#does he even take insurance like what are this man’s rates

[cheese-rat29]

hannibal is really lucky that he is self-employed in his own private practice because can you IMAGINE if he had an hr department overseeing him?

[georgiapeach30513]

Your Mark On Me, Part 12

Summary: You and Bucky are in love, and Bucky has to talk to Steve.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, depictions of PTSD/panic attack, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of drug abuse, soft!Bucky, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, mentions of street life, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.4K

Previous

Series Masterlist

A/N: this part does dive into Shy's past with her father, and we learn about Dove's sister. It can be a bit dark. Read ALL warnings, and if you feel it's too much for you, I don't apologize. This story was always going to be dark.

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

*Bucky edits by @nixakimbo

There’s a comfort with living here with Bucky and Alpine. You’re able to relax, not fully, but you are getting there. Alpine definitely helps. Bucky. You want to let him in as easy as he let you in, but you just can’t. You could sit and listen to him talk, but don’t want to talk about your life just yet.

You want to, and then you don’t. You need to, but you just can’t. He is giving you so much of himself, including a place to live. Refusing to even take money from you. You weren’t poor, in fact you had done well with your books. That ugly piece of shit house had insurance, so yay for that.

But Bucky. He’s a mystery to you like all men. You know you shouldn’t, but you compare them all to your father. It’s why you wrote; you want to make stories of men that were good, honest, and didn’t have crippling and poor coping mechanisms. Bucky didn’t seem like that. In fact he gave you just enough distance, and you craved him more.

Was crave even the right word? You dream of him. Wished he would close the gap a bit more so you could count the colors of blue in his eyes. Had a desire to snoop in his room just so you knew what cologne he wore or if that scent was purely Bucky.

Why did he haunt your thoughts? Your newest male character was Bucky. Down to the cleft in his chin. The very dimple you longed to poke a finger in, hoping to bring a smile big enough to make the faint dimples appear on his cheeks. You liked when you could get that to happen.

Why couldn’t you be more comfortable with him? Why couldn’t you just speak more than a few words? Every evening he even asked if he was talking too much, and you’d respond by shaking your head no. You’d never been given much of a voice in your home, yet another reason you wrote. Your writing gave you that voice. Those moments to say what you wanted, even if it was fiction. There is always a bit of truth in the midst of fantasy.

If you could have made the perfect man, it would be Bucky. He is handsome without question, but his patience astounded you. He never once raised his voice. He saw you look in the fridge at the beer for too long, and the next day the beer was gone. You still haven’t found remnants of even beer garbage. He watched you curiously as you traced your finger along the walls, asking what you were doing. “They’re spotless.”

There aren't burns, dents, or ripped out wiring in his home. It is fascinating that there was a man that could no doubt live in a world of turmoil and danger, and yet his home is a safe haven for him, you, and even the cute little kitty that snuggled up to you every night.

Alpine is a godsend to you. She followed you around like a lost puppy, well cat. When Bucky came home, she would stand between the two of you, making sure there was a safe distance, but that you could hear her purring. You liked her purring. When she greeted her dad, Bucky would look at you but you kept your eyes trained on Alpine. Only random looks would move up to him. You were a puzzle that he couldn’t quite put together, but he knew once he did that you would be beautiful, even if there were missing pieces.

You kiss the top of Alpine’s head as you allow yourself to drift off to sleep. Sleep still scared you, and you found yourself panting and in a puddle of sweat almost every night, so far you’d been able to keep it within the four walls of your bedroom. “Goodnight, sweet girl. Keep us all safe.”

Sleep was always fraught with dreams that transformed into nightmares. Dreams of how you wished your life with your father was, but morphing into nightmares of how you viewed things with the eyes of you as a little girl. Parties that would get too loud, and your father would start cussing and pushing everyone around before they’d leave.

Parties where he would pass out early, and you’d have to hide in the closet as people would have sex in your bed. You’d sit in the corner of your closet with your fingers in your ears and tears running down your face as you try to block out the noises just a few feet away. You got smarter as you got older, but their gazes would follow you if you wanted food or to go to the bathroom.

Those slobs begged for the days that your father would pass out and they would beat on your door. They never made it in there with you, but their lingering eyes and words to each other was enough for you to swallow bile on more than one occasion.

Your nightmares held the fights that you had with your dad. When he’d drunkenly throw whatever he could get his hands on at you, or punch walls. Even ripping the phone off the wall because the sound of it annoyed him. How many fires had you put out because his disgusting self fell asleep with a cigarette.

This dream is your worst. His ghost is chasing you around the fire that you started on purpose. Letting you know that you would never get rid of him. His voice would be in your ear for the rest of your life, and would even haunt your children. You would never know peace because you were the reason his wife was dead. It’s what you deserved.

His voice repeats ‘It’s what you deserved’ over and over again. Marking itself in your very soul, until you believed that no good could come into your life because you didn’t deserve it. You deserved to live a miserable and loveless life like he did because it was your fault, and you deserved every bit of suffering that ever came in your life.

“No! Nonononono!”

“Hey,” Bucky whispers into your ear, giving your body a light shake. “Hey, come back to me.”

“You’re a liar!” You shoot up in the bed, and see his face trying to touch you. “Stop touching me! Don’t touch me. You’re wrong! You’re always wrong!” Your arms swing at him a few times and he starts to step back with his arms up in surrender, “I don’t want you to touch me!”

“It’s me, Bucky,” your body freezes, but your eyes blink a few times as he comes into clear view. Bucky isn’t your father, and your father isn’t Bucky. “I can leave.”

“No!” You should have let him. Why did you stop him? What is it that you want? “I don’t want to be alone. I’m always alone because he isolated me. I’ve never had a friend, and I don’t want to be him. I don’t want to blame everyone for my problems. I don’t want to be without…touch.”

You extend a shaky hand out to Bucky. Who are you? You didn’t want touch, you wanted to be left alone. Bucky’s head twists to the side as he looks at your trembling hand. His eyes move down to Alpine who is on your lap, and ready to pounce. She never took a defensive approach towards Bucky, “Can I hold your hand?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully for the first time. You wanted him to touch your hand, and you wanted him to go away. Conflicting emotions were complicated.

“How about I hold my hand here?” He holds his hand straight out to yours barely an inch between you, and you close the space and press yours against his. Your fingers look so small compared to his. You bet he could play the piano beautifully. He has long lithe fingers that you wanted to weave yours into his.

His rings are cold against your skin. They were menacing to so many people, but to you they just looked like Bucky. You look up at him and start laughing. Laughing so hard that tears spring to your eyes. This is what crazy is, you just know it. He was going to walk away from you, and you’d never see him again.

Your hand just looked so tiny against his. Holding up your other hand, Bucky meets it with his metal hand, and you can’t stop yourself from weaving all ten of your fingers with his, continuing to laugh. He doesn’t retreat, his mouth just turns up into a crooked grin before he laughs with you.

“Are you okay?”

“I gotta break the cycle,” you laugh even harder, and aren’t sure why. Was this the mental break you assumed would eventually find you? If this was a mental break, you’d take it. You had no desire for alcohol. Didn’t want to turn to drugs. The only thing you wanted was to know that Bucky is smiling, and you wanted to keep learning all about him.

“You are. You’re breaking the cycle,” he answers with so much certainty that it cuts the air off from your lungs. Your laughing stops as soon as it had started, and he smiles as he sits down beside you. “You got yourself a little guard cat. Alpine, I don’t want to hurt her. Are you okay with me here?”

“Actually, yes. I hate men,” his mouth tightens as he watches you. “They’re thoughts of defiling a woman are so evidently clear in the way that they ogle you, and…the things they say.”

“Has anyone ever…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not just saying that to avoid a trauma talk. It wasn’t without trying, but no. Not like that. Not sexually,” Bucky takes the abrupt finish as you wanting to move on past this talk. And yet you’re still looking at him, and opening up.

“Your father?”

“He was a mean drunk, and can we leave it at that?” Bucky gives you a head nod in response. He wouldn’t dig, he never did. “Thank you. I just…I don’t want to be alone anymore. Not in my life, and not in here,” you point at your head as you study his eyes. How were there so many shades of blue? “I’ve never really lived before. Had friends, but as soon as we got close, I’d push them away, and they’d give up on me. Bucky, if I push…don’t give up on me?”

“I’ve devoted a lot of time to you. I don’t want to give up. I always see things through.”

“Thank you,” two words have never held so much power for you before. You could never thank Bucky enough for the things he’s done, but mostly for the things he just said. Everyone with their good intentions always gave up on you. You couldn’t blame them. There’s only so many times that you push someone away that they give up on trying.

You bump your hip into Bucky’s as you look up at him with a genuine smile. Dates. You have been on six of them now, and he is still as much of a gentleman as he was the night he brought you home with him. The man slept in the bed with you, and still wouldn’t initiate anything. And heaven forbid if the two of you kissed at home. It’s like he had a timer that went off, and he would pull back.

“Bucky!”

“What is it?” His silvery blue eyes look down at you. His lips pull up with a smirk. He knew. He knew exactly what you wanted, and you were trying to get his attention.

“You know!”

“Just tell me then. Use your words, and tell me explicitly what you want,” it sounded like a bigger invitation than what you were wanting at this moment. What you wanted when you got home was entirely different. “Shy?”

Your fingers tickle along his as you will him to grab ahold of your hand. “My sweet little Shy Violet, all you have to do is use those words that I know you have.”

“Well…aren’t you my,” you stop your words. Could you call him that? You lived together. You saw him everyday, and talked to him throughout the day, there was no other woman. But could you say boyfriend?

“I think we’ve earned the right to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend,” Bucky would say those words over and over again just to see your sweet smile, hear the little giggle that rose up your throat, and even feel the warmth that was circled your body. “Shy, you’re my girlfriend.”

“I want my boyfriend to hold my hand then,” you blurt out. Bucky chuckles, but he does entangle his fingers with yours, pulling you as close to him as he possibly can as you walk back home. Your steps match each other, and you’ve never felt safer than you do right now.

“Shy, what are you feeling right now?”

“Right now?” You look up at him with your brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“Explain your feelings towards me and us like you would in one of your books.”

“Oh…well,” Bucky winces as he looks at you, fearful that he overstepped his bounds, and pushed you too far, too fast. The two of you had been making great progress with this new step in your relationship, and he doesn’t want to offset it or have you regress.

”Never mind. Forget I asked.”

”No,” you strain out a giggle. Grabbing his arm with your free hand. “It’s not that simple, bubba. It…words don’t always flow, they just get caught in my throat, and don’t want to come out. And I usually close my eyes before I start writing, and imagine the scene. What are you doing?”

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, removing your hands off him before he steps in front of you. Squatting down a bit as he peeks over his shoulder, “Hop on, and close your eyes. You can whisper it in my ear.”

Exhaling loudly, you jump onto Bucky’s back, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you close your eyes. Letting your body feel everything that you feel about Bucky. “It’s new.”

“But good?” He asks. You give a quick peck to his neck. “I take that as a yes.”

“It’s so good,” you hum, wanting to express everything that you’re feeling at this moment. “It’s like this warmth deep inside my soul. It rushes out into every part of me, and wants me to always be with you because I don’t want to miss any breath that you take, or any blink of your eyes. I want to hear every groan of pain that you have because I want to be the one to make you feel better. It’s this rumbling fluttering feeling in my stomach that makes me feel like I’m in knots. It scares me and excites me all at the same time.”

Giving him a few nips to his neck, you move to right your head. Placing your mouth right behind the shell of his ear as you continue to whisper all the things that Bucky makes you feel. “Every time you touch me I get goose pimples, and this flood of…heat throughout every part of me. All the way to my soul, and to places I’ve never felt before. And I want you to explore those parts of me. And it’s like I’m home.”

“Hmm?” His voice is a whispered groan. You can feel his body tense under you, and you know why. He’d been starving his body of sexual gratification just to make sure that you were comfortable. He could also feel just how heated you are, right at your core. You meant more to him than a good lay, but each part of the past few minutes has his body on edge. Hyper alert of how your body is craving him as much as he craves you.

Your heated core presses into his back, making his aching cock twitch with a fervent need for your warmth. He is just about in a state of not seeing things clearly because of your pulse. The pulse that is in sync with his, and he felt it in your entire body. Throbbing harder than even he is. He’s tried to deny his animalistic needs because he felt like it was what you needed. But maybe you needed him in the same ways he needed you.

“Because my home is wherever you and our daughter are. Bucky, you can start calling me her mommy if you want to.”

“Please,” he strains out. Not even realizing himself how much he wanted Alpine to belong to both of you. Hearing you call him her daddy just felt so right, and he wanted you to feel the same way he did. That…yeah, the warmth.

“James, I love you,” he stops his walking right before you get to the complex. His body freezes as his eyes well up with tears. “I love you,” you whisper right behind his ear, and softly press a kiss before you wiggle out of his grasp.

Going to stand in front of him, your arms wrap around his waist. And you rest your chin on his chest as you stare up at him. “And I’m never going to get tired of saying that. I love you, James Buchannan Barnes.”

“I love you,” two broken people that had created a weird codependent relationship had no business falling in love. He needed you. Needed you every day and in every way. You are his best friend. The best thing that had ever happened to him, and he wanted to learn you all the more because of it. “I LOVE HER!”

Bucky throws his head back, yelling up at the sky before he looks back down at your scrunched up nose, and your eyes shining with the tears you weren’t allowing to spill over your lash line. “I love you.”

“And I want you to have all of me,” you slide out of his embrace, and pull him towards the door. “Tonight. I want us to rush into the apartment, and struggle to get each other's clothes off. But once we are completely bare in front of each other, I want our hands and lips to discover our bodies. Trace each line and curve with our fingertips. Intertwining every limb with the other until we’re too close to avoid your cock going into my cunt, and…”

His mouth crashes into yours as the two of you stumble into the building. A mad dash of hands roughly roaming over each other. Undoing buttons in the elevator until the two of you hit the door of the apartment and it’s a struggle to get in with the way you’re pulling off jackets and pulling apart shirts.

Crossing the threshold and the clothes fly at an alarming rate. Some in pieces others being tugged off at awkward angles because you need your mouth back on his. Thirsty for the taste of his mouth and you revel in it every time you get that tiny sip.

And just like you promised when you’re both naked, and pressed up against each other in a heated embrace the kissing stops, and his eyes peer so desperately into yours. He gulps, squeaking as he tries to talk. You can feel his pulse through his heavy cock that is pressing up against your stomach, “We can…we can stop whenever you want.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper as you start kissing down his chest. His hands caress your back as he watches you discover the hills and valleys on his chest. Dipping lower to kiss over every hard line that makes up his abs. Gazing up at him through your lashes. He isn’t sure if you knew how crazy you are making him feel, but he hopes you did.

No woman has ever shown him the care that you are. Making sure you kiss every scar with the most tender press of your lips. All this time he was spending hoping you were okay, he didn’t realize he wanted someone to do the same. And you had been. Not with words, but with how you took care of him. How you would jump up and run to the door with a smile just to greet him. Jumping into his arms, you would rub on his shoulders asking how his day was.

You felt real because you were. You didn’t want the amazing sex he could give you; you wanted him. His heart, body, and soul, and you had it. You had every part of him wrapped tightly around your little pinky finger, and he didn’t want it to ever unravel. He craved you like an addict to their next hit. He wanted to experience every part of life with you, including growing old.

Bucky never thought he was going to have a long life, and now he didn’t want to die before he was five hundred years old, and that still wouldn’t be enough time with you. Eternity was just the start of enough time with you.

His hands grip the underside of your ass before he picks you up. Letting your legs wrap around him as he takes the two of you to the bedroom. You are drenched and ready for him now, but you were right, he wanted his fingers and mouth to discover you first. He didn’t want this moment to end.

Sitting you on the edge of the bed, he yanks you back down the mattress when you try to scoot up the bed. Sinking to his knees, he starts at your toes, and kisses all the way up your leg. Stopping at the top of your thigh, he steals a glance at your glistening folds, kissing across your thigh before he makes his decent back down.

Moving to your right leg, he does the same motion. Finishing at your feet before he sits up a bit more. His eyes bore into yours before he leans forward, kissing over your mound. Right above the split, and you tremble. He is everywhere but where your body needs him. But you needed him more than your body.

His lips trail all over your soft pliable skin, and your fingers ghost over his arms and shoulders at the same speed. The tips of your fingers paint every inch of his flesh before he hovers over your body, and you take a haggard breath, giving your head a nod, “I can’t stand it anymore.”

”Good,” his legs move between your own, and he pushes you further apart. His digits slide down your arms, before he weaves his hands within yours, and pulls them above your head. “I can’t wait either,” slipping one hand free, he lines himself up with your entrance, “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he grunts.

”Okay,” your voice croaks out before he slowly descends inside of you. Moving at such an achingly slow pace, and making sure that your body memorizes the vein that runs over his cock. He makes sure that your velvety skin feels every inch of his head as it spears through your walls.

Biting on your lip, you are overcome with so much…just so much, but he shakes his head, “Do not withhold any sound from me, Shy. I need every part of this. If you wince, I want to know that it’s because of the stretch you feel as your body adjusts to me.”

“Okay,” he couldn’t fault you for becoming breathless, and unable to form words. He knew you’d been out of commission for a few years, and he could tell. Just like the proverbial walls around your heart, he would break, well stretch, these walls, too. He’d make sure that you learned how to take every inch of him. “Why did you stop?”

“Baby, I’m too deep.”

”No,” you want to cry. He wasn’t close enough, “I need to feel you on me. I belong to you, Bucky. Because you belong to me. I just,” Bucky slides completely home, and your words stop. Balls deep, and his weight is on every part of you. He is the most perfect feeling on you. Covered in Bucky. It’s what you wanted to be for the rest of your life.

Letting out the sweetest whimper when Bucky starts to slowly and steadily rut into you. Your body sounds vulgar with how wet you are, but your voice is the most angelic noise. Mewling, and calling out his name because nothing else mattered in the world. Only Bucky and you. The two of you had created a bubble of safety and care, and you had no desire to leave. Just wanted him. Always him.

“You’re my home,” you whisper as the constant fluttering knot in your stomach tightens. This is happening way too fast. No way is this going to last all night. You didn’t want to stop this feeling ever. “It’s…”

“It was always you,” Bucky pants out as his thrusts quicken. Normally he could last longer, but not this time. This time is overwhelming and feels too good. Nothing was better than this, and he was going to spend the rest of the weekend inside of you. Learning all the secrets to your body.

Even though you are struggling to hold on, he could feel your walls fluttering around him. Keeping your intense gaze just on him just like he asked you. “Thank you, Shy,” he coos, changing his angle he starts to drive into your warmth, and you gasp. The build up of the most beautiful high is becoming unbearable, but you weren’t finished just yet.

“Shy, let go for me, and we’ll do it again. And again. And again.”

“Promise?” your voice is hoarse as you choke down the need to come again.

“I’m never going to stop making love to you,” you let go as euphoria surges through every inch of your body. Racing through your blood, and making you all dizzy in the brain. Not even getting a chance to come back down when your walls grip around Bucky’s length so hungrily that his balls tighten and he shoots sticky warmth into the depths of your body, and you release again at the feeling of him in your belly.

”I love you,” you whimper, trying to ground yourself so you don’t lose sight of the face Bucky makes as he releases in a woman for the first time. Letting your body milk every drop of his thick cum as it blooms in your tummy like the best warmth.

“I love you, forever, Shy.”

”Forever.”

“Shy,” Bucky gives you a lingering kiss on your cheek as his left hand presses on the swell of your belly. He claims he could feel the baby better that way. His left hand is much more sensitive, and he wanted to feel the two of you growing and ‘swimming’. “Sweetheart, why don’t you ladies go whip up some lunch?”

“Of course, come on,” you grab Dove’s hand, pulling her into the kitchen. That was code for Bucky and Steve needed alone time. But his spoiled brat didn’t even want to leave him. She turns her head to look back at Steve giving you a clear view of her mark. She is completely stuck on him. Guess he finally sealed the deal.

You clear your throat, looking at her with your eyes wide, “They need a moment.”

“But…”

Ugh. You snap your fingers, and point into the kitchen, but she still looks back at Steve, “Dovey, follow Shy into the kitchen, and make me something real tasty, and we can share, okay?”

“Okay,” her body swishes back and forth, and she stands up a bit straighter, dropping your hand, and following you willingly. He tamed the brat. You were sure she still would stub up on him, and become a bit too childish for your liking, but even Bucky is watching Steve in an odd way.

“So how was it?” You ask with a smirk, as you pull out a few things from the fridge. The least you could do was talk to the girl. Maybe she wasn’t that bad.

“How was what?”

“Weren’t you a virgin?” Bashfully she looks down at the counter, finding her a seat in one of the stools. You’d have to hand her some things to chop, and hope she knew how to handle a knife. Her eyes never move back up to meet you, and you worry you made her shut down. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I just don’t even know how to begin to explain it,” you smile, sliding over a cutting board, knife and veggies. Without hesitation she starts slicing things up, and thinks? “It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt, and I can’t even begin to describe it. He loves me.”

“Steve told you that?” She shakes her head no, but her smile never fades. It’s the one thing Bucky said Steve claimed he’d never do again. Love. Of course he wouldn’t tell her, but sometimes a woman just knows.

“He pretty much told me without saying the words. We’re going to get married, and have babies like you,” sweet summer child. You and Bucky have built a relationship for years. Strangers to saviors to friends to lovers. She wouldn't understand your dynamic. “Every love story is different, but I do love mine and Steve’s.”

“Because he stalked you?”

“No,” she giggles, clearly forgetting the way that they met. “Because he had a goal, and he achieved it,” by breaking her down. “I’m not the person I was before. I feel like I have power, and a voice, and I’m desirable. I’d never felt like that before. My parents somewhat sheltered me. I don’t talk about Steve to them. They both want different things for me, and I just have spent so much time being the perfect girl for both of them. Dad wanted me to teach at a university, mom wanted me to be a pediatric nurse, so I went into early childhood education.”

“Do you have anyone you do talk to about Steve?”

She shrugs her shoulders as she bites into a carrot stick. “Just my sister. They don’t even know I talk to her. She’s my mom’s daughter, not my dad’s. She stopped trying to be perfect a long time ago,” there’s a sadness laced in her eyes as she stares at the cut veggies. “I don’t think they’d much approve.”

“Fuck ‘em,” she looks up at you with her brows furrowed, and a smile tingling to spread on her lips. You could see why Steve melted in her presence. You didn’t like seeing her sad because her smile is radiant. “How do you feel about Steve?”

“I love him,” no hesitation and with so much conviction.

“If they can’t see that you love him then why have them in your life? So what is it that your sister does?”

“Currently? Uh…changing her phone number again,” there is more to that story, and you’re not sure what.

“Their job — you’re around the business a lot. Are you using?” Her head shakes rapidly, taking a moment to look back where Steve and Bucky were, and her body goes frigid. “They’re just in the study with the door closed.”

“Steve doesn’t allow me to. He only lets me shotgun with him, or drink if he’s around. I’m a cheap drunk. And I get too flirty,” her giggle is awkward, and she avoids your eyes.

“IsYyur sister a junkie?”

“Not that bad. Steve says he doesn’t sell to her. I showed him her picture, and he told everyone while I was there not to sell to her. Told her that he would pay for her to go to rehab, and pay her phone bill so we knew where she was, and she disappeared for a while. She…she’s going to be okay. Steve will help.”

Walking over to her side of the counter, you open your arms wide. You understood addiction in people you love better than most. “Or you can just hold the baby?” With a sweet smile, she meets your hug, pulling back only to feel around your belly.

Steve shuffles in his seat as he stares at the monitors. Bucky doesn’t say anything as he watches his friend. “Shy and I like knowing where each other are in the house. She works here a lot and it’s a way for her to just see where I am.”

“I wasn’t questioning your need for cameras in your house. I’m just observing Dovey.”

“You’re looking awfully hard,” Steve straightens up only when you step away from Dove. Turning to look at his friend, but his eyes still wander over to the monitors. “So, why did you want to come here?”

“I want to apologize for what I did, but also the things I said about Shy.”

“Why?” Bucky cocks up an eyebrow at him. He’d love to have Steve graveling on his knees for the things he said about you.

“What do you mean why? I’m just apologizing and there’s no other fucking reason.”

“Don’t smoke in here,” he points a finger at his friend who started to touch his pocket. “We can walk outside, but this is a smoke free house. I’m asking why you’re apologizing because if it’s to ask me back, I’m not ready for that.”

“Why not?” Steve’s question shocks Bucky as he’s the one that turns to the monitor, pointing one of his fingers at the screens where you are. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you fully do, but you’re getting there.”

“So you’re just going to sit around and be a house husband for the rest of your life?”

“I could,” Bucky smiles, leaning back in his chair. “I could do that. Shy has had another successful book, and I made good investments. Just like you. My priority is my family now, Steve. And I can’t jeopardize her or our…you haven’t even asked me what we’re having.”

“This is a new thing for me,” he sighs. He’d been a horrible friend. Dove had told him as such. The more he talked to her, the more he realized how he had good people in his corner that wanted what was best for him. “What are you having?”

“He’s a boy. He’s all boy. Ember. Shy is insisting that Buchanan Barnes stays as well. She’s a bit of a romantic like that. I wanted a girl, but I hope he’s as in love with his mom as I am. She deserves another good man in her life. Speaking of family; I haven’t heard anything about Dove’s sister, Larkin. I still have our underground crew that stake out the trap houses,” he shakes his head, knowing it's the one thing that Steve couldn’t protect Dove from. That ugly world.

“Two weeks, Buck. That’s a long time out on the streets.”

“Look at me right now, and promise me that you haven’t done anything or sold to her,” Steve’s eyes roll up to look at Bucky. His face is somber and full of anger at the audacity in the question. “You love her,” Steve shakes his head no, confusion laced in every one of his features. The dramatic tonal shift in the conversation gives him whiplash. “I didn’t ask, you do.”

“I can’t love anymore.”

“Oh, bullshit, Steve. You can walk around acting like your heart is impenetrable because fucking Peggy left you for Rumlow, but you can’t fool me. You love her, and you need to tell her. Sam the other day was saying how different you are, and how you were already making preparations on a wedding, and future children, and where the fuck does that come from if it isn’t love?”

“Loyalty,” Bucky rolls his eyes as he looks at Steve. “It’s close enough to love, and it’s all that she’s going to get.”

“You’re a fucking dumbass, you know that? You have got Dove sitting on your cock asleep while people who can switch on you any minute see it. Yeah, information gets out, and it’s not just fucking Sam telling me this shit, Steve. You’re in love and you’ve gotten goddamn sloppy because of it. You show her the same fucking love that you gave Peggy, or you let her go. This life already consumed her sister, is that how you want to see Dove? Strung out? Selling her body for a hit, and too ashamed to seek help somewhere? You give her the same life you would have given Peggy. You tell her what she means to you, and you keep her away from that fucking life. Since when did you get so stupid?”

Steve sits in silence, letting his friend berate him. The only person besides Dove that can talk to Steve like this, and get away with it. “You got stupid when you let that little brat into your heart. You smile now. You’re looking for her fucking sister on the regular so Dove knows she’s okay. You have her lips burned into your skin just like she’s burned herself into your heart. Eventually if you don’t let the fire die down Steve, it burns away.”

“And only ashes and embers remain,” he smiles at his friend, almost laughing at the name Bucky and you chose for your son. Ember. The last remnants of a fire. The tiniest bit of spark that burns bright amongst the ashes. The light in the darknes.

“Do you want to lose Dove?”

“No,” his voice is ragged as his eyes move back to the monitor. Watching as her hands slide over your belly. Dove on her knees, whispering something to your son that Steve couldn’t hear, but he is addicted to seeing her so soft. Longing for the day where she was you.

“Steve, you’re going to. Whether it’s because you’re too fucking stubborn, or because of your stupidity. Do right by her when she’s with you, or let her go. She deserves someone who can give her this. When is enough, enough? Why are you still in this game? We’re getting too old, this is a young man’s game. You have more money than you could have ever possibly need.”

When was enough, enough?

“Steve, I love you, brother,” Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky knows there’s still a human still left in his cold soul. “You see how easy that is? And I love you enough to tell you, I can’t go back into that life. I won’t leave my wife and son behind because of jail or death. Let’s go eat.”

When is enough, enough?

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @annaallicce @feyfantome @jesevans @tittittoee @bananapiedreams @onclouds999 @darkserenity24 @abbatoirablaze @ashychangeling @identity2212 @mrsevans90 @weirdothatwritess @floralwsloki @thestralwriting @ambearsstuff @lyndys @kandis-mom @hoodiesandicedcoffee @awhoreformoree @nyxbellabarnes @buckybarnesisdaddy @theinheriteddutchess @honeyhoneylovelylove

[sirowsky-stories]

Forward Luxation

Summary: You're recovering from a dislocated shoulder and have to go to a physical therapist. But getting there, you find nothing at all is what you'd expected, least of all the man in charge of your training.

Requested by @bilibiche

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x female reader, reader is not described at all, and yes, we're taking liberties with the fact that any visit to an expert in human functionality requires one to take their clothes off. Lots of sexual tension here. Word Count: 2750

   The waiting room is surprisingly cozy for a physical therapist’s office. Although you’ve never been to one before, so you don’t really have anything to compare it to. You’d just sort of imagined it being a bit like a dentist’s office, with the cheap magazines, plastic plants, beige curtains which haven’t been changed in five years, uncomfortable chairs and squeaky linoleum floors.    But this is nothing like that.

   You’re sitting in one of the four available really nice armchairs, each with a little coffee-table to the side, on top of which are no magazines but instead a selection of pamphlets with useful information about the most common muscle injuries and treatments, and phone numbers and websites to other reputable establishments where people can find help for all manner of problems, from yoga studios to psychologists.

   The wallpaper is cream white with a discreet floral pattern in the same color, but glossy against the matte base, and the curtains are a deep green which together with the wallpaper somehow gives the impression that you’re sitting in a park. Especially since the chairs have exposed wood along with the soft cushions, which are the same color green, with embroidered flowers in pale yellow. And you’re pretty sure they’re made entirely of silk.

   Even the coffee is fucking excellent.

   If not for the fact that you had to sign in at the front desk, confirming your appointment and even having to show your ID, before being shown in here, you would’ve thought for sure you were in the wrong place.    This all seems so much more expensive than what you could ever afford. You’re here courtesy of your insurance, so you don’t need to worry about the cost, but it still feels way too fancy for you.

   “Good morning,” a soft and pleasant voice interrupts your thoughts, and you turn your head to find a tall, fit, brown-eyed, ridiculously gorgeous man smiling at you.

   “Uh… g-good morning,” is all you manage in response, because he’s literally taken your breath away by just standing there.

   “My name’s Marcus, welcome to my rehabilitation center. If you’ll please follow me, we’ll get started with a quick exam,” he continues, giving no indication he’s noticed your flustered reaction as he politely steps to the side to indicate which direction you’ll be heading.

   Air floods back into your lungs when you start to move, getting up from the chair and falling in behind him, at which point, your brain starts working again.

   “You own this place?” you ask, jumping at the first topic to come to mind.

   “I do. I started this business eight years ago,” he replies, before reaching a room with a door already standing open, where he stops just outside and beckons for you to enter. “Does that surprise you?”

   “Well, no. I’m just a bit confused overall,” you admit.

   “Oh? How come?”

   “It’s just… My insurance company made it seem like it was a big deal to even get a spot here. That this is like, the best physical rehab center in the country. And then I get here and the only person I’ve seen is the receptionist.”

   “I see. You thought that such a prestigious establishment would have thirty employees and patients constantly coming and going?” he guesses, and you nod, feeling slightly embarrassed.

   But he’s smiling when he gestures for you to take a seat on the large examination table in the middle of the room, while he closes the door and then takes a seat on a mobile stool in front of you.    You note that the temperature in here is higher, and a moment later you realize that it’s probably because people need to undress for him to examine them properly, and suddenly you’re flustered again.

   “The reason why we’re considered one of the best, is precisely because we don’t take on more patients than what we can effectively handle, both from a managerial standpoint, and from a practical one.    Since it’s just me and David here, that means our slots are usually limited to five people per day. Obviously, I’m in charge of the actual therapy, while David handles the charts, bookings, contact with hospitals, insurance and so on.    These limitations enable us to work entirely stress-free with our patients, allowing each session to take almost however much time it requires, whether due to physical restrictions, or mental ones.”

   “Mental ones?” you repeat, getting slightly caught on the notion, since it seems misplaced to you.

   This is physical therapy, not psychological, right?

   “Bodily injuries often result in emotional distress, most of which only comes out when people are confronted with the consequences, which is essentially the heart of what we do here.”

   “So, you’re like a jack-of-all-trades kind of therapist, then?”

   “I suppose I am,” he agrees with a small chuckle. “Now, if you’re satisfied with our business model, we should get started.”

   “Sure,” you say entirely without confidence, feeling the hairs on your arms prickle with nervousness at the mere thought of potentially having to undress in front of this man.

   “Dislocated right shoulder. Forward luxation, if I remember correctly,” he recalls without looking at any charts or notes. “May I ask how it happened?”

   “Oh, I have horses,” you sigh, knowing he’s probably not gonna need much more explanation than that.

   And sure enough, he mirrors your sigh.

   “Ah, yes. That’ll do it. So, how long did you wait before calling for help?” he asks, crossing his arms over his waist with a knowing, although friendly, glare in his eyes.

   “About an hour.”

   His eyebrows shoot up at that, but he can’t seem to find the words at first. And as always, the moment you feel the slightest bit judged for your passion for horses, you get defensive.

   “I couldn’t just drop everything, I had two horses who were panicking because of a fucking snake, I had to get them into the stables.”

   “Yeah, okay, fair enough. How long did that take?” he prods, and you hesitate.

   Because you’ve had both of your horses since they were foals and you’ve trained them well enough that they always trust you, even when they’re scared, which is why it had only taken you a couple of minutes to get them into the stables that day.

   “I don’t have anyone who can help me,” you quietly explain. “I had to make sure they’d be okay if I had to be in hospital for a few days.”

   His expression softens then, but he’s not done investigating.

   “So, you went around hauling hay, probably some buckets of water, checking fences and gates… I assume you also made sure to get rid of the snake, only calling for help once you’d double-checked that you hadn’t missed anything.”

   “I didn’t call. I drove myself to the hospital,” you conclude, at which point Marcus seems to give up any notion that you’re a reasonable human being.

   “As impressive as it is that you were able to endure that kind of pain for so long, you do realize by delaying getting this injury corrected, you probably added another month to the rehab you’re gonna need? Which is only gonna keep you from working with your horses that much longer,” he admonishes, but he sounds concerned more than anything, which tugs at your heart because no one ever concerns themselves about you.

   “I know, but I was… scared,” you admit, surprising yourself, since you haven’t even admitted this to yourself yet. “I’ve never been seriously injured before, and I hate hospitals. I knew I had to go, I just… had to convince myself of it.”

   Unexpectedly, he smiles at you then.

   “Thank you. For being honest with me. That’s always a good start.” He looks so grateful and earnest as he meets your gaze, you struggle not to look away.

   “I know it might not seem like it, but I do want help. I’m just really crappy at asking for it or accepting it.”

   “Well then, you’ll be happy to know I’m stubborn as hell, and I don’t take no for an answer when I know I’m right.    Chances are, you’re gonna get amazingly irritated and sick of me before we’re done, but if you can trust me despite all that, I’ll get you well again,” he offers, and you struggle to believe you could ever get sick of such a wonderful person.

   “I’m not great with trusting people. But I’ll try.”

   “That’s all I can ask for.    Now, I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off so I can assess the mobility of your shoulder.”

   Well, that went from sweet to nerve-wracking in one fucking sentence…    Suddenly your pulse is pounding in your ears, but it’s not like you can refuse. At least, not if you want to regain full mobility.    Internally cursing yourself for wearing a t-shirt and not a top with thin straps of some sort, you start fumbling with the fabric, trying to get it off without causing yourself too much pain.

   He notices that you’re having a bit of trouble and steps around behind you to lift the shirt at the back, which is nice of him. Except that when his warm fingers brush against the bare skin of your neck, you involuntarily shiver, which he of course also notices.

   “Is it too cold in here?” he wonders. “I try to keep it warmer than the rest of the building, but if you need me to turn it up further-…”

   “No, no, I’m fine,” you interrupt him, feeling absolutely ridiculous at how strongly his mere presence affects you.

   “Alright, but just so you know, it’s no trouble. If there’s anything I can do to make this more comfortable for you, don’t hesitate to tell me,” he says, as he carefully starts to prod and examine your shoulder now that the shirt is off, and you’re abruptly having trouble breathing again with the sensation of his skin exploring yours.

   “Oh, you don’t want me to do that…” you think to yourself, while doing your best not to be self-conscious about your choice of bra for the day.

   “Why is that?”

   His mildly bemused and curious question makes you freeze, and as the realization hits you that you’d actually spoken out loud just now, panic floods your every cell in no time flat.    Wishing the ground would open and swallow you, or that lightning would hit you right now, you let your torso fall forwards and then brace your good elbow against your knee so that your hand can catch your head as it drops so heavily into your open palm that it feels like you’ve just slapped yourself.

   “I am so sorry,” you mumble, seriously wondering what the fuck is wrong with you, you don’t even know if the man’s single. “Please ignore me, I don’t get out much.”

   He’s quiet for a moment then, and in that short space of time, you manage to imagine several scenarios for how he’s probably about to scold you for behaving inappropriately.

   “Ah… You didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you?” he finally replies, and he still sounds only bemused, but it does nothing to rid you of your shame.

   “I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say, because that’s how you feel.

   “Hey, don’t feel bad, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re allowed to think whatever you want.”

   “Even if it’s totally objectifying and unethical?” you counter, and there’s another pause before you hear a low chuckle behind you.

   “Okay, now I’m really curious. What were you thinking?”

   “Never mind, just… continue your exam,” you hurriedly try to deflect, even more mortified by the prospect of having to own up to your completely premature infatuation with him.

   But instead of leaving it alone, he rounds the table until he’s in front of you again, taking a seat on his stool so he’s at your eye-level.

   “As previously discussed, I’ve got time. So, please, do tell me what you think would make you feel the most comfortable with me,” he grins, clearly fully aware that it’s gonna be something juicy, and almost childishly excited to know what it is.

   For the most part, humiliation runs off you relatively easily. But that’s also because you rarely stray out of your comfort zone, which revolves around horses, dogs, driving tractors and using power tools.    Still, on the rare occasions when you do manage to get yourself cornered, you generally suffer for a minute and then you find a way to shake it off.

   And on the super-rare occasions, such as this one, when you’re so far beyond mortified that you don’t even know how to get out of it, something else happens.    You become kinda angry and a bit feral.    The last time it had happened you’d ended up spending a night in jail, and you hadn’t even been drunk.

   You can feel that anger take control of your brain and you know you’re about to say something ill-advised, but there’s no stopping it.    Raising your head, you lock gazes with him and see him flinch at the abrupt shift in your expression.

   “Basically any scenario in which you’re butt naked and in my bed,” you hear yourself almost snarl, and somehow, there’s no shame accompanying the words.

   As crude and inappropriate as they are, it’s the truth, and it wipes the sweetly crooked little smile off his face in a hurry. Although his eyes remain alight and curious.

   “Somehow that’s not what I was expecting you to say,” he slowly observes, and you can’t help how your face falls, hearing that.

   “You and me both, darlin’,” you exhale, feeling the anger fade as the air leaves your lungs, and in its wake, only regret remains. “Maybe I should just go.”

   Standing, you reach for your shirt at the top of the table, but he stops you with a hand on yours, and when you turn to see what he’s doing, he’s suddenly very close.

   “I told you that if you can trust me, I’ll help you.    It might’ve been unintentional, but you were honest with me just now, even though you didn’t want to be, which is a good sign.”

   “Not really,” you protest, starting to feel smaller against his large frame, “I get like that sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed. I blurt things out with no filter, it’s not a choice.”

   “It was still the truth, wasn’t it?” he persists, and you can’t deny it, so you nod. “Okay then, we have a baseline, so let’s build on it rather than abandon it.    I suggest we start with today’s session, and when we’re done, we make dinner reservations for this weekend.”

   You’re so unprepared for that last part, your mouth falls open and your mind goes completely blank for way too long. Like a damned fish, you just stand there, staring at him while his hand still holds yours, gently prying your shirt from it before he motions for you to take your seat again.    Grateful to be guided, since you still can’t think for yourself, you follow his directions and before long, the exam is done and he’s helping you get dressed.

   From there, he shows you out into the gym where he meticulously instructs you on which exercises to do and how often, making you swear not to overdo them.    And you might be imagining it, but you feel like he jumps on any excuse to touch you, holding your waist to make sure your core musculature doesn’t move when it’s not supposed to, or physically redirecting your hips when you’ve unknowingly turned them, even though he could’ve just told you to correct it yourself.

   When you’re done for the day, he takes you back to the exam room where he makes a few notes about how the session went and what you’ve agreed on.

   “Again, no lifting hay, grain, or heavy buckets,” he reiterates for what has to be the tenth time, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

   “I heard you the first nine times.”

   “And you’re still not gonna listen to me, are you?”

   “I live alone with two horses and two dogs, I make no promises, one way or the other.”

   “I’m just gonna have to tie you to the bed then,” he says without a hint of a joke in his voice, before he reaches for a calendar on his desk. “But, dinner first.    How does six o’clock on Friday sound?”

THE END

[hoffstrap-yuri]

For Sickness and in Health (Insurance)

ao3 // masterlist

*SUMMARY: Agent Strahm was by the book when it came to solving cases. Being honest about his marital status was a different story entirely.

*RATING: +18 for Explicit Mature Content

*CONTENT/TAGS: M/M, Hoffstrahm, Coffinshipping, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Fake Marriage/Dating, Fake Relationship, Eventual Smut, Alternate Universe

*STATUS: Chapter 1/2

Author's Note: Second chapter of this fic can be found here! Woo my first MLM saw fic, it's only fitting it'd be coffinshipping. Huge thanks to @cubestrahm for helping me stay motivated on this project, and come up with an ending for it <3

There was an eerie silence in the air. Hoffman was in the middle of his daily crossword puzzle, scratching his head at what possibly could be the answer for 5 down. Strahm took a glance at the desk across from him before clearing his throat. When Hoffman didn’t look up the first time, he cleared it again with more phlegm coming up.

“Do you need something, special agent?” Hoffman finally looked up from his crossword. To say he was mildly annoyed by the other middle aged man would be an understatement. Unless he had the answer to 23 across, Hoffman didn’t want to hear a damn word come from his mouth.

Strahm took a deep breath before he said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Ask Perez.” Hoffman replied, turning his eyes back down to the paper in front of him

“Would if I could, believe me.” Strahm propped his head up against his fingers, “See… I need you to.”

“Yeah?” Hoffman raised an eyebrow, bringing his coffee cup up to his lips. He started to take a sip when Strahm said maybe the most outlandish thing that Mark had ever heard in his life,

“I need you to pretend to be my wife.”

Hoffman spit out his coffee, droplets making it onto Strahm’s crisp white shirt across the two desks.

“Agent Strahm, are you high?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell are you smoking,” Hoffman sputtered as he kept trying to string words together. Something to make a coherent sentence. “Are you insa… Actually, I’ve seen the footage of your interview with Jill Tuck. I know you’re insane. Why would I even entertain this idea, Special Agent?”

“You get better insurance?” Strahm shut his eyes, hoping that the offer of a better plan would be enough to entice the man before him. There was a pause in their banter. Peter couldn’t believe that Mark would actually even consider this.

“Does the plan include dental?”

“Wait you don’t get dental?”

“I do.” Hoffman scoffed, “But I have a ridiculous co-pay. What’s yours look like?”

“500.”

“… Fine. What do you need from me?”

“Just come with me to DC. We’ll talk to an HR person for an hour, get the paperwork sorted out, and we both get better insurance.”

“I can do that.”

“Alright.” Strahm said with a heavy sigh of relief. He was still quiet around Hoffman the next couple of minutes until Perez came back from lunch. Naturally, Strahm turned his back away from the other man to talk to his partner. Hoffman pulled a straw wrapper off the side of his desk he’d been meaning to throw out anyway, crumpled it up, and threw it at the back of Strahm’s head. When Strahm turned around to see whether something had actually hit him, Mark played coy. Almost too coy. Strahm raised an eyebrow at him, trying to goad him into a confession. Other, weaker, men would have folded under the gaze of the man with immaculate eyelashes, but Mark was stronger than that. Or so he thought at the very least. Mark leaned forward on his desk and rested his head on his fists, inviting some kind of challenge from the agent. As Strahm opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, he thought long and hard whether a fight right now was worth it. He zipped his own lips back up and turned back around to talk with Perez.

‘Did she know?’ Mark wondered to himself, ‘About Strahm’s stupid little plan?’

Strahm massaged the wedding band on his finger, as if a sign to Hoffman that he heard his thoughts. That Lindsay was in on the whole scam too. She had to know… He shook his head and tried to clear the thought from his head. Maybe Hoffman was the one really getting scammed.

---

“Nice ride.” Hoffman slung his bag over his shoulder, looking at the car behind Strahm parked in Hoffman’s driveway.

“Shut up.”

“First road trip…”

“Don’t.” Strahm pointed at his partner in crime, “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Aw, afraid you’re gonna like hearing the words ‘newlyweds’ come from my mouth?” Hoffman got up in Strahm’s face. Strahm’s lips were mere inches from brushing up against Hoffman. He felt the tickle of a sharp inhale from the detective’s nose and the heavy sigh when the air came back up along his upper lip. Peter turned his head away so he didn’t have to look into Mark’s eyes. He turned on the back of his heels and opened up the trunk for Mark to put his bag inside of. Mark plopped his bag down next to what he assumed was Strahm’s overnight bag before attempting to open the back passenger side door.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Strahm asked, sticking his head out of his window

“Sitting in the back, idiot. What does it look like I’m doing?” Mark wriggled the handle some more

“Why the hell would you sit back there?”

“So I can get some sleep.”

“And make me feel like a damn taxi driver; I don’t fucking think so. Sit up here.”

“Fine.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and got into the seat across from Strahm. He crams himself in before feeling up the seat to find the height adjuster. He pushed it as far back as it would go and crossed his legs before pressing his weight up against the car door.

“Here, grab the directions from the glove compartment.” Strahm said. He wrapped an arm around the headrest of Hoffman’s seat as he backed up from the driveway. Hoffman handed him the three sheets of paper folded into threes. Before handing it off however, he took a peek under the fold to see where the MapQuest directions lead to. Some two-star hotel on the DC-Maryland border. Not that Hoffman had any right to complain about the lodging, but he wondered if the accommodations were coming from the FBI or Strahm’s wallet.

“Take a left here. It’ll be faster and it’s easier to get on the turnpike.” Hoffman pointed up a couple of blocks ahead of them. Strahm gave him an apprehensive look before following the instructions the other man gave him. “Nice smooth merge instead of fighting.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Take it you don’t go home much? Or am I not good enough to bring home to mom?” Hoffman asked as he handed the papers off finally.

“What are you on about now?”

“Why aren’t you taking me to your place?”

“My place?” Strahm looked at him, more confused than ever

“In DC.”

With a sharp inhale Strahm asked, “Do you think every FBI agent is based out of Washington DC? Are you really that stupid, Detective?”

“Maybe I am.” Hoffman shrugged nonchalantly. Was Hoffman trying to scam him, even now? A blood vessel was popping on the edge of Strahm’s forehead and he could feel it. That seemed to make Hoffman’s lips curl at the ends ever so deviously. So it was all a fucking joke. “What’s the plan?”

“What?” Strahm’s attention returned in that moment.

“When we get to DC, smart ass.”

“Go to sleep. Get up in the morning, go to the office, and get this done. We’ll be home by tomorrow night.”

“How punctual.” Hoffman purred. “Did you bring something for me to wear?”

“No, why the hell would I do that?” Strahm asked.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you, this was your plan. I thought you asked me because you had something already.” Hoffman sat up in his seat, giving the other man a dumbfounded look

“I asked because you’re the only one not in the registry like Perez is. I mean why the hell wouldn’t you go out and buy a cheap dress or something after I told you about this?”

Hoffman just sighed before realizing the implication of this. “So guess that means you have to take me shopping.”

“What you want to go to the National Mall for that, dumb ass?”

“And if I do?” Hoffman smirked. He was clearly enjoying himself far too much. On the other hand, it took every bone in Strahm’s body to keep the two of them from careening off the highway and into the Atlantic ocean. Most of the car ride was in silence after that. Mark would occasionally peer out the window when they crossed a river, making it damn near impossible for him to get his planned nap in during the drive. Like that, they were pulling up into the parking lot of their hotel. Strahm left the car on while he checked in, and made a motion out to Hoffman when they were all set. Strahm walked back out to the car and sat in the driver’s seat before looking behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“To go shopping.” Strahm said with a sigh.

---

“Where to first?” Hoffman asked, stepping out of the car. Strahm hadn’t allowed for any stops on their way down south, so getting out to stretch was completely out of the question. Now that he was free, Hoffman lifted his arms over his head and let out a yawn. Strahm shot him a look before saying,

“It was only three hours, you don’t need to be so dramatic.”

“It was four.” Hoffman corrected him. Strahm just rolled his eyes and locked his car, walking away from the verbal conflict.

“Let’s go find you a dress first.” Strahm said in a hushed voice. Not that there was anyone else in the garage, but if there was he was worried someone would hear the two male voices.

“Does it have to be a dress? Or do you just want to emasculate me?” Hoffman growled slightly.

“There’s no way you’d fit in a woman’s suit.” Strahm stated, as if it was common knowledge. “And this is the FBI, you have to look halfway decent.”

“Your wish is my command, hubby.” Hoffman slapped on the most offensively fake smile as they walked into the mall. While neither of the men knew the layout of the mall, Strahm seemed to fall in behind Hoffman. This was unlike his usual behavior back in New York but Hoffman didn’t think it was worth getting into. They walk up to a directory and find a shop to pick a dress out from, first trying the anchor stores and getting nowhere with that. They tried a specialty store next, with more results. The only issue is the staff seemed to glare as the two men rummaged through the racks to find something that would fit a man like Hoffman. Hoffman noticed that Peter kept stealing looks as he would step out from the dressing room to look at the dress in the full length mirror. “Here, this should fit, but I need to to zip the back up.”

“Fine.” Strahm approached Hoffman and pulled the zipper up. It seemed to fall back as it was just about to close so Strahm told him, “Suck your gut in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and sucked his stomach in. The zipper went up fine and Strahm secured it with the tiny hooks on the back. His hands slowly lingered onto Hoffman’s hips as they looked at the outfit in the mirror. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, you just look like a nice broad now.” Strahm replied quickly, before realizing where his hands were resting. He took a step back and Hoffman did a half spin to see what his back looked like in the dress, “I think it’ll work.”

“Yeah.” Strahm’s eyes wandered up at the ceiling. Hoffman reveled in this power and slid his hands down his hips with a whistle. Strahm turned his head back to look at the other man before darting his eyes away again. Like fucking putty in Mark’s hands. He walked back to his dressing room, came back out, and quickly threw the garment into Peter’s arms. Strahm shuffled to catch it before Hoffman walked past him and back into the store. Strahm veered towards the cashier before Hoffman pulled him by the back of his shirt and asked,

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To check out.”

“Not before I get some accessories.” He turned Strahm around and took a look at the gaudy earrings the store had on display

“You don’t even have piercings.” Strahm huffed quietly, “You’re not about to get them pierced for this.”

“And if I wanted to?”

“I’d tell you ‘you’re insane’ and pull you out of Claire’s. Dumbass.”

“Well at the very least, you can treat your wife to a nice necklace.”

“Fine.” Strahm sighed, feeling the grip Hoffman had on him growing tighter. “We can go to a jewelry store for that.”

“God you really know how to spoil a woman, it’s a wonder you’re not actually married.” Hoffman teased him, taking the dress from his hands and bringing it up to the counter himself. The cashier at the time didn’t seem to care that two men approached her with a feminine dress. She finished the transaction as quickly as she could, and went back to sulking while the two men headed back into the mall. Hoffman dragged Strahm back to a directory to plan their next course of action. It would be shoes, makeup, and jewelry in that order. There were more than a few instances where Hoffman didn’t need to be so close to the FBI agent, but would still press his body up against the other man. Like when a family tried to walk around the two of them. It would turn Strahm’s face an embarrassing red to have the fabric of Hoffman’s shirt slide across the leather of his jacket. In a low voice that he was certain only Strahm would hear he’d say, “My bad.”

“Just shut up and keep walking” or some variation were the only words Strahm was able to eek out. They managed to find some heels that weren’t ridiculously chunky, and Hoffman could balance on before going to a makeup store in the mall. They found a disgustingly light powder pink that the saleswoman said ‘any girl would love’, while Strahm stood out in the mall proper pretending that he was just shopping with a friend after work. She also threw in some samples that Hoffman didn’t really seem to understand, but was thankful he wasn’t buying any more makeup than was necessary. Not that it was on his dime, but he’d have no use for it after this elaborate fraud. Next, the two walked around a jewelry kiosk. Mark pointed at a diamond necklace and Strahm nearly cussed him out there in front of the sales clerk but just handed the Amex over before there was any questions. They walked back to the car before Strahm excused himself and headed to the bathroom.

“You really can’t wait for 20 minutes to get to the hotel?” Hoffman asked him, rolling his eyes

“It’s four o’clock, there’s no way in hell the ride is only going to be 20 minutes.” Strahm retorted before going in. Hoffman waited impatiently, stamping his foot down and glancing at the clock. How long did it take this idiot to piss? Out of the corner of his eye, Hoffman saw another store that he ducked into. If he was going to be Strahm’s wife, he was going to make the agent really regret it. He hurried back to the spot where Strahm was just zipping up his jacket. “Where were you?”

“Looking at Auntie Anne’s, the fuck does it matter to you?”

With a huff Strahm replied, “Whatever” before beginning the walk back to the car. This time Hoffman was sure to follow behind the agent. He seemed more… on edge than he had been this morning on Hoffman’s doorstep. Were the nerves setting in? Was his bravado really that fragile that shopping for women’s clothing was going to trip up Special Agent Peter Strahm?

“You seem tense.” Hoffman remarked

“I’m fine.” Strahm dodged the accusation, but not very well. There was almost an edge of bitterness in his words. He seemed to realize how rude he’d sounded by the way his eyes softened and said again, “I’m fine” in a much gentler tone.

“Nervous?”

“About?”

“Lying to your employer, the federal government?”

“No. No that’s the easy bit.”

“Easy, huh? Don’t tell me you’ve deceived the government before.”

“Yeah. Then when they caught me in my lie about 5 years later just told them it was a clerical error.”

“How rebellious of you. Never in my wildest dreams could I see you, Agent Strahm, bending the rules. Much less for your amusement.”

“And you’ve always filed your taxes on time.” Strahm laughed

“I’d never mess with my taxes.” Hoffman replied with a slight frown

“Sure thing, altar boy."

[danime25]

Last Christmas

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Colt happened to overhear that there was a gift exchange. What will he do to get involved when he hears a member of the lighting crew shit talking someone else on staff?

*Rating: E for Everyone

*Content/Tags: Bittersweet Ending, Secret Santa

*Status: Oneshot?/Complete

“Ah damn.” Colt’s ears perked up as he overheard one of the lighting guys. He was in between scenes right now and he had another two hours of sitting on set before they’d actually need him for the day. So he did what came naturally to him, snoop.

“What?” The other guy asked, not looking up from the lights he was tweaking

“You know that one PA?”

“There’s a lot of them on set.” The other man rolled his eyes

“The one that hardly talks to anyone, and if she does she covers her mouth with that stupid clipboard she has?”

“Oh that frigid bitch.” His friend laughed. Colt raised an eyebrow. He knew the production assistant that they were talking about. He’d never had a problem with her in the past, and honestly she was probably the nicest member to him. She’d always make sure that he had enough time in between scenes to run to the craft table when he needed some coffee. 

“Yeah, her. So I got her for the stupid secret santa. Wanna trade?”

“Hell no. You think I want that bitch who sucked a cock to get her job?”

“Well I don’t want her either, and no one else in lighting fucking wants her.”

“Did you ask the prop department? Someone in there might be desperate enough…”

“I’ll take her.” Colt, who up until then had been silently listening made a couple strides across the way, “I’ll take her for the gift exchange or… whatever.”

“Okay.” The first guy looked him up and down, “Who are you anyway?”

“I’m the stunt guy.” Colt nodded

“Fine. Here. Give me your sheet.” The guy held his hand out

“What sheet?”

“The secret santa sheet.” He rolled his eyes, “Did you even sign up?’ “Yeah. It’s just… in my car.” Colt slid away for a second and pulled a sheet of paper out of a script someone left around. He copied the general format, and wrote down a bullshit name. He strided back in and handed it off to the guy, “There.”

“Thanks.” He looked over it for a second before a runner came and started screaming about how the director needed everyone in lighting over at the other lot. Colt took a look at the sheet that he had tucked in his pocket so as not to get the two confused. He frowned a little bit as he saw how little she wrote. A woman of few words, he guessed. If he was going to get her something she’d like as a thank you for all the coffee breaks on set, he’d have to continue snooping. He looked down at his watch and hurried to the set where his next scene was. She was probably setting up there.

---

Sure enough, he found her pointing directions out to other members of the crew. He could hardly hear her and he was only about 10 feet away. Maybe his eardrums were just shot to hell being next to explosions? He shook his head and walked over to her. He gave her a quick nod. Without missing a beat she quietly said,

“You’re early. You’re never on set early.”

“Yeah. But I’m on time.”

“Last time you were two minutes late.” She looks down at her phone. He sees the music banner on her screen and asked,

“What are you listening to?” He was fishing, but maybe that would give him some ideas about what to get her

“Nothing.” She looked at him, a bit confused. “I was listening to something on my commute.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned against a cart, only for it to move out from under him. He tipped over slightly before catching his balance and giving her a thumbs up. “That could’ve been bad.”

“Don’t get injured.” She replied. That was nice of her. “Our insurance won’t cover it.”

“Ouch.” He laughed, “I mean you’re probably right.”

“Not probably. I am right.” She sighed, “I appreciate your company, but I really need to finish setting up for the scene… Mark will be mad if I don’t.”

“First name basis with the director?’

She sighed again, even more exhausted, “Listen if those… guys from VFX sent you to spy on me. I swear I’ve never done anything immoral to keep my job… I just come to set, do my job and go home.”

“No that’s not why I’m here…” He tried to explain, but how could he without giving away that he was trying to get her something? “I’ll just… sit over there.”

“Thank you.” Her shoulders loosened up as he sat quietly in the corner of the studio. Other members of the crew filtered in, then the actors paraded in. She started talking with the star about some rewrites the writers had come up with and guided them through it. He crept closer to listen in, given that it might change his performance too. She raised an eyebrow as she saw him move into her line of sight, but decided to not do anything about it until one of the actors piped up about the intrusion. Surprisingly, no one said anything and they got to work filming. The director guided both Colt and the man he was doubling for on how to perform the stunt correctly, the angle and distance the camera would be to ensure no one saw the switch between the two. Colt nodded along as if he were paying attention and his eyes darted back to the PA. She looked to be underlining the script with due diligence.

“And action!”

Colt watched the scene until it was his time to step in. It was a basic fight scene with a fall, easy enough. He landed on the mat perfectly and rested on it for a moment, waiting for his back to crack as he pushed into the plush pad. When he got up he walked back over to behind the camera, seeing her with her teeth pressed down into her lips.

“You okay?” He asked her

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You want some coffee?” He asked in a way that wasn’t really a suggestion. She nodded and he guided her outside the studio. When she knew no one was looking at her she started to sob. Something in Colt’s heart broke seeing her completely shatter that he took her into his arms and held her. She seemed a bit confused by the gesture but wrapped her arms around his and cried. After a couple heaves and a tear stained shirt, he asked, “You want to talk about it?”

“I… sorry this shoot’s been a lot. Doesn’t help that Mark is fucking asshole.”

“Yeah.” He never noticed it, but the director was kind of a raging asshole when he thought about it. “The shoot’s done for the day, right?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, trying to regain her composure

“Why don’t I take you home?’

“Okay,” she said with a little grin. It wasn’t a date, per say. Colt considered it a mission to find out more about her when no one else on set seemed to care. He just knew when he saw something in her house it would click like that.

---

At the Christmas party, Colt was eager to give her her present. He’d grown to really like her and he noticed her more on set. There was some kind of change in her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. People talked behind her back still, but it was less about her being cold and her being ‘bossy’. Colt shrugged it all off because at the end of the day it really didn’t matter to him. His head kept turning instinctively towards the door every time someone came in, but she was nowhere to be seen. He almost decided to go home when he saw her walk in. Her hair was styled, but the curls were mostly deflated as she played with the ends at her shoulder. He waved at her and she caught his gaze, practically running over to him.

“Hi! So sorry I’m late,” she started to apologize to him, “I know I said I’d be on time…”

“It’s okay.” He smiled

“I just had to make sure my boyfriend, Nick… well he texted me that he had a flat tire…” She explained. Colt’s smile faded. He tried to pretend to be happy for her sake, but he hid the box behind his back.

“Is he okay?” He asked. It was polite, if a bit disinterested

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s parking my car now.” She replied, looking over her shoulder

“That’s good. Glad you’re alright.”

“Thanks.” She smiled back at him. “Oh there he is.”

“I should let you go then…” He hesitated

“No, you two should meet, I think you’d really like him!” She pulled him over. “Hey hon.”

“There you are.” The other man pressed his lips onto her cheek once, then again on the other side. She hugged him tightly. It wasn’t personal, but Colt couldn’t help but see it as a reminder that she wasn’t his. From the looks of it, she’d never be his. After she pulled out of his reach, she turned to face Colt. She gestured towards her friend on set,

“Hon, this is Colt.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her boyfriend smiled back at him. He looked like he was in another world… Colt really couldn’t blame him. He held his hand out and Colt shook it loosely

“You as well,” He replied. He didn’t have much else to say to her boyfriend but he tried his best to keep a conversation going between the two of them while she went to grab a drink. She managed to find the person on the crew who she was Santa for and gave her her gift. They shared a quick hug and she came back to the two.

“I guess I should tell you, I was your Santa.” Colt rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand

“Oh!” She smiled, “Thank you. I’m sure whatever you got me is nice. You don’t have to give it to me right now if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I seemed to misplace it…” He acted like he dropped it when he went to get a drink, but really he left it on the table everyone had discarded their presents on. “I was just gonna head out then. I’m all partied out.”

“Oh. Okay.” She nodded, “I get that… Let me see if I can find my present before you go though. I’ll just hold onto it.”

“Okay.” He smiled at her as she went to find his present. Sure enough, she found the little box and she brought it back with her

“I can’t wait to open it later.” She smiled as she held it between the palms of her hands

“Yeah, I hope you like it.” His words seemed to deflate as they left his lips. He turned around and left the party. He sat in his truck for a moment before riding home alone.

---

The next day that they needed him on set, production had promised it would be his last. He came in with thoughts running through his head. Would she be mad at him? Would she scream ‘how could you give me this’? He wasn’t sure how she’d react. Maybe he didn’t really know her enough to have wanted to ask her for a kiss. He walked into the studio and it felt like nothing had changed. He followed her directions, the scene was shot and it was time to go home. Before he could though, he felt a tug on his shirt sleeve from behind him.

“Hey.” She said

“Hi.” He replied

“I…”

“Listen. I’m sorry about my gift. I just thought that we were getting really close. And I was gonna ask you that night for a kiss.”

“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, “We’d just gotten together a couple days before the party.”

“Oh.” His heart broke even more. “He seemed really nice though. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am now.” She nodded, “I… don’t think I would have been able to talk to him if we hadn’t met.”

“Oh.”

“That’s to say… I feel like I owe you something.”

“Whatever it is, let’s just call it even,” he took her hand off of him

“No I mean… Colt.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe… maybe it could have worked out.” She said after a moment of silence lingered in between them. She leaned in and pressed her lips onto his. He pulled away from her and looked at her. He had to walk away otherwise he’d never be able to live with the feeling in his chest of tearing her away from her happy ending. He dryly laughed and said,

“Well at least we weren’t under the mistleto…” She pulled the gift box from out of her pocket and held it out for him to see. He turned his back on her and walked away. She didn’t try to chase after him. Maybe they were better off this way after all.

[the-hinky-panda]

The Medic Series: Part II

Title: The Medic Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Johnny Coco Cruz x OFC (Morgan "Stitches" Fox)

Summary: Morgan Fox is a nurse who is looking for a fresh start. She leaves La Jolla the night before her wedding for a fresh start in Santo Padre.

Author's Note: This series takes place in the same universe as @bullet-prooflove's Community Series.

“Oh damn.” Nan pulls her purse strap over her arm. “Looks like one for you..” 

Morgan looks up from where she was organizing cotton balls and tongue depressors for the next day. She had been at the clinic for a week now and already Nan has started to thaw towards her. A couple days ago, eight people walked through the door needing stitches and since Morgan was the new hire, she got all of them. Nan had made a comment before leaving that evening that the work had been neat and efficient so that was what she was going to call her: Stitches. 

A man with a motorcycle kutte opens the door for a scared teenage girl with facial abrasions, a black eye, laceration by her hairline, and she’s holding her arm. They both have the same large, round eyes and the same shade of earth brown. He looks nervously between Morgan and Nan. 

“You guys still open?” 

Nan looks at Morgan. “Are we, Stitches?” 

She nods at the trio in front of her. “Of course. I’ll clean up when we’re done, Nan.” 

Nan gives her nod and heads out, flipping the sign to “closed” before shutting the door and locking it behind her. 

“Alright,” Morgan starts towards the hallway that leads back to the exam rooms. “Just follow me and we’ll get you checked out.” 

“Look, uh,” the man pulls out his wallet and starts to pull out all his cash. “We don’t have no insurance, and-” 

“That’s okay,” Morgan interrupts. “It’s after hours and our billing department has already gone home.” She winks at him to make sure he understands her implication. He apparently does and puts his wallet away reluctantly. She continues her trek to the first exam room and turns the lights back on, motioning for the girl to sit on the table. “What’s your name?” 

“Letty.” 

“Letty, I’m Morgan. Nice to meet you.” Morgan starts pulling out bandages, butterfly stitches, and antiseptic wipes. “And who’s your friend?” 

A small smile quirks up on the corner of her mouth. “That’s my dad, Coco.” 

“Dad?” Morgan looks over her shoulder at where he’s standing in the doorway of the exam room. “When did you have her, when you were twelve?” 

“Oh, gross.” 

Morgan chuckles and pulls on her gloves. “Sorry. So, tell me what happened. This looks like a nasty gash on your head.” 

Letty’s eyes land on Coco with more caution than makes Morgan comfortable. Whatever the answer is, it’s not going to be a good one. Coco pulls out a pack of cigarettes. 

“If I want a smoke…” 

“You can go out the back of the building,” Morgan tells him. “There’s a small trash can by the door, use that to prop the door open or else you’ll get locked out.” 

He nods. “‘K.” He motions to Letty. “You tell her everything. Don’t lie to nurses.” 

Morgan waits until she hears the door creak open and the familiar metallic clang of the trash can taking the placeholder spot. “I have to agree with your dad. It’s never a good idea to lie to nurses.” 

“So saying I walked into a door isn’t gonna cut it?” 

Morgan assesses the cut that runs along Letty’s hairline. “I’m going to say someone bounced your head off a porcelain sink…twice.” 

“Damn. You are good.” 

“So if it wasn’t your dad, who was it? Boyfriend?” 

Letty scoffs. “No. It was a John. I think that’s what you would call him. My grandmother sold me to him so is it a John if it’s long term?” 

Thankfully years of hearing stories similar to this allows Morgan to easily school her features but the twist of disgust still turns her stomach. “It’s wrong no matter what we call him. Have you filed any reports with the police?” 

Letty shakes her head. “My dad’s in an MC. If anyone will handle it, they will. Unless you have to file a report?” 

“I’m new in town. If a MC handles the issue, I’m not about to get in the way of it. As long as it gets handled and you get the hell out of there.” 

Letty regards you thoughtful and then gives a resolute nod. “You’re not too bad.” 

Morgan starts to say that Letty isn’t too bad herself when a blinding pain erupts along the side of her head. Her knees hit the floor and she sees stars, bright spots blocking out her surroundings, a loud ringing in her ears. She hears Letty curse before a loud crash follows. She’s able to blink away the spots and sees a man, medium height and barrel-chested, trying to grab Letty by the arms. The young girl is putting up quite the fight, kicking, spitting, and scratching like a cornered cat. 

This must be the John. 

Morgan carries a gun with her but knows it’s illegal since Santo Padre is in a different county than La Jolla and she hasn’t had a chance to transfer her permit over to Imperial County. If she even manages to get to her purse to get the gun, it’ll raise a lot of questions. So she goes with plan B: while Letty is fighting with the man, Morgan crawls over to a specific drawer and unlocks it, pulling out a bottle with a liquid sedative. She grabs a syringe, fills it, and immediately swings her arm to jam the needle into the man’s thigh, pushing the plunger down at the same time. 

He screams and lets go of Letty. “The fuck did you do?!” 

Letty has managed to pick up the stainless steel tray the stitching materials were laid out on and brings it down on top of his head. Then she brings it down again. And again. His leg gives out and he slumps to the floor, blood running down the side of his face. Letty draws the tray back again, eyes wild, but Morgan stops her from bringing it down again.

“Hey, I can explain an unconscious man but not a dead one,” Morgan tells her calmly. “Come on, let’s lock him in here and call the police.” 

Her eyes go even wider at the mention of police. “But-” 

Morgan tugs her away from the barely conscious man and slams the door shut behind them. “As far as the police need to know, he broke in to rob us and we took him out. That’s it.” 

Morgan goes into another exam room and grabs a plastic chair, shoving it under the doorknob to ensure the man stays there until the police arrive. Releasing a deep breath, she looks over Letty and sees a couple scratches and abrasions from the recent encounter but nothing serious. She reaches up and touches the side of her own head where he blindsided her and her fingers come back bloodied. 

“Come on,” Morgan turns the lights on in another exam room. “I can finish your stitches in-” 

“How did he get in?” 

Morgan freezes. She didn’t even think about that. Nan locked the front door when she left and Morgan would have heard him breaking the glass to get into the clinic. That only leaves the back door that was propped open. Of course. 

“Fuck,” Letty starts for the back door. “Coco!” 

“Wait, wait,” Morgan reaches out to stop her from leaving. “I’m sure he’s fine.” 

Letty pulls loose from her grip. “No, you don’t understand. He wouldn’t let the fucker past him! He was out there fucking protecting us!” 

Morgan wipes the blood that’s running down the side of her face now and retrieves her gun just in case there’s something else waiting for them outside. She also vows to never let anyone in again past closing time. 

[meret118]

2023 Review

This has been the worst year in my life. (Long post.)

Nicholas died in February. I thought he was just constipated, but he was 20 years old and my vet insisted I take him to the emergency clinic. I didn't like the place even then. They have all this fancy equipment, and they overcharge and overtest to pay for it. They insisted he stay overnight, which I didn't want, and wouldn't let me say goodbye to him. They called later to say I was right. They'd given him an enema, but wanted to watch him overnight. I should have gone to get him then. They called at 2 AM to tell me he'd died.

He started living under my car and following me around shortly after I moved into my apartment. He had horrible health problems, including stomatitis which made his breath and saliva smell horrible. I think that's why his previous people abandoned him. The idea of him dying alone in a cage thinking I'd done the same torments me. If I'd just followed my instincts it wouldn't have happened that way. I don't think well under stress anymore. I miss him so much.

That was my winter. This past spring I almost died myself. (I'm not going into the details about what happened.) I've read the hospital notes, and my oxygen rate got so low they even called my uncle at one point to see if he wanted them to try and resuscitate me if my heart stopped. I was in the hospital for weeks, but I only remember the last 4 days or so of being there.

I ended up losing the use of my non-dominant hand from a compression injury, and have been in constant pain ever since. The muscles from mid-forearm down have wasted away. You don't realize how much you need that hand until you can't use it anymore. I've always been healthy before this, and it's been a huge adjustment. I feel like I've aged about 10 years. Crafting was one of my main hobbies, and I can't do that anymore. It takes me forever to type anything out now too. ETA: The non-stop pain has been the worst thing.

Everyone except my mother knew she's had Alzheimer's for years. (She refused to believe it.) She lost touch with reality completely while I was in the hospital. The neighbors had to call the police, and they took her to the hospital where she lives. I don't know if the stress of my being in the ICU pushed her over the edge, or if it was just a coincidence. She had already started hallucinating some before that. My father has been in assisted living for Alzheimer's since 2018, and now she is too.

Contrary to what a lot of people think assisted living is paid for completely out of pocket. Regular health insurance doesn't pay for it, nor does Medicare. It requires long term care insurance, which they don't have. It's not cheap either. Hopefully they will have enough to last as long as they need it, but it's not a sure thing. If they do spend all their money, they'll end up on Medicaid in a government funded nursing home.

Assisted living is like living in a small apartment with daily activities, and even trips. (I moved them near me into 2 really good ones. ((They don't get along.)) My father is even gaining weight, and doing so much better. I go see them once a week.) A nursing home is like living in a hospital.

My father had a good job, (upper-middle class), but was forced into early retirement at 55 due to bad-mouthing the new exec at HQ. He was used to being the (regional) boss, and never got another job. That's 10 years of income he didn't earn.

What's even worse is they made each other their POA's instead of someone younger. After my father was put in assisted living, my mother met a man at an Alzheimer's support group who conned her into allowing him access to all her accounts. Everyone told her not to do it, but he's a CPA, and she had no experience with handling the finances.

I know he had a wife with Alzheimer's because Janice met her when she helped him find an assisted living for her. So he was there for a real reason, but I guess he saw an easy mark and decided to go for it. He made sure never to be around when I was there. She and I don't get along anyway, but I think he was also poisoning her against me based on some comments she's made.

It all came to a head late last year as her Alzheimer's got worse. I found out by accident that he has been stealing from them ever since he was given access to the money. He had romanced her into doing that and leaving everything to him in the will, a new will he wrote. As well as I can figure out he told her he just wanted to be friends as soon as he got what he wanted.

I tried to get a new will written, but her Alzheimer's was too bad at that point, and lawyers refused. My uncle saw a lawyer earlier this year, and he said we're screwed. When she dies the guy gets everything, even if my father is still alive. She's a narcissist who has ruined my life over and over ever since I was born. Now she's going to ruin things after death too.

I'm having to go through their 3 story house crammed with decades of things to get it ready to be sold. The basement is so full you can barely walk through it. I'm single, with no kids or siblings so it's just been me.

At the moment I'm pretty sure I finally have COVID. I have to stay isolated since I was exposed over christmas anyway, so I don't see the point of getting tested right now to find out for certain. I'm fully vaccinated, and my symptoms are very mild. My fear is of developing long covid.

[she-karev]

Trying to Get Pregnant (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister)

Previous Part Here

Age Rating: 16+

Chapters: Four of Five

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy/Station 19

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 18 Episode 17/Season 5 Episode 17

Summary: Andrew and Amber accidentally tell people they’re trying to get pregnant.

Words: 2368

February 18th, 2022

Andrew, Alex and Link stand in front of Kristen in the waiting room. Alex is with them in case Kristen’s stress harms the baby and they needs a peds surgeon to help. Kristen is processing their devastating diagnosis of Simon’s tumor. She sits in silent agony holding her gorging belly and tries to find the strength to ask her question.

“How long? Please tell me how long my husband has to live.”

Andrew keeps his voice neutral as he lays out the facts, “We still have to do staging, but from the information that we have, maybe a month at most.”

Kristen gasps and begins to cry, “His whole life, Simon always wanted to be a dad. He wanted to be the best dad. And I wanted to give him that.” Kristen stands up, “We need to take the baby out now. I need a C-section.”

Alex shakes his head knowing the outcome if they take the baby out, “Kristen we can’t it's too early.”

Kristen is adamant, “Simon needs to meet his son. I need to talk to an OB, please.”

“Okay sit down please.” Andrew helps Kristen sit down as she continues to cry, “Look any OB will tell you that there are risks if you take the baby out right now.”

Kristen shakes her head, “No.”

“I know you want to do this for Simon, but we cannot risk-”

“I'll talk to Dr. DeLuca. Okay Kristen?” Andrew and Alex look at Link in shock as he continues, “She’s an OB, he isn’t so I’ll talk to her and see if she can help you.”

Alex starts to tell Link off, “Dr. Lincoln-”

“She’s at the station right now she’s not here.” Andrew tells Link with an offended tone to save Alex from making a scene before turning back to Kristen, “Kristen you need to think about what’s best for your son right now because at 32 weeks his lungs aren’t fully developed and he’s premature when we take him out. It is safer to wait until you give birth then it is to do a C-section this early.”

“Do you have kids?” Kristen asks frustrated, “Do you know what it’s like to want something your whole life? Because that’s what Simon is doing right now, he wants to meet his son before he dies and you’re stopping me from doing that.”

“…I don’t have kids, but my wife and I are trying to have a baby.” Alex looks mildly shocked at that as he continues, “I can’t imagine the struggle you and Simon faced when you tried to have a baby but I know what it’s like to want to be a dad more than anything. I also know that if I was in Simon’s position I would want my kid to be born healthy even if I never get to meet them. If Simon doesn’t feel that way, then we can talk about a C-section but if he does…we’ll try as hard as we can to give him more time so he can be your baby’s father even if it’s just for a little while.”

Kristen begins to sob and Andrew stands up to give her space, “I’m really sorry.” The men walk away to give Kristen space to grieve.

Later at Station 19

Amber helps Carina pack up the supplies and throw away the trash after the clinic closed. The rest of the team on shift helps as well. Jo is on the phone with Hunt at Grey Sloan after sending in Errol. She helped Warren with a man named Errol who came in with leg pain that turned out to be his toes decaying and falling off due to not treating his diabetes.

The man said he didn’t think it was worth going to a hospital for but it was mostly because he didn’t have insurance. The man’s state broke Jo’s heart as she understood what it was like to be broke and afraid of going into debt. She assured him they would find doctors who could treat him and help him cover the costs.

“Okay thank you Hunt, bye.” Jo hangs up and announces to the team, “Erroll has been admitted to Grey-Sloan. Their gonna start rapid treatment as soon as possible.”

Sullivan asks Jo, “How do you watch your toes turn to black mush and not get help, huh?”

“Well, he obviously needs mental health care as well.” Carina explains that makes Montgomery snap.

“Yeah, something else this broken system isn't gonna provide!” Travis kicks the chairs he’s folding in anger causing the team to look worried, “I'm sorry, but this is nuts. I mean, that guy didn't get his diabetes checked out until his toes fell off because he didn't want to go into debt? I mean, what is that? And what if we didn't have this clinic? What then? What happens to Erroll, and all the Errolls out there?”

Warren tries to mend his anger, “Yeah, but we do have the clinic.”

“Yeah, but it's not enough. And-And if Dixon is elected mayor, he's going to shut this place down, okay? This-This world is a broken and cruel place, and we keep putting people in charge that are fixated on making it worse.”

“He's not gonna win.” Maya says.

“You don't know that!” Travis says in fear, “Have you seen the rest of the field? He could very easily win, and nothing terrifies me more. I'm a first responder. I'm great at problem solving, but on this, I got nothing.”

“Well, I mean, you could run for mayor.” Warren suggests and Jo follows.

“Yeah you would be the first politician I would like.”

Travis shakes his head, “I can't do that.”

“Why not?” Sullivan asks, “Scared you're gonna lose?”

“No, because I think I could win.” Travis explains, “Okay, yeah. Maybe that terrifies me more.”

“I think you should do it, Travis.” Carina supports him as she helps pack away the medical equipment, “I'll vote for you. I mean, I don't even have my green card yet, but you know what I mean.”

Maya looks shocked at that, “Wait, are we actually talking about you running for mayor of Seattle?”

“Yeah. No. No. I don't know.” Travis says in conflict, “Not to actually be mayor, but to just, you know, make sure Dixon isn't.”

“I think you would win.” Carina says hopeful.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Amber shrugs liking the idea, “Worser and more stupid people have run and won, be the first good one. You got my vote and my husbands.”

“And mine and my husbands.” Jo says with a smile.

“But that's crazy, right?” Travis asks with the others agreeing.

“Like you said, the world is crazy.” Robert says with support.

Travis grins at the support and exhales, “Well on to more uplifting news, I heard what you said to that mom this morning Amber. I’m glad you and your husband are trying; I think you’ll be great parents.”

Amber’s eyes widen at that as well as Jo who purses her lips and Carina who looks up in shock.

“I’m sorry what?” Carina asks and steps forward, “You and Andrea are trying to have a baby?”

Amber pinches the bridge of her nose knowing she has no way out of this, “Yes we are and I was going to tell you once you got pregnant but I guess Montgomery missed that part of my conversation in the exam room!”

Travis looks embarrassed by that and gulps at the daggers Amber is glaring his way, “Um…I guess it’s a bad time to say Travis would be a good name for the baby?” Amber responds with a gauze she throws directly at Travis’s head that he doesn’t dodge. The soft wrap barely hurts him but he got the message, “I deserved that.”

“Walk away before I grab this monitor next.” Amber orders in anger pointing at the exit.

“Yep, I’m going, sorry.” Travis quickly walks away as well as Ben and Robert who sense a bloodbath about to come.

Carina stands in front of Amber with a curious face, “Amber? Is it true? Are you and my brother trying to get pregnant?”

Amber sighs and faces her sister-in-law with Jo and Maya in the middle as a neutral third party, “Yeah we are. We wanted to tell you after you got pregnant because we know how hard you and Maya are trying and I know the hormones make you angry. I also know all the advantages me and Andrew have that you guys don’t, so I didn’t want you to-”

“No, no stop, please.” Carina begins to smile to Maya’s shock who expected her hormonal wife to lash out but instead she holds Amber’s shoulders and looks her straight in the eye with familial love, “I am so happy for you, and I am so happy for Andrea.”

Carina pulls Amber in for a hug that shocks her, but she responds with her hands over Carina’s back.

“You don’t hate me?” Amber asks.

Carina laughs and pulls back with a smile and tears in her eyes, “Hate you? You’re gonna make me an aunt. Bambina how can I possibly hate you?”

Amber laughs at that and smiles, “Yeah when you put it like that, I am pretty amazing. But just so you know I’m not pregnant we just started trying like last night.”

Carina keeps smiling, “And I am already looking forward to being a part of your baby’s life.”

Maya smiles at her wife already planning on being an aunt and squeezes her shoulder pulling her to her side facing Amber, “Me too. And as Aunt Maya I can introduce your kid to sports so they can get a full ride and you and Andrew won’t have to pay for college.”

Amber laughs at that, “Thank you.”

Jo smiles and steps in, “Yeah and just for the record I call favorite auntie status.”

Maya narrows her eyes at Jo, “Over your dead body.”

The ladies chuckle at that before going into playful discussion over who gets to do what as an aunt making Amber grin at the sweet scene in front of her silently hoping for a baby soon.

Later at the Hospital

Alex sees Andrew leaning against the station at the ICU saddened over Simon’s news. He was shocked after finding out that he and his sister were trying to have a baby at first but then he was happy for them. He was happy that his baby sister who grew up without love and stability like him was building one for herself with the man she loves. He was also happy about the possibility of becoming an uncle, already loving and playing with Meredith’s kids who call him the best uncle ever. He knows he can be that for his sister’s kids and walks over to stand next to Andrew.

“You did everything you could.” Alex says first knowing his brother-in-law is beating himself up for failing to resect the tumor, “If you tried to take it out Simon wouldn’t have a chance to meet his son before he died. Don’t blame yourself for things out of your control.”

Andrew nods understanding it all too well, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“…So, you and Amber are trying to get pregnant huh?”

Andrew chuckles lightly knowing it was coming, “Yeah, we are. We wanted to wait to tell you guys but then Kristen was talking about a C-section, and I had to make sure she wasn’t alone in wanting to be a family with the person she loves. I wanted her to remember her baby being healthy is something that’s not always a given.”

“Well, you did good. I think you talked Kristen off the ledge.” Alex taps his fingers, “Does anybody else know?”

“Nope you and Link are the first. My sister is trying to get pregnant too and with the hormone treatments I’m afraid telling her will result in me physically unable to impregnate my wife.”

Alex chuckles, “Yeah, she probably would do that. But I am happy for you, and I hope you guys get pregnant soon.”

“Thanks. We’re just trying to do date nights and trying these diets that increase fertility since Amber threw out the condoms.”

“Piece of advice don’t use my sister’s name in the same sentence as condoms in front of me.” Alex says uncomfortable with Andrew nodding in agreement, “It sounds like you guys have a solid plan. And the fact that babies are nonstop crying machines who never sleep for more than three hours in a row. And you can’t tell whether they’re smiling or have gas and every time you change a diaper, they pee on you. Don’t let any of that stop you from trying to get pregnant.”

“How can I when you make it sound so pleasant?” Andrew responds sarcastically.

“But seriously though Luna is the best thing that happened to me.” Alex says with a grin over his beloved daughter, “And I wish the same for you when you meet your kid. As long as I get favorite uncle status over Aaron.”

Andrew chuckles, “I’ll try.”

Link approaches them, “So Simon is gonna start chemo tomorrow, hopefully it gets him until Kristen gives birth.”

“I’m sorry man.”

Link shakes his head at Andrew’s apology, “It’s fine you did your best, thanks for that by the way.” Link sighs before putting up a strong front, “But on the bright side you and Amber are gonna become parent’s, congrats, I’m really happy for you guys.”

“We just started.”

“Nonetheless we should celebrate, drinks on me?”

Alex takes up on it, “Yeah I’ll drop off Luna and Jo and then we can head to Joe’s, DeLuca?”

“No, I should head home, it’s date night and I am in charge. Amber should have finished her shift by now so I’m gonna clock out. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Link grins as DeLuca walks away from them, “Good luck, try to impregnate your wife as many times as you can.” Alex narrows his eyes at that distasteful comment towards his little sister that Link catches to his embarrassment, “I’m sorry.” Alex walks away from Link leaving him by the station.

Next Part Here

[championofravens]

We really got to deploy basic counters to the new narrative conservatives are pushing about transgender care. I know it’s really easy and usually more beneficial for us to ignore bad faith or simply factually wrong arguments but unfortunately things are growing at a rate where many people are only hearing these conservative snippets, even if they themselves are decent people that don’t want to kneecap transgender rights. My dad is a born and bred California hippie liberal and he only knew conservative talking points- and I’m his son! 

He didn’t know medical insurance won’t cover hormone treatment for those under 18 and therefore it is rarely ever prescribed by doctors. All he knew were that conservatives were really ‘anxious’ about children being given hormones and him being an intelligent man aware that HRT does include side effects, he felt sympathetic to that concern. He didn’t know puberty blockers were a medication created for what he deemed “an actual purpose” aka the fact it was made originally for children who were hitting puberty too young or too fast due to a hormonal imbalance. And in my dad’s case, it’s not like he was AGAINST puberty blockers either- but he heard the conservative narrative about these radical new ‘chemicals’ we were giving kids and so he figured even if puberty blockers were safe, they were still a brand new drug developed expressly for transgender minors. Any basic info on HRT, gender confirmation surgery, transgender youths, puberty blockers, anything, was coming first and foremost through Republicans.

I know this is an aimless plea but I also know the left tends to get very prickly at the idea of having to calmly explain something to someone when it takes 5 seconds to google. But we gotta. We do have to dispel bullshit before we can march forward with talking about things more complex or politically relevant. We have GOT to get our politicians to do more than just voice support in a vague ambiguous sense and have them actually argue, disprove, and fight against the misinfo being spread. At the moment on the total outside of these issues, it looks like one side is offering moral and ethical support while the other side is voicing more ‘logical’ or ‘pragmatic’ concerns in between being hateful and bigoted. Even if people are fully on the side of transgender folks existing and having rights and getting to live in peace, they are still grappling with what feels like a bunch of sound talking points from the other side going ignored and unanswered.

[jemstarearrings]

S01E07: Starbright Part 2: Colliding Stars

While watching this episode and taking my notes, I immediately got derailed within the first minute. We pick up from the last episode in the ophthalmologist's office and learn Ba Nee has a wonderfully vague condition only described as "a degenerative eye condition."

This is not a diagnosis and describes at least half a dozen disorders.

Narrowing it down to disorders that can affect children and match the presented symptoms, the most likely condition Ba Nee has is cataracts; a clouding of the lens of the eye. Now I'm no doctor, but here's what I learned about cataracts AND cataract surgery within 20 minutes on the Internet:

The first cataract surgery was performed in 1747 with a 50% success rate, which only improved over time.

Without insurance, a double-eye cataract surgery and lens replacement can cost as little as $3,200.

Medicaid (signed into law in 1965, 21 years before the show) covers cataract surgery and lens replacement.

Foster homes have Medicaid, and Starlight Home is a foster home for girls.

TL;DR Ba Nee doesn’t need a $250,000 experimental surgery and could probably get her relatively common eye problem fixed for free or for a reduced cost through the state.

Forget the Misfits, the real villain of this episode is Ba Nee’s doctor:

Anyway, back to the other 21 minutes of the episode.

Thanks to a series of setbacks, the Holograms have to return to the movie to earn the money to save Ba Nee’s sight, and man is it hard watching the crew gossip about the Holograms. Even Rio’s a jerk when they come back and uggghhhh God I can’t stand Rio in this episode.

I get that Rio's supposed to have a sad backstory or whatever, but for every one thing he does that makes you like him, he does 5 more things that make you hate him. When he isn't saving the day like Superman, he's assaulting people, yelling at his girlfriend, cheating on his girlfriend WITH his girlfriend, and judging everyone as if he has any moral high ground. Then when his tantrum subsides, he has to go sulk in the corner until the plot needs him again.

Honestly, cringey teenage me who thought she would treat Jem better was probably right. A potted plant could treat Jem better than Rio does. Oh wait...

My favorite part of this episode though has to be the hologram logistics. Jerrica has to be both herself and Jem only a couple feet from one another and has to switch back and forth so her physical body can interact with the right people. It’s fantastic when hologram Jerrica can’t pick up a script thrown through her torso and she reacts like Jerrica naturally would. Synergy’s programming really is that impressive, and it’s just amazing.

I also can’t help but think, y’know, part of me sees stuff like this and wants to go “How did nobody notice that,” but it reminds me of something my aunt once told me a long time ago: We see weird things happen all the time, but we rationalize it away with more “realistic” answers. Those weird shadows by the road at night aren’t highway trolls, they’re probably racoons or plants blowing in the wind. The glasses you lost in the car didn’t fall into another universe, they probably just fell into a crevice you can’t reach. The person standing next to you didn’t disappear because she was a hologram projected remotely by the earrings of someone nearby, she just stepped out of your line of sight for a moment.

Makes you wonder how often crazy, unrealistic things actually happen right in front of you but your brain tells you it’s something more understandable so you don’t notice.

On a less schizo note before the Misfits Crime Counter commences, I also have to ask; what the fuck is Starbright even about?? There’s a casino scene, a jungle temple with a fight against pirates, a chase through the forest, and a motorcycle ride through the desert between explosions. The music videos aren’t even diagetic, they’re set in space or abstract neon futuristic backdrops with fire spouts. Is it some kind of space opera? That’s the only possible explanation I can give that would string all the scenes together correctly and it still doesn’t seem right.

idk someone go tweet at Christy Marx and let’s get a real answer lol

Eric makes Jem perform dangerous stunts with none of the safety precautions met. This is a good ol’ fashioned OSHA violation and runs Eric a hefty fine of $70,000.

Roxy and Clash sabotage the pyrotechnics with the intent to hurt Kimber, and had Jeff not acted valiantly Kimber could actually have died. This counts as Attempted Voluntary Manslaughter, earning both Roxy and Clash 11 years in prison and $10,000 fines each.

TOTAL CHARGES: $90,000 and 22 years in prison. Still not as much as Ba Nee’s “experimental eye surgery,” which goes to show that the true villains were the ophthalmologists we met along the way.

[caitiewhoniverse]

Torchwood: Fall to Earth

INFO - Big finish productions torchwood 1.2 , average goodreads rating 4.39. Length : 1:04:22

My rating - 5/5

I mean come on, give a girl an audio drama centred around her favourite character, voiced by Gareth David-Lloyd, and expect it not to be a 5 star listen? This in no ways felt to me like an audio adventure, but instead as if I was watching it on the TV. The sound effects and background noises all brought the story to life and the script was simple to follow yet humorous and perfectly captured Ianto's character. I like the way Ianto is finally getting the recognition he deserves instead of just being a 'background' character in torchwood who makes coffee and shags Jack every now and then. The story itself was perfect and enticing unlike the previous adventure I listened to 'the conspiracy' which to me felt slow, this adventure was a change of pace, action packed and kept me on my feet. What more could you ask for? I mean Ianto trying to land a plane? It was basically an hour of Ianto living out his James Bond fantasies. And good on him for that one, if I had the chance to be a spy I would take it up. But I mean give me a story based around Ianto and dare me not to like it. This story possessed a lot more emotion, unlike chapter one 'the conspiracy' which felt a little bit like 'oh no my daughter is holding me hostage, and is secretly an alien! she cant be!'. I loved Zeynep (sorry if that is the incorrect spelling) and I loved the development of her an Ianto's relationship throughout the story, with her trying to sell him insurance whilst he's trying to navigate a falling plane. Absolute Chaos, yet absolutely humorous when it needed to be. 'I'll try to make my panic less sexfesty' definitely in character for him. There were however a few sadder comments made which I noted down for the angst side of this review.

'I really don't matter it's got to be done' This reminded me a lot of when Tosh had the pendant with the ability to read minds and heard how Ianto thought of himself, which then again was never really spoken about again in Torchwood and was sort of shoved under the matt along with most things, this is further shown when he says 'I wanted them to like me' as he feels as though he doesn't completely fit in which leads me to believe this story takes place some time soon after cyberwoman, as he still doesn't feel accepted by the group but is trying to gain there trust.

'this is what Torchwood does isn't it Jack, ruins everyone, everyone it touches' No comments , just a quick moment of silence for our boy. When Ianto thinks he's going to die on the plane he says 'I'm scared I don't want to be alone' which I think is devastatingly beautiful considering he died in the arms of the man he loved at the end of COE. Anyway enough rambling from me as this story earnt an easy 5 stars, even though the end felt a lot more doctor-who-ish then torchwood with the whole 'everyone lives plot'!! but then again I'm not complaining. And as the very wise Captain Jack Harkness once said 'Ianto, I need to hear those beautiful Welsh vowels'.

[darrisgrove]

Isaac Asimov's Robot City Odyssey REVIEW

5/5 Stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

I think the people with low ratings are missing the part where Isaac Asimov states that this is a project written by different authors inspired by his works. A fanfiction if you will. This is what this book felt like. And I found it actually kind of good.

For a slow paced book there was enough action to keep me hooked and wanting to keep reading, which props to that because I have a terrible time at reading slow paced books. The characters were interesting enough. I cling to the robots so much, they're so fun and each have a noticeable personality. I was genuinely sad when that thing happened with Monitor 5. I wondered what happed to Alpha. I also really liked Wolruf (Rrullf) and Aranimas. The settings the plot takes place in are also interesting and the author, Michael P. Kube-McDowell, does a great job at naturally allowing the reader to explore with the characters.

My only real critiques are around Derec and his character. I found him really annoying for most of the book. He really only became interesting after he met Kate, to which case his entire character does a 180 and is suddenly a different person. It wasn't a natural change, but I didn't hate it. I think Derec needed to have his whole character changed, because I found his attitude towards certain characters to be painfully annoying and uncalled for.

Here are my notes during reading. WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW

-Derec started off an okay character until he was rude to Monitor 5 and Analyst 17 when all they were doing was what they were programmed to do, keep the human alive. -Genuinely sad that Monitor 5 didn't make it. -Aranimas is a better character than Derec, even though he's the Raider Leader and tortured Derec. -"Eat space and die" would have been a great quote if it weren't for the context of the situation that ruined it. Rrullf is just doing her job, man. -To further that point, Derec changed the name of Rrullf's name to Wolruf. He didn't even TRY to pronounce her name, he just told her what he was going to call her. -If Derec betrays Rrullf I don't know what I'll do, but I will be angry. -Derec can't seem to do anything for himself. -There's a woman involved now. Let's see if he's a suck up. I'm guessing enemies to lovers. -"You woke me up to ask me for my insurance card?" -Self aware foreshadowing? -Why is Derec now considering robots as equals as if he hadn't gone the whole plot not caring if the robots lived or died and only toys to be played with? -Rrullf! I'm so glad to see her! -The author really went and through Derec's "I don't give a shit" personality right out the window the second he brought in the bad bitch Kate. -If their little stunt killed Rrullf I am going to scream. -Rrullf is fine, thank the Gods. -Kathrine and Derec are married (not canon) and Rrullf is their adopted daughter/puppy. -Maybe Monitor 5 gave Derec the key because Monitor 5 knew what it was and what it could do and considering Monitor 5 and Analyst 17 were working so hard to keep Derec safe, Monitor 5 knew the key could do that. Just a thought, DEREC.

[crystal-iceblossomxjackfrost4evr]

Tw manipulative Parental unit bullshit/my sociopathic tendencies towards said parental unit/ and small death stuff in the past/small mention of suicidal thoughts in thr past

So like i maybe go off like a villain here. Sending herw to send link to my megamind server buds. Uhm but yeaaa sorry if u didnt realize yet i can be quite crazy when it comes to real assholes like this guy. And i have no love whatsoever for child abusers /manipulators in anyway, shape, form or fashion.

Background: Only mental,emotional financial and phsyical type of abuse happened to me. Nothing rated M/E other then objectification for modeling. I have adhd and possibly many others including autism,anxiety, and recently thinking cptsd

Uh rant below

[[MORE]]

:readmore:

||So like TELL ME WHY this mans asked me TWICE NOW trying to bribe me to vome home and take care of his dumb ass

He has no working arms and i feel b

Pity im not completely heartless but i also laugh my ever fucking ass off cuz its his own karma hitting him

Its been damn near 3 years (1.5-2 since his accident) and hes STILL TRYING TO MAKE ME COME BACK

BITCH I RAN AWAY WITH 8 SUITCASES AND NOTHING ELSE WHYYYYYY

WHYYYYY WOULD I COME BACK TO UR NARCISSITIC MANIPULATIVE ASSANINE BULLSHIT

UR BEING SWEET and adoraaable and all "ohhh i love u princess. I wish u back princess. Im cryinnnng princess. Ill pay u 3600 a month! Ill pay 4000! A month!"

NO

NO

NO

I COULD BE PAID 14 GODDAMN GRAND A MONTH UR A LIAR

U will absolutely become a hellish monster again once im back in ur clutcges and im honestly cackling like a sociopath

This fucker has made me go full sociopath anime villain ass tendrncies. 0ne wrong step and i couldve been goddamn loki or deadpool in the real world im not kidding!!

If i got STUCK in the pandemic with this HO one of us would e died

One of us wouldve died.

I mainly kept tellin the doctors to leave him alive cuz i felt bad. I knew hed want to. I need SOMEONE to take care of the house (im broke af) and i wanna get life insurance to get i dunno 1k, 10k, 50k, 100k SOMETHING out of him.

And hes useful in helping me with grocery and occasional actual money

Just SIGH sighh i do love him

.....Hah Ahahha

Okay i USE to love him. I just feel bad for the guy at this point. He lost his goddamn chance for me to love him when i had to cry my goddamn self to sleep every fucking night of highschool asking Whyyyy the fuck he and mama dont seem to care. Even after saying my suicidal tendencies. Even after so many instances of me being angry beyonf measure. So many instances of abusing me even after mama (gramma) died. Even to the point where i legit was feeling insane from LACK OF QLEEP CUZ HE WONT TURN DOWN THE STUPID BASS

I cant stannnnnnnnnnnd bass anymore. Any bass in a speaker in a neighbors house i cant deal with.

Ppl yelling at me i cant deal with.

I dont think i can legit EVER fully live on my own without someone to at the least help me take care of thr house, appointments, paperwork and signing up or filling out things and spiders (sever phobia tht he neverrr helped)

Im 90% sure all of my diagnosis are 10000 or more % worse if not outright caused by him besides my adhd and autism

And even after all tht.

Alll the crying. All the screaming silently. All the manipulation. And abuse until he fucked my head around sideways and inside out

HE STILL THINKS ID EVERRRRR WANT TO GO BACK

im on low contact for "wow your life sucks" ahahajaha reasons just cuz i call u a couple times a month or two and we get along on the phone (cuz i laid down the tule if he starts yelling imma hang the eff up and or he starts blaming me imma sob story him till he shuts up) does not mean i will ever EVER live with him again

And if i even EVER THINK ABT GOING BACK its because i miss my house and old life i can never have and if i ever reallly think abt going back to him. My bog brother. My roommate, my bonus mother and prolly both besties would slap me upside the head or knock me out or tie me down and ask what the ever loving fucks wrong with me!!!

Jeezus christ! "I thought ud at least think abt it!" I THOUGHT ABT it for 23 yeaaaaars before i managed to get away u crazy man

No!

And even if i did I CANT TAKE CARE OF PPL i get grossed out touchin the hair tht combs off when i comb my own head.

I get grossed out at taking care of my own body

I get grossed out or shut down at the littlest of things tht even miss or roomie go WHY ARE U HAVING TRBL. Becauseee of himmmm. He made damn sure i would have to rely on ppl for the rest of my life which sets me up poorly to everrrr take care of him. Id rven told mama someone else would have to take care of herr. Id hire and pay someone but I. CANT. DO. IT.

So boo hoo sad story feels bad man but u made sure id have these fucking problems and dig ur grave and i wanna just scream at him to just lie in it nowwwww but i still need him and need to make sure he wont eff me in selling thr house tht mama for some reason only gave me half of. And maybe bribe him to keep my stuff in storage till im stable with a job again Ugh ;*; ||

Tw manipulative Parental unit bullshit/my sociopathic tendencies towards said parental unit/ and small death stuff in the past/small mention of suicide thoughts in the past

[jovialjuggernaut-draws]

"i might be getting sick, i don't feel good." PI Riddler

"I might be getting sick. I don't feel good."

Alarmed, Bruce touched the back of his hand to Edward's forehead. "Headaches again? Are you running a fever?"

For a moment, Edward leaned into the hand, humming softly, before jerking away and swatting at him. "Quit it! You're only making it worse! Your hands are so warm, they make me feel woozy."

"Hmm, you do seem flushed," Bruce granted, taking his hands back, but didn't comment on the fact that Edward hadn't felt unusually warm or that he only looked flushed after Bruce had touched him. "Any other symptoms?"

"Look at you, Mr. Wayne, playing nurse," Edward cooed.

"My father was a doctor," he reminded him. "I know some things. I'm not a complete idiot."

"No, you're not," Edward mumbled, and sounded far too affectionate.

"So?" Bruce pressed his fingers beneath Edward's jaw, then to either side of his neck, watching the flush follow his fingers and Edward's body give a harsh shudder. "Headache, check. Fever, check. Does anything else hurt? Body aches, joint pain, that kind of thing?"

"Chest pain," Edward reported firmly.

"Elevated heart rate?"

"Definitely."

"Hmm, that's not good…" Bruce took one of Edward's wrists in his hand, feeling the rapid pulse beneath the skin. "Any dizziness? Lightheadedness, maybe, or brain fog? Have you been more forgetful lately?"

"You mean besides the massive and all-encompassing amnesia?"

Bruce gave him an unimpressed look. "Yes. Besides that."

"In that case, no to the brain fog, yes to the dizziness."

"Alright, then…"

At the touch to his sides, Edward jolted, making a strangled noise. "What are you-?!"

"Does it hurt anywhere when I touch here?" Bruce asked, searching for where Edward's appendix might be.

"No! I told you- No, it doesn't hurt. Do you have to-"

"Just making sure," Bruce assured him. Despite his own sneaking suspicions about Edward's mysterious 'ailment', the man himself seemed to be taking it seriously enough. "Any nausea? Loss of appetite?"

"Before or after you started squeezing my stomach?"

"Edward," Bruce reprimanded. "I'm trying to help."

"I… appreciate that," Edward murmured. His fingers tapped nervously where they still gripped Bruce's forearms. "I… Yes, I haven't been eating much lately. I've been feeling very listless, in general, even when I should be excited about a case."

"Mmhmm… I can get you set up with a doctor, if you'd like. I know health insurance can be a trouble for someone working freelance."

Edward shook his head. "No, I wouldn't want to trouble you. You're busy enough as it is."

"It's just a phone call, Edward. It's no trouble at all."

"I mean the visit itself," he clarified.

Bruce frowned, confused. "Do you… need me there?"

"Well, the symptoms are much worse when you're around, so it only seems fitting," Edward explained, tone matter-of-fact as it always was, despite the inanity of the content.

"Are they, now?" Bruce used the grip he still had on Edward's waist to tug him closer, much to Edward's distress. "And if you were to get even closer to me…?"

Edward flushed a deep crimson, averting his gaze. "M-much worse. I feel like I'm dying, actually. M-my heart's pounding in my ears, I'm dizzier than ever, I feel very, very sick-"

"You know, I think I have your diagnosis."

"And what's that?" Edward grumbled.

"Edward Nygma, you are in love with me."

[kirain]

Your healthcare isn't free you stupid fucking canuck! You pay for it with your taxes! We don't! 🇺🇸

I don't know why so many Americans throw this out there like it's some big secret we aren't aware of. We know it's funded by our taxes. When we say "free", we mean we don't have to worry about walking out of the hospital with a $900,000 bill after giving birth or paying $40 to hold our newborn after a c-section. It's "free" in the sense that anyone and everyone is entitled to good healthcare and can visit the hospital whenever they need to.

That said, I'm not going to pretend I know everything about American taxation, but I do know you pay for your healthcare via insurance. Meaning if someone doesn't have a good plan or make decent money, they're screwed. In Canada, that doesn't happen. For example, when my dad was diagnosed with cancer, he needed multiple treatments and surgeries for four long years. Want to know how much those treatments cost him? $0. The only thing any of us had to pay for was the $7 parking fee when we went to visit him at the hospital.

In contrast, I personally know Americans who have, sadly, had to file for bankruptcy because of their cancer treatments. I know an American construction worker who lost three of his fingers on a job, but because his insurance didn't cover the full cost of reattaching all of them, the doctors actually made him choose which one to save. Imagine having to do that. In the end, he chose to save his middle finger and lose his ring and pinky finger. I know an American who got stuck with a $50,000 hospital bill because he had a heart attack. I know Americans who have tried to ration their INSULIN because they were worried about their next payment.

I remember when this made the news, everyone was acting like it was "cute". It's not fucking cute, it's dystopian as hell! A seven-year-old American girl who needed brain surgery raised her own money and relied on donations because her mother's insurance didn't cover the cost. Are you insane? This isn't "cute". This shouldn't be celebrated. She shouldn't have had to worry about this. She is a child who was dying.

I also don't understand why so many Americans seem to think our taxes are astronomical, when in reality you actually pay more taxes than we do. From what I understand, the max tax in America is 37%. For us, the max is 33%. That max also only applies if you make over $200,000 a year. Most people pay between 15-20.5% in taxes. I certainly don't pay 33%. I don't know anybody who does. So you pay taxes plus insurance. Granted you can claim more at the end of the year, but honestly ... so? America spends more on healthcare as a share of the economy (nearly twice as much as the average OECD country) yet it has the lowest life expectancy and highest suicide rates among the eleven nations. You also have the highest chronic disease burden and an obesity rate that is two times higher than the OECD average. Thanks, but I don't mind claiming less on my taxes.

So now the argument is, "Why should I have to pay for someone else's healthcare?!" I hear this one a lot once we reach this point. Putting aside the fact that you can barely pay for your own, it's a benefit for the country as a whole. There's nothing wrong with being individualistic, but no country is truly individualistic. We all rely on each other to keep the country afloat. Not only that, but what's wrong with helping your fellow man? And if you really are that selfish, just remember that free healthcare benefits YOU as well. Like when my dad got cancer, like when my sister almost died from a childhood fever, like when I came out backwards and jaundiced when I was born and had to be incubated for several days. The money pooled from all of our taxes makes sure we're all taken care of.

The other argument I hear at this point is wait times. I admit that for a while I believed this one, but as it turns out American and Canadian wait times are almost exactly the same. The average ER wait time in America is anywhere from 40 minutes to 4 hours. In Canada, it's anywhere from one hour to 6 hours. Not that much of a discrepancy, and I've personally never had to wait anywhere near 6 hours. I think the most I ever waited was four hours when I dislocated my toe. As for the claim that Canadians run to America en masse for specialists? Well, that's quite simply a myth. While there are indeed some Canadians who do that, it's mostly the wealthy who feel justified in skipping the line. We also have those services here, where those who are better off can pay out of pocket for private healthcare.

Now to throw a big monkey wrench into the works, probably the most shocking statistic is that Americans actually flock to Canada for affordable Healthcare. In 2014 (which is the most up-to-date data), roughly 52,000 Canadians went to the US seeking medical care; mostly prescriptions. In contrast, over one million Americans came to Canada. That number doesn't even include how many Americans went to these countries:

Anything you may have heard about Canadian healthcare is just a lie perpetuated by your government because they don't want you to see the benefits of a universal healthcare system. And not even just Canadian healthcare--the same system is used in the UK, Germany, Australia, Sweden, Switzerland, France, Norway, Denmark, Japan, the Netherlands, Iceland, New Zealand, etc. I'm not saying it's flawless, there are certainly aspects that can be improved, but I'll take it any day over the mess you have going on. 🇨🇦

No. In all honesty, this isn't about what country is "better". I have many American friends that I love and care about, and I would very much like to see them have access to free, sufficient healthcare.

[aphrodite-made-me-write-it]

The Problem (With Crushes)

REQ: I just read all of your Natasha romanoff fics and i'm in love ! PLEASE may i ask for a scenario where Natasha has a crush on reader but hides it by being cold with R until one day where they both almost die on a mission. After that There's a fight and R kisses Nat and ...smut smut? (With R as a top please?) I hope this request doesn't bother you, if it does please juste ignore it. Thank you and have a nice day ^^ (Anon)

(A/N) i miss fun ads. pre-panorama i got ads for dumb things like new videogames or movies... now it’s like, antidepressants and life insurance asldkfj like excuse me,,, are u trying to tell me something??? anyway here’s some pron. hope u enjoy. like comment and subscribe x

Rating: E (Explicit!! 18+!!)

Warnings: Natasha Romanoff Is A Brat And We All Know It; And She Has A Praise Kink (Change My Mind You Can’t); Smut; P0rn With (Minimal) Plot; Nothing kinky this time sorry guys uwu just pron; OH ALSO there’s slight gore but not really that bad or detailed

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Stark!Reader

Word Count: 4,546

Synopsis: You finally take your place at your brother’s side by joining the Avengers, and thankfully, you get along with almost everyone. Almost.

why is this gif so hot to me as;ldfkjsdfk

When your brother revealed himself as Iron Man, you knew your easy days as the Family Disappointment were over. Not that you had anyone but him to disappoint - something you rarely did anyway - but it meant your days of slacking off were over. To your surprise, though - and, at the time, relief - he didn’t drag you into it. Didn’t even want you to be part of it. Not that you had FOMO or anything, but you’d have thought being Tony Stark’s mutant half-sister would have at least gotten you a visit by his mysterious organization buddies.

It took a few short years, though, for the beans to spill. Maybe you were a little angry at him - being fifteen years apart and from different mothers meant that for a long time, you and Tony only communicated with the occasional holiday greeting card and the bit of money your father had left you. He only connected with you when he thought he was dying, and after that you were sort of stuck together. You’d even say you got along perfectly fine, as any siblings should, but with his devotion to the Avengers you felt… what, abandoned? Left out?

You don’t really know why you did what you did. You had always known you’d be caught sooner or later. Mutant Fighting Rings were, after all, illegal and shut downs were frequent no matter where they popped up. Still, that didn’t stop you from participating, did it?

You like to say you’re the Improved Stark; the more expensive model. You conduct electricity like a lightning rod, able to aim it long distances that could even rival that blonde guy your brother trapses around with. You inherited the Stark Genius, of course, and used the skills you’d learned from Tony to build your own suit of sorts. Gloves that were lined with thin wires that enhanced your electrical abilities, and similar conductive materials beneath the kevlar material of your suit made you the undefeated champion of this underground world.

Okay, maybe you’re more like your brother than you thought. The adoration and the attention were more addictive than any drug. You lived for the applause. Thrived on it. The bigger the opponent, the more joy you found in taking them down. There was always someone to beat, always a way to win. To outsmart them, to outmaneuver them, to outlast them. You got sloppy, somewhere in the middle, you know, and that’s how you find yourself where you are now.

In SHIELD’s custody. 

Tony, looking in at you from the outside of this dumb cell with such disappointment it makes you want to cringe and crawl away. You don’t, though. You stare right back at him, jaw clenched, not saying a damn word. Because, yeah, you’re more similar than you’d like to admit.

“When were you gonna tell me you could fight like that?” He asks, finally breaking the silence that made your skin tingle. 

Your stomach drops, along with your jaw. “Wait, what?”

He breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “That suit? Genius. I never thought you could give a boost to your powers, but wow. I bet we can think of something better, something more durable. You looked a little stiff when-”

“You’re seriously rewarding your sister’s behavior?” A female voice inquires, heels clacking beside heavy bootsteps approach from beyond your brother. 

Tony’s grin falls. “What? I thought that’s what we were doing?”

“She’s in a cell and you thought-”

“He’s not entirely wrong,” another man interrupts. As he comes into focus, you notice he’s got an eyepatch and wicked scarring around it. He looks intimidating as all hell, it makes your hands tremble a little with uncontrollable surges of electricity. “We assumed her powers were… let’s say, not up to our standards.”

“Gee, thanks,” you and Tony gripe at the same time. You share a look, making the redheaded woman standing rigidly between the men roll her eyes.

“But we were wrong. I’m Director Fury. I run things here at-” Eyepatch continues but you cut him off.

“Oh you’re Fury.” You nod with a hum. “That explains a lot. So then you’re… Natasha, right?” You look at the woman, who only scowls at you in response. “Tony said you were grumpy but he never said you were-”

“Don’t finish that sentence if you want to live,” Tony warns.

And just like that, you’re an Avenger.

- - - -

For some foolish reason, you thought Natasha Romanoff’s annoyance with you would end after she got used to you. You weren’t a blood-thirsty criminal, after all, so she really had no reason to assume the worst of you. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that that is not the case. 

She seems to go out of her way to avoid you throughout the Tower, leaving a room just about as soon as you enter it. It was annoying for plenty of reasons, the primary being that she’s the only one who has a problem with you.

At first, you try not to let it get to you. You focus, instead, on the new designs of your suit with Tony. You manage to make it possible for you to walk up buildings, which Peter is eager to teach you. It quickly becomes a race, during most missions. The others sometimes have trouble getting you two to stop competing and focus. (But you’d take getting scolded anyday as long as it made the kid happy.)

Thor and you have invented a new game, wherein you pass bolts of lightning back and forth, back and forth - much to the horror of the others. One miss can result in an unfortunate accident, but so far, that miss hasn’t happened. It’s handy during fights, too, so they can’t be too upset about it.

You just seem to blend in seamlessly with everyone else. Everyone else. Except for Natasha. Normally, it isn’t a problem; but you also haven’t had a mission that depends entirely on her cooperation before. That is, not until now. 

You were both the stealthiest out of the group, but it was rare that a mission relied on just the both of you. You usually had the company of Steve or Tony or even Bruce or Clint. Not this time, though. 

It was, in theory, an easy mission. Wouldn’t last more than a few hours. Painless, quick, efficient. In practice? Not so much.

The Hydra facility was supposed to be abandoned, and empty. That was enough of a hiccup, finding it teeming with life. You still had a job to do: find out what’s really going on. You started off watching from afar, but the silence felt heavy and unnatural, so the both of you decided sneaking into one of the main offices and using one of Tony’s all-in-one hacking device was the best solution. In and out. 

Except, no, it was not in and out.

Natasha can’t stop drumming her fingers impatiently as the files upload onto the device. You try to keep your eyes trained on the door leading out of the office. She’s been antsy ever since you had to make her piggyback on you so you could slip inside the window without being detected, as if by touching you she became agitated.

And, honestly? You’re getting agitated too. If she’s going to act like a child, she might as well tell you what the hell her problem is to your face. Right?

“If you have something to say,” you huff in an angry whisper, “just say it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Natasha responds flatly, keeping her eyes trained on the screen. 38%. 

“You clearly have an issue with me. I’d appreciate it if I knew what the hell I did wrong.” You look at her with annoyance, but she still doesn’t meet your gaze. 

“I don’t-” her voice almost raises. She struggles to control it, glancing up at you with a flash of anger in her green eyes. “I don’t have an issue with you,” she hisses, a little quieter but still holding as much venom as she can muster. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” you scoff, turning back to the door with a scowl. “Is it ‘cause I’m Tony’s sister? I went over a decade without meeting him. Before that, I was just our dad’s bastard kid he didn’t want to lay claim to. His hush money paid our bills, filled our bellies. His will left me just enough for college, and I mean just enough.” Your own volume is raising, but you can’t control it. “I’m not whatever spoiled, trustfund bitch you’ve created in your head without ever trying to know me-”

“Shut up,” Natasha’s hand covers your mouth, making you yelp with surprise. There are footsteps rapidly approaching. You look to the monitor with wide, panicked eyes. 54%.

“Fuck,” you mutter against her glove-clad palm, making it sound more like, ‘fuff’.

Natasha removes her hand in a jerky motion, as if she’d just remembered it was over your mouth, and lowers to a crouch. You follow her action, the cubical allowing some bit of cover. You reach blindly for the keyboard, lowering the brightness all the way to zero so that the monitor doesn’t call too much attention to your location. 

You meet Natasha’s eyes with uncertainty, feeling embarrassed by your outburst. You don’t find the usual cold distrust, though. There’s a calm sort of confidence, the eyes of someone with a plan and the authority to pull through with it. You give her trusting nod, watching her slip out of the cubical and following a breath after just as the door bursts open. 

You go in opposite directions, hoping to get an angle on whoever is in the room with you and meet back at the original cubical. Hopefully by then, the extractions will be finished and you can get out and head back to the Tower. 

Your heart is hammering in your ears. This is your favorite part: the Before. The moments that change everything in a fight. It makes your skin prickle, charged with static. You inhale slowly as you notice a shadow moving, the unmistakable symbol of Hydra flashing for only a moment.

Gunfire makes you jump with alarm. Natasha is standing, exposed to any daring enough to shoot her. You groan and stand, taking in the electricity around you and releasing it in a single bolt that trails between two of the several Hydra goons before dying out. 

“So much for being discreet!” You quip as an alarm flashes red, sirens blaring. 

“Fuck,” Natasha hisses. 

You leap back, almost stumbling over the body that had somehow ended up behind you. You don’t examine it, though, choosing instead to scurry through the maze of cubicles until you make it to the one with Tony’s little friend. 

“Fuck!” You yelp. Natasha shoots at one of the soldiers as they file in, looking over her shoulder at you with a raised eyebrow. “Eighty-six percent!” You announce, earning a groan.

You’re going to have to take matters into your own hands.

You take a deep breath and rush to Natasha’s side, sending bolts after bolts of lightning at the swarming bodies. They’re like roaches, seeming to come out of every surface. You’re sweating, losing control a bit as your aim becomes sloppy. You punch someone in the jaw before leaping onto the ceiling to check the monitor again.

89%. 

So fucking close. But there’s too many of them.

“Nat, we have to bolt!” You shout at her as you drop back at her side. “We can’t-”

“We need those files!” She snaps.

“This is a deathwish.”

“Just a few more minutes!”

There’s a wildness to her gaze. Like she doesn’t give a fuck about her life. For some reason, it cuts you deep. Hits you so hard, you’re almost breathless. Your next wave of lightning is harsher than any you’ve used so far, paralyzing several bodies around you. The scent of burning flesh hits your nose.

“Natasha Romanoff, get your goddamn ass back to the computer.” You order, to which she actually laughs. 

“I’m the superior, here. I don’t answer to you.” She snarls.

“Oh yeah?” You scoff, picking her up unceremoniously. Natasha yelps, an arm wrapping around your neck as you carry her bridal-style to where the monitor is. She looks over your shoulder to shoot, the maneuver causing her chest to press against your shoulder and her breathing to hit your ear in warm puffs.

“You’re,” she pants, “a fucking asshole.”

“And you’re insane.” You growl, looking at the monitor. TRANSFER COMPLETE. “Fucking finally!” You announce, disconnecting the device and pocketing it. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Cover me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grunts.

When you climb back down the window, you’re simultaneously surprised and pleased to find out Natasha can hold on with just her thighs. It’s not even painful, either. Actually, you’d hate to admit it, but it’s kind of the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

But you will never give her that satisfaction.

You just focus on using the last bits of your energy to boost your speed, letting you dart through the swarms of Hydra soldiers with minimal damage to either you or the redhead. It’s all a blur, how you get back to the quinjet. Adrenaline alone keeps your mind in tunnel-vision.

It’s truly a miracle either of you survived.

Your brain is still buzzing when you’re in the air. You finally come down from the high of the battle, Natasha looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“What the hell was that, Romanoff?” You ask, unable to mask the bite to your tone as you catch her staring. “You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“We did what we had to do, and now it’s over, and neither of us died.” She responds icily. “You’re the one that picked me up and ran with me.”

“Because you refused to leave!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, wincing at the sting in your shoulder at the motion. “Do you have a deathwish? Should I inform Fury you’re recklessly endangering yourself because-”

“You’re bleeding,” she remarks, tone gentle. She reaches out, touches a spot on your shoulder that stings. It’s such an abrupt change in tone and attitude, it stuns you into complete silence.

Ah, yes. You remember getting that. You saw the red dot on Natasha’s back and did the only thing you could think to do. You didn’t even feel the pain of the gunshot, didn’t register it at all. 

You unzip your suit, shrugging off your left sleeve to reveal the bloodied fleshwound. You don’t miss the way the redhead’s eyes dart down, seeming to scan your torso before settling on the bullet wound. She moves to the first aid kit on the wall, fishing out several supplies before sitting down gingerly beside you.

She’s silent as she works, eyebrows pulled together in concentration. “The bullet’s still inside,” she informs you. “I’m going to have to take it out.”

“Wait,” you finally find your voice. “Are you qualified to be doing this?”

“It’s a long flight home. I’m not letting you spend it with a piece of metal lodged in your arm. Besides, if we wait too long, it could do more damage.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I’m qualified enough.” This time, her tone offers no room for argument. She’s watching you in that same authoritative way she had back in the Hydra facility.

(You’d love to wipe that look off her face. To watch her lose control.)

She moves to grab something else from that metal box, and your mind wanders. It always wanders, especially when Natasha is involved. This is a side you have never, ever seen before, much less directed at you. It’s a caring side, a tender one. Almost as if she doesn’t hate your guts.

She returns with gloves and what looks like something to remove the bullet in your arm. You try not to wince at it, but she notices the way your face pales with dread.

“You didn’t even notice you were shot, but you’re going to be a baby about having the bullet taken out?” She teases.

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away from her. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve done this before,” she assures. She gives you a folded spare shirt she must have fished from one of the nearby boxes kept in case of emergencies. You place a corner in your mouth, meeting her gaze worriedly.

To your surprise, she’s gentle. It hurts like all hell, of course, but Natasha keeps a hand steadying your arm with soft, barely noticeable pressure. She removes the bullet with ease, so quickly you almost can’t believe it’s actually out. She cleans it, wordlessly, but with the practiced patience of someone who has, in fact, done this many times.

Then, she’s stitching the wound closed and tapping your elbow. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You blurt, blushing despite yourself.

“Normally, people thank me after I take a piece of metal out of their body.” She quips, gathering the materials she can return to the first aid kit and tossing the rest. 

“But you hate me.”

She pauses, shutting the first aid kit with a metallic click.

“I don’t hate you,” she sighs, shoulders sinking. 

“You avoid me like I’ve got cooties.” You frown. “You practically ignore me. It’s tiring, not knowing what the hell I did to deserve that.”

“I’m sorry.” 

It surprises you, honestly, the way she looks so open when she turns to look at you again. So vulnerable. Very much unlike the Natasha you’ve come to know. You’re grateful the quinjet is piloted by Tony’s Autopilot AI, allowing you this beautiful glimpse at this New Natasha. 

Her cheeks are burning red, a brilliant blush that looks unfairly lovely on her soft features. “When I, um… when I start to… feel things… for people, I get… scared. And I tend to be an ass. Clint’s words, not mine.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to, uh, make it seem like… I hated you.”

You can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your lips. “You have a crush on me?”

Look, as mean as she comes off as, there’s no denying Natasha is a bombshell of a woman. Damn gorgeous. This ego boost is one that’s gone straight (or, not-so-straight) to your head (among other places).

Natasha’s blush worsens, thanks to her already pale skin. “I-I didn’t call it a crush. It’s not-”

“No, you can’t take it back.” You’re grinning, now, almost maniacally. “You’re into me! Wow- wait ‘til Tony-”

“Oh my god, don’t you dare-” she starts, but you cut her off by standing and crossing the small distance it takes to meet her. You shrug off your other sleeve on the way, freeing your arms so you can wrap them around her waist. Natasha inhales sharply at the action, looking at you with questionable suspicion. 

“No more avoiding,” you order in a hushed tone. You don’t miss the way her pupils dilate, the way her breath hitches. “No more ignoring me.”

“Yeah?” She breathes unsteadily, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Or else what?”

With little hesitation, you push your lips against hers. She tenses, at first, but relaxes and returns the kiss hungrily. Heatedly. Like she already can’t get enough of it. Her fingers curl into the material of the tank top you’d been wearing beneath your suit, bunching it up until your stomach is exposed and the rest of the suit falls down your hips a little.

Natasha’s tongue pushes into your mouth, vying for control of the kiss that you are unwilling to relinquish. Your fingers dig into her waist, earning a quiet gasp from the redhead that turns into a moan when you press her against the wall.

“How long,” you pull away breathlessly, humming when plump lips move to your neck. “How long ‘til we’re at the Tower?”

She hums, thoughtful for a moment. “Long enough.”

“You’re ambitious,” you tease, running one of your hands up her spine in feather-light strokes. 

Natasha shudders. “Well, when I want something, I tend to get it.”

“Is that so?” You chuckle lowly, moving to place heated kisses along her neck. Your hand twists in her hair, tugging roughly to expose more of her neck. Natasha whimpers at the action, blunt nails digging into your back. 

It’s a tangle of limbs and tossed clothing as you pull each other towards the only bed in the quinjet - an infirmary bed, meant for one person at a time and uncomfortable. You push Natasha onto it, vaguely aware of where you’d thrown her own suit aside and out of the way. Your lips are everywhere you can reach, placing frantic kisses and forming bruises in some places. 

Natasha’s hands skim your shoulders, your back, your neck; gasps and moans falling from her lips like music to your ears. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you admire breathlessly.

Natasha twitches when your fingertips give minute sparks. “That feels good… do that again.”

“So bossy,” you tease, but oblige with tiny waves of electricity as you drag your hands to her hips. She lets out a soft whimper. “Shame I can’t take my time with you,” you sigh, moving down to place a gentle kiss on the scar just above her bikini line. “I’d love to hear you make more sounds than that.”

“So you’ll stop being a tease, then?” She huffs, impatiently bucking her hips. 

You laugh lowly, gripping her hips and pinning them to the bed. The action makes her suck in a sharp breath, pink spreading across her cheeks. “Nobody said that.” You place another kiss on the inside of her thighs, biting when she twitches again. “You’re a brat, you know that?”

“I could always take care of myself,” she warns.

“Yeah?” You pull away, releasing her all at once and sitting back with a wide smirk. “Go ahead. I’ll watch.”

“No, no, wait,” she whines, reaching down to grab your wrists. “I’m sorry.”

“Now you’ve gotta beg for it.”

The expression on her face almost makes you laugh. As if she were saying, ‘The Audacity!’ But you keep smirking, not moving an inch. Natasha huffs, rolls her eyes, juts her bottom lip out into a pout. It’s adorably amusing.

Her resolve crumbles. “Fine. Please.”

“Please what, buttercup?” You tease, batting your eyelashes.

Natasha’s eye twitches just a little before she switches into another version of herself you’ve seen before, though, not directed at you. She leans forward, slowly enough to stun your brain as you get a look at her black lingerie, but quick enough that you’re unable to react. Her lips brush your ear.

“Please, fuck me,” she purrs, pulling the lobe of your ear between her teeth. 

Well, that’s as good as you’re going to get. (For now.)

You push Natasha onto her back again, hands gripping her thighs as they wrap around your waist. You connect your lips in a rough kiss, one of your hands moving to cup her covered center. To your astonishment, she’s absolutely soaked. You both let out muffled moans at the action, the rising heat in your body effectively ending all coherency in your brain that isn’t set to Fuck Natasha mode.

Your hands skim along her sides, blunt nails raising goosebumps in their wake. She shivers beneath you, that control she so obviously loves finally in your hands. You’re in awe of each noise she makes as you explore the map of her body. You find that scar again, a light bump, and smooth your fingertips over it as you pull back from the kiss to catch your breath.

She’s properly flushed, now, green eyes vibrant and dark with want. 

“You really are beautiful, Nat,” you murmur, softer than before. She swallows, seemingly struggling to speak.

“Can you please just fuck me already?” Natasha huffs around a whimper.

You laugh a little, lowering your mouth to her neck to place slow, teasing kisses. You push aside her panties, sliding your fingers through her folds and around her clit. Natasha gasps, arching into you. 

“So wet for me,” you bite down a little at her neck, earning a guttural groan from the redhead. “Or was it the adrenaline that has you so worked up?”

“You. Definitely you.” She answers breathlessly as you slip your fingers inside of her. “The- on the wall, when you-” she attempts to explain, but quickly diminishes into restrained whimpers.

Is she really trying to be modest with you? You almost want to laugh. Instead, you ease a third finger inside of her and press your thumb to her clit to rub lazy circles against it. Natasha moans freely, now; it bounces off of the walls of the jet.

“That’s it, baby,” you praise. “Good girl. I want to hear you scream for me.”

The second 'good girl’ leaves your lips, Natasha bucks against you with a sharp exhale. Grinning to yourself, you move to her ear.

“You like that? Being called my good girl?” You ask huskily. Her resounding moan is confirmation enough. “You’re so good, in fact,” you continue, kissing down to her jaw, then her neck. “-that I would love-” another gentler kiss to her scar “-to taste you.”

You replace your fingers with your tongue before sucking her clit between your lips. When her legs move to your shoulders and her fingers tighten in your hair, an unbidden cry of your name falling from Natasha’s lips like a prayer, you actually moan yourself. This, you think, this is where I want to die. Between Natasha Romanoff’s thighs.

Natasha’s hips ride against your mouth and fingers, your pace unrelenting as you find spots deep inside of her that make her twitch and moan. She’s already so close, her velvety walls pulsing around your fingers when you curl them against her sweet spot. 

You slow your pace, looking up at her lustfully. “Look at me, Nat,” you order. Her eyes snap open, meeting yours with surprising vulnerability. “That’s it, baby.” You pick up the pace again. “Look at me when you cum for me. Good girl.”

Her thighs tighten around you. You use your free hand to control her hips’ movements. “Oh my fucking-” she pants, almost tilting her head back. “(Y/N)- I’m- I’m gonna-”

“That’s it. Be a good girl and cum for me.” You return to running your tongue over her clit; once, twice, and Natasha is almost screaming your name, her body thrashing as her orgasm overwhelms her. You let her ride it out, replacing your fingers with your tongue to lap at her.

When she’s left to gentle afterquakes, you move back up to kiss her neck softly. She wraps her arms around your waist lazily, as if her limbs were too heavy.

“How’s your arm?” She asks, and it takes you a moment to realize she’s talking about the wound. 

“Probably fine. Good enough for round two?”

She snorts, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I think we’ve already landed.”

“Oh,” you pull back with a frown. “So…”

“So we’ll have to get it checked out at the Infirmary first.” She smirks. “THEN round two.”

- - - -

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