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hitlikehammers · 3 months

Text

bring him home

rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)

oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️

He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.

But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.

They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.

And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.

It means he can plan without interference.

It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—

Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.

Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.

Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—

He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.

He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—

It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—

Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.

But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.

The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—

He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—

“Eddie?”

Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.

Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—

Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…

Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…

“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;

“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—

Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…

And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.

Always for Eddie.

But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.

Real.

“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth: “Known.”

Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—

“Known.”

He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—

“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—

“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—

Oh.

Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—

“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—

“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:

“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.

“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.

“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.

His.

He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:

“Mine?”

He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—

But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…

Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.

“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…

Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.

He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive. “Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—

“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:

“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:

“Steve?”

And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—

Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.

Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.

He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.

Steve feels it.

also on ao3 🖤

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #kas!eddie #established steddie #pre-S4 relationship #presumed dead #(but obviously NOT)#happy ending #steve mounts a one-man rescue/retrieval mission because he's heartbroken #eddie recognizes the love of his life because in light of everything he HELD ONTO THAT LOVE #steddielovemonth #love is the only thing we can take with us #stranger things

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knyontop · 2 months

Note

Hiii!! I really love your works they’re really awesome and they bring me comfort! I wanted to ask if it was ok to do some Platonic Yandere Creepypasta x Teen Reader who’s like extremely traumatized and shy and untrusting but in secret they’re kind and caring and just wants love and to be babied. :33

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OFC MLLLL

Platonic!Yandere!Creepypastas x teen!reader

Ft: Jeff the killer, Slenderman, Ben drowned, and our amazing, beautiful, handsome, reader

Tw: Blood, gore, forced affection, abuse, murder, cussing, manipulation, possessiveness, jeff is a whole warning himself😭😭

Jeff:

・when he first meet you, your un-trusting nature made him amused, he likes when people are nervous and timid about him.

・he would poke fun at you and spook you, he loved seeing people cower below him. It feed his huge ego.

・tho your shy nature made him feel protective over you.

・he didn’t know why, he just felt as if he had no NEEDED to shield you from the worlds wrath.

・He would follow you around and you didn’t know why, the more he was around you tho the more you opened up to him.

・When Jeff actually started to get to know you he started getting more and more possessive. Like an overbearing

Older brother.

・Jeff would start to isolate you and keep you away from the others, the only person he would really let you see besides him is slender and Ben, and a little bit of Lui.

・He would try to make you hate the people he hated. (Cough cough, Jane.)

・He wanted you to rely on him and ONLY HIM. HE IS ALL YOU WILL NEED WHY DONT YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND THAT??

・You needed him, you were to naïve and shy, and weak. You needed someone to protect you and help you, and that someone is him.

・Its okay that you didn’t understand that yet, dont worry, Big brother Jeff will take care of it!

“Dont worry kid, your big brother jeff will handle it.”

・He will hug you while having a knife at your back telling you to not leave him, he also threatens you to keep your little mouth shut. Cant have Slender knowing can we

・Jeff will manipulate you to think all of this is normal and this is what siblings do. (Its not)

・He likes to bring you with him on missions and make you watch him kill his victims brutally as a punishment, he says its just discipline and your being overdramatic about it. Plus you also kill people dont you?

・When you call him a monster he will then turn it around on you because you do the same thing he does, your both the same. Your both monsters.

・Jeff has noticed that you just melt into his arms even if you dont like it or not and he will mock you and tease you for it.

“Look at you, such a dumb little thing. You just fall into my arms. Your so naïve, so its a good thing you have me!”

・Just dont be a brat and obey him! Its that simple, right?

“Your such a brat, you should be grateful that I even bother hanging out with you.”

・He will tell Ben to make sure you keep your mouth shut and make sure your being a good little kid, Ben doesn’t complain because Jeffs his best friend and your just another pitiful human being that happened to step into the Slender mansion.

“Look kid, just listen to jeff. Theres nothing you can really do now is there?”

・Ben does feel bad, but hes a very sadistic being.

・If you piss of Jeff enough he will kill someone in your old life you cared deeply about, he will make you watch the blood splatter everywhere, he will make you watch him stab there chest repeatedly, he will make you watch the guts fly everywhere.

・The funny thing is Jeff knows that this is wrong but he just doesn’t give a fuck.

・It all goes to far when he breaks you and you have a full on mental breakdown, thats when he actually feels genuinely bad. <3

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I had fun writing this🎀

#jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #ben drowned #ben drowned x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #creepypasta #platonic creepypasta #uh..#jeffery woods #jeffery woods x reader #help

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sarahowritesostucky · 2 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

10. S'mores

It’s the “sex play” (God, that term is so cringe) thing being on the table that builds the tension in the apartment, all of them knowing about it but none of them talking about it. Mary sure as shit doesn’t have the guts to break that ice, and now Bucky’s always deep in thought and quiet around her. And Steve, well.

Steve is like a big, mopey golden retriever who knows its humans are upset but doesn’t know how to help besides headbutting things affectionately.

Mary’s feelings for him only grow when she realizes that he really hasn’t told Bucky about that night in the kitchen: the things she’d confided about the razor and her nightmares and sneaking out to the gym. Knowing that Steve’s stuck by his word like that makes her like him and trust him a whole heck of a lot more.

But it doesn’t solve the underlying problem.

There’s a court hearing in front of a judge next month to revisit the custody arrangement—Next month. And one afternoon while Bucky’s out of the apartment, Steve gently informs Mary that Dr. Linda is recommending the order be extended. Jesus fucking Christ.

And then the results to that test Linda made her take, the “Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment”, arrive in the mail (addressed to Bucky, because of course they would be), and Mary gets her hands on them after Bucky and Steve read them, and she’s mortified at what it says about her.

Tendencies: Passive aggression (reactive aggression in lieu of submission), emotional outbursts, low self-esteem, impulsive sexual promiscuity, self-harm, alcohol use disorder, possible co-morbidity (OCD, EDNOS, BDD). Dynamic Preferences: single dominant authority figure, structured domestic routine, service, discipline, monogamous relationship, emotional bonding. Recommendations: Following assessment review, patient is most likely to benefit from continued domestic control in a consistent (24/7) environment. Transfer of custody not recommended. Continued therapy sessions and educational courses at CDP highly recommended. Most beneficial therapeutic modalities include limited corporal discipline, sex play, and reward-based service routine.

There’s a ton of infuriating psycho babble bullshit packed into those results that she could get upset about, and she does, but Mary’s eyes track over that one, most-horrible phrase over and over again:

“Transfer of custody not recommended.”

Fuck.

She loses sleep over it, sneaks out of the apartment in the middle of the night and does cardio at the gym until she’s exhausted enough to head back home and pass out. It pisses her off that this is such a thing now. She doesn’t want to be special needs, she should have the right to choose whether she even wants treatment or not! She resents the hell out of Bucky and Steve for having custody of her the way that they do. They’re clearly expecting her to blow up or something, after the news from Linda and the SSITA results come in. It’s so obvious that they’re walking on eggshells around her, Mary halfway wishes they’d just do something. One way or the other, it’d be better than this.

Linda claims that they’ve expressed “positive feelings” about a sexual dynamic, but if they have, they sure aren’t expressing it to Mary. She suspects that most of that positivity has come from Steve, and probably only because he’s a golden retriever in human form who just wants to do what’s right and good, not because he or Bucky are particularly attracted to her.

While she has managed to clean herself up quite a bit since moving in with them, Mary isn’t delusional: she realizes that Steve and Bucky are very attractive men, whereas she’s just average. She tries to tell herself she’s fine with that. She knows Bucky and Steve could probably get like, a supermodel to sleep with them if they really wanted to. Mary’s not in their league, and that’s okay.

But if they’re not attracted to her that way then they should at least have the decency to just say so! At least then she could find someone else, get back on Tinder, or even sign up for one of those ProDoms that the CDP has. Darcy said Thor was good, so maybe Mary could request him? The way that Darcy had described the guy, he sounds like he's a hunka hunka burning Nordic god. Mary could go for that.

She brings it up casually over dinner, framing it lightheartedly, and Bucky literally crushes his water glass in his prosthetic hand. “What?” he snaps, frowning down at the mess he’s just made. “No.”

Mary huffs and goes to fetch the desserts while Steve gets the waste bin and begins scraping the broken pieces of glass into it like it’s just another Tuesday. “I don’t see why not,” Mary complains from over at the counter. She’s pulled the plates out from the fridge and grabs the butane torch for the meringue.

“Jesus,” Bucky exclaims when he sees the industrial sized torch she's wielding. “Where’d you get that?”

Mary purses her lips as she focuses on achieving the perfect amount of toastedness. “Hardware store,” she mutters. “So why can’t I go see one of the ProDom’s again?” She purposefully over-torches Bucky’s meringue, because she can tell that this isn’t going to go her way. “Sounds like a win-win. You don’t have to deal with me, I can meet new people, and insurance pays for it. What exactly is the problem?” She’s trying to force him to admit that he doesn’t want to Dom her sexually, trying to get him to see that something’s gotta give and he’ll have to let her use one of the ProDoms eventually if that’s what the severity of her “condition” requires (gigantic ‘Ew’).

But frustratingly, he refuses to engage with her on the topic. “It’s a no, Mare,” he tells her sternly. “Pros are for people who have more experience. You don’t.”

Mary seriously doubts that. “Linda didn’t say that,” she argues, carrying the plates over to the table and handing the nice one to Steve and the burnt one to Bucky.

He pulls it closer to himself and raises an eyebrow at it. “Linda’s being diplomatic,” he mutters. “I thought you said you were making s’mores?”

Yesterday, Bucky had been talking with Steve about how much they both missed their old camping trips they used to take. The two of them must’ve waxed poetic over campfire s’mores for ten whole minutes. So Mary thought this would be an excellent way to butter them up. Apparently not.

She sniffs and picks up her fork. “They are s’mores. It’s a plated dessert, Bucky. An interpretation. It’s not literal.”

He grunts and peers at his portion, poking it dubiously with his fork. “What’s it made of?”

Mary heaves a sigh and snottily recites: “Honey Sablé, 70% Valrhona cremeux, cold-smoked Italian meringue, torched ‘mallow, Graham crumb streusel, and tempered chocolate stick for garnish." Both Bucky and Steve stop poking at their plates and just stare at her for a second.

“Sounds good,” Steve chirps, and digs into his.

Mary stares Bucky down, until he too, deigns to eat the apparently too fancy for him version of a s’more. “Oh, damn,” he says after the first bite, looking taken-aback. “I can taste the smoke.”

Mary preens, then asks again about the ProDom. “Well if I’m not getting it there then who the heck’s supposed to fuck me?” she winds up blurting out of frustration.

When that direct reference doesn’t elicit any response from Bucky besides a barrage of bossy instructions for after-dinner cleanup, Mary loses a bit of the hope she’d been holding onto that maybe Linda was right about them being attracted to her. She just gave him the perfect fucking opening, and he didn’t take it. She gets the kitchen cleaned up from dinner, resigning herself to another evening of platonic domination that doesn’t quite hit the spot.

Nightly drops are nice. Not as nice as they were in the beginning, the effects having waned quite a bit from what they once were, but still better than no drops at all.

Mary sits on her pillow on the floor, head on the couch cushion next to Bucky’s thigh, listening vaguely to the sound of the television while she enjoys the feeling of his fingers carding through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. It’s been a while now, and she doesn’t think she’s going to get any deeper. It’s late, already they’ve watched two full episodes of their show, and Mary’s got work tomorrow. It’ll be bedtime soon.

A big yawn works its way up in her throat, and Bucky chuckles when it finally breaks free. “Tired?” he asks.

“Mmhm.” She inhales deeply and sits up, sleepy and squinting. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and Bucky’s form sitting right in front of her. Wow, she’d been really close to him, hadn’t realized just how close. Had she been … hugging his shin? God, she hopes not. Not like she hasn’t spent whole evenings fantasizing about rubbing her face all over his thighs and his— Nope. Not gonna think about that when he’s sitting right there. She tears her eyes away and forces that train of thought to stop right in its metaphorical tracks.

“You good, Hon?” Bucky asks, his soft voice drawing her attention back from her own head. She looks up and sees his fond expression, his relaxed posture. Wonders if he’s in Domspace at all. Probably not.

Then her eyes land on the line of his cock at the front of his pants.

He’s hard. Not very, but some. Underneath his sweats his dick is chubbed up enough that it creates a slight bulge against the fabric. Mary freezes, staring for too long before she’s able to tear her eyes away. When she does, and she looks up, Bucky’s watching her with an inscrutable expression. Her breath catches and her mind goes absolutely dumb.

Does he want ..? Should she ..?

She looks back down at it, at the relaxed splay of his thighs. She wets her lips and thinks about reaching forward and sliding her hand over it, what it would feel like, if it would twitch, if Bucky would shiver or make a sound. She wants to touch it, and seriously considers doing so, but when she looks up at Bucky again, he doesn’t look like he’s excited, or anticipating her touching him. He looks … resigned.

“Tired?” he asks kindly. "Do you maybe ... Do you need anything else tonight? From me?"

Mary's lips part, heart leaping at what that might mean ... but then Bucky looks over at Steve with visible yearning in his eyes, and the two of them share one of their silent conversations, brows pinched and expectant.

Oh. Right. Bucky’s just horny and eager to get Steve into bed, wants to wrap this up. Mary wonders if he really can’t tell that she's not far down like she used to get. Maybe he thinks this is all she needs and he really isn’t going to take Linda’s advice seriously. Mary should be happy about that. After all, it’s what she wanted. Isn’t it?

She balls up the hand that she’d been imagining touching Bucky with and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m tired. Think I’m gonna … go get ready for bed.”

She glances over at Steve, but he looks mopey and eager to get out of the room just like his husband does, cementing the notion in Mary’s mind that they don’t want to be with her that way. No doubt they will if push comes to shove, because Linda’s told them Mary needs a sexual dynamic, but it’s not something they’re excited about. Mary knows men: They’re not the sort to sit around and wait for a girl they like to make the first move. And certainly not a man like Bucky, of all people.

She tries not to be hurt by it, but still gets a little weepy while brushing her teeth, the unintended rejection stinging more when she’s down in the tingly, vulnerable throes of subspace. She spits, rinses, flosses, rinses. Grabs the mouthwash that she hates to use but that Bucky has ordered her to always use after brushing her teeth at night.

She says goodnight to Steve and Bucky through the safety of her closed bedroom door, and despite her voice being warbly, neither one of them knocks on the door to see what’s up. That drives the point home, and Mary tucks herself into bed with the mindset that she’ll let them know they don’t have to sleep with her just to be nice or to help her or whatever. She’ll just find a way to convince them that she really is fine with going to one of the ProDoms, and that it really is a better arrangement.

Better than a pity fuck, at least.

It’s disappointing to know that Mary prefers the ProDom, that she doesn’t want to make their relationship sexual, but Bucky gets it, and he knows that he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s not exactly an easy person to get along with, after all. He’s prickly as fuck, grumpy, bossy, selfish. And aside from her natural submission, Mary’s personality clashes with his horribly. Steve is essential, but he just isn’t enough to successfully buffer between the two of them—not enough to make her want them that way, at least.

Bucky can see the profound disappointment in Steve’s eyes that night, as Mary doesn’t react the way they were both hoping, doesn’t take the offerings Bucky puts out.

They have to let it be her choice, of course, having planned it out and discussed it between just the two of them. It's all anybody ever talks about in the D/s community these days: making sure subs are the initiators at key moments like this, not letting domination creep in and become manipulation-so easy to do with how naturally vulnerable and people pleasing submissives are. Gone are the days when Doms like Bucky were encouraged to guide new partners in the "right" direction. That leads to too much trauma, too many subs in situations they don't really want. Mary has to be left to make the choice on her own, it's her right.

But it's still the hardest fucking thing for him to do, to just sit there and wait passively. And it still stings when she looks straight at his erection and declares that she’s ready for bed. Well, if it wasn’t clear before.

Steve looks like a friggin’ kicked puppy, as he stands outside of Mary’s closed bedroom door and bids her goodnight. Bucky nudges him in the direction of their own room and murmurs, “Come on, Sweetheart.”

In their bedroom, they each get undressed. Steve continues to mope, so Bucky goes up to him and places a hand on his shoulder and rubs. “Hey. Don’t sulk. You’ve still got me.” Steve’s mouth twitches in a small smile and Bucky’s heart flares with fondness for him. “You wanna play a game?” he offers, leaning in and kissing him once on the lips. “Mm?” He looks down pointedly to both of their boners that haven’t completely lagged since tv time ended.

“Okay.”

Bucky hums and turns, putting his left shoulder out. “Lend a guy a hand?” Steve obliges. He removes the prosthetic arm with practiced motions. Bucky moans quietly at how good it feels to get the heavy weight off. “Fuck.” He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck each way with a blissed out groan. “Yes.”

“You’ve been wearing it more than usual, lately,” Steve points out, going over to set it on the table at Bucky’s side of the bed. “Why?”

He already knows: Bucky can tell from the way he asks it. He grunts and looks away, refraining from answering. He normally only wears the arm to work and to the gym, skipping it around the house or when he’s just got simple errands to run. There’s a surprising amount he can do just fine without the use of two arms, and he’s been confident about being seen in public without it for a long time now, thanks to Steve and their friends at the V.A. Being self conscious about it again after all these years isn’t something Bucky wants to admit out loud or think about, but Steve isn’t stupid. He can put two and two together.

“Babe,” he says softly, walking back over to stand behind him. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and noses into his neck. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Bucky inhales deeply. “I know. I’m not.” Steve makes a sound that clearly says he doesn’t believe that. But Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it, so he reaches back with the only arm he has to grab playfully at the side of Steve’s ass. “Go in the bathroom. Get the water going how I like.”

Steve groans and thunks his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck. “Not that game,” he complains, though there’s no conviction to it. He slinks off towards the bathroom to go do as he’s been told. “I hate that game.”

“Fuck you. You love that game.”

Steve shoots him the finger from over his shoulder, but something about his naked body and tight little ass being on display strips the gesture of its animosity. He disappears into the bathroom and Bucky walks over to their bedroom dresser to grab a hair tie, still snickering. He sobers when he takes one from the valet tray and realizes that he’ll have to have Steve tie his hair back. That’s one thing he never could figure out how to do one handed. He stands there and looks in the mirror above the dresser, studying the left side of his body in a way that he rarely does anymore.

He’s gotten so used to it: his life with Steve, whom he knows down to his bones accepts him unconditionally. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like to be self conscious about his body. Bucky hasn’t known how to talk about it, and Mary hasn’t asked. She’s seen him with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, or in tee shirts at the gym, but that’s all so far. Sometimes he’ll catch her looking, but he’s got no clue what she’s thinking. He considers his reflection, looks at the scars and puckered skin, the implanted base of the arm where his stump used to be. He doesn’t like the uncomfortability of being critical of his body again. In a way, he almost resents Mary for it, for making that feeling come back after all these years. Silly, he knows.

“Babe?” Steve’s voice calls out from the bathroom. Bucky’s ears register the sound of rushing water. “You coming?”

Bucky inhales deeply and decides it doesn’t matter anyway. Mary wants a ProDom, not them, so he doesn’t have to stress over what she thinks about any part of his body, let alone the one part he doesn’t have.

“Yeah.” He turns his back to the judgmental mirror and heads towards his very non-judgmental best guy.

“Okay. Stop clenching.”

Steve exhales shakily, but he does obey, body slumping back against the end of the tub as he relaxes his muscles. “Fuck,” he breathes, overwhelmed.

“Hand too, Baby.”

His hand abandons his dick in the bathwater. “Ungh.”

Bucky smiles lazily and rubs the side of his foot against Steve’s hip in praise. “Good boy.”

They’re in the bathtub together, opposite ends, legs tangled. Their combined bulk displaces the water all the way up to above their shoulders, but that’s part of the game: they’re not allowed to splash on the floor, so they can’t jerk off very hard or fast. First one to splash water on the floor is the automatic loser and has to bottom the next time they fuck (Bucky added that little caveat because he’s very good at not splashing, whereas Steve is hopelessly clumsy and overeager ). “How you doing, Sweetheart?” he asks, drinking in the sight of Steve with his lips parted, chest heaving, squirming. He’s pink from temple to tits, flushed from the bathwater and arousal both, and Bucky loves it. “You’re not close already, are you?” he tuts, grinning. “So sensitive.”

“Buck,” Steve croaks, heated eyes dragging over Bucky’s body at the other end of the tub where he’s still gently jerking himself off. “Please.”

Bucky affords himself another toe-curlingly good swipe over the head of his dick before he nods. “Okay. Slow. Just like me”

Steve huffs and wraps his hand back around himself, stroking his dick in slow, measured strokes, just like Bucky said. Bucky’s guts warm and another heady rush of dominance swirls low in his belly at watching Steve do exactly as he says. “You can start workin’ it again, too,” he says.

Steve moans gratefully. “Thank you. Fuck.” His abs start clenching, his body straining again with visible tension as he works the Aneros that’s seated up inside him. Under the water, his knees move in and out in that instinctive motion as he tries to rock it just right. But it’s hard to do it with the water so high, and more than once he catches himself and holds back at the sight of the bathwater sloshing precariously close to the lip of the tub. At one point he gasps and his eyes slam shut, and Bucky figures the toy must’ve shifted to press even more directly against his prostate.

“Ooh, does that feel good, Stevie?”

Steve peeks his eyes open, glaring across the way at him. “You know it does.”

Bucky does, in fact, know exactly how good it feels—because he’s got another of the exact same toy inside of himself, right now. “I don’t know why you still agree to play this game,” he taunts, grunting from the effort of holding back his own moan as his prostate gets a firm prod from the head of the toy. “You—nngh—you always wind up losing.”

“Yeah, well …” Steve’s throat bobs as he swallows heavily. “Maybe I don’t mind you coming out on top, sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Bucky scoffs, but he’s breathing heavier than he was thirty minutes ago, his composure slipping the longer he works the toy inside himself and jerks himself off agonizingly slowly underneath the water. In fact, he’s not even sure it even counts as jerking off at this slow a pace.

Edging is something he’d introduced Steve to early on in their relationship, as soon as he’d realized how delightfully sensitive his new boyfriend was. And Steve, the big idiot, had worried Bucky wouldn’t like it, had actually thought of it as a negative! An absurd notion that Bucky promptly disabused him of. Watching his ungodly sexy blond behemoth of a husband whine and squirm and struggle to hold himself in check is one of the fucking hottest things Bucky’s ever seen—and he’s seen a lot. He’d been a bit of a manwhore back in his heyday, racking up the bodies as he fought to find himself as a Dom and accept the body an IED had left him with.

Steve, his overly-sensitive, glorious hunk of a then-boyfriend, had helped him to do both. And it’s times like this where Bucky remembers just how goddamn lucky he is. Having Steve to love and fuck around with feels like the best gift in the world.

At the other end of the tub, the water sloshes as something he’s done to himself makes Steve’s breath hitch in another helpless moan. He tosses his head back for a moment, eyes clamped shut as his expression crumples beautifully and he whimpers. Bucky’s ass clenches down hard in arousal at the sight, which only makes the toy in his ass rub over his prostate that much better. His cock throbs as his pleasure flares dangerously high. Fuck, he wants to come.

Licking his lips, he decides it's time to end this. His balls are pulled up too close to his body, taut and full and aching for release. Trying to school his breathing into something resembling nonchalance is a lost cause, and his face feels almost as flushed as Steve’s looks right now. Bucky decides to call it, because even though he’s the automatic favorite to win this game every time, he is capable of losing, if he gets too caught up in ogling Steve’s body and reactions and doesn’t focus enough on playing his cards right. “Okay,” he finally says, smirking when Steve’s head jerks back to attention, his irises visibly flaring in excitement. “Yeah, Baby. It’s time.”

“Fuck.”

“You ready for the home stretch?” He waggles his eyebrows and lets his head rest back against the tub, spreading his legs wider and keeping his eyes on Steve. “Gotta keep up,” he instructs, even though Steve already knows how this goes. When Bucky tightens his hand and speeds up the pace of how fast he’s jerking himself off, Steve copies him. That’s how it is at the end of this—totally-rigged-in-Bucky’s-favor—game. They both jerk off at the pace that Bucky sets, and the first one to splash water on the floor or come is the loser. It’s not very fair, but Bucky never claimed he was a fair guy. He is, in fact, selfish as fuck.

Lucky for him, Steve’s into that.

“Fuck,” Steve pants from his end of the tub. He slides down lower, keeping more of his body under the water in an attempt to prevent splashing. It’s a futile effort, though, because he’s doomed to lose anyway with the faster pace that Bucky’s set. Already, he’s going lobster red in the face, brow pinched and desperate, knees knocking the sides of the tub as he compulsively works the toy in his ass.

The arousal in Bucky’s gut coils tighter at the sight. “Watch my hand,” he warns, when he notices Steve slacking off. “Gotta match it, Baby.”

“I am.”

“Tighter,” he says, eyes gleaming. “And stop avoiding the head. I can see you cheatin’ over there, Punk.”

Steve whimpers, and Bucky knows that he really wasn’t going as tight as he is, because Steve’s hand changes its hold and he starts getting the head of his dick with the same intensity that Bucky is. Bucky grins open mouthed, panting. “Atta boy.”

“You should—ugn.” Steve grimaces. “Should get a penalty, for being cut. I should get an extra, nnnh, th-thirty seconds, at least.”

Bucky laughs, because trust Steve to think of a sportsman’s solution to the inequity of their dicks. Steve being uncut means that it takes less intense stimulation for him to come. They both know this, Bucky loves this, and again: he never claimed the game was fair. “No penalty,” he grunts, speeding up his pace even further. Steve’s eyes widen but he matches it. Bucky grits his teeth. He can hold out long enough. Steve’ll blow in seconds at this pace.

And sure enough, it’s not even twenty seconds later when Steve is crying out, body tensing and muscles straining gorgeously as he seizes up and starts to come. “Agh!” His knees fling out hard and hit the sides of the tub, splashing water over the lip to the floor below. But he hasn’t even noticed, he’s so lost to his orgasm. His asshole is twitching, sucking on the Aneros as the contractions of his body pull the toy up against his prostate again and again, drawing the pleasure out. He shoves down hard in the water and shouts louder, as though he’s getting a second orgasm on top of the first. “Ohnfuck …”

Bucky groans as he watches it happen: Steve’s gorgeous face and juddering hips, big hand wringing up hard underneath the head the whole way through. The fucking sounds he makes, Jesus wept. It’s leagues better than any porn Bucky’s ever seen. “Fuck, Baby,” he praises. “Yes. Fuck that’s so hot …”

Steve’s hand keeps working the whole way through, only abandoning his cock once it’s fully spent and softening, the cloudy ribbons of his cum floating away in the bathwater. “Fuck,” he exhales hugely once it’s done, letting his body go lax and slump so far down that only his face is above the waterline.

Bucky grunts and spreads his legs wider, not heeding the splashing rule now that he’s already won. The water splashes precariously as he shoves his hips down and down and down, squeezing the shape of the toy inside so fucking perfectly. Fuck, it feels fucking good working over his spot like that. “Oghnnn,” he pants, grunting and groaning and jerking his cock hard. “Fuck, Baby. You’re so fucking pretty. Fuck. M’gonna cum …”

Steve gives a sated hum from his end of the tub. Bucky can sense him shifting in the water, and then gasps when he feels the ball of Steve’s foot gently press up on his balls. His eyes fly open and he looks down. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck.”

Steve grins and rubs his foot against him. And Bucky doesn’t have that fetish, but there’s something so fucking perverse about seeing Steve’s toes up against his balls that it turns his brain to mush anyway and pushes him right on over into orgasm. He shoots off beneath the water, stroking and thrusting and moaning—and probably splashing water all over the floor just as badly as Steve ever has.

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cevherien · 1 month

Note

can you do a yan/toxic ellie that sometimes get so upset at reader that when they’re arguing that things get physical….she feels really bad about it ofc and convinces reader that it wasn’t a big deal so she doesn’t leave.

sorry if this is too dark or if you don’t take request 😭

of course i can!! i take drabble asks besides it's just fiction <3

(Dark content ahead, curate your own experience on this platform)

She'd never purposely want to hurt a hair on you but when her vision goes red, the short glint of light in her eyes disappear and you can no longer see behind her gaze.

it's completely neurotic when this happens, like she can't help it. Similar to an impulse disorder she's driven without any thought, she finds herself back in Seattle mentally and her fight or flight response kicks in.

Like a small puppy being cornered it's reactive and destructive (either to the environment or to herself)

When this happens, which is extremely rare, in this case because you suppress those urges in her mind normally, but you also bring out both the best and the worst in her, like a catalyst triggering her cognitive dissonance.

When she first did something like this, you forgave her thinking she was overwhelmed and having a flashback of sorts. The second time was a little different, since she was of sound mind and the only reason she got violent was because you were speaking to a bitch she told you not to.

You were left bleeding from your nose because you tried to defend that whore to Ellie, and she doesn't take that lightly. Textbook abusive relationship, she tells you she did it for your own good.

"This hurts me more than it hurts you baby," and "I know what's best for you, you should be listening to me."

She comforts you though, right after the assault. She does feel bad, but truly believes she's doing whats needed to be done.

You were really too sweet for this world, a naive little girl, a little bunny in a dirty and dangerous world that would prey on you. Hurt you and take you away from her. She nodded to herself about taking you, convinced she did the right thing.

After that she doesn't really give you time to ponder on it as she floods you with affection, partly because she doesn't like to see you hurting and partly because she's afraid you might leave her.

She wouldn't let you leave, though. But it's better to play safe than be sorry.

Showering you with kisses as you cry with your bottom lip quivering, face flushed and nose still bleeding. You avoid her gaze, but she gently raises your chin up to meet her eyes.

"It's okay angel, I'm here." your body was hesitant under her touch. "I'll always be here."

#yandere ellie williams #abuse #toxic love #ellie williams x reader #inboxd 🍒🍓

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darksigns-exe · 6 months

Text

Sweet Like Honey - Fingerprints On My Skin

Paring: Noah Sebastian x OFC Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Implied/referenced Alcohol Abuse Word Count: 2.4k Note: I'm updating the masterlist at the moment and realised that this part was never on Tumblr so here she is.

Read on AO3

They’re wine drunk. A last hurrah before Bee leaves for Europe for what she called as long as it takes me to understand what that medieval motherfucker was trying to say. A big old celebration set up by Tasha hosted at some friends bar downtown.

She’s happily swaying as she drags him up the driveway, still giggling from when Nick practically fell out of the backseat and onto the driveway. The sound sets his heart on fucking fire. It’s all he wants to hear. And Noah has to fight his drunken mind so that he doesn’t yank her back to him to kiss her right then and there.

It’s become increasingly more difficult to stay away from her recently. The more he learns about her the more he wants to have her for himself. Even watching her loop her arm through Nicks to steady herself (or him he isn’t quite sure who of them is less drunk) is enough to set off the alarm bells in his brain. He has no right to feel like this, not when he hasn’t even had the guts to tell her that she makes him feel as if there is nothing else in the world that matters more than what is between them.

Noah isn’t sure how they make it back to the door, much less how they make it up the stairs and into his bedroom. He throws her one his shirts so that she doesn’t have to sleep in her own clothes and only partially because he needs to see her in it one last time before she’s gone. She’s too drunk to care about any of it and really Noah should turn and give her privacy when she begins to take off her clothes. But his eyes remain fixed on every inch of tattooed skin that reveals itself. Beneath the thin excuse of a bra she wears he can see the little bumps where the metal of her piercings presses through the fabric. He needs to know how sensitive she is, how pretty the noises she’ll make for him would he.

Her body swims in his shirt. It reaches all the way down to her knees, granted the thing ran large even on him. Noah tries his best to commit the image into memory. It’s wrong. They’re nothing besides friends, both of them too busy for a real commitment. He wants her nevertheless. Not just in a physical sense. He wants to know everything there is to know, every good and bad moment, wants to see her laugh, be the one that makes her laugh. At the same time he needs to see her come undone, has to feel her body give in to pleasure at his doing. It’s devastating knowing that she’ll be so close tonight.

He strips down to his boxers as she watches from his bed, where she had already curled into a corner.

“Cuddle me?” She asks way too innocently.

He can’t deny her that. Not when she looks so fucking beautiful in the dimmed light that pours into the room from the lamp on his desk.

And so he holds her with his best imitation of platonic feelings, when, in truth, his chest hasn’t felt this tight in ages. She falls asleep before he does. For a moment, Noah lets himself believe that they’re the real deal.

She’s not next to him anymore when he wakes up, but he can hear chatter from downstairs. Bees' bright laughter rings in his ears, and he tries not to think about how her skin crinkles and creases when she laughs like that. When he comes down into the kitchen, he finds her still in his shirt perched on that same spot on the bannister and it takes him back to that first night. He’d thrown back a shot or three before he’d gone up to her. And he’d been so fucking nervous talking to her that he’d forgotten to tell her his name for way too long.

“Are you gonna tell her at some point?” Jolly sounds more annoyed than anything else.

“Tell her what?”

They both know what he should tell her. And he should really do it, but the idea that maybe just maybe she doesn’t feel the same way about him weighs a little too heavily on his chest.

“I know you left school early but you’re not that dumb.” He pushes away from the counter and starts towards the belly of the house “Tell her.”

He stays rooted to the tile for a little while longer. He has to tell her before she leaves, if only to get it off his chest. And now is the last moment he has before she’s gone for god knows how long.

He takes a final deep breath before he pushes open the glass door.

“Sleep alright?”

She jolts, turning around to give him a only partially serious grimace “Nope.”

“No?”

“Some guy was lying on top of me all night and it felt like I was sleeping under a fucking rock?” She dips her finger into her coffee and flicks it at him “You’re heavier than you look.”

Noah’s face warms at the thought.

He comes to meet her where she’s sitting. “You’re just way too comfortable.”

He can see her smile out of the corner of his eyes. It’s faint and tight-lipped but it’s there. They stand quietly for a moment, Noah thinks it’s awfully domestic. His nails dig into the wood below. God he wishes this was over already.

“Bee?”

She hums, signaling that she’s listening.

“I’ve been thinking.” He starts.

“About?”

He lets out a heavy sigh “Us.”

“Oh?”

The way she says it makes his heart sink a little “Listen I know you said that one time that you’re happy to be on your own at the moment and really I’d be fine if it stays that way, but –” he’s never been good at this and right now he feels particularly bad, it’s easier to write the words down think about them some more later but he can’t do that now.

“Fuck it.” he draws in another breath “I like you Bee. You’re- you make me feel so many fucking things and even if you don’t want this I had to tell you before you leave.”

Her face falls a little “Noah.”

“Trust me I tried to stop it, but you got me good.”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“And I’ll be here when you come back.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh and his heart fucking shatters.

“I’m sorry Bee.” his fingers drum against the bannister “When you come back and you’ll still have me I can just be your friend.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Bee swings her legs over the bannister and hops off it with ease “You’re wonderful, really and it’s not that I don’t like you I- I’m just not in the right space for it. This project could be really big and I don’t know if I could do those two things justice at the same time.”

He hates how reasonable she sounds. It makes sense and he knows it. Hell, they’ll be heading out on tour themselves in a couple of weeks. What’s worse is that Bee looks just as distraught as he feels. She brings her hand to the side of his face, her thumb gently swiping across his cheek with so much fucking affection that it somehow makes it all feel worse.

“You have given me so much already and if this was any other time you’d have me without a doubt, but I want this to be right. We both deserve that.” She speaks softly “When I come back and we both still feel this way I’ll be waiting for that dinner invite.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“And please call me, okay? I don’t want you to become a stranger.” She carefully pulls him towards her to press a kiss to his cheek “I’m gonna ask Jolly to drive me home now. Take care of Barney for me.”

It’s bittersweet. There’s still the promise that they could be something after all, but it stings nevertheless. The touch of her hand against his cheek still burns when he hears the glass door slide shut and remains tethered to his spot long after he hears the car pull out of the driveway.

The spot where she had kissed him still burns when she texts him that she’s at the airport now. His eyes find the black ball of fur that had settled into his desk chair. He’d been overjoyed when Bee had asked him to shelter the cat while she was away. A little bit of her had stayed with him after all.

He doesn’t hear from her for the first week beyond a note that she’d landed and was on her way to the hotel she’d be staying at for a while. He keeps sending her updates of Barnabas, keeping her in the loop of what they got up to. Her replies are sparse at the best of times, but he knows that she’s busy. Somehow, he’d hoped that it would be easier.

By the time the third week rolls around he dials down the updates. He’s busy with his own stuff with the tour coming up. He tries to call a couple of times, but he assumes that the time zones are all out of whack and they just perpetually miss each other's waking hours. It’s a bit over a month into her trip when he receives a notification that Bee posted something to her Instagram. He’d set up notifications for her account a while back, just in case. It’s a couple of group pictures. What stands out to him is the guy who has an arm tightly wrapped around Bee and the bright smile on her face. It punches the air out of his lungs.

Bee calls a little later. He stares at the screen long enough for it to go to voicemail. She doesn’t leave one. There’s a text afterwards asking if he’s got time to call back. Noah says he’s busy. He isn’t. Unless one considers staring holes into the ceiling busy.

He’s been fucking miserable. The more he tried not to think about what that guy meant to her the less it worked. That dumb voice in the back of his mind keeps telling him that she doesn’t care about him anymore and that if she comes back she won’t come back for him. And as much as he doesn’t want it to be true the guy is becoming a seemingly more fixed presence in her life. He’s never known her to be particularly active on any social media but since she’d left there’s a new post with shocking regularity. And that fucker is in more picutres than Noah would like him to be. He isn’t even sure that he has that many pictures of her. Not that he’s entitled to any of that, but it feels unfair. The one time he does let himself feel for someone it ends in shambles.

She calls again later that night, but he genuinely misses that one. He calls back fifteen minutes later.

“Hey stranger.” she lilts into the speaker.

Her voice sends a shot of searing pain down his spine “Hey.”

“How’re you. How’s your rehearsals going?” she sounds as if she doing something on the side and somehow that stings a little more than he’d like to admit.

He draws in a deep breath “Good. It’s all going great.” he pauses for a moment “We’ve got some good shit for this tour.”

She hums appreciatively “That’s good. Barns doing good too?”

“He’s hogging my desk chair, I think he’s settled in quite alright.”

The little chuckle that escapes her does very little to ease his worries “I hope he isn’t giving you too much trouble?” Noah finds the cat in his favourite spot “He’s been great. How’s your research going? Any big breakthroughs?” Noah flops back down on his bed.

“It’s slow going…Ben and I have been working on this one section of the text that has been pretty stubborn.” she trails off into thought, before snapping up again “Have I told you about Ben? He’s working on his third doctorate and he’s only a year older than me.”

She continues to talk about this asshole, but Noah stops listening at some point. The information that pours from her goes in one ear and out the other. Maybe it is right, this Ben is a lot closer to what she does and Noah will ever be. Sure, he can listen and try to understand the world she moves in, but at the end of the day he’ll always be outside of it. He is so far removed from the world she lives in, the academics she deals with every day are something he struggles to relate to. Noahs relationship with the education system had never been great. And for Bee it was the very basis of everything she did. At the very core their worlds were entirely different.

Hearing her talk about this man who was much closer to what she did made it feel so much more final.

“Oh…damn it…Noah I have to go we’re all getting lunch together and Ben’s just arrived.” she speaks quickly, suddenly in a rush “I’ll talk to you later.”

She doesn’t call again. It hadn’t been said, but Noah knows that things won’t be the same when she comes back. The choked up feeling the thought leaves him with doesn’t disappear unless he drowns it. If the others notice they don’t say anything. He tries to keep it low enough so that it doesn’t disturb the band. It works for the most part. And when they leave for tour he doesn’t have much time to drink or think about Bee. In a way that’s good too.

Near the end of the first run of shows, he gets a text from Bee, telling him that she’s picked up Barnabas and thanking him for taking care of him. He gives a courteous reply and leaves it at that. That night he takes a girl back to his hotel room, just to take his mind off her. It doesn’t work. When he catches a glimpse of her face all he sees is Bee, even though they’d never been intimate like that. He starts writing that night; about the fucked up jealousy in his heart, the messed up decisions he’d made. It’s a neat facade. A good face to put up so that the rest won’t know just how much it had actually shattered him. They don’t need to know that he’s made a fool of himself like this.

When he comes back home the t-shirt of his she’d left with is washed and folded on his bed. It smells of clean detergent and fabric softener.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebstian x ofc #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #fic: sweet like honey

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flokali · 2 years

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The devil and the magician for rem/vita diluc?

Omg Diluc… the love of my life, ofc hehe >_<)) I added in Justice just because I like odd numbers hope you don’t mind nonnie!

CW: Typical Yan-Warnings, yandere themes, SAGAU, Rem/Vita AU, mentions of murder, religion, sacrifices, kidnapping, cult-like behavior, abuse of power, Lore Spoilers, etc.

♦︎ Diluc (The Devil, The Magician, Justice) ♦︎

— The Devil : What taboo things would this yandere do to their darling?

Many, many things. Diluc, in this case, is an acolyte; a mere follower, a devotee to the religion that worshiped you. One may even call him, as well as his fellow believers, fanatical.

Due to this fact, he mainly acts the way a fanatic would - at least, when it comes to you. He views you as the deity above all, therefore - if he’s doing it for you it can’t be taboo and, if it is, it’s justified.

This is what he’ll say to himself as he tramples over the lives of people he has deemed unworthy of you, using his connections around not just Mondo but all of Teyvat to drive them into, hopefully, death’s door. It’s what he reminds himself as he performs a sacrifice in your name, a sacrificial knife in his hands as he carves out the person’s heart and proudly holds it over his head in devotion to you. He’s kidnapped, killed, and ruined lives in your name, Diluc has truly soiled his hands to the point you wonder if the red in them are gloves or the blood he’s spilt in your name.

And he does all that without being told - without you being directly there -, so imagine what he’d be willing to do if you were in his arms.

…

— The Magician : How would this yandere use their abilities/status on their darling?

Whether it’s intentional or not you decide - though I lean towards him knowing his actions are mainly allowed due to his power -, however there’s no denying he does.

As the owner of half of Mondstatd’s winery businesses (which coincidentally is also the city's most well known and profitable product), he isn’t afraid to move circumstances to his favor - non-AU yan. Diluc wouldn’t do this, probably - with money and vaguely covered threats. He’s already financed most of your arrivement preparations, not to mention much of the equipment to bring you over, so it’s only natural he takes priority over the less… helpful individuals.

Diluc is also not afraid to remind people that Dawn’s Winery is probably the safest place for you to be in, at least in Mondstatd, not just because it’s secluded enough enemies will have hard time passing by or the fact it’s now filled with former-knights and powerful acolytes he has recruited into guarding the establishment but also because he, Diluc, is there. He travelled through Teyvat killing Fatui, making himself enough of a threat that two harbinger’s had to fight him at the same time to stop him from continuing to kill their agents, and presumably other enemies by himself between his late teen years and early twenties without his Pyro Vision instead using a Delusion that normally could have killed others using it. The worst part is, he’s right; by his side is probably the safest you could be.

So yes - he would use his status, he isn’t afraid to use the Raginvindr name or power nor his own reputation and strength to be beside you.

…

— Justice : Does this yandere ever feel conflicted about what they’re doing?

In a normal AU, yes; however, here? No, there is no reason for him to feel conflicted. Not when everyone around him would do the same things as him in your name, some even doing worse, and encourage his actions, even praising his devotion.

The Cult of Rem is a highly fanatical cult, it believes that you are the result of the people’s needs incarnated and that it’s their job to serve you, if this includes killing people then it’s only natural. They’ve taken an incredibly dangerous route to their beliefs, to the point extreme actions to the sinful or non-believers is seen as logical and even necessary.

He’s surrounded by people who think the same way he does, that you and your comfort is above all else and that there is no sinful action of done for you or in your name, therefore there is no guilt to be had when he’s always been in an environment that has actively allowed for such things to occur and even praises such actions.

If anything, I’d say he would feel guilty if he didn’t.

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #sagau #genshin sagau #yandere diluc #yandere diluc ragnvindr #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #yanderecore #๋࣭ ancient scrolls #๋࣭. shino’s offerings

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shiftingwithmars · 3 months

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Scars—Mattheo Riddle fanfic

A/N: I’m absolutely in love with Mattheo/Marcus’ scars so ofc I had to make a fic about it! Summary:Mattheo Riddle has always been insecure about his scars. They reminded him of his past, a past that included his father, which he so desperately wanted to forget. However, his girlfriend doesn’t feel the same.

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, slight angst if you squint, mentions of abuse, mentions of fighting, use of Y/N, established relationship, modern AU?(Taylor Swift exists here😌) please let me know if I missed any.

Song(s) listened to while writing: Cardigan by Taylor Swift, Kiss My Scars by August Royals.

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

You drew stars around my scars

“Y/n?” You glanced up from your book as your name was called, giving Pansy a friendly smile as she approached you. “What’s wrong?” You questioned, noticing her worried expression. “It’s Mattheo. He got into another fight.” Pansy explained, your gaze immediately flickering up to meet hers.

You picked through the crowd, coming to the edge of the sea of students. Theodore and Enzo were struggling to hold Mattheo back, meanwhile Draco and Blaise held Cormac McLaggen out of reach of your boyfriend. Mattheo lunged for Cormac again, but his attempts were cut short as Theodore and Enzo pulled him back. “Say it again, you damn son of a—“ Mattheo’s words were cut short as he noticed you out of the corner of his eye. His eyes filled with a mix between shame and surprise.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want your little girlfriend to watch me beat your ass?” Cormac taunted, and Mattheo’s expression filled with rage once more. He began to surge forward again, but your hand on his chest stopped him. “Leave it, Matty. He’s not worth it.” You said softly, meeting his eyes with a look of sympathy and worry. “Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Matty.” Cormac taunted.

You grabbed Mattheo’s hand, your grip firm as you pulled Mattheo away, ignoring Cormac’s taunting calls as you two left. You headed back to your dorm, closing the door behind you two and sitting on your bed. Mattheo sat down beside you, staring at the ground. He still looked angry, but now he also looked……sad? “Alright, what happened?” You asked softly, brushing a loose curl from Mattheo’s eyes.

“It’s nothing.” Mattheo responded, brushing off your attempts to comfort him. “Matty, it’s clearly not nothing. What happened?” You asked again, gently pulling him closer. Mattheo slowly glanced up at the mirror in the corner of the room, his expression full of pain. “Cormac said some things he shouldn’t have, okay? Just leave it. Please.” You ignored his plead, gently taking his face in your hands. “What’s wrong? Seriously, don’t just brush me off.”

A Mattheo sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “My scars…” Mattheo trailed off, inhaling sharply before continuing. “Cormac called them disgusting. He wouldn’t shut up about them, and I just couldn’t stand it…” Mattheo trailed off once more, closing his eyes as a tear ran down his cheek.

You gently reached out and brushed the tear from his cheek, your expression soft as you curled up beside him. “Cormac is wrong. Your scars are beautiful, Mattheo.” Mattheo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “How are they beautiful? My father gave them to me.” He huffed. “I know. But they’re proof that you survived.” You said softly, gently kissing the scar on his left cheek. Mattheo sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

You smiled as you grabbed a marker from your nightstand, rolling up Mattheo’s sleeves. His expression filled with confusion as you uncapped the marker, and he pulled away from you. “What are you doing?” He questioned, his brow quirked with confusion. “Just trust me.” You said softly, gently pulling him back towards you. You smiled as you reached for your phone, putting on ‘Cardigan’ by Taylor Swift. One of your favorite songs, Mattheo recognized.

You held his arm still as you began to draw, your touch light and gentle. Gentle patterns repeated as you moved across his arm, pulling away when you were finished to admire your work. Mattheo stared at his arms, his eyes wide with admiration.

‘You drew stars around my scars.’

The lyrics seemed to play at the perfect moment, and Mattheo just stared at his arm with a look of amazement. “I love you…” he said softly, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Trust me, idiot, I know.”

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ghuleh-witch · 6 months

Text

And We Are Tied As One Eternally

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explicit Warnings: (For Future Chapters) NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, mentions of past abuse and domestic violence, references to suicide Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x OFC Characters: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia, OFC Additional Tags: soft!dom Copia, eventual smut, developing relationship, no beta reader Chapter Word Count: 3720 Summary: Ellie Moran just wanted to make a new life for herself. Running to escape the people in her past, she ends up in a small town in the middle of nowhere that happens to be home to a Satanic church. She never expected her life to change again after she started attending the public masses at said church.

Ao3

Chapters: 1/?

Chapter One

“How do you even dress for mass at a Satanic church?” Ellie Moran said to herself as she stared into her closet. She wasn’t even sure why she was going to begin with. Ever since she saw a grown man in the coffee shop throw a fit over a flyer for the Ministry of Ghost, a Satantic church located on the outskirts of town, she’d been curious. The flyer was advertising public mass times for the next month. After watching the middle-aged man crinkle the flyer up and toss it in the trash, Ellie retrieved it and took it home. It was now lying on her vanity as smoothed out as she could make it.

If the church was causing such an uproar among the locals, Ellie knew she had to see what it was all about.

It had been two months since she moved to this new town—two months since she flipped her life upside down to be herself, live how she wanted to live, and finally escape. It had been two very long and lonely months though. Besides her job at the small bookstore on the corner of her street, she didn’t leave her apartment. There wasn’t much to do in the town, and the organizations she checked out, such as the women’s club, were filled with overly chipper, old women who would sneer at the tattoos that covered her arm. Ellie never intended to move to such a small town. She only moved there because it was the last place anyone would think to look for her.

She felt pathetic. At 30 years old she was starting over completely. She had no friends, no significant other, no degree or skills, and was working at a bookstore barely making enough to get by.

Ellie pulled a black skater dress out of her closet and looked it over, deciding if it was appropriate to wear to a church service. “It’s a satanic church, I don’t think they’re going to care what I wear,” she said to herself and shrugged, grabbing a dark green cardigan to wear over it. “Good enough” She slipped her feet into a pair of combat boots and looked in the mirror to finish her makeup and hair. She squeezed some mousse into the palm of her hand and scrunched it into her shoulder-length, dark blonde hair to help bring out her natural waves. She fixed her eyeliner and put on her favorite necklace; a pointed, wire-wrapped black tourmaline crystal before grabbing her bag and her car keys.

Her ancient Ford Focus sat mostly unused behind her apartment building, and thankfully, after surviving the drive across the country, it got her up to the church in one piece. She parked in the visitors’ lot and walked up the stoned pathway to the entrance. The church was huge and made of stone. Ellie knew at one point it must have been a Christian church. She could see faint outlines of crosses that used to be displayed on the building that were replaced with inverted crucifixes and pentagrams.

At the entrance there was a person, Ellie thought they might be a man but she couldn’t be sure, dressed all in black with something that looked like a modified gas mask with little horns on their head.

“Visitor?” They asked when Ellie approached.

“Er-Yea-I saw the flyer—”

“Straight down the hall, the large black doors on the left. Can’t miss it,” they said in a bored voice.

“Thanks,” Ellie said, entering into the building. She was in awe at all the marble and stained glass. There was so much natural light in the atrium and it created a warm and welcoming environment. It was beautiful and not what she was expecting. She had a vision of walking into some stifling hot building with black drapes all around and only candlelight to see by.

She found the door the person at the front told her to look for and went through. Inside was the sanctuary. It wasn’t as big as the ones she’d seen in Catholic churches, but it was just as beautiful. Stained glass windows lined the room and dark-stained pews sat among stone columns facing the pulpit. The room was mostly filled with men in black monk robes and women in black habits. There were less than a dozen people in street clothes like she was.

Ellie took a seat at the end of a pew in the back of the sanctuary. She wrung her fingers nervously as she looked around at everyone talking to one another. Once the sound of an organ filled the room, everyone began to quiet down. A procession of people entered the room from a side door near the front of the space. They were dressed in red and black robes and looked like the pictures of cardinals she’d seen at the Vatican. They took seats in the front two pews.

After the cardinals, three older men in nice suits and black and white skull paint enter followed by a woman in a dark gray skirt and blazer. Behind her, an elderly man with skull paint, a walker, and an oxygen tank was escorted into the room by a woman in a habit. The five of them took seats in the chairs that lined one of the side walls and the woman took a place in a nearby pew.

The organ music died down and another man with black and white skull paint on his face entered. He was dressed in immaculate black robes with a golden “IV” encircled in a starburst pattern on his chest. He wore a black stole with gold skulls running down its length and the mitre on his head was shaped in what looked like bat wings. His eyes, one of them a brilliant white, scanned the sanctuary, giving little nods to people he seemed to know sitting in the pews, and then his eyes settled on her.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his. It felt like he was staring right into the dark, deep depths of her soul. It was like a wave of electricity washed over her, making her sit up straight under his gaze. She could have sworn the faintest smirk formed on his lips before he turned his attention from her and back to the crowd as a whole.

Ellie didn’t know what was said during the sermon. She couldn’t help but stare at the man she now knew as Papa Emeritus IV after he introduced himself to the new people in the sanctuary. She stood whenever everyone else stood, kneeled when they all kneeled and attempted to sing the hymns that were sung. Then it was time for communion. Ellie stayed seated while everyone got in line. She watched as one by one people walked up to Papa, knelt in front of him as he said a few words and placed a communion wafer in their mouth, and then took a sip of wine from a goblet being held by one of the men in the nice suits before Papa made the sign of the inverted cross and they returned to their seat.

She noticed more than once his eyes flicked to her, and Ellie couldn’t help but squirm in her seat as though she had just gotten in trouble. Was she supposed to be standing in line with everyone else? She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to take communion. She wasn’t a member of the church and she wasn’t sure if she needed to do anything beforehand to be able to take communion. In the Baptist church she grew up in, one couldn’t take communion until they accepted Jesus as their savior and became a church member. Did she need to believe in Satan and be a member of the church to take communion here?

Once communion finished and the closing words said, the woman in the gray suit stood and invited everyone to join them for a potluck lunch in the refectory. Ellie wasn’t planning on staying, but when her stomach growled, she followed a group of women across the hall to the refectory. She wasn’t going to turn down free food when all she had in her apartment was a box of cereal and a few packs of ramen. While everyone mingled with their plates of food, Ellie stood along the wall finishing up a small turkey and cheese slider. She tossed her paper plate in the trash and watched as everyone talked and laughed, feeling incredibly left out.

Just go up to someone and introduce yourself , she told herself. You’ll never make friends if you’re standing here like an idiot.

“You didn’t take communion.”

Ellie jumped a little, startled by the accented voice coming from beside her. She turned and saw the Papa Emeritus IV himself standing there. He was still dressed in the same black robes he wore during the service. He was mirte-less now and she could see his mousy brown hair, peppered with the lightest touches of gray. She thought he looked handsome and wondered what he looked like without the paint on his face.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” Ellie said, feeling his eyes stare into her gray ones once more. “I-uh-I’ve never been here before.”

“ Sí , I know,” he replied, holding out a hand to her. “Papa Emeritus the fourth, head of the clergy. And for future reference, anyone can take communion here. Eh, it’s more of a mockery of the Christian communion than anything of significance. What is your name, cara ?”

“Ellie Moran,” she said, shaking his gloved hand, the leather warm and soft against her palm. She thought she saw something in his eyes light up when she said her name.

“And what brings you to our ministry, Ellie?”

“Curiosity,” she answered honestly. “I saw someone throwing a fit over your flyer posted in the coffee shop, and well, I got curious. I’m new to the area and haven’t…found a place I fit in yet.” She thought she sounded so pathetic as she talked and wished she never said anything.

“How long have you lived here?” Papa asked with interest.

“Only two months,” she said.

“And how do you like it?”

Ellie shrugged. “It’s fine,” she answered. “The town is boring but it’s better than where I was.”

Papa was about to say something when the woman in the gray skirt and blazer approached him. “Cardi, we need to talk,” she said, seeming to not notice Ellie.

“Okie dokie, sister,” Papa responded before looking back to Ellie. “I’m sorry to leave you. Perhaps you will come to our next mass?”

Ellie nodded and watched him walk away with the woman and felt very alone again. Frowning, she slipped out of the dining hall and made her way back to the front entrance and her car, cursing herself that she didn’t talk to anyone else.

As she drove back into town and to her apartment and promised herself she’d go to mass again and next time, she’d talk to someone. XXX

Copia returned to the refectory a few minutes after Sister Imperator pulled him aside to talk to him about his sermon. His eyes scanned the room looking for Ellie. He frowned when he didn’t see her and turned to the ghoul standing near the door. “Did the woman in the green sweater leave?” He asked Aether.

“She did,” Aether answered. “A few minutes ago. She looked…sad.”

“Hmmm, thank you, Aether,” Copia said turning back to the rest of the people in the refectory. He had noticed her in the sanctuary sitting by herself in the back. His first thought was that she was striking. There was something about her that captured his attention and wanted to get to know her more. It was almost as if he was being drawn to her by an unseen force. He was a bit disappointed to find that she left already, not that he was expecting her to be waiting for him to come back. He hoped that she would come to the next mass. Next time he’d get to know her better. XXX

A few days later, Ellie was staring at the Satanic Bible on the bookshelf at her work. She didn’t often get to stock books in the spirituality section, but today she got to and the book caught her eye. She thought back on the mass she had attended just three days prior. She couldn’t remember what Papa was speaking about, but she could remember how he looked at her and how kind he seemed to be when she spoke to him briefly afterward.

But those eyes, she couldn’t get those eyes out of her head.

She stocked the books on Celtic Paganism in her arms and turned back to the Satanic Bible. She picked it up and flipped through it; it couldn’t hurt to learn something before she went to mass again that weekend.

“If it were my choice, I’d burn this whole section.”

Ellie turned to see her supervisor standing there with a stack of Bibles on the cart he was pushing. Charles was a larger man with a ruddy face and balding head. Ellie didn’t care for him. He constantly talked about his hunting trips and how his wife was the greatest thing since sliced bread. He could be an asshole at times and often stuck her with the shittiest tasks in the store, and because she was a people pleaser, just never complained and just did as she was told.

“Oh?” Ellie said.

“Freedom of religion is a joke in this country. This isn’t religion. This is evil, satanic bullshit,” he said glaring at the books. “But I don’t own the store so I don’t get a say in what’s stocked here. Maybe one day.” He pushed the cart passed her into the next aisle to stock the Bibles leaving Ellie standing there with a frown on her face.

Later that evening, she sat on her ugly burnt orange couch with her laptop open on her lap. She spent the last hour scouring the internet for information on the Ministry of Ghost. There wasn’t a whole lot. Their website looked like something that came out of the early internet in 1999, but there was a link to a YouTube channel entitled Ghost.

There were music videos and videos from concerts on the page of a band performing metal and rock songs. Ellie fell down a rabbit hole from there and learned that Ghost was a side project of the Ministry to help spread their message. Over the years they’ve been active, they were led by a few different men, the previous Papas, and their band of ghouls. The music was good, and Ellie ended up adding a few songs to her Spotify playlist. She then saw the videos of Papa Emeritus IV when he was still just a cardinal.

“Holy shit,” Ellie muttered as she watched him perform on stage while wearing a red cassock. The man could sing, she gave him that much, but the way he moved enthralled her. She even saw a video of his ascension from cardinal to Papa. At one point she thought she was drooling on her keyboard. There was no way that the man in the video and the one she met over the weekend were the same person. She had to snap her laptop shut because she didn’t think it was right to be lusting after what was the equivalent of the pope, even if he was satanic.

XXX

The next public mass was two weeks later, and Ellie was the first of the visitors to get there. She was dressed in a similar outfit as before; same black dress and boots, but she switched out her green cardigan for a blue one. She nodded to the man in the modified gas mask at the door and made her way to the sanctuary. As she stood in the doorway, she scanned the room, determined to sit by someone she could talk to. When she saw a woman in a habit sitting alone near the front, Ellie made her way to her. She stood at the end of the pew and cleared her throat a little.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Ellie asked when the woman looked over to her.

The woman smiled and patted the seat next to her. “Please,” she said. She had dark brown bangs poking out from her veil and bright hazel eyes. “I’m Sister Gemma, but please, just call me Gemma. No need for formalities.”

“Ellie,” Ellie said sliding into the pew.

“First time here?”

“Second. I came to the last public mass a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oooo,” Gemma cooed. “You’re the first second-timer we’ve had in a while. Most visitors don’t come back after their times time. You thinking about joining?”

“I don’t know,” Ellie answered truthfully. She hadn’t really thought about it. She agreed with the tenets of santanism, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to join the church just yet. “I don’t have to become a nun, do I? Are you a nun? I’m sorry I don’t know all the terminology.” She became flustered and hoped she wasn’t making too much of a fool of herself.

Gemma smiled kindly. “You’re fine. And yea, I’m kinda like a nun. The brothers and sisters here are called the Siblings of Din. And no, you don’t have to become a Sibling to join the church. There are a couple of non-sibling members here. Papa Terzo even had a townie for an assistant for a while.”

“Papa Terzo?” Ellie asked. She knew there were other Papas but she never heard the name before.

“Papa Emeritus the third. He was Papa Copia’s predecessor. It’s easier to say Papa and then their name instead of their whole title. It becomes a mouthful.”

Copia , Ellie thought, liking the sound of his name. She cleared her throat before speaking. “What would I have to do to join?”

“You’d need a sponsor. Everyone who is considering joining the ministry needs to be sponsored by an established member. We act as guides and teachers to help prepare you for membership here. If you consider joining, I’d love to be your sponsor. I have a good feeling about you.”

“I’ll thank about it,” Ellie said earnestly.

Gemma grinned. “I’ll give you my number after mass and you can let me know.”

Just as Ellie was about to say something else, the organ music started once more. Ellie watched the same procession of people enter the sanctuary, and when Copia stepped into the space, she saw his eyes search the sanctuary. His eyes found hers after a moment and his lips curved upward slightly, giving her a small nod of acknowledgment.

Ellie found herself smiling in return. She felt Gemma nudge her and saw the other woman had a look of delight on her face.

The service was very similar to the first one Ellie attended. The only difference this time was Gemma was whispering to her, explaining some of the things Copia was talking. Ellie tried to pay more attention this time, but she still found herself focused on Copia. He made her curious and she wanted to get to know who he was. She thought it was strange that she had these feelings. She never felt like this toward anyone before.

When it was once again time for communion, Gemma grabbed Ellie’s hand and pulled her into the line. Ellie remembered what Copia told her last time—that anyone could take communion, and it made her feel less nervous

“You don’t need to commit to anything.,” Gemma told Ellie. “Papa will say a little prayer in Latin as he puts the wafer in your mouth and you’ll say nema before you eat it and he does the sign of the inverted cross. Then Papa Terzo will offer you the chalice of wine to drink from. Same thing, he’ll say a quick prayer in Latin, you drink and say nema, and he makes the sign of the inverted cross. Then you stand and go back to your seat. Easy as pie.”

She stood behind Gemma and slowly moved as the line pushed forward. When Ellie realized she was next, she suddenly felt nervous. When she stepped up in front of Copia, he smiled.

“Glad to see you back, cara ,” he said.

She lowered herself to her kneels in front of him and tilted her head upward to look at him. She thought he suddenly looked as nervous as she felt, but then he was holding a communion wafer in his fingers and looking just as calm as before. He lowered his arm to serve her the wafer as he began saying something in Latin.

Ellie opened her mouth and he gently placed it on her tongue. Ellie had the desire to close her lips around the leather of his gloved fingers but kept herself from doing so. She swallowed the wafer. “Nema,” she said. She watched him make an inverted cross with his hands before taking a step to the side to allow one of the men in skull paint and a suit to step up to her.

“You’re a pretty thing,” Terzo said as he looked down at her with a smirk. He offered her the chalice and titled it for her to drink from. “That’s it, tesoro,” he cooed before saying his prayer in Latin.

“Nema,” Ellie replied after swallowing the sip of wine.

After he made the sign of the inverted cross Ellie stood and went back to her seat. “I think he was flirting with me,” she whispered to Gemma.

“Who?” Gemma asked with interest.

“Papa Terzo,” Ellie answered.

“Oh. He flirts with everyone. And I mean everyone,” Gemma said. “Why did it make you uncomfortable? If you tell him he won’t do it again.”

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t mind. I just wasn’t expecting it,” Ellie shrugged.

“I’m sorry I should have warned you,” Gemma responded. “You staying for the luncheon?”

Ellie thought it over for a second. She was enjoying Gemma’s company, and if Ellie stayed she could continue getting to know Gemma and maybe meet some other people.

And also maybe she’d get to talk to Copia again.

Translations:

Sí-yes Cara-dear/darling tesoro-treasure

#Ghost #the band Ghost #copia #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x oc #copia x oc #copia x ofc #papa emeritus x ofc #ghost fanfic #my fanfic #papa emeritus fanfic #copia fanfic #papa emeritus iv fanfic #awataoe

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sjsmith56 · 4 months

Text

Away Mission - Part 3

Summary: Sloan continues her investigations, then is forced to hide when her workplace is targeted. Bucky finishes his intelligence gathering and requests extraction but is discovered by someone from his past.

Length: 4.4 K

Characters: Sloan, OFC, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Jack Rollins, OMC.

Warnings: Bucky recalling abuse while with HYDRA, violence, Bucky immobilized, crude and suggestive language, homophobia, OMC recalls past trauma.

Part 2

🚪 ✈️

Part 3

Sloan

Working with Tess Murray had opened me up to a whole new level of investigative reporting. She had contacts everywhere, people who fed her bits and pieces of information that she somehow assembled into a complete story. How she convinced those people to talk to her was still her secret but there was no doubt that she was the type of person who could topple dictators. Right from the first teaser story that we put out a month ago, about Bucky signing a contract with Excalibur Security Group, she had insisted that my name also be attached to the pieces she filed.

“You’re doing the grunt work,” she said. “Finding the background on these people who are making things happen away from the public eye. I just get the names from my contacts.”

“Some of them really don��t seem the type to be that influential behind the scenes,” I responded. “I mean, look at this guy.” I pulled up a picture of a man on my laptop, who was supposedly another hire of ESG, according to her contact. “Jake Roberts, aged 49. According to your contact, Roberts was on SHIELD’s Strike team, yet no one by that name or with that face is in any of the documentation that was released by Natasha Romanoff in 2014.”

Tess looked closely at him, then shrugged. “My contacts just give me the names. The thing about mercenaries is that there are some that are exactly what they say they are. Then there are some that aren’t; they’re wanna-be soldiers who pad their resumes just like some of the sad guys who long to be movers and shakers in the business world. Roberts is a bit old to be playing the mercenary game, your ex-boyfriend excluded. He can always claim his record was destroyed when the Triskelion came down.” She dismissed my concern then looked up at me. “Speaking of sad guys, when are you going to put Devlin Horne out of his misery and take him up on his offer of drinks?”

I shut my laptop down and rolled my eyes. The man had been persistent that we should go for drinks. It was beginning to really irritate me. Now Tess was encouraging me to move on? While she went to the ladies' room I stayed to work on some more research. When she returned, she asked if she could make a private call, so I picked up my laptop and left to the sound of her apologizing. As I headed towards the shared office where my desk still was, I heard a commotion from the lobby. There was yelling then I heard the distinctive sounds of gunfire, and I dropped lower to orient myself and hide from the shooter. Bucky had shared with me many times how to survive a workplace shooting and I was surprised to find myself reacting exactly how he had advised. Since escape was impossible, as the lobby was the only exit to the elevators and stairwell, my next option was to hide. As I was right beside my shared office I ducked inside, closed and locked the door then turned off the light. Dropping my laptop on the nearest desk I went to the other side of it and pushed it towards the door, blocking it. Then I went to the next desk and found myself staring into the frightened eyes of Emily, one of our celebrity gossip writers. She was new, starting just a few days ago.

“You okay?” I whispered. She nodded, still terrified. “Stay there, don’t make a sound, no matter what.”

I hid under another desk, scrunched up underneath and pulled the chair in tight. We could hear the gunfire occasionally, then there was a bigger explosion and I wondered if it was a bomb. Someone pulled the fire alarm and for a moment I thought it was a decoy to pull us out of hiding. There was pounding on the door, then the sound of breaking glass, and I could hear the desk being moved.

“Sloan? Are you in here?” It was Devlin, sounding surprisingly calm. “It’s okay, the shooters are down. I pulled the fire alarm to bring the authorities, so we should be okay.”

I pushed the chair out of the way, then started to crawl out. Emily came out as well and that’s when I saw the gun in her hand, pointed at me. Devlin saw it also and if I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it, but he vaulted over the desk that he pushed out of the way and kicked Emily in the shoulder knocking her down enough for her gun to go flying. In one smooth move he pulled a gun out of his waistband and held it to her head.

“Nope,” he said to her. “You’re done, Emily, or should I say, Amelia.” He looked at me. “She’s a contract killer, hired by Excalibur to take you out. This attempt at a random workplace shooting was all to provide a cover for her real target.”

“Me? I’m just the researcher for Tess Murray,” I explained.

“You’re more than that,” said Devlin, as he pulled handcuffs out of another pocket. “Cuff her, tight. I’ve already taken care of Murray.”

As he forced Emily onto her stomach and bring her hands behind her back, I did as he said, then a familiar face walked in, and I slumped back against the desk. Sam Wilson was in his full suit, and he pulled Emily up from the ground, handing her off to a man behind him in a plain tactical suit.

“What the hell is going on?” I was completely confused.

Devlin pressed a button on his neck, revealing his face to be electronically generated. When he peeled it off, I was looking at Clint Barton, retired Avenger. Now I wasn’t just confused, I was also a little angry.

“It’s been you this whole time?”

“Actually, no,” replied Clint. “I mean Devlin was watching you on behalf of SHIELD but when we got an upload of data from Bucky about a month ago that said an attempt might be made on your life and on Tess Murray, Fury decided to pull me in on the mission for extra surveillance. A few days ago, we had a new development and Devlin was put on another assignment so that I could take his place, considering he’s been hitting on you more than guarding you. I was watching both you and Tess Murray, but it became obvious that she wasn’t what she made herself out to be. Then when little Miss Sunshine was tailed to Murray’s penthouse last week, Red Wing picked up a very interesting conversation, about the hit going down today. They were going to make it look like a guy who was revealed to be a child predator in one of the Daily’s news stories come to take his revenge.” He smirked. “Their first plan was to make it look like Bucky killed you and Devlin in a fit of jealousy. Tess noticed he was always asking you out for drinks and thought it made the perfect cover story. It would also keep Bucky captive with Excalibur Security Group, her real employer. She was able to keep track of who got too close to the truth with that company.”

“Why me?” I asked, then another thought hit me. “Wait, Bucky sent you data?”

“Surprised me, too,” said Sam. “He’s been on a deep undercover assignment, so deep he had to burn all of his bridges convincing Excalibur that he was for sale. I only found out when they heard from Bucky again.” His face grew serious. “He called for extraction, but we haven’t been able to find him. So, we’re going to start with Tess Murray and Amelia VanderMas … Emily.”

That’s when I lost it for real, and both Sam and Clint came to me, offering comfort. As they led me out of the office, I grabbed my laptop. If Tess Murray was working for Excalibur Security Group it meant she was feeding me the names herself, burning the identities of those operatives. It was possible some of them weren’t with the group willingly. We just had to find out who. Since I had access to a lot of shared documents as her researcher, I had a place to start. I just hoped they could find Bucky before Excalibur Security Group realized he was undercover.

Bucky

I checked the restraints that held me in the cargo hold of the transport aircraft, figuring they were probably vibranium, designed to keep me confined. It had been a few rough days, that started with the discovery that one of the mercenaries hired as part of the larger contingent, was actually Jack Rollins, former member of SHIELD’s Strike team, and HYDRA operative. Going by the name Jake Roberts, and with a different face, courtesy of extensive plastic surgery, I still couldn’t believe he got the drop on me when he did.

I had just finished my last upload of data to the SHIELD cloud, sending them everything about the plan to invade Wakanda, including the bribe of specific border agents, and diplomats from other countries there on legitimate business. Then I activated my extraction code by speaking the phrase “I want to reclaim my past.” That should have signalled Fury to send in a team to the camp we were in, located in the mountains of the Limpopo Province of South Africa. At the time I was alone, or at least I thought I was, but when I turned around Roberts was there, an evil grin on his face. I hadn’t dealt much with him, but he was always watching me. Now, as he came towards me with a gun, I could smell his aftershave and it all came rushing back where I had smelled it before. Shaking my head, I readied myself to take him down, then he said a word, a single word, ledopad, Russian for icefall, and I couldn’t move a muscle.

“Well, well, well,” he grinned. “If it isn’t the Asset. Didn’t know about the freeze command, did you? Wish I had known before I found it deep in a HYDRA file, a little fail-safe that was programmed into you.” He stood in front of me and spat into my face. “That’s for all of my friends that you hurt when you would have one of your tantrums.”

I tried to work past the paralysis that had frozen me, but I couldn’t, until he grasped my jaw and whispered govorit’, Russian for speak. My jaw loosened, as his spittle dripped off my face.

“I thought you were in the Raft,” I muttered.

“I was, until a well-placed bribe got me out,” he answered. “My skills were appreciated by someone but with my face being known I had to change it. My first assignment was to find out where the others were, but so many were dead or incarcerated, so I was given other work to do, things that HYDRA trained me for. I was lent out to various organizations, a few assassinations here, some bombings there, and acquired a nice nest egg if I ever wanted to retire. But I didn’t because somehow, I knew I would be the one to reel you back in. When you and your bird friend took down the Flag Smashers, I saw an opportunity and helped set up the perfect trap.”

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea.

“I’m going to take you to the next incarnation of HYDRA,” he answered. “Only this time, there won’t be anything left for that Wakandan bitch to fix. You’ll be the Winter Soldier forever and I’ll be your handler.” He leaned in real close, so that his mouth was at my ear. “I bet you remember how I liked it, right?”

If I could have killed him then I would have done it and slept easy for the rest of my life. Rollins always was a bastard, a sick one at that. He had taken advantage of me often, him and Rumlow teaming up against me more than once. The abuse I suffered at their hands took a long time to deal with. I wasn’t about to roll over and let him start up again, so I played along. The word he used to freeze me hadn’t been deactivated but now that he said it in my presence and I remembered it there were ways I could fight against it, ways that Shuri had made possible. It would just take time, some meditation and some luck to get to the point where I had control of that word.

The first thing Rollins did, after our little reunion was give me a tranquilizer, likely an overdose of ketamine which would knock me out long enough for him to carry me out. He did and when I came to in a helicopter in flight, I was restrained by vibranium cuffs on both my wrists and ankles. He looked over at me as we flew.

“My superiors were very pleased that I was able to take you down without damage,” he said. “The cuffs are courtesy of them. It took them a long time to accumulate that metal, but they knew the opportunity to get you away from the Avengers would come and once you were isolated it would be easy enough for one motivated man to capture you.”

I looked at him, wondering if the attack on Wakanda was all a ruse to get me away from the Avengers. He laughed. The man was ugly before and ugly still even with his new face. His laughing face was downright maniacal.

“You’re just seeing it now, aren’t you?” he asked. “Excalibur’s client was HYDRA. They do have plans to take Wakanda, but they’ll wait on them until you’re ready and prepared to obey orders without question. They knew that your reluctance to be an assassin meant you had acquired a conscience in the years you were free. You should have just lied to the Colonel. He knew from the start you were lying about being here for the money and when you destroyed my bug it was just confirmation that you were there under false pretences.”

He received a transmission on his headset and acknowledged it, telling the helicopter pilot to put it down at an airfield where a large transport aircraft was. A couple of burly men came out, one with a firearm and one with a tranquilizer gun. Before I could even try to take them on, I felt the sting of a needle in my neck again, no doubt from another ketamine shot.

Except, the body of a super soldier is a wondrous thing. When a sedative is injected that the body isn’t familiar with it allows the full effects to be felt by the subject. But it remembers that substance and the next time it’s injected the body metabolizes it, almost instantly. I acted like it worked, letting my head loll over to the side, and being a full dead weight as they hauled me out of there and onto the aircraft. During all that time I played a little mind game with myself, succeeding in neutralizing the effects of the Russian word ledopad. When I “awakened” this time, I was in the cargo hold of that aircraft, it was in the air, and I was under the watchful eye of Jack Rollins aka Jake Roberts, and the rest of my “team” all watching me, some with smirks on their faces. Shifting so that I leaned against the fuselage I looked at all of them in turn, remembering their weaknesses during training. They all had them, even Rollins, and now that I was in a confined space with them, I figured I would start taking advantage of those weaknesses, and the strengths of two of them in particular.

“So, where are we going now?” I asked, trying to sound confident. “Let me guess, Siberia. The lab where there is still a working memory processing machine since I destroyed the one in Washington. You do know the one in Siberia took damage when Cap and I took on Ironman there.” I registered some surprise in the eyes of the two I hoped still had a conscience. I focused on Ducharme, speaking to him in French. “Never took you to be a fascist, Henri. An opportunist because of your circumstances, yes, but Roberts here is HYDRA. You remember them. I’m pretty sure you were affected by a HYDRA attack on an office building where your brother was killed. I was in cold storage then. They kept me hidden unless they had a high-profile target. But for run of the mill terror stuff they had plenty of willing men to do their dirty work. Cogsworth, for example. If he hadn’t become a mercenary, killing, looting and raping for money, he would have wasted his life as a soccer hooligan. That’s where he was headed until he was recruited to help burn an orphanage in Rwanda.” Ducharme’s face grew dark, and he glanced at the Englishman Cogsworth, a waste of skin I didn’t want on the team as his only skill was being a bully. “I know you’re only in this because you made a mistake that got you kicked out of the military. Your wife, and your three kids have no idea that this is how you put food on the table. It’s a shame you weren’t given a second chance. I mean, I got one. Look how many people I killed but then I had people who believed I was still worth saving. I believe in you, Henri. It’s not too late.”

By the way Ducharme was breathing I could tell he was wavering. The guy did have a core of decency and I meant it that I believed he was worth saving. But he couldn’t do it alone, so I looked at the lone African on the team. Daniel Nwabi was an orphan, turned into a child soldier by some megalomaniac, then rescued by a group who tried to undo years of abuse, drug addiction, and programming inflicted on those kids, most of whom had no chance. I addressed him in Swahili.

“You’re going to help them enslave me, Daniel? Do you remember how helpless you were under the control of Red Jungle? They filled you with drugs, put a gun in your hand and pointed you towards innocent people, saying they were the reason you were a slave. What would Sister Mercy and Father Thierry think if they could see you now? They believed in you, believed you had a future. But you let your demons convince you otherwise. I know all about the demons, Daniel. 70 years of not being in control, killing who they told me to kill. They beat me, raped me, starved me and I still did what they wanted because I didn’t know any better until someone who cared convinced me there was still a good man inside. I’ve been trying my best since then and I’ve lived a good life. This mission was my way of paying back those who helped me, keeping them safe.”

“Shut up,” said Daniel. “You know nothing about me.”

“But I do. Excalibur keeps a full file on everyone. I’ve seen it all, know it all. They keep it so that you’re dependent on them, but I read it to understand why you were part of this. You’ve been paying back the families of your victims, making it possible for their children to go to school and learn a trade so they can take care of their own families. You stood up to an Excalibur unit to protect them and they gave you a choice to join or watch them die. It’s a noble thing, Daniel. But if you help Roberts take me back to the people who kept me their slave for 70 years, nothing will make up for that because they will unleash me on the world, and no one will be able to stop me. I don’t want that. I like living the life of a free man and I haven’t killed since I became one.”

When he looked sideways at Rollins, I knew I had Daniel on my side. Then I glanced at Henri Ducharme, and he nodded subtly at me. To make this work I had to have either my legs or my arms free. I looked at Rollins next.

“I have to take a piss,” I said.

“Go ahead,” he smirked.

I shrugged. “I just thought for old times' sake you might want a look at it,” I said, licking my lips suggestively. “Maybe even cop a feel. You can keep my hands restrained, just undo one of the ankle ones so I can walk to the head.”

There was a look of disgust on some of the other men’s faces, obviously a little homophobic, although the type of abuse that Rollins and Rumlow gave me was all about control, not sexual desire, but give a guy like that an opening and they’ll take it. I could see the wheels turning and he nodded, then leaned over and unlocked one of my ankle restraints. It was all I needed, and I kicked him in the chest, sending him flying into the fuselage. Henri and Daniel moved as well, taking out the men next to them, hitting them hard enough that they didn’t move after. While Daniel held the others with his gun, Henri unlocked the restraints. I went over to Rollins and picked him up by the collar.

He said ledopad, then his eyes grew wide when I didn’t respond like I did before. Before he could say another word, because there was always another word, I clamped my hand down over his mouth.

“You’re so limited,” I spat. “Where’s your cell phone?”

Even as he shook his head, I saw his eyes drift to his jacket pocket, so I hit him, knocked him out and reached inside for the phone. It needed a thumbprint and I put his thumb on the sensor to open it, then I dialled Fury, hoping the aircraft didn’t have a dampening field on it. When the call didn’t go through, I realized it did which meant I wasn’t being tracked. I looked at Henri and Daniel and made an executive decision.

“Immunity on everything associated with this mission,” I offered. “You tie them up, gag Roberts as well, help out at our destination, and I’ll make sure you receive a reward for helping.”

“Who do you work for?” asked Henri. “I mean you were kicked out of the Avengers.”

“Publicly, with great fanfare,” I smiled. “It was set up that way. I’m still an Avenger. No offence but mercenary isn’t a good career move, especially for men with a conscience. Do we have a deal?”

They looked at each other and nodded. I offered my hand to both of them, shaking on it. Then I grabbed a handgun and went to the cockpit. Aiming a gun at the head of the pilot I coughed. The co-pilot looked back at me, startled.

“If you shoot him, I can’t control the aircraft by myself,” he declared.

I looked over the cockpit and smirked. “Sure, you can,” I said. “I could fly this bucket of bolts. Turn off the dampening field.” They looked at each other and I pressed the gun further into the pilot’s head. “Now.”

The pilot nodded and the co-pilot flicked the switch. I dialled Fury again and this time he picked up on the first ring.

“Where the hell are you?” he asked. “Never mind, we’ve just picked up your signal. You’re flying over restricted airspace, Iran. Where’s your destination?”

I pressed the gun into the pilot’s head again. “Belarus,” he said. “A base in Belarus.”

“You heard that?” I asked. “Wakanda was a decoy although they intended on going back after they turned me back into the Soldier. I have an old friend in back … Rollins.”

“I thought he was in the Raft,” replied Fury, and I could imagine him getting someone right on that inquiry.

“A significant bribe was paid to get him out,” I told him. “Underwent plastic surgery but the asshole still wore the same aftershave. It’s HYDRA, they’re Excalibur’s client. Colonel William Moorehouse was in command of the force, so he’s likely been HYDRA’s boy for a while. How do you want to play this, Fury? I have two friendlies with me that I promised immunity and a reward to.”

“To the end,” he said, not reacting to my announcement of the two friendlies. “I’ll activate the rest of the Avengers and we’ll portal into your destination. They made an attempt on Sloan but she’s okay. Sam and Clint know the truth as I read them in. I’ll read the rest in, and we’ll track you. Keep the signal going and good work, Barnes.”

I felt a presence behind me and turned slightly, without letting my eyes off of the pilots, as I placed the phone in my pocket.

“They’re all tied up back there,” said Henri. “What’s next?”

“Keep an eye on these two until I get back,” I said. “Don’t let them flip that switch and don’t let them call for help. I really do have to go to the bathroom. We’re going to Belarus and we’re taking on a base there. You and Daniel are with me, but we’ll have to get you something distinctive to wear, so the Avengers don’t shoot you as hostile.” I turned to let Henri take my place then I stopped. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for reminding me why I resisted being a mercenary for so long,” he said. “I was desperate but not for this.”

“Well, SHIELD is always looking for a few good men,” I answered, sincere.

He grinned and I left him to guard the pilots while I relieved myself. On the way out I saw a couple of safety vests. They were different enough that my two new friends wouldn’t be mistaken for the Excalibur or HYDRA soldiers. We just had to find out what was at this base in Belarus before I could officially believe this mission was over. Then I had another job to do. I had to make up with my friends and with Sloan, and hope that I could make it right with them.

Part 4

Short Fiction Masterlist

Series Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #clint barton #hydra #jack rollins #past trauma #buckybarnesshortfic #bucky barnes short fiction

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saiyanprincessswanie · 2 years

Text

Pairings: Steve x OFC, Billy x OFC

Summary: Jessie confides in Bucky and Steve about Billy raising a hand to her. With the support of Bucky and Steve, she decides to ask Billy to leave the house for her safety. What she doesn’t know is that a storm is brewing.

Word Count: 2645

Warnings: Protective Steve & Bucky, Talks of past and present abuse briefly, Angst, Billy plotting

A/N: Mood-board by me and dividers by @whimsicalrogers

A/N 2: Thank you to @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @pigwidgeonxo for beta reading for me. (any mistakes on spelling & grammar are my own)

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. Even if you leave an emoji you will make my day. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. If you see my work anywhere else besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts then it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

Jessie was waiting in her living room when she heard the familiar sound of motorcycles. She got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen to see who else had shown up. Outside Steve, Bucky, Clint, and Thor pulled into her driveway. Great, Jessie thought as she saw them. This wasn’t going to go well. Bucky and Steve got off their bikes to head inside while the other two leaned against their bikes.

Steve knocked on the door and Jessie opened it for them. She then headed to the living room without saying a word and both men followed her. Once she sat on a chair both men sat across from her on the couch. Both of them were wearing their biker cuts, jeans, and boots. Jessie stared at Steve for a moment as she took in his features.

“So what seems to be the issue? You sounded upset on the phone.” Steve asked gently.

At first, Jessie seemed to just stare between them both and then looked away. Taking a deep breath she responded, “Promise me you won’t do anything dumb. You can be angry but don’t be stupid. The last thing I need is you both going back to jail over this.”

“Sis, whatever it is you can share it with us. We won’t do anything dumb, right Steve?” Bucky looked to his best friend who nodded in agreement.

Steve remembered his conversation earlier with Winnie. There was no way he was going back to jail. “Promise doll, so what has happened?” Steve inquired.

Biting her bottom lip she took a steady breath. “Billy knows about our bike ride, Steve. Not about the kiss thankfully but he saw us riding around together. When we got home he was mad. He-He grabbed my arms and shoved me into the kitchen wall. He was already mad that I had an earlier slip and called him Steve. Don’t ask me about that. Then he called me a biker whore and was mad about the bank account switch I made. When I tried to explain myself he…” Jessie froze up.

Steve tried to control his temper but didn’t like where this was going. “He what?”

“He hit me across the face and said he knew I was lying to him. That we didn’t just go to the bank and back home. Billy asked if I whored myself out to you Steve. Which of course, wasn’t what happened. I don’t know what to do anymore. Right now I don’t feel safe with him in the house.” She looked at both men who were fuming now.

“I wish I could punch him in the face,” Bucky stated as he got up, walked over to his sister, and pulled her up into a gentle hug. “He won’t ever hurt you again, I promise. I will not allow this to happen while I’m around.” Bucky held her as she started to tear up.

Steve stepped towards them both and offered a friendly smile. “I need to know something though, is this the first time he struck you?”

“No, it’s not. He only ever does it when he is really angry at me. So maybe a couple of dozen times. I’m not sure exactly how many times.” Jessie looked embarrassed admitting the truth.

Steve nodded his head and dropped the subject. “I’m with Bucky, this will never happen again. Now that we are around more we will have your back.”

“Thank you both. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She hugged her brother tighter.

“Let’s not find out. So what do you want to do? Do you want him to leave the house or do you want to pack a bag and go to ma’s house?” Bucky asked her delicately.

Jessie pulled away from both men and started to contemplate her decisions. Technically this was her house that she bought many years ago. With her brother and Steve by her side, she could easily tell Billy to leave but then she would feel vulnerable and alone.

“If we tell Billy to leave, can someone stay here with me?” Jessie asked while her hand’s fidgeted. This was a big step for her and she never thought she would be brave enough to do this. Even though Billy had slapped her multiple times over the years she always made excuses for him. Today she realized she was acting like Becca, making excuses for being hit. Billy only lashed out when he was furious but that was no excuse. No one has the right to lay hands on anyone.

“I’ll stay if you want,” Steve replied. “That’s if you’re okay with it. I can take the spare room.”

Bucky watched them both with a big smile. They were truly meant to be and this may be a step in the right direction.

Jessie thought about Steve’s offer. “That’s fine with me. But we need to tell Billy first. I would like to go to the Sheriff's office since he won’t be able to start anything there. Plus Frank can come out to supervise.”

“Smart idea Jessie. Let’s drive her truck there so the good ole sheriff doesn’t get his panties in a bunch.” Bucky jokes, making the other two chuckle.

“Let me call Frank and explain what’s going on before we get there. He’s been a great friend to me and helped you both get out.” Jessie added as she grabbed her phone out of her pocket and called Frank's cell.

A half-hour later they arrived at the Sheriff's office. Jessie texted both Frank and Billy to come outside. Now was the time to be brave and strong like she used to be. Billy strolled outside with a frown on his face followed by Frank. Behind Jessie stood Bucky and Steve. Billy knew this wasn’t going to be good.

Billy stopped a few feet from Jessie. “So what is this about? Hmmm? Couldn’t this have waited until I got off tonight?”

Jessie’s hands shook a little but she swallowed down her fears since she had a support system with her. “I don’t want you to come back to my home.”

Billy narrowed his eyes at her. “What is this about? That is our home and I have every right to be there.”

“N-No, it’s my home. I bought it myself almost a decade ago. You moved in last year. You know exactly what this is about. What happened earlier in my home is never going to happen again. I brought you an overnight bag.” Jessie reached behind her, picked it up, and dropped it at his feet. Frank has already said you can stay with him until you find your own place.”

“This is absurd, sweetheart. We had a misunderstanding that can be fixed if we talk things out like adults…”

“I’m done, Billy. This is me taking a stand and saying we are over.” Jessie pulled off the engagement ring and placed it on his bag. “You have tomorrow off as I recall so you can come over to pack your personal belongings then. I won’t be home but I expect you to be out by supper time.”

Billy was fuming but managed to keep his anger in check. “Fine, if that’s what you want. Though are you sure those criminals didn’t make you do this?” Billy pointed his finger at both Steve and Bucky.

“Bill, don't do this. She has clearly made her decision.” Frank chimed in. He knew his boss had a temper on him and he was trying to keep the peace with his presence.

“Look Sheriff, my sister came to this decision on her own. She doesn’t owe you an explanation. She said she’s done with you so that’s that.” Bucky stood next to his sister now and watched him with clenched fists at his side.

“Sheriff please do what she said. I’d hate to see this dragged out in public.” Steve said as he also took a step to be by her side. Oh, how he wishes he could kick Billy’s ass.

“Yes, I’m sure you would hate that.” Billy sarcastically replied. Taking another step towards the three of them he spoke just soft enough for them to hear. “If this is what you want, fine. Have fun explaining to Ben why I’m not around anymore. That kid will be crushed.” He locked eyes with Jessie. “After all, I have done for you over five years. This is the thanks I get. Stab the nice guy in the back so you can play biker whore again.”

Just as Steve took a step forward Billy backed away with his hands in the air. Billy reached down, grabbed the ring and bag then stormed off. Frank looked at the three of them and apologized to them before he went inside the building.

Once they disappeared Bucky, Steve and Jessie got into the truck and left heading back to her house.

Arriving at the house both men left Jessie at the house with Clint and Thor who was still standing guard while they took her truck to go get Steve’s stuff. To say she was nervous about confronting Billy was an understatement. If it wasn’t for Steve and Bucky being by her side she never would have talked to Billy like that. It was good she was finally taking a stand not just for herself but for her son as well. She refused to let her son grow up in that type of environment. Thankfully Ben had never witnessed her being slapped by Billy. Ben deserved to grow up in a safe home where he knows nothing but love and stability. Jessie was determined to give her son just that.

Jessie sat on the couch and thought about what tomorrow would bring. Thankfully when Billy comes to get his stuff tomorrow it would be a quick move as he left his furniture in storage. It shouldn’t take more than one or two hours for him to grab everything. Then of course she would have to let Ben know that she broke up with Billy. She knew this part would break her son's heart but maybe it won’t be so bad now that Steve was around more. Once she gets past this everything would be alright. It’s not like the Sheriff would do anything dumb in his position. Maybe eventually they could be friends again in time. They had always been great friends just not good together in a relationship.

Lost in her thought she heard the faint sound of a motorcycle. Jessie got off the couch to see who else showed up. Looking out the window in the kitchen she saw the familiar face of Jack Rollins who was Brock’s, right-hand man. This man was no good and was always looking for trouble. He sat on his bike talking to Thor and Clint who stood side by side in defense. Whatever was being said she could see Jack was furious. She went over to the door and opened it just as Jack sped off. Both men turned around at her and gave her a small smile.

“What was that about?” Jessie asked as both men exchanged looks.

“Nothing to worry about. He was just lost.” Thor explained while Clint nodded his head.

“Lost?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jessie. Why don’t you go inside and rest before Steve and Bucky get back?” Clint answered, trying to steer away from the conversation with Jack

Jessie nodded and went back into the house. Something wasn’t right and she knew they wouldn’t give her an answer. It was best to wait and see what they told Steve. At least she knew Steve couldn’t lie to her.

Steve and Bucky were back at Jessie’s within the hour. As they pulled up they saw Thor and Clint silently talking to each other. Steve was the first to approach the two men. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky joined the three men and could sense something was off. “What happened? Is Jessie okay?”

Clint nodded his head. “Yeah, she is fine. But we may have a problem. Jack Rollins came sniffing around here saying he was looking for Steve.”

“Did he say what he wanted with me?” Steve was pissed off knowing one of the Hydra club members came into their town.

“Just that he wanted to talk with you but I don’t believe him.” Clint folded his arms in front of him.

“I don’t like the sound of this. What are the odds he comes sniffing around out of the blue?” Bucky questioned looking at the other men.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Steve stated as he looked up at the house. “We need to keep Jessie and Ben safe until we figure this out.” The four men agreed and nodded.

“So what is the plan?” Thor asked.

“Well, I’m staying here, for now, to keep her safe at night. But with Bucky and I going back to work tomorrow I want someone watching her at all times during the day. That way no one tries anything dumb.” Steve explained, a part of him was nervous about someone trying something dumb. Whether it is Jack or Billy they were both dangerous men.

Bucky chimed in, “We should also talk with Frank in private. Maybe he can keep an eye on Billy for us.”

“That’s a good idea Buck. Clint and Thor reach out to the other club members tonight and let them know what we talked about. I’m gonna go inside before she starts to worry.” Steve could see Jessie looking out the kitchen window every couple of minutes.

“You go ahead, but Steve? You better keep my baby sister from harm. That also goes towards anyone that watches her. If she gets hurt you will have to deal with me.” Bucky threatened Thor, Clint, and Steve. He would be damned if she got physically harmed again.

“Got it, boss.” Clint and Thor replied.

Steve smiled at his friend. “Got it jerk.” He turned on his heel and headed inside with his bag. As soon as he locked the door he could hear the engines rev and he watched them eventually pull away.

As Steve spun back around with his bag he saw Jessie in the kitchen with her arms wrapped around her torso, biting her lip.

“Is everything okay, Steve?” She softly asked.

“Why don’t you show me to the spare room and then I can catch you up on what we talked about outside.”

Jessie smiled and headed up the stairs. Thankfully Steve kept his word and told her everything that evening.

Billy sat in silence in his office fuming over the news that the stupid biker club was watching the house. He was even told Steve was staying the night. How dare she bring him into her house so quickly again. Maybe once a biker whore always a biker whore. He was now regretting losing his cool and hitting her, though a part of him thought he didn’t drive his point hard enough with her.

No matter if the wheels were in motion still for Jack to handle Steve and then he could swoop in to be a hero when Hydra comes for her. He was going to get her and Ben back in his life by any means necessary.

For now, he has to play his cards close to the chest while he stays with the noble Frank Castle. Nothing good would come around if Frank knew his secret. No Billy would be a dead man if Frank found out what truly happened to his family.

tags:

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@fictional-affairs

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@nekoannie-chan

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@reneeenders

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@wolfsmom1

@what-is-your-plan-today

@writercole

@missvelvetsstuff

#saiyanprincessswanie #missy writes #chrome & leather #chrome and leather #steve rogers x ofc #billy russo x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #billy russo x original female character #steve rogers fanfiction #Billy Russo x fanfiction #steve rogers au #billy russo au #biker au #biker! steve rogers

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delusion-of-negation · 1 year

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so the blog from this post blocked me from what I can see, sad

they have a myriad of other posts on the topic, some of which I found more points I wanted to refute, here's some notable ones

and here's a few particularly relevant/incorrect quotes in those

"Parents have total legal and environmental control over their children. The actions of a child are the parent’s responsibility."

"You can not create a situation where a child is totally dependent on a parent for help, and then blame the child when they need help that they’re not getting."

"You cannot be a parent and blame a mentally ill child that you are not helping for their mental illness and accuse that child of abusing you"

"If a child who is a minor is violent toward their parent it is the result of mental illness, abuse, or neglect– and it is the parent’s literal job to rectify any of these problems."

"If a child is mentally ill and violent whose responsibility is to to help them??"

"Get the fuck off our blog if you think there’s some reason besides abuse, neglect or mental illness that a child who is a minor would “abuse” their parents."

"There is simply no ethical way to frame any violent actions of a person against someone who has total control over them and their environment as ‘abuse’ no matter the circumstances."

so, have you found the issue? they think abuse = bad person, an action taken purely because you're evil, no sway from the world, including the victim, has made you do this. and they think that I essentially said "children can just be demons who want to harm because they're demons :)" when what I actually said was that a situation absolutely can arise when a minor child has power (for example, having drugged a parent, having a very immobile and severely disabled parent, etc) and a situation where a minor has beaten, raped, abused, etc doesn't mean that they didn't do the thing they did, just because the adult had power or was partially accountable in allowing the child to get to that point. that it was definitely rare, but these situations and outliers and weird cases beyond generic assumptions based on what we see on paper do happen. and the kicker is that I don't view "abuse" as being just synonymous with "entirely to blame", I think every abuser would ultimately not be doing it if you changed things, environment, a mental health issue, radicalisation, etc, they're all ultimately just made into abusers, they aren't wretched cursed souls. so when I explain that leaving an immobile parent in their own shit to go in your friend's van and smoke weed is neglect, I'm not saying that there's anything evil in the kid, I'm not saying the victim couldn't change the outcome, I'm not saying any of the words these little explosions from this blog put in their detractors' mouths, that's because I'm using abuse to mean fucking abuse. that's it. some nonsensical strings you've attached about deserving blame are genuinely not my job to account for. minors can be abusive, and blaming parents for failing to save the minor from themself isn't actually an invalidation of the fact that an abusive action and/or repeated pattern took place. I'm not talking about an autistic kid swinging their arms around, everyone has made it clear we only actually mean drugging and raping, murdering in cold blood, or situations of that level. anons (not me, I don't send asks on anon because personal reasons) have explained this to you. the idea a parent takes full responsibility if they're raped, because they got birthed into a system that limits the power of children is absurd.

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menalez · 1 year

Note

anyways what other lesbian media do you like/rec besides the yuri? any good books, tv, etc?

omg blue is the warmest colour the graphic novel is AMAZINGGGGG i read it when i was first coming out and i bawled omg.

the book the color purple is amazing but it’s very sad & triggering. but if you’re a lesbian who can handle reading books with themes of rape & SA.. i’d recommend reading this book bc just wow. ahead of it’s time & it still continues to be unique decades later.

movies, honestly i also liked the blue is the warmest colour movie but the sex scenes caught me off-guard and go on for a very long time 😭 the male director fucked it up by being a creep bc the movie itself is nice tho the ending is v sad (novel ending is better imo). but i’m a cheerleader is a classic. the handmaiden was amazing. i LOVE i care a lot and how it represents lesbians in a diff way (like the romance isnt the central aspect of it & theyre not lesbians first & foremost. they’re complex women who happen to be lesbians). gia is amazing & based on a true story. badhaai do is a cutsey funny bollywood film about a lavender marriage & depicts lesbians decently too.

my fave media to consume is tv series so! i have a lot of those. the l word is ofc a classic. cheesy & unrealistic & downright ridiculous at many points but it’s memorable and sticks with u. the 100 was hated on for how they dealt with lesbian representation but honestly i liked it overall, just don’t expect a happy ending rly. atypical is cute but there are 0 lesbians just bi women. i loved ratched!!!!! and also the 7 lives of lea. orphan black. the haunting of bly manor. GENTLEMAN JACK OFC!!!! wentworth is amazing. killing eve too. jane the virgin is very cute and the lesbians in it are so dramatic it’s funny. skins is a classic. locked up is also good but major tw, it’s filled with rape and abuse in such an extreme way that i really struggled to watch it. but an actual lesbian plays a lesbian character and she’s amazing

i recommend to not waste ur time on the film “room in rome”. i see it a lot on lesbian film lists and it’s one of the worst ever. they’re literally in a room just talking the whole time and it’s weird bc it’s this hetero woman with a boyfriend and lesbian with a girlfriend and it just gets weird. and they say weird shit about some saudi guy but it’s like weird bc his name translates to donkeys in arabic. it’s just bad. that’s my anti-recommendation. it’s a bad bad movie. the het woman even pressures the lesbian into penetrating her with a glass bottle bc “i’m straight i love penetration”

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly.

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water.

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?”

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive.

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness.

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout.

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

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