#ive been making sims from other games for shits and giggles

[bluupxels]

if you see me reblogging stuff on my cc finds blog mind ur business

[bitchassbucky]

.zip

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, gaslighting and manipulation, abduction, injuries were mentioned, stalking, dark!bucky x dark!reader, emotionally/mentally unstable!reader, dismemberment (not gore-y but still), three very special character mentions, shady corporate stuff, career sabotage?, food mention, sedation/drugging, f-words.

A/N: oh my god, this is the final chapter of CTRL. to all who read from the start, thank y'all so fucking much - from the bottom of my big-ass heart, thank you so much for coming along with this journey. this is my first FINISHED series, oh my god. to @babyboibucky (CTRL's number one fan), @sarge-barnes-sir, and @borikenlove thank you so much for indulging my inner degenerate GHJSDFG and for screaming (affectionately) at me when i first let y'all read the finished draft.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END (just yet), i will be uploading TWO epilogues very soon: the explicit version and the not-so-explicit version. stay tuned!

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

epilogue:

.eps (explicit)

.eps (cut)

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Your demeanor, character, even tone, changed.

Calculated, cold, unnerving.

But you sat there like a housewife in front of her husband, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Acting all dandy like there isn’t a man strapped onto the chair four feet away from you.

“C’mon, darling, eat! I made your favorite,” your eyes twinkled as Bucky helplessly tugged on his restraints, “oh, sorry, you’re tied up.”

Hm, sick in the head, bad for the heart.

“What do you want?” Oh, wow, even talking hurts for him. His throat is all dried up, he tasted something bitter under his tongue.

You chuckled, moving half a meatball around your mostly empty plate, “for you to stop treating me like I’m stupid.” You spear the meat with your fork, swirling it in the sauce, “I know you’ve been… checking in on me, Bucky.”

Oh, fuck.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was-- I mean, look at you--” He’s making it worse. You’re mad. You’re angry because he was being a good friend.

He only did that because you were lonely and he’s right: you are lonely.

So lonely that you’re willing to kidnap a grown man to keep you company, “I’m so sad for you.”

“You’re aware you’re the one’s been tied up, right?” You’re curt as you should be, scooting over near Bucky to feed him.

“I can’t eat that—” If he wasn’t sitting down and tied, Bucky would’ve vaulted over you and called the neighbors, she’s fucking crazy!

You giggled, rolling your eyes as if he had the freedom to make a choice right now, “if you’re thinking of screaming… More than half of my neighbors are felons or on parole, I doubt that they’ll call 911.”

Jutting forward the fork, you let the prongs gently touch Bucky’s lips, “now, eat! We have so much to talk about.”

“No. I don’t-- I’m not hungry.” He shakes his head, the fork hitting his chin and clanking down the floor.

“Just eat the fucking food, Steve!”

Bucky flinched at your sudden outburst. The words—the name—seeping in a moment later. Steve? Who the hell is Steve? Was he your husband? Boyfriend? His head throbbed again, his mouth filling with saliva like he’s about to throw up.

You kneel down, pulling a napkin from the table to wipe the meat and the sauce from the floor.

“This better not stain.”

—

He promised thrice.

Once over pasta and meatballs, once over dessert, and once when you were clearing the table.

You relented, of course. Half because you love him and half because it’s getting annoying.

“As long as you don’t leave me, okay?”

“Yes, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Bucky’s still seating on the dinner chair, slightly slumped without the ropes holding him up, “look, I’m really sorry about the anesthetic, I went overboard with it.” You look over to him—at least he’s regaining his fingers and arms again.

“It’s okay, babe, I wouldn’t trust me either.” If he could stand up, he’d go over and hug you. Helping with the dishes, peppering you with sweet kisses.

A genuine laugh slips out of your lips, “ugh, still… I’m really sorry.”

The last of the plates were neatly stacked, cups and cutleries were placed gently on a drying rack. It was getting late, you could tell.

“I’m not mad, by the way.” You muse, prompting Bucky to lean forward, listening to you.

“What do you mean?” He takes your hand into his, ever so gently.

“You did that,” you squeeze his hand back, gazing into his soulful eyes, “because you love me.”

Did you know that some people could read microexpressions well? Bucky went through a whole lot of them before answering, “of course, I do.”

Contemplating whether you call him out on it or not, you hum, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, “it’s okay, you’ll learn how to love me.”

He has to. He has no other choice.

Bucky clears his throat, “have you seen my phone?” His tone was hopeful, upbeat, maybe he can reach out to someone, anyone, before you can do any more damage.

“Yeah, ‘s on the couch.”

He tried to move, he really did. Bucky’s fairly strong, he can bench an easy 140 on a good day. But even the beefiest motherfuckers have no match for Propofol.

“Don’t worry about your friends, they’re not worried about you, Buck.” The coolness of your tone sends Bucky into a panic—again. “D’you wanna check your messages though? There’s a lot of ‘em.”

Grabbing his phone, you asked Siri to read him his latest notifications.

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

From Joaquin: Where are you, man?

From John W.: Do you have copies?

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

Urgent: Gross Misconduct

From Joaquin: Bucky, what the fuck?

From Samuel Wilson: Pick up the phone, Barnes. You’re fired.

17 missed calls from an unknown number

From John W.: I knew you were a freak but holy shit, dude!

72 text messages from an unknown number

Bucky never really liked horror movies. It made him jumpy and anxious. Too paranoid, even. But now? Now he’s sure that people have never experienced sheer fright before.

His toes cramped inside his boots, his feet were cold, sweating. The little hairs on his legs stood up, goosebumps littering the entirety of his body. If he held his breath, he’s sure he could hear his heart hammering out of his chest. The blood rushes past his ears and onto the base of his skull—he’s gonna be sick.

“What,” he gulped back the saliva pooling in his mouth, “what did you do?”

You’re irritatingly calm, “well, I mean… We’re already together, what do you need those for, right?”

Putting a warm hand over his forehead, you cooed, “poor thing, you look sick.”

—

Bucky thinks it’s well past midnight when the anesthetic wore off.

His limbs were heavy, he had to lean on the wall every couple of steps to regain his balance. Helpless. He’s helpless and you both know it. As if it’s a bear trap, Bucky carefully took his phone from the coffee table.

Why would you leave it unattended?

The screen lights up as soon as he picked up, his lock screen littered with ‘fuck yous’, ‘sicko’, and his personal favorite, ‘motherfucker.’

Ignoring the glaring messages, he went straight for the emergency dialler and—you took out his SIM card, snapping it into two neat pieces, placing it beside the phone.

Bitch.

The golden surface of the card was scratched too, he can’t do anything, use it as a toothpick, maybe? His phone was just as good as a paperweight.

He looks out of the window, limping towards it. Even if he could climb over, it would take him forever to get onto the street. Your neighbors would probably think that he’s just on a bad trip.

“It’s bolted shut. Perks of living alone as a single female.” Your voice made him flinch back, like a kid whose hand was halfway down the cookie jar.

Bucky plays it off with a cough, he can’t be weak now, “no, babe, I was checking out a noise. You ready for bed?”

You smiled softly, taking his hand and draping his arm on your shoulders as you prop him against you, “almost, big guy. Gotta get you settled in bed first. Are you tired?”

Nodding, Bucky kisses your temple, “yeah.” He just needs to play with your sick little games until he regains his strength.

Where would he go? His reputation and his job are besmirched, his apartment is probably crawling with forensics too.

“You fell down and banged your head earlier. Nasty cut on your head too. I told you to not tire yourself much.”

You hit and drugged me but I digress, “Yes, darling. ‘M sorry.”

“You scared me, Buck. I thought you were dead.” Are these tears forming in your eyes?

“I’m not leaving you, not by any chance. I promise.”

He promises a fourth time.

—

Your bedroom was bigger than he thought. But of course, he only saw your desk and your bed through the webcam.

Save from the Ted Bundy-esque corkboard you have in front of your workspace, he feels weirdly at home. You tucked him in, reminding him to wake up every two hours for the painkillers.

“You’re not going to bed?” He muses from behind you, all cocooned in your blankets.

“Just need to take this phone call real quick, babe.” Your back was turned from him as you work on your company laptop. He noticed that the webcam is covered with white tape.

The sound of an incoming call filled the room before you quickly answer it, your voice turning hoarse and raspy as if you’ve been crying.

Hi, Mr. Wilson. I’m so sorry for the late call. Do I- do I need to come in tomorrow? I just... I don’t feel comfortable facing everyone—I used all my home hours this week and—

Miss L/N, I’m glad you reached out to me. Is it okay if I record this call for security purposes? It’s just for you, me, and the HR department.

You turned to Bucky, your face is stone-cold but your voice belonged to someone so utterly helpless.

No, you don’t have to call into work tomorrow… Or any other day.

A dainty gasp and a fucking sob comes out of your mouth, your eyes were telling a different story.

Am I fired?

God, no. Please, Miss L/N, don’t worry about that. We want you with us through this entire debacle. We want you to take some time off—paid. We’ll also grant you… a grievance package.

You could almost hear what he would say next.

As long as you don’t talk to any members of the press or any journalists until our friends in the PR department can clean this up.

A triumphant smile creeps on your bare features, putting a finger in front of your lips, you mimic a ‘shh’ gesture to Bucky.

You round up another mirthless sob as the CEO drones on about the bureaucracy of this whole thing.

He was really nice to me, you know? He took me out on dinners and lunches. He even brought me to his place and I– nothing happened but I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m really sorry, Miss L/N. I thought he was…

A good guy? I really thought so too.

Please stay offline for a bit, just for the weekend, alright? Someone from the HR department will be in touch with you for the process. We don’t wanna be a hassle more than what Barnes is. On our behalf, please accept our deepest apologies.

Jesus, this guy had the PR department cook up an apology letter.

Thank you—thank you so much, Mr. Wilson. I’ll keep in touch.

You burst out in laughter a second after the call ended. Hearty laughter, the one where you can feel your belly tightening.

“Did you hear how good I was, baby? Oh my god, we had them fooled.”

We? Fuck your ‘we.’

You slide over the covers, propping up yourself with your elbow as you turn to face Bucky, “don’t worry, you don’t need them anymore. You have me, yeah? We have each other.”

—

Out of the most bizarre things that happened to him last week, finding dismembered fingers in the fridge was the least of his concerns.

“Honey!” Bucky calls out, holding the ziplock bag with a pair of tongs.

You bound down the stairs, your laptop in hand as you squint, “what am I looking at?”

Bucky hesitated, maybe he’s going insane too, “fingers. Dismembered fingers—are these yours?”

Setting down the laptop onto the table, you peck him on the cheek, smiling as if him holding a baggie with human remains is just your Sunday normal, “god, I hope not. I need my hands to do things.”

As soon as you look back at him, you dropped the facade: “those are Steve’s. Well, used to be.”

Bucky’s afraid to ask the question where’s the rest of him?

“You know the term pinky promise, right? Well, it has a dark origin.”

Just as fast as a bustling train, Bucky rakes his brain for all the times he promised you something. Hoping that he won’t end up with a stump for a hand.

One vividly bright memory is seared into his brain though, the days blurred together with sharp edges and mismatched colors: we love how we were taught to love.

So, who taught you how to love like this?

[skeletonwoman]

Ghost Bar (Scott Summers)

i don’t rly like scott summers??? but i liked writing this???

The man before you winces, his words stuttering to a stop and your head tilts curiously. He had been hitting on you- crass, disgusting and filthy gross style, but now he’s gone silent and you’re suddenly enraptured.

“Uh- bye.” He blurts, turning tail and darting away hurriedly. You glance around you, the puzzle new and exciting. What made this embarrassment run? Your grouchy face? The ghost in the room who haunts creepers? Maybe the bartender has a knife.

Your gaze moves from one person to the next, none of them a cute hero gallantly smiling at you or a lovely woman beaming that her threatening movements had paid off.

All you can see is the skeeze down the end of the bar- let’s not get into it, and the bartender who is serving him, and the dark-haired weirdo with the sunglasses on like he’s some kind of celebrity.

Shrugging, you order your drink, as you’d originally planned, and watch the ball game up on the wall.

Maybe this place isn’t so bad.

Maybe there is ghost who shuts down creepers. A creeper hunting creepers.

You snicker softly to your drink, delighted by the idea. If there can be mutants, why can’t there be kind hearted ghosts?

Dara, Penelope and Lena eye the room distastefully but sink into the leather seats all the same and smile at you. That’s what friendship is. Sitting in gross bars cause your friend likes the ghost that inhabits the place.

Up at the bar is Sunglasses Celebrity and the gross old man- whose gaze is glued to Dara’s crop, or the edges of it at least.

“Tell me again,” Penelope sighs, taking a long swallow of her cosmo and you sigh.

“A creep wouldn’t leave me alone and then suddenly it was like something scared him away. Since no one took the credit and no one looked like the culprit, I assume it was a ghost and since ive confirmed there’s ghost here, I like the place.” You say, stirring your drink absently and Lena coos excitedly, the same sound she’s made every time you tell any ghost story ever.

“I like it. It’s close to all our places and it’s not super busy or super gross.” She agrees and you blow her a kiss.

“I agree, the bartender also actually seems to be a good bartender. This?” Penelope holds up her drink and you wrinkle your nose at the concoction. “Almost as good as when I do it.”

Your gaze scans the room again, briefly catching on Sunglasses Celebrity’s sunglasses.

Red, huh?

Then he’s turning away and you’re being redrawn into the conversation.

“When’re you guys getting here?” You pace before the stairs. The night air is freezing but you’re not sure you’re ready to go into the bar just yet.

“Ten minutes, max. Get the booth.”

“Yesss- Sure.” You say, darting up the steps. Dara rattles off the plan for the night as you hold the door handle, distracted by her words, when a cough behind you draws your attention.

Sunglasses Celebrity stands behind you, his mussed dark hair slightly damp from the mist and his cheeks flushed. Sunglasses Celebrity is hot.

“Dibs.” You say absently, caught up in the moment as your eyes slow motion trail down his body, a slow tease.

It’s mostly hidden by a hoodie and loose jeans, but he’s clearly not out of shape. He looks so perfectly, gorgeously regular.

When your eyes finally and lazily return to his face, he’s smiling and blushing, waiting.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You gasp, bouncing down the steps around out of his way, the warmth radiating off your face enough to burn an egg.

“All good.” He says and your stomach disappears, his voice like perfectly warm honey. You want to taste his tongue, see if the honey sounding words leave a trace.

“So dibs.” You whisper as he slips past you, his ass fine as hell in those jeans.

You hear his chuckle and debate whether to push the advantage and LARP a Sims romance, or just keel over and disappear into the pavement.

Dara has long hung up so you shove your phone into your pocket and follow Sunglasses Celebrity through the door, a shiver passing down your spine at the sudden warmth.

The sight of him, curved over the bar brings all your inhibitions into focus and instead you slink over to your booth to wait.

Twelve of Penelopes poison drinks and three shots of tequila later and you’re being shoved toward the bar by three giggling girls.

“Shh! Shh!” They hiss together, shushing each other so loudly they’re drawing the eyes of the previously making out couple across the room.

Swaying, you capture the edge of the bar in your hands and inhale a steadying breath. Beside you, Sunglasses Celebrity is watching you sideways and you can feel yourself being judged.

“Hello.” You say, trying to be suave as you settle onto the stool beside his, only to slip off and stumble. He doesn’t move to help you and you narrow your eyes on him.

“Hey.” He answers after a few long moments of silent staring and you brighten.

“Hi!” You chirp, swaying to the quiet Rage Against The Machine coming from the jukebox in the corner.

“Can I help you?”

Blinking, you remember the entire point of coming over here. “Yes. To a bed. Naked- without your clothes please.”

Loud cackles start up across the room and his shoulders tighten some. Waving down the bartender his whispers something to him and jerks a thumb at you. Seconds later, a clear glass lands on the bar before you.

“Water. Drink up.” Sunglasses Celebrity orders, pushing it toward you and you take a deep swallow, sighing in contentment at the cool liquid.

“Thanks Essee,” you say, drinking again and you see a wrinkle form on his forehead, a hint of raised eyebrows behind the sunglasses. “S C. Sunglasses Celebrity. Essee.”

“Oh.” He smirks and you clamber onto the stool beside him, your buzz disappearing with every sip. “Why?”

“You wear sunglasses like you’re a celebrity.” You explain eloquently and he laughs. “I like your laugh.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Oh, okay, your ass is fine.”

“Uh-” he says with a frown, shaking off his confusion and leaning closer to you. “Your ass is fine too.”

“I like your messy hair.”

“I like your lips.”

“Your forehead wrinkle is adorable.”

“Your eyes are amazing, even all red.”

“Your backhand is impressive.”

“Yours is better.” He laughs and you beam, gazing at him for a long moment. “I’m Scott.”

“Your name is sexy.”

“I bet yours is better, tell it to me?”

“Y/N.” You say instantly, a yawn chasing the word and you blink hard. He peeks over his shoulder toward your friends who each have their chin in their hand and their elbow on the back of the booth seat as they watch.

“You should get some rest, hey, Y/N?” He says, his gaze still on your friends and you feel yourself wither. He thinks one of them is prettier. And you’re just the dumb drunk girl. Amazing.

“Yeah, sorry to bother you,” you mumble and his head jerks back toward you as you slip from the stool.

“Wan- Uh-” He pats his pockets as you wave to the three in the booth, a call to retreat and they hurriedly gather their things. You’re not looking as he flags down the bartender, anxiously glancing between the two of you.

A soft touch at your elbow draws your gaze and Dara links your arms, guiding you toward the door.

“Shit.” Someone snaps in the bar, sounding suspiciously like SC but who cares.

Drunk girl? Out.

“Oh, no, he didn’t like me.” You shrug, swinging the door open and letting the three girls slip past you.

“Then why are we back?”

You scowl at Lenas scepticism and lead them toward your claimed booth, waving at the bartender. He starts on your drinks and you note that gross old man and Sunglasses Celebrity are still here. Probably a good thing you didn’t hook up with him, he looks like an alcoholic.

“This is Ghost Bar, girls. Our bar. I’m not gonna lose amazing Ghost Bar over a fleeting moment of embarrassment,” you explain, dropping your bag onto the seat beside Penelope and spearing them all with a look. 

Turning on your heel, you let the pride in their eyes buffer you to the bar and possibly more rejection and embarrassment.

Your fingers close around the serving tray as he speaks up and you have to force yourself to let go, lest you drop all the drinks.

“I wanted to give you my number,” he says and all that gathered up pride flies off in the wind. “I was going to but you left so fast.”

“Because you were staring at my friends like you liked them.”

He laughs softly at the snappish reply and you square your shoulders in response.

“I was staring at them because… Because you looked tired and I couldn’t take you home, so I wanted them to.” He sighs, looking up at you from his position hunched over the bar and your chest aches.

So sudden, so pretty.

Then the bubble pops.

“How could you even think I was looking at your friends like I liked them? I have glasses on.” He scoffs and you laugh, a barking bitter sound.

“Oh, whatever. You were so gazing.”

“At you! All the time now, since you haven’t noticed. Fitz has been ribbing me about it like no tomorrow,” he says, jerking a thumb at the gross drunk guy who leers and nods, just to make things better.

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“We certainly are, we’re dying back there while you flirt with this jerk.” Dara interjects, swiping the tray from you and sweeping back toward the booth where your friends sit. “Bring him over.”

“Do you want to…”

“Sure.” He smiles, slipping off the stool and into your space and for a moment, you’re nearly chest to chest.

And then you’re actually chest to chest and his lips are so soft against yours and your hands slide over his chest and into his hair. He’s an artwork of perfect contradictions.

For half a moment, you’re sure you’re going to taste honey- then he pulls away.

Only enough for the two of your lips to not touch and you pant against him.

“I- We- We don’t have to go sit down, we could- uh…”

He smirks, his head tilting to press a kiss to the corner of your jaw and you soften against him, automatically.

“Let’s sit down. Then after we can leave.”

“Perfect.” You sigh, your eyes getting heavy lidded as you imagine how good this is going to feel.

fin

part 2 (a lil bit smutty)