mainstream, Lizzo managed to get multiple hits out of songs she released nearly three years ago, the Jonas Brothers made a comeback, and the longest-running #1 hit in Billboard history became a rap/country crossover that got its start on Tik Tok made by a complete nobody and the dad from Hannah Montana. I’m going to admit, this list was pretty hard to put together, as I found it hard to find 10 songs that I genuinely loved that were hits this year. Despite that, the sheer absurdity of this year’s popular music gave me a spark of hope going into the new decade. For this list, I’ll be selecting my favorite songs off of Billboard’s year end Hot 100 songs list. I’m ready to recount this year in music, so...

10) Sucker by Jonas Brothers I never watched the Jonas Brothers show or listened to their music back when they were big on Disney, so I’ve got no nostalgic investment in them. However, this was a fun comeback to watch play out. This song was pretty dang good for a while, with the funky guitars and the instantly catchy lyrics. It reminded me of “Feel It Still” by Portugal. The Man. Then it got the point where three separate radio stations were playing it at the same time, and now I can barely stand it. I think that after the radio releases this song from its clutches it will warm up on me again though, because I do like it overall.

9) Better by Khalid The strongest attribute of this song is its ATMOSPHERE. The beat, melody, and vocal delivery all compliment one another perfectly, combining to create a smooth, almost sexy sound that washes over you with ever listen. I also like the Daft-Punk-y vocoded lines that pop in at the end, they’re so unexpected and yet they fit in perfectly. I've always loved Khalid’s vocal timbre, it’s so chill and yet warm at the same time. The only thing I can’t praise about this is the lyrics, because I have no clue what they are. Khalid, bless his sweet soul, cannot enunciate. It’s the same problem I have with Ariana Grande. I love your voice, I want to know what you’re saying! 

8) Trampoline by SHAED Give me the hipster points, because guess who knew about this song before it was cool! I’ve loved SHAED’s music for some time now, so it’s been thrilling to watch this song climb the charts and for them to get the recognition and success that they deserve. While this song isn’t my favorite by them, (that slot would probably be reserved for “Perfume” or “Melt,”) it does showcase the group’s strengths, which are emotive vocals and glossy electronic production. I love the effervescent backing vocals and bubbling keys that pepper this song, it gives the song a floaty feel while still keeping it tense. 

7) Old Town Road by Lil Nas X ft. Billy Ray Cyrus I can’t think of a piece of music in recent memory that has captured the public’s attention so swiftly and so completely, and you know what? Sometimes something gets big because it’s good. This song, despite all the memes and jokes and radio play and oversaturation, never ever got old to me. Every time it comes on, it puts a giant, goofy smile on my face, and I sing along to the whole thing. I want Lil Nas X to stick around, but even if he doesn’t, I want what this song represents, genre blending, trend-bucking, and a sense of fuck-it fun, to stay.

6) bury a friend by Billie Eilish Out of all the strange hits we had this year, this was the weirdest one to hear on the radio. It doesn’t have a classic structure! It’s about the monster under your bed! It’s got nothing but a shuffle beat, bass, and the sound of dental drill! It just doesn’t belong on the airwaves next to songs like “ME!” or “I Don’t Care.” Despite that, I’m beyond happy that Billie Eilish is bringing a bit of emo weirdness to the mainstream, because if the success of her music, specifically this song, says anything, it’s that pop is heading in a far scarier and more experimental direction. And I’m on board with that. 

5) break up with your girfriend, i’m bored by Ariana Grande The groove on this song is fantastic. The combination of eerie synths, bass, reverbed backing vocals, and rolling snares makes it feel tight and controlled, but also loose and flowing at the same time. There was a lot of pushback against this song due the sentiment of the lyrics, but it’s not like Ariana is unaware that she’s the bad guy in this position. There’s enough indifference and sarcasm in her delivery to show that she’s self aware. This was probably my favorite out of the hit singles from the thank u, next era, (”thank u, next” is great but got a bit old to me, and I don’t care for “7 Rings.”) 

4) Circles by Post Malone  This is embarrassing to admit, because I rarely, if ever, enjoyed any music Post Malone has put out in the past. But this song just hits different. The instrumental feels more acoustic-driven and has a nice pulse to it, projecting a warmth and comfort that none of his other songs have. This was a perfect hit for Autumn, being chill and relaxing enough for Summer, but the underlying bass groove makes you want to move into the productive patterns of the school year. If Post Malone made more music like this I’d reckon I’d enjoy his music quite a bit. 

3) Dancing With A Stranger by Sam Smith ft. Normani Sometimes radio filler turns out to be spectacular. The ambiance this track builds is relaxing but in an otherworldly kind of way, forming a soundscape of echoing drums and whispering synths. I’ve always stood by the opinion that Sam Smith sounds really good with an electronic beat under them, it helps their great voice move in a more free-flowing way. Normani also sounds amazing on this song, her vocals dipping into smokier territory, and when the two sing together they play off one another’s performances with ease. 

2) Sweet But Psycho by Ava Max Who predicted this in their last year’s hit song’s list? This bitch! I was so happy to see this hit the U.S. charts, you have no idea. It was such a breath of fresh air in that it was so splashy, sugar-sweet, and unabashedly pop. The lyrics are some of the silliest of the whole year, (”she’s poison but tasty” makes me chuckle every time,) but it doesn’t matter. The addictive melodies and the earnestness in Ava Max’s performance make them sound like Shakespearean poetry, or at least like she believes that they’re Shakespearean poetry. 

Should Have Been Hits

Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift This should’ve been a single. I get why Taylor chose the singles she did, but this was primed to be a Summer smash, with the glossy synths and vocoded backing vocals and soaring chorus. We were robbed. Robbed, I tell you!

Graveyard by Halsey While “Without Me” got all the glory, this is my favorite of all the Halsey singles we’ve gotten so far by a wide margin. It’s the only one that I’ve made the conscious choice to listen to on my own time for one. I love the way the production rushes as the chorus hits, and the synths that sparkle throughout the verses, and Halsey’s reserved performance.

3 Nights by Dominic Fike This was a hit in the U.K., and I even heard it on a few alternative stations, so why no cross over? If there was any song that should have been the chill Summer hip hop hit, it should have been this. This song is weirdly addictive, the chorus is so inexplicably catchy that once you hear it one time through you will know all the words to it. 

Blame It On Your Love by Charli XCX ft. Lizzo When the mainstream decide that it didn’t need Charli XCX? Because it’s wrong, it needs her very, very badly. The success of “1999″ in the U.K., the name recognition, and the Lizzo feature should’ve been more than enough to boost this onto the charts, but I guess we didn’t want an instantly catchy and fun EDM pop song on the radio. Oh well. 

Motivation by Normani Normani and Lauren are my favorite Fifth Harmony members, so I’ve been rooting for their solo careers like nobody’s business. This single in particular had so much potential: a bouncy beat, a stamp of approval from Ariana Grande, and a kick-ass music video filled with impressive choreography. I hope this gets a bigger push into next year, because Normani is a wildly talented performer that deserves success outside of her collaborations. 

Guilty Pleasures

bad guy by Billie Eilish This was a good song, just not my favorite off the album, or of the hits, (I prefer ”bury a friend,” obviously, and “when the party’s over,” which made last year’s list.) Still, watching this idiosyncratic little tune become one of the biggest pop smashes of the year was enthralling. Like “bury a friend,” it was so strange to hear this on the radio. 

Close To Me by Ellie Goulding ft. Diplo & Swae Lee When a melody gets its claws in me, there’s nothing I can do about it. This is not Ellie Goulding at her best, (I’ll admit that I miss the days of “Lights,”) but the way she delivers the hook on this song is absolutely infectious. I’m not the biggest Swae Lee fan, but he’s fine here too. I never minded when this song came on the radio. 

This year was a bit of a roller coaster for me. Needless to say, there were several instances where I felt quite a bit of stress and insecurity, and oftentimes, I would turn to music to make myself feel better. There was one song in particular that a friend of mine, @hasanminajs​, introduced me to, that instantly became a beacon of self-appreciation and enjoyment to me throughout the year. And when I tell you that I have never been happier to hear a song on the radio than I have with this one, I'm telling the truth. 

1) Truth Hurts by Lizzo I have never rooted for a song’s success like I have for this one, and watching a hip hop track this bouncy, confident, and enigmatic climb the charts was an absolute joy. There are so many great punchlines in this song, from “why men great till they gotta be great?” to “I don’t play tag bitch, I’ve been it,” to the ever-iconic “I just took a DNA test, turns out, I’m 100% that bitch.” This song raised the standards for lyricism in the mainstream. I want Lizzo to be huge, I want her to be influential, I want her to be one of the biggest pop stars of the next decade if not longer. Everything about this song, from its production to its message to its performance makes me smile. And you know what? Sometimes that’s all that pop music needs to do. 

Do you agree with this list? What were your favorite hit songs of 2019? Leave a comment and let me know!

[valkerymillenia]

Umbrella Academy

season 2, episode 3

Next!

Again, live blogging and posting my reactions all in one post to avoid spamming.

This post got accidentally deleted yesterday so I had to write or all again (twice!)

Oh, starting with a Klaus and Ben 1960 flashback! Ah, Klaus... You have no shame. Let my baby eat though!

Lol "Chanel". Boy knows his fashion, of course.

And there's Boney M playing!

You can practically read his mind when he sees that diamond. Sugar momma alert! 😆

Damn, loving the black outfit, very sexy.

LEVITATING KLAUS WAS BEN LIFTING HIM UP! Seems that one crack theory on the fandom was right 🤣

Ben's face though 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

These two are the best combo. I love them.

61, Baja, NM. Traveling hippie commune.

Is Klaus still sober? He refuses a joint here so I'm inclined to believe that he is but he isn't acting very sober... Then again that might be an act, just him embracing the hippy life.

CALLED IT!!! BEN FALLS IN LOVE, DOESN'T HE?! I FUCKING CALLED IT IN EP 1!

62, Varanasi, India. The river scene from the promos. Yeah, I called this one too. Klaus is already looking seriously uncomfortable and realizing this is getting out of hand.

63, San Francisco. Poor Klaus is practically suffocating under all the touching and nobody respects his space or his words.

Destiny's Children! 🤣 You are such a 90s kid, Klaus.

Run away, Klaus! Run! Escape the crazies.

Ok, let me paused to write out a thought...

So a lot of people were worried about the cult thing and Klaus's intentions but it's clear he had no malicious intentions at all. He charmed and impressed some people for survival purposes and thrived, he enjoyed the love and attention at first and the cult just grew around around him organically whether he liked it or not, more a hippy cult of personality then a religious sect, but at some point he saw that it had gone too far, the pressure and expectation became too much and he realized he'd bitten more than he can chew.

It's actually rather sad how he just wants to escape but the cultists objectify him to all hell, he has no privacy or personal space. The problem with Klaus is that he doesn't do anything mildly, he always goes too big until he's drowning. Boy is already self-sabotaging and I'm sure he's going to start self-destructing very soon as well.

End of thought. Clicking play again.

Ouch! Poor Diego 😰 Lila, that is not how you cauterize a stab wound...

"what happened?" -your dear daddy stabbed you, dude.

Did she really need to strip him so thoroughly? 😏 Yes, yes, she did.

Well, at least she's not sewing you up, Diego. No needles, yay.

"oh, he isn't dead." "Disappointed?" "To see you? Always 😊" -did I mention I love Five's sass? I did? Well, I do.

Old family friend 😆

"you don't untie him?" "Was I supposed to?" Oh Lila, you're adorable, poor Elliot.

Vanya, that is suspicious as hell, just mow down that weirdo!

Ok, good instincts but too slow.

Run, girl, run!

Got to admit, these Swedes are good battle strategy, they are surrounding her surprisingly well.

Is this were the badass Vanya promo was from? Show me badass Vanya, please.

BADASS VANYA! 💖

Ooooooh, very smart, Five!!!

One of the machines though? What are the others for? I'm curious.

Plano Street Rooming House for Solitary Men? That's real depressing, Luther.

It's the "the end is nigh" guy the same that was screaming with Luther in ep 1?

King Kong! Not sure if cute or rude af...

Ahahahah! Luther literally STUMBLING on "Allison" and then acting like an awkward Steve Rogers when the kids call him out 😆 Boy, when will you realize that your obsession is creepy?

Honestly, ALL the Hargreeves siblings can be divided into two categories- sweet awkward dork or sass king/queen, there is no in-between (but Diego and Klaus get to be both).

Convenient that Vanya would just sit there and wait to be found by Five but ok.

"I have a brother?" -honey, you have five (pun fully intended)

IKEA MAFIA! 😂

Nice crop circle, Vanya.

Five just rolls with the amnesia, huh? Doesn't even question it. Ok, then.

Why is Ruby, notorious mobster, sewing sequins? It's it for the dog? I bet, it's for the dog.

"Hargreeves. She your ex?" *Cue Luther's super awkward fumbling* "S-Sorta...Y-Yeah. Sure." - big boy, this is the point where you realize how creepy your crush on your own sister is, time to reevaluate.

KLAUS AND ALLISON REUNION! THEY ARE SO CUTE! 😭💜

Honestly, I need more Klaus and Allison interactions. They have so much bff potential.

*le gasp* "oh, you're married?" 😲 -yes, Klaus, you met him.

"dicks, drugs, debutants. My holy trinity" -ok so everything Klaus says should be taken with a grain of salt but does Klaus still do drugs or not? Considering the evolution of his powers with Ben I'd say no, but we aren't seeing other ghosts harassing him so... Hmm, I need confirmation.

"alternative spiritual community" my ass

Ah, Allison falls into the sass queen category.

Allison can have a little PTSD, as a treat. 😢

Those shoes! Hi, Handler.

Those shoes really are her signature by now. Those heels could kill a man.

Handler as a brunette...? She looks good but I like her bleach blonde.

What did she say to make that boy pee himself?? Damn, Handler, no wonder your kid is a mess.

These dudes need to start listening to my girl Allison, instead of following her husband like puppies.

Great speech, girl! ✊

What is up with that sandwich???

Oh wait, it's Ben right? Klaus is using his powers to get Ray out of jail, isn't he?

Yup, of course he is.

Ben being all sassy and cocky about it gives me life.

"high places" - 😆

Poor Ray, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into.

"family barbecues are about to get reeeeeeeal weird" - I'd actually like to see that.

"leave the pot, dear" - you're such an old man, Five.

"any questions?" Five, if be worried if she DIDN'T have questions after all that.

"asteroid impact" -aww 💜 you really do care for her feelings, Five... But you have to tell her the truth sooner or later.

Harlan likes classical music, huh? Good thing he knows a good violinist.

Harlan and Sissy... 😭 My poor heart.

Ouch! What is wrong with you, Lila? You're right but what is wrong with you?

"I can't believe I got shanked by my own father" - can't you, Diego? Really? After everything else that man did to you and your siblings?

"man to man, that son of bitch wouldn't stand a chance" - yeah, he would, he taught you all you know, boy

Not sure if Lila's story is true or not but... I still have that one theory that she was born on October, 1989...

"I don't understand you!!!" - ahah, poor Diego 🤣

Really? Right in front of Elliot's tuna mold?

Man, Handler is really obsessed with Five...

Oh, Luther, you giant puppy...

This is so AWKWARD!

Bonbons, Luther? Really?

Ok, this small talk is even MORE AWKWARD! It physically hurts to listen to this.

The pain in his face and voice when Luther goes "S-so great" 😭

boy, this is the moment you realize it's time to move on, you're not isolated teenagers in a dysfunctional home anymore, let her be your sister and find love elsewhere.

The sit in!

"seven languages" sassy, sassy, I love her.

YOUNG DAVE!

Oh no... Klaus, no, baby... Oh, this is painful.

Ben, don't be mean, let your brothe have this.

What kind of gay man doesn't know what eggshell is? 😆

"is this considered stalking? 'cause I think you're stalking now" - well, BEN, following your brother 24/7 for 15 years can also be considered stalking

Oh no, Vietnam flashbacks... Poor Klaus 😭😭😭

"Vietnam fling"? Ben, you know it wasn't just a fling! Stop being mean.

Aw, Klaus just wants to save Dave... He's willing to sacrifice their relationship to save Dave's life... 😭😭😭

I know Ben is just worried but he could be less mean...

Damn, this sit in thing is really upsetting...

Why is Ray being weird? Is he suspicious of Luther and Alison's relationship? Or is he just unhappy that Allison kept secrets about her family?

Oh Luther, no... Self-harm by proxy is not going to make you feel better.

Oh, motherfucker! That coffee thing was such an asshole move!

Shit, this scene is so well written, the way something so small is making the whole protest escalate to all hell... The police brutality, the parallels with recent events... Disturbing and brilliant and deeply relevant!

Yes! Rumor that motherfucker, Allison!

Oh no, don't be scared of your wife, Ray! Don't be suspicious!

Poor Allison... 😢

Oh Luther, you dumbass... 😢

Lila going to meet mommy, huh?

Oh, she's still wearing Diego's bracelet. Cute.

I know this scene between Handler and Lila was supposed to be a shocking plot twist but after David Castañeda's interview slip up, I already knew.

Still, an excellent scene and very cool surprise.

Like I said before, I really like Lila, I don't trust her AT ALL but I like her.

...

THIS WAS SUCH AN EMOTIONAL EPISODE... Again.

My god, this show gives me life.

[snowkatze]

Night Shift

Carry On Countdown: Day 1 (Sun and Moon) Genre: mostly fluff Word Count: 2341 Summary: After the death of his mother, Baz always takes the night shift at the café he's working in. He's always twenty minutes early, because he's pining after the boy on the day shift. Ao3: Night Shift

I come in twenty minutes early. Snow calls me ridiculous and over-punctual. (He doesn't know the half of it.)

I walk into the café and sit down right in front of Snow, who is fiddling with the paper cups. I drop my bag in the seat next to me and Snow rolls his eyes at me. His hair is like a ray of sun on top if his head. When he gives Bunce his brilliant smile, I suppress a sigh and put on a measured smile. I do have some dignity. (Not much.)

“Hello there, Mister Tall, Dark, and Gloomy,” he says to me. If I didn't know Snow was an oaf, I'd think he was flirting with me.

“Are you still on about the Vampire thing?” I ask, careful to sound casual.

“I will never not be on about the Vampire thing,” he says and his eyes are bright. He looks ten times as alive as I feel. (He might have a point about the Vampire thing.)

Snow makes a show of leaning to the side to look past me out the window.

“Sun's just gone down,” he says, “as always when you show up.” “You know, the night shift tends to be at night,” I say, pull out my book. I think it's Wuthering Heights, I might have shoved it in my backpack this morning

“Come on, Baz. You can tell me. What happens when you step into the sunlight? Burst into flames? Crumble to ashes? Glitter?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and he looks ridiculous doing it. Evidently, my standards are all the way down at the bottom of the barrel.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” I smirk.

I open my book on a random page and let my gaze fall on it, but immediately look back up at the spectacle that is Simon Snow. Bunce raises an eyebrow at me. She's not fooled for a second. It's lucky Snow isn't quite as intellectually gifted.

“So what can I get you?” he says and grabs a mug. “Pint of blood?” “I think my usual will be fine for now,” I answer and look down at my book. “Though I'll take the blood to go if it's that of a virgin.”

“Oh, I see,” Snow says and grins at me, which is rare, since he doesn't actually like me. “Looking to summon a demon?”

“Don't be silly,” I say flatly. “Demons have Saturdays off.”

“Oh, there's Unions in hell?”

Snow starts preparing my Pumpkin Mocha Breve.

“There will be once I've implemented my reforms,” I answer. I watch the lean muscles on Snow's arms. For reasons unfathomable to me, he has his sleeves rolled up. I would make that illegal if I were king of hell.

“That's three sugars,” I say quickly, leaning over the counter. Snow holds eye contact and drops in a forth.

“Oops,” he says lightly. I scowl at him.

“Okay, that's enough of the flirting,” Bunce calls and I can feel my face going warm, but Snow is already looking away. “There's an actual customer coming, so get your butt over here.”

I straighten out the pages of the book, but keep my eyes on Snow. He walks to the other register to take the order. I prop up my head on my arm. Snow has his friendly customer smile on, which is not as nice as his other smiles, but still quite the sight.

“You know, you could just be on time for once,” Snow announces once he's back. “The business isn't gonna fall apart if you're three minutes late.”

“I am on time,” I say, “though you wouldn't know what that's like.” I'm taking a wild guess here, but it's not really a stretch, given all that I know about Snow's personality.

“I would say I use my time efficiently,” Snow counters.

I snort.

“Pray tell, what important things are you up to in the morning before work?”

“I... might have lost track of time while watching Bake-Off before.”

“Of course you have.” Snow slides my drink across the counter.

“You know, it would do you good to cheer up a little once in a while,” he says, fixing me with his gaze.

“It would do you good to keep your nose out of what's none of your business,” I bite back. Snow huffs and turns his back to me.

I don't have a lot of nice things any more. But I do have twenty minutes each day. Snow is bright. He has the day shift, because that's what he deserves. He's a golden boy.

I don't need daylight. Or Vitamin D. Snow is laughing at something that Bunce said. I don't need it. Least of all the sun.

I go into the back room to change into my work shirt.

“You ready to take over?” Snow asks. He's so used to my animosity that it doesn't faze him any more.

“Obviously,” I say.

He's talking to Bunce on his way out. He doesn't look back even once.

Evidently, my standards are so high that I might as well be shooting for the sun.

Dev says it's not good for me to be alone with my thoughts for an extended period of time. I say Dev can go fuck himself.

I work the night shift alone, because there's few customers. There's a guy with a laptop and glasses that comes in every evening and stays until one. He doesn't talk to me, of course.

Sometimes, I watch the moon through the store front. Sometimes, I watch the people walking past the shop, wondering if any of them can be enticed for a hot cup of coffee. Most of the time, I'm thinking about Snow.

I don't know what it's like to have things any more. All I know is that this is better than sleep. And you get free coffee, sometimes. And nobody bothers you until four in the morning. So that's what I'm doing.

At one am I find Snow's jacket in the back room.

And I look at the moon, and I think about new coffee creations.

And I look at the moon, and I think about Simon Snow's smile.

And I look at the moon, and I think about the way her voice sounded when she said good-bye to me that night.

It's two am and I'm counting the paper cups next to the coffee machine when the doors slide open and Snow steps in. I wonder if I fell asleep for a moment, then straighten my back.

“Has a Vampire bitten you, or what are you doing still up?” I ask when he's at the counter. Snow makes a noise that could be vaguely interpreted as a protest.

“Just gimme some coffee,” he says tiredly.

“I feel like you should not be drinking coffee right now.” “Tea, then.”

I go to grab a mug. Snow's never been here after his shift before. It's vastly irritating.

Snow sits in silence until I put the mug down in front of him.

“Careful, hot,” I say right when he puts the mug to his lips and yelps.

“Give me a warning, next time,” he mumbles, just to be irritating.

“Bad night, then,” I say, but not like a question, because I know that I'm the last person Snow would want to tell his troubles to. I irritate him, too. He doesn't get why I take the night shift. (No one gets why I take the night shift.)

“Nightmare,” he says.

“You've come to the right place then,” I say and spread my arms. “The secret lair of insomniacs.”

“It's the same as during the day.” “It's really not.” “It is!” “Can't you smell the melatonin in the air?” I say and take a deep breath. “Ah.”

“That's the sleep hormone?”

“Yeah.”

Snow quietly sips his tea for a few moments. Then he looks around.

“You're right,” he amends. “It is different. In a creepy way.”

“No, it's a safe space for the sleepless. Don't argue.” “It's like something out of a horror movie.” “Only one who's going to murder you here is me if you keep insulting the café under my reign.” Snow blinks up at me.

“I do my best to make it homely,” I say, even though I don't change the café at all when I work.

“You're just radiating vampire energy everywhere,” he says displeased.

I'm not a vampire, but I am half dead, so I don't argue.

Snow lowers his head and tips his cup, looking awfully pretty. My next words just come out.

“Did you come here just to torment me?”

He keeps staring into his tea.

“I came here because I'm tormenting me,” he says eventually. “With thoughts.”

“Really? The sunshine child?” I say and regret it immediately.

“Is it really so bad to try and stay optimistic? Am I really so naïve?” Snow's jaw is tight. “I know you think I'm stupid.” “I didn't think-”

I pause and realize that I was the one being stupid. I swallow.

“So, bad thoughts, huh?”

He softens, even thought I don't deserve it.

“It's my – my foster – Davy. He thinks I'm supposed to be so grateful – but -” He stops and clutches the handle of the mug. I lean back against the wall and don't take my eyes off him.

“But I dream about him. I dream about – family dinners. And watching football together. And he gave me a place to stay – but it's never been – it's not what I really wanted.” “A home.” “Yeah. No home for an orphan like me, I know.” I've never been good at saying the right thing, but I try.

“You don't owe him anything,” I say. “I'm too old to still want this,” he says, chocked up. I want to reach out to him. “I'm an adult – I – I'm supposed to make my own family.” “No. You're always allowed to want this,” I say. His hand is on the counter, I could just touch it. “You're not supposed to be all grown up immediately. You're not supposed to be all alone once you've grown up. And you deserve to have it.” “But I won't,” he says slowly.

“But you deserve it,” I repeat. Tears roll down his face and I want to wipe them off. I'm frozen behind the counter.

He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Geez,” he says. “I'm so fucked up. I have a nice dream but it's a nightmare because -” “It's okay.”

Snow finishes his tea and I move to make another cup. He's staring at the counter until I give him the next cup.

“Baz,” he says and his eyes are shining from tears. “Will you tell me why you take the night shift?” I look from his eyes to his cup, then out the window. I don't know why he's let me in. But the door is open now, and if I can see him, he can see me. He drinks half of the cup before I speak again.

“My mother,” I say and swallow. “My mother hung the moon.”

“Oh,” he says softly and I can't meet his eyes. “When-” “A few months ago. Car accident.”

I wish he would let me take his hand. “And I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw her – the last time she said good-bye to me-” I say and grip the counter. “How are people just – gone?” He sits there and I stand there so long until he has finished his cup and starts fiddling with the tea bag.

“So when you're talking about insomniacs-” he starts.

“Yeah. That's me. Ruling the kingdom of insomniacs.”

He looks at me and my hair is not long enough to fall into my face. I turn around and make another cup of tea, this time for me.

“So we're not so different after all,” he says to my back.

Sometimes I wish there was something about me left to like. But it's just sleepless nights and mean comments and self-loathing thoughts. And he's across the counter, unreachable.

This is more than twenty minutes.

I don't think I can take it.

“You should get back to sleep,” I tell him. “So should you,” he says, voice still so soft.

“My shift ends in an hour.”

“Not what I meant.”

Maybe he does like me. Maybe he wouldn't mind -

He's getting up from the counter.

“Guess I'd better-” “Wait,” I call, suddenly remembering his jacket in the back room. I walk past the bench and toward the coat hanger, shuffling through the forgotten coats quickly until I find his jacket. I rush to get the jacket back to him, even though I'm sure he's waiting for me.

He appears in the door and I trip over someone's shoe on the floor, stumbling into him. He looses his balance immediately. He's the sun and I'm crashing into him.

He comes down at his knees and lets himself sink backward. I have nowhere to fall but on top of him.

“Simon,” I say and suck in a breath. And I know it's a bad idea. And I know that I'm not meant for him. But his face is right in front of me – so close. And I'm about to make a very, very bad decision  when – he kisses me.

I'm entirely sure he hasn't thought this through. I'm almost completely sure he's going to change his mind. But he's let me in tonight. And his lips are soft. And his hands are warm against my cheeks. And I might take the day shift next week.

[everlastingdreams]

Dex X Reader: Sugar Crush Chapter 23

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Notes: Nah

Summary: Reader moves into the same building as one Agent Poindexter. A bond starts to grow between them. Can the reader move on after a traumatic past ‘relationship’ ?

Chapter: 23/28

Trigger Warning: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse ! YES this one will come with trigger warnings. I tried not to post too much into detail stuff but this entire thing comes with a trigger warning !

Word Count: 2538 words

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Like someone just turned on the switch again, that's what it felt like when you woke up. When you did you felt relief, relief that you were alive. Back on the world, but it only lasted for a few moments before the feeling of disorientation wore off. And when your eyes focused on the room you were in, it was enough to jolt you up and back into conciousness.

“Easy there, love. Take your time.” you saw Shaw sitting on a chair in the room at the foot of the bed.

You closed your eyes, hoping all of this was just a horrible dream. Shaw's voice broke through the silence.

“I was wondering if we had gone a bit overboard with the sedative. I've been waiting for you to wake for hours.” he said as he sat in the chair cross-legged, drinking a glass of wine.

“Why the hell did you come back for me ? We both know I hate you.” your voice was still weak from the sedation.

He putted the glass on a nearby dresser “Love and hate cannot exist without one another, dear. The fact that you hate me also means that you still care.”

You scoffed in disbelieve when you heard him say it.

You gritted your teeth while you glared at him “What happened to your face ? Devil left his mark on you ? Now the outside is starting to match the inside.”  

He looked to the side and you knew your acid remark hit a weak spot in him “Ah yes, Daredevil.” his jaw thightened as he said the name “I have thought about it, I understand why you ran when you had the chance. I admit we had our fair share of problems in our relationship, but you selling me out to Daredevil. That hurt, sweetheart. But I am willing to look past your flaws.”

You wondered how the hell he knew you told Daredevil he was in the armory until Shaw pointed to the small moving camera in the corner of the room.

You were starting to feel sick, he had a security camera in here ? “I thought I knew how awful you were, but it just keeps getting worse.. you make me sick.”

He scoffed before he looked at you “Lord, you have gotten quite the mouth on you, haven't you ?”

“Pot, kettle.” you snarled.

“Carefull, little dove.” he warned.

Fear and anger were mixed inside you, you were lucky to escape the first time. Trying it a second time would be near impossible.

“Why ? You'll hit me anyway ! Because that's who you are Shaw ! You are the kind of guy that makes women afraid of meeting men !” you didn't hold it in anymore as you spit the words at him.

Shaw was losing his patience fast, his voice was low, controlled “You should be gratefull.”

“Gratefull ?” you scoffed “ For what ? To be here ? To be locked in this prison called hell !”

“You are alive because of what I did to save you !” he almost shouted it at you “For some reason Wilson Fisk wants you dead. I was able to convince him to let me do the job. He told me where you were, if it had been anyone else, you would be dead. Remember that.”

You let out a breath when you processed what he just told you, why would someone like Wilson Fisk want you dead ? Remembering the man that followed you that day you bumped into the devil himself....no. He can't be telling you the truth.

Shaw was calmer again, but his words were laced with venom “Tell me, little dove. Are you not curious why someone like Wilson Fisk wants you dead ?"

You didn't answer him. "Don't take this as an insult but, you are nobody, you are nothing. Yet you are somehow important in this grand scheme Fisk has planned. Why is that ? What are you not telling me, love ? " "Really ? That was not supposed to insult me ? " You scoffed. "Oh right. I forgot, you only speak 'asshole' ." "Language." He warned. "Where did you learn to speak this way ? You used to have such good manners before our unfortunate seperation." "How would you know ? You never really cared when I spoke. I'm nothing more then a piece of decoration to you." He eyed you up an down as he spoke "But what a lovely decoration you are." Your stomach turned, you didn't want him to look at you like that. You didn't want him thinking about touching you. Those few months had been a nightmare, one you never wanted to live through again.

“Your phone has been rather popular today." He says before he pulls out your phone from his pocket.

You looked at your phone in his hands, this was not good. Not good at all. "Let's have a look shall we ?" He unlocks your phone "Landlord, a pizza place.. who is Mister B ?" He was calm but the words were filled with venom and jealousy. You bit back the tears at the fresh memory of Bob, on the floor, gasping for air as he bled out. Your jaw clenched and Reed now watched your expression waiting for an answer.

“Must I repeat every quest-” he started.

You interupted him “You shot him.” your eyes filled with tears but your words were full of anger.

His eyes fell back to your phone “Oh. Well. That is one number you won't be needing anymore then.”

He reacted like it meant nothing to him and you were certain that was exactly the case.

He focused on your phone some more and you calmed down a little. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him.

You looked up at him and his eyes moved from your phone to you before he spoke as if he would ask a child for an explanation “Who's 'Dex' ?”

O O O O oo o o o o ooo o o o o o o ooo o  oo oo o oo oo oo o o o o o o o oo o   oo ooo o  o o o o o

Putting Reed's name in the system had given them an address. Ray put a team together and soon Dex and Ray were on their way to the location. Dex knew they would have to do this low profile, Reed was no small fish in the criminal world, that he was sure of now. That slimey snake had fooled even the FBI. God knows what else this asshole was capable of. Ray sended some of the agents to the back of the house, Dex stuck with Ray as they got ready to breach the place.

Ray moved to the side of the door, gun's drawn, Dex stood behind the agents breaching the door, ready for anything.

Ray held up his hand, quietly counting down with his fingers before he yelled “BREACH !”

The agents breached the door with the ram.

“FBI !!!” The agents shouted as they swarmed the place.

Soon shouts of agents that said “CLEAR !” could be heard.

Dex searched in every room of that place, every inch of it. All there was to find was furniture covered in sheets.

The place was abandoned, and it had been like this for a while as dust was starting to collect on the sheets.

Dex put his gun in the holster as he let his arms fall besides him. The voices of the other agents didn't reach him as the voices in his mind had once again started to scream.

You weren't here.

“Dex..” Ray walked up to him, his face sorrowful. “She's not here.”

Dex could only nod as he did a few paces and kicked a chair across the room in frustration.

The other agents stared at him until he gave them a look that could send chills down the devil's spine.

Ray didn't reprimand him this time “We'll find her.”

“How ? Ray. How the hell are we going to find her now ! That son of a bitch could be half across the world with her by now ! We have no leads !” he sneered.

Ray understood his friend's reaction, he was sure he would react the same way if someone harmed his familly.”

They were interrupted when a cellphone went off. Dex's cellphone.

His brows drew together as he fished the phone out of his pocket.

His couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the name on the screen.

Your name.

o o o o o o o oo  o o o o oo o o o o oo o o o oo o   oo  oo o oo oo oo  o o o o oo  ooo o o  oo o

You had tried to fool Shaw about how Dex is just your neighbour, but Shaw always was a suspicious/ jealous bastard. You could only sit and watch in horror as he called Dex on your phone.

"(Y/N) ?!" Dex's voice came through the phone loud enough to even make you hear it across the room. "I'm afraid she is unable to come to the phone right now." Shaw kept his voice professional, "Where is she, asshole ?!" Dex's voice sounded. Reed looked at you with interest "Well, this explains the sudden change in her choice of language." "I asked you a question, asshole. Where is she ?! " Dex demanded again. Reed hummed, something he always did when people dared to insult him “Allow me to make something clear to you. Dex. I don't answer to you. But you will answer me.." he looked at you as he spoke again "Unless you would enjoy hearing her scream in pain." His eyes were dark. His threat wasn't empty, they never were. Reed was jealous and it always brought out the worst in him. There was silence on the other end of the line. "Are we clear on that ?" Reed said in repressed anger. "Yes." Dex finally said. "Good. Glad to hear. So tell me, Dex. Who are you ? Or did your parents really just call you Dex ? " You knew what Reed was doing. He was trying to find out who exactly Dex was, it would make it easier for him to find and kill Dex if he would pose a problem. You prayed Dex wouldn't answer him, he would never be safe again if he did. Reed watched your reactions like a hawk as you tried to keep a blank expression. "Well ?" He was getting irritated. "Poindexter." You could hear Dex say and your heart dropped. Reed ended the call right after Dex had answered him. The look in his eyes was something you had never seen before, not with Reed. It was gone in a second but impossible to miss. Fear.

Oo o o o o o oo  oo o o o   o o oo  o o o o oo o  o o o o o o o o  o o o o o o o o oo oo oo

Dex gasped for air after the call ended, his worst fear had come reality. You were at the mercy of a madman and he had no idea where he was keeping you. His hands itched, itched to be around Reed's neck and strangle him.

“Was that him ?” Ray gave him a worried look.

“That was him. He has her, Ray. He threathened to hurt her.” he was breathing so fast yet he felt like no air was getting in his lungs.

“Did he say anything that could help us find her ?” Ray asked.

Dex shook his head “No.”

Ray brushed a hand over his mouth “Alright, we'll go back to the precinct. Talk to Ally Smith again. Maybe she can remember something from their conversations, something (y/n) might have mentioned to her.”

He didn't think it was useful, but Ally was the only connection to finding you at this point. So he agreed to go back to talk to Ally with Ray.

Oo oo o o o o  oo o oo oo o o  oo o o o o  oo oo o o oo o  o o o oo o o oo oo  o  o o  o ooo  oo oo oo

“Finally I understand why Fisk wants you dead.” Shaw scoffed “He wants that Poindexter guy and you just somehow managed to get inbetween those plans.” Shaw clenched his jaw in anger.

Fear build inside of you when he told you that Fisk wants Dex for some reason.

“So tell me because I am curious, what is going on between you and this 'Dex' ?” Reed's words were filled with venom, you had seen him angry many times before but this was worse. He knew there was something going on between you and Dex, he knew and he was burning up his patience for your answer very fast.

You thought of a good answer, a lie he could believe, but the fear in your eyes must have given it away.

“ANSWER ME !” his calm facade fell as he stood from his chair and shouted it at you.

You hated that you automatically started to shake when he shouted at you.

“He's just my neighbour, he must be upset over the fact that you killed the people in the apartment building. ” you tried to sound like you were telling the truth, knowing that Shaw would skin Dex alive if he knew he was more then a neighbour or friend to you.

He breathed audibly through his nose as he straightened the jacket of his suit. You slid further away on the bed, knowing he could easily snap right now.

He didn't look at you when he picked up his glass again. He took one sip and in one sudden move he threw the glass in your direction. It shattered on the wall close to you and some of the shards grazed your hair and skin.

You were lucky the glass didn't touch your eyes as the bed was now covered in glass and wine.

You looked at Shaw in shock.

“DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL ?! Fisk wants you dead because you are the only thing standing in his way to get to Poindexter.” He took a step closer to you, eyes filled with rage.

The door flew open now and two men stood in the doorway “Sir..” their eyes scanned the room, falling on the shattered glass around you and the spilled wine “We heard.. we thought..”  

Shaw composed himself just enough to address them “Did I call for you ?”

The men shifted awkwardly on their feet “No, Sir..”

“I don't pay you to think. I pay you to follow orders, understand ?” he said through gritted teeth.

The men nodded “Yes, Sir.”

Shaw sighed and looked at you one last time “I will have to undo the damage you have caused. We will talk when I return.”

You heard the lock turn when he walked out of the room.

Tag list for this series (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list :) ) :

@givemeabite@aquietfortitudeandstrength@missminx1993@fuchsiagrasshopper@legion-18@love-mia-marisol@star-spangled-man@bilson-bethel@peterbxrnes@burningmusicmachine@xxemoluverxx@queenselana@superflashvengers @marvelmayo @qrangcr

[alicentsstark]

Can You Build Me A Brother?

NOTE: This fic was requested by @disneyevilprincessblog , I changed it up a bit but nonetheless here it is an Athena & Eric fic ft. drakgo! Hope you enjoy it, also it’s pretty short... (also sorry if I somehow translated something wrong in Spanish, I’m always forgetful about how to write it which is ironic considering I can speak it fairly well for someone who’s forgotten how to for a few years. I swear guys I’m bilingual, my brain is just dumb) Anyway, enough about my attempts at writing in my somewhat native laguage, enjoy the story! 

"Can I have a baby brother?" Was the words that made Shego choke on her second cup of coffee. Drakken put down his newspaper and looked at the robotic teen who had the same stubborn expression that he had when working on a project. It was uncanny how much Athena had picked up their mannerisms of both him and Shego.

"So you want a twin?" Drakken asked only for Athena to shake her head.

"No way. Just a little brother, maybe a couple of years younger wouldn't be too bad?" She offered. "Please!" Bringing out the doe eyes knowing the mad scientist would say yes instantly. It was Shego who dug her heels in this plan.

"Are you sure you want a brother?" It wasn't what they thought, the part of taking care of another robotic child. It was the fact that Shego knew what it was like to have a sibling, three brothers and some tiny part of her didn't want Athena to go through a similar area. The girl nodded seriously. If there was one area of expertise that Shego had, it was having a young sibling, possibly the only sibling that Shego actually somewhat tolerated and cared. Mego and Hego... well they were another story. But her focus was on Athena, who had a very hopeful and determined expression on her face, that she really wanted a sibling. Looking over at Drakken, Shego knew she was already outnumbered all she could do was make sure robot-kiddie number 2 wouldn't explode when they made him through the final stages.

So they agreed and were greeted with cheers of excitement from Athena. She was already babbling about, "We need to pick a name for him!" and "It has to be a good name, not a boring name!" Which made Shego groan that the fact that she would have to search for a name once again. Drakken and Athena were already bouncing in their seats about what age they should make her new sibling. After much discussion and Shego drinking her third cup of coffee, they decided that a five-year-old would be a rather good age for a new robot.

Shego was reading lists of boy names online as Drakken muttered under his breath about the structure for said robot while they laid in bed together. Anthony? No. Luke? No. Marcos? No. Diego? No. Daniel? Oh, god no! 

All of those names sounded bad and she should know, considering one of them was the name of the character from Rebelde!

She was tempted to name the robotic boy after her dad or her older brother as a personal inside joke, considering he acted like a robot, but scratched that idea. She continued on with the name hunting until one caught her eye, after bouncing it around her head. It sounded good. She was going to tell Drakken but could already hear the soft snores from the man on her right side of the bed. She'll tell him tomorrow then.

"Eric?" Drakken said. Shego nodded while dumping a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. Athena munched on her cereal, looking at the villainess.

"I like it. Reminds me of Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid." She grinned. Shego made them think that's where she got it from and not from her younger brother's middle name... She wondered how soft she could get when it came to the people around her. Athena, Drakken, Wesley and now the new addition, Eric. God, next thing she'd know she'll be turning into her mom. Which wouldn't be a bad thing but... nobody would want to turn into their mom.

Soledad Bracamontes-Go was a woman that loved her family fiercely, someone that Shego looked up too. She wondered how her mom would react to the news that Shego had not one, but two children. No doubt her mom along with her dad would be ecstatic over the fact that they have grandkids to spoil. It would be wise to not tell them that they were robots... How can you even tell that sort of news to your half-Mexican family in the first place?

Hi Mami, hi Dad! So, good news I have two kids, their names are Athena and Eric, also their robots! See you at Navidad! 

Yeah, not really news to have for her parents. 

"Shego?" Athena looked at her. Shego blinked, noticing that she spaced out into her thoughts while the two of them were chatting away. "What?" She asked them.

"We'll need to decorate a new room for him. He'll need a cool color, like the rest of us. How about red?" She asked brightly. Drakken nodded and Shego wanted to scream. It felt like some universal karma that the second robotic child would no doubt have similarities to her family. Shego just shrugged and tried not to think about another little boy who wore red that once loved her.

When the time came for the awakening of the new family member, Drakken had Athena pull the lever. Electricity was felt through every nerve in her body as she watched the small form light up. When it was over, the robot's chest rose up and down. Taking a good look at him, she had to hand it to Drakken, he made Eric look a lot like Athena. Minus the hair color which was a bit darker similar to Shego's the boy's skin and facial was similar to Athena's. Some bone (or metal) structure differences but it was the same and when he opened his eyes, it was a pretty shade of hazel that stared back at the three people.

They named him Eric and after Athena changed him, she started to introduce the young boy to the others. "I'm Athena, your big sister." SHe pointed to Drakken. "That's Doctor Drakken, he's our... dad and that's Shego, our... mom? Welcome to the family!" Athena added cheerfully at the end. 

Drakken smiled at Eric, who waved and looked towards Shego. Without any warning, the young boy walked up, without a hint of fear looked up at the villainess and said, "Up!" Gesturing for her to pick him up. The mad scientist grinned while Athena smothered a giggle. Shego moved her jaw around before reluctantly bending down and picking Eric up.

It was a trial for the three of them, Eric wanting to either cling to Shego or with Drakken. Athena was there to show him the ropes of being a robotic looking human, while Drakken seemed to like having another boy, teaching Eric how to make a ray gun. Shego tried letting Athena and Drakken keep Eric entertained but the little robotic boy found her in her usual spot, on the couch watching tv. He would especially like to sit on her lap and snuggle, she didn't want to let him do that but it started to grow on her.

Today, Shego was watching a rather old telenovela while Eric was playing with her hair, braiding it and unbraiding one of her strands. It wasn’t a show that she would have watched back when she was a teen, it seemed right up her mom’s alley of telenovelas to watch, like The Rosa De Guadalupe or as Shego used to call it, The Most Dramatic-Cheesy Show To Ever Grace Television, right up there with Rubi. This one was another dramatic one (as any of them were) called Las Tontas No Van Al Cielo, granted she was only on the first episode but it was getting to the eye-rolling factor when the main girl decided to fake her death. Still, Shego was curious how this plot would play out, so decided to record the next few episodes before continuing to watch it.  After a while of watching the show, Drakken would find Shego stretched out on the couch while Eric laid on top of her, dead asleep while she watched the Mexican-Telenovela on TV. 

Shego noticed the older man, watching her while she was watching her show with Eric on top of her. She raised an eyebrow at the scientist, non verbally asking him, What?

"He's seemed to be fond of you Shego and you seem to be fond of him." Drakken smiled at her, watching the way Shego’s hand stroked Eric’s dark hair as he slept on top of her. "Shut up," she muttered.  She didn't want to tell them that she was slowly starting to be fond of their addition as well. But it was pretty obvious, just like her fondness for the rest of these dorks. 

Drakken didn’t say anything, instead, he left her alone humming some tune as he walked away. Shego looked at the little robot boy who seemed to worm his way into her heart. 

“Usted es afortunado que eres precioso Eric.” She murmured in Spanish before going back to watching her show. 

[espanadiarywriter]

Salud

I’ve been thinking about this blog post all year—I’ve started and stopped so many times. It’s really like three different posts, but I need to put this all in one blog post even though this is LONG.

Imagine walking into a dentist’s office in the US, having them look at your kid’s teeth and say “They look really great. You don’t need a cleaning.” And then when they look at your puzzled expression, the dentist says “I mean, if you want a cleaning, we can do one. But if it were my kid, I wouldn’t. There isn’t anything to clean.” True story. They have no incentive to sell you on things you do not need because going to the doctor is affordable. 

I have been amazed at how easy the whole process is to go to the doctor for anything here. For example, I went for routine blood tests (cholesterol, blood sugar, etc.), the doctored ordered them in a 10-minute long appointment. A week later I had results, scheduled a follow-up to discuss and everything was handled efficiently without a single bit of money out of pocket. You do show a health insurance card when you go to a doctor, but no one needs any other money from you for a visit.  One American who has lived here 30 years said “What’s a co-pay?” when we mentioned it in conversation.

It is surprising how soon they are ready to schedule an appointment. (I wasn’t ready to come in this week! Can I come next week?) There’s simply no hesitancy when a doctor needs you to see a specialist. The biggest obstacle to getting care is my Spanish skills (which limits which doctors I want to see).

And yet, as amazing as the healthcare is here from a system perspective, it still can’t fix my major medical problem of chronic pain. I’ve dealt with pain for many years. Everyone wants to know what’s wrong, what have you tried. It’s complicated and I’ve tried just about everything (Western, Eastern, woo stuff) except leeches. I won’t try leeches. 

I went to an osteopath here, which was a new type of doctor for me. But it also had the same results: temporary relief, nothing to fix the limitation of not being able to walk more than 10 minutes. So even though I knew that Western medicine wasn’t likely to be dramatically different here, I decided I should at least ask about the pain in my hips.  It is definitely aggravated by all the walking needed to live in (not to mention be a tourist in) Europe. I found a general doctor who spoke English. He very curtly and rapidly referred me to a specialist (a traumatologist) for my pain. So I went back to the reception counter on my way out and the receptionist got me an appointment for the following week— she was apologetic I had to wait so long, but wanted me to see the doctor who spoke English. He seemed to be like an orthopedist smashed together with a rheumatologist. His bedside manner was light years better than the curt guy and his English was excellent, even though he was apologetic about the quality of his English. He didn’t know a few technical words, but I told him to say it in Spanish, and I knew immediately the terms—medical terms are all based on Latin, yes? Anyway, none were a challenge to figure out in English from Spanish—it was like drop the final “a” and re-pronounce the vowels.

So he says I have two problems: my back and my hips (and also the sky is blue), and he orders X-rays and echography and another appointment with him after those. Then I go back to the receptionist area with these orders on a few pieces of paper. (By the way, how do people in medical offices and pharmacies even read these things? Seriously.) She looks at the pieces of paper. She is apologetic because she needs to schedule me two and a half weeks out. She asks if the time works for the radiologica appointment and I pick a time that works. Then she’s done scheduling. I ask, ‘When are the other two appointments?’ It’s all the same evening—go to the radiologica, then echografia, and then back to the same specialist. Boom, boom, boom. Efficient. By the way, I still haven’t paid anything extra to anyone.

I show up for my X-rays two and a half weeks later. I walk to the radiology door, and a nurse asks what I am there for. After a brief exchange, I realize I FORGOT the three pieces of paper I was suppose to bring—what I didn’t realize was these pieces of paper were the orders or prescription for the X-rays. Oy. So I go back to the receptionist and explain the situation. If I had a digital picture that would work (because, Spain), but I can’t get in touch with my husband who is at home. The receptionist says “tranquila” and she walks over to the other side of the floor where the traumatologica doctor is, and he rewrites the three pieces of paper I forgot, and back I go to X-rays. Problem solved. It probably took 10 minutes. (I can’t imagine this happening in the US.)

They take the X-rays, then I wait about 15 minutes for the echography. I have my appointment with the specialist maybe a half hour later as scheduled. He has the X-ray results electronically and I have a piece of paper with the echography results. Everything is super modern in the medical center and everyone seems very capable. By the way, I still have not paid any additional money. Spoiler alert: I never pay anything additional.

Based on the results, I am referred to a doctor at the rehabilitation center around the corner. So I make an appointment for later the same week, of course. This doctor doesn’t speak English, but she examines me and prescribes a course of treatment. Here my lack of Spanish has failed me because I actually have no idea what she said. I did ask her to repeat it more slowly, but I literally understood only the word “calor”. Anyway, I’ve tried PT before so I’m not too concerned. She sends me back out to the receptionist at the front desk; this part I understood because I am good at following directions.

The receptionist looks at the piece of paper from the doctor and starts filling out a form. Then she asked me if I had time to start the first session now and I had the first treatment that day.  I wound up having two types of treatments: a magnet therapy and a shortwave heat therapy on my hips (photo below). 

I was prescribed 15 sessions. The way it works is you just show up at the center any time they are open (weekdays, all day until 8pm) and walk to the back. They remember you and put you on the first machine, and then they ask your name. I never showed a healthcare card or ID there again—they had a record of my treatments. Anyhoo, long story short, the treatments helped a bit, but not much. This is the story of my hips and back in any language.

In summary, it was very easy and inexpensive to get the medical care that doesn’t really fix my pain. But now, because I work in healthcare in the US, I need to put this whole experience into a broader perspective.

The Spanish constitution requires the state to provide medical care. All Spaniards have access to the country’s universal healthcare system, called the Spanish National Health System (SNS), also known as seguridad social.  That’s probably why 99% of the Spanish population is covered by health insurance. About 70% of people use publically funded insurance and 30% private insurance. Basic medical services are free, but if you have a surgery, stay overnight in a hospital, or receive extensive prescriptions, people need to pay a fee. However, an overnight hospital stay will cost you 200 Euros, not bankrupt you if you don’t have insurance.  (But, hey, the US constitution allows a regulated militia. Isn’t that better? Sorry. Red herring.)

One problem with changing the US healthcare system is that people are convinced it is the best. When you talk about access to care, they immediately assume that will lower their quality. It’s very American to believe we have the best answer to everything, but let’s look at a few quality numbers. Spain ranked 6th on the Health Care Index (an estimation of the overall quality of the health care system, health care professionals, equipment, staff, doctors, cost, etc.) That was 8% more than the US (the US ranked 23rd) in 2014. Spain's single-payer health care system is ranked No. 5 on Bloomberg's efficiency list and seventh best in the world by the World Health Organization, according to NPR. Before you say it is expensive, we spend about 17% of our GDP on healthcare and Spain spends about 7% of its GDP on healthcare.

It’s very American to believe “you get what you pay for”; how could we possibly pay less for healthcare but not get worse outcomes or service? It’s simple. Centralized management reduces the need to spend money on overhead administration. In the US healthcare systems, delivering care to a patient involves numerous business entities and even non-profit health care systems need to at least break even. Also, we were not allowed to move here without proof that we had purchased health insurance for a year. It turns out it is more cost-effective for everyone to have health care instead of crisis-when-you-get-sick care. Nobody hesitates here to see a doctor because of cost. There is simply no cost for preventive care. Plus, because the state controls most of the healthcare market, it has the ability to manage costs (i.e., drugs, hospitals, doctor salaries).

And this is the crux of why I need to return home. My husband jokes that I worry about money and that’s why I want to get a job. But really, I have an intellectually challenging job that also works toward improving the US health care system. I do not know how to sell the best healthcare policy to the voting public—that’s not my area of expertise. I loathe politics. But I do know how to work towards communicating to doctors, scientists, and health care business leaders ways to change the US healthcare system, even if it’s only one step at a time. And I am excited to return to that. Who knows? Maybe someday they will invent the modern version of leeches that will fix my hip pain. I only hope I can afford the treatment if it’s only available in the US.