#trigger warning: abusive relationship

[neon-candies]

Happy Halloween!

Warnings for: Child abuse, emotional abuse, unhealthy relationship

Angel probably has this nightmare frequently after Annie was "born". And he probably tried to avoid talking about it at first. But it gets to a point where he can't even hide his fears and concerns. However that's a conversation for another time.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

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, 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 He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap.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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いただきます Itadakimasu ( Thank you for the food / I humbly receive )

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Kya Headcanons

So, I've been thinking a lot about Kya (Katara and Sokka's mother), lately, and started brainstorming a ton of headcanons for her that I want to share because she does not get nearly enough love. Some of them I've had floating around in my head for a while, but others I came up with only recently or just today. Also, I included some of my Southern Water Tribe headcanons. So, take a gander and tell me what you think of my ideas for Kya's story.

Personal Info:

She was a member of the Polar Leopard Clan, one of seven sacred clans that are believed to be directly descended from the Southern Water Tribe’s founder.

Kya was always an adventurous soul. From a young age, she was interested in exploring and even traveled to parts of the South Pole that were considered especially dangerous. She always hoped to one day travel the world.

She wanted to be a waterbender more than anything. Since she was little, she would try to waterbend and practiced the moves for it that the elders remembered. Even when everyone told her she wasn’t a waterbender, she kept trying. And even after she came to terms with the fact that she wasn’t one, she still practiced the few moves she knew in case any waterbenders were born and because she found she just enjoyed it.

Her favorite food was seal-jerky. She would always eat it aggressively and people who saw her eat it would say she looked like a ravenous wolf as she tore into the salty meat strips.

She had a beautiful singing voice and taught Katara and Sokka traditional Water Tribe songs.

Despite her vast knowledge of Water Tribe songs and stories, she was terrible at poetry. When she and Hakoda were courting each other, he would come up with beautiful poems and truly creative ways of flirting while Kya fumbled with her words and got all tongue-tied and awkward.

Kya was the worst at hunting in her family because she always had trouble keeping quiet and sitting still for long periods of time. She was easily bored and would start talking or fidgeting and would alert prey from all the noise she made.

Kya loved doing creative projects like carving, weaving, beadwork, basket-making, etc. She was especially skilled and could spend hours focusing only on whatever thing she was working on and would forget to eat or do her chores because she was so into it. It’s from Kya that Sokka inherited his love for art and handicrafts.

Early Life & Family:

Kya’s mother was in her forties when she had her, leading many people to speculate that Kya was actually the child of her older sister and that her parents were trying to cover up an out-of-wedlock pregnancy. The rumors weren’t true, but her mother was embarrassed about having a child later in life and claimed her pregnancy was actually a tumor right up until Kya was born.

Her relationship with her mother was very strained and cold. Kya sometimes wondered if her mother even loved her at all. She was never physically abusive, but she was also never kind or nurturing and seemed indifferent to her children and often gave the impression that she regretted having them. Her mother was a capable hunter and the main provider of food for the family. Her mother died on a hunting trip while fighting single-handedly against an arctic wolf-bear; she managed to take the creature down and, with her dying breath, asked the warriors to serve the animal’s meat at her funeral dinner and give the pelt to her family. Kya’s mother had a brother and a sister who were both waterbenders that were taken by the Fire Nation.

Kya’s father was an angakkuq (something like a shaman or medicine man in real-world Inuit culture) who was the main spiritual leader for their clan. He was kind to his children, but was often distracted by his vocation and wasn’t really in the right headspace to properly raise them. It’s not entirely certain that he’s dead. When Sokka and Katara were still very young, he wandered out onto the tundra one night, claiming to hear the spirits calling to him, and never came back. There were tales from the hunters, though, that they’d seen him walking the tundra when the winds picked up, chanting prayers to the tribe’s guardian spirits to watch over them.

Kya was the youngest of six children. She had four older sisters and a brother.

Iara (eldest sister) – She basically raised her younger siblings and became a mother figure to them. She sacrificed much of her own happiness to look after her family, even turning down a marriage proposal from the man she loved because she felt responsible for looking after everyone and wasn't sure she could manage raising her siblings and starting her own family. Kya adored Iara and later felt guilty for how much her sister had given up for her sake. Iara ended up dying from heart failure shortly before Kya gave birth to Katara.

Nuvua (second sister) – A sociable people-pleaser. Nuvua always tried to make friends with everyone and soothe ruffled feathers within her clan and with other members of the Water Tribe. She did try to help Iara with their siblings, but ultimately left her behind when she married young and had a family of her own. She ended up becoming elected the clan mother (a type of matriarchal figure in charge of managing the village) of the Polar Leopard Clan over the wife of the clan chief. She and Kya were never especially close, but she was still devastated when Kya was murdered.

Asiri (third sister) – A wild troublemaker. She was always pulling pranks and laughing at other people. She could be a bit of a bully, at times, and often picked on Kya, leading to a difficult relationship between them as they grew up. Asiri later ran off with a young man from a clan that was enemies with theirs, claiming it was true love and that they were defying a stupid feud. It turned out the guy was just using her to humiliate her clan; after he got her pregnant, he abandoned her and started mocking her publicly, claiming that all women in her clan had no sense of decency. Asiri returned home in shame and was nearly thrown out by the clan chief, but Kya spoke up for her and convinced the clan to stand by her. Asiri ended up struggling with depression for a number of years afterwards and developed serious trust issues. She ended up spending most of her time as part of her clan’s hunting party, as she was the best hunter of all her siblings. After Kya’s death, Asiri cut off contact even more and rarely spoke. When the men left to fight in the war, Asiri became the primary hunter for the Polar Leopard Clan and has had to also train the kids in her village to hunt.

Atka (fourth sister) – A quiet, spiritually-minded woman. She followed in her father’s footsteps and became an angakkuq. She fell in love with a young woman and had a “half-moon marriage” (a euphemism for same-sex couples). She and her wife adopted Asiri’s child, a boy, because Asiri had no interest in keeping him after what his father put her through.

Nuka (brother) – A wide-eyed dreamer. He was always goofing off as a kid and never took anything too seriously. Despite being older than Kya, he followed her around a lot and joined in her hijinks and adventures. He was still a very casual guy when he grew up and got a reputation for being a shameless flirt. He became more serious and responsible, though, after Iara died and later when Kya was killed. He didn’t smile or laugh much after that and began to really train as a warrior. He became a trusted member of Hakoda’s war council when Hakoda was elected chief for the whole tribe; a lot of other warriors dismissively refer to him as “Chief Hakoda’s idiot brother-in-law,” but he is a very capable guy when push comes to shove. He’s one of the men who greet Sokka when he shows up at Chameleon Bay in “The Guru.”

Kya carved a set of rings from whale ivory, one for herself and each of her siblings. Despite whatever ups and downs they faced as a family, none of them have ever taken those rings off.

In addition to her actual brother, Kya had “clan-brothers” (male friends close to her age from her clan who were not necessarily related to her but who were considered family). Her clan-brothers really did not like Hakoda and sabotaged many of his efforts to court Kya. In one incident, they grabbed Hakoda and Bato (who was only involved because of his friendship with Hakoda), tied them in a fishing net, and tossed them onto a ship headed for a month-long fishing trip. Kya later chewed her clan-brothers out for their stupid, overprotective bullshit.

Despite how distracted Kya’s father could be, he was attentive enough to take her ice-dodging when she was fourteen. She earned the mark of the brave.

She always took her father’s lessons about spirits and religious traditions seriously. Even little things like always facing northward while eating blubber, never lingering in doorways, never whistling at night, always thanking the souls of the animals when she ate meat, never wasting any part of an animal, etc.

She nearly drowned once while saving another kid who had fallen out of a canoe while fishing. Then she nearly died of hypothermia from the freezing water.

Adult Life, Marriage, & Children

She had several romantic relationships before she married Hakoda:

She had a childhood sweetheart who became her best friend/honorary brother when they were older.

She was courted by a very handsome older boy when she was a teenager, but she caught him cheating on her and dumped him. She and the other girl also beat the living hell out of him.

She had a long-term relationship that led to an engagement. However, a couple months before the wedding, she and her fiancé both realized they really weren’t right for each other and broke up amicably.

There was a guy who was interested in her romantically whom she turned down because he gave her red flag vibes and he refused to accept ‘no’ for an answer. He kept following her around and trying to pressure her into a relationship, but she always rejected him When she and Hakoda announced their marriage, the guy tried to challenge Hakoda to a fight for Kya’s hand. Hakoda bluntly told him that Kya’s not a trophy and that, if he had a problem with the marriage, he would just have to deal with it. Hakoda then told Kya what had happened and watched in satisfaction as she stormed over to the creep and verbally eviscerated him.

Kya proposed to Hakoda. She gave him a hunting knife she hand-carved herself as a betrothal gift. Her clan wasn’t happy about the marriage because Kya chose to marry into Hakoda’s clan (the Wolf Clan) instead of him marrying into hers.

Kanna gave Kya her necklace as a legacy gift. In the Southern Water Tribe, when you marry into another clan, your in-laws have to give you a “legacy” gift to pass on to one of your children that is not strictly a practical item (no combs, knives, needles, etc.). Legacy gifts are usually things like jewelry, decorations, or ceremonial attire of some sort. When a woman marries into a clan, her legacy would pass to her daughter or her daughter-in-law; when a man marries in, then his legacy goes to his son or son-in-law.

While Kya was delighted to pass Kanna’s necklace to Katara, she did miss the familiarity of wearing it. So, Hakoda put his carving skills to the test and made a new one just for her; it wasn’t particularly good and his hand slipped a lot while making it, but Kya still loved it and wore it proudly.

Kya addressed Kanna as ‘Mom’ after getting married to Hakoda. She’d never felt comfortable using that term for her own mother or for her older sister. People who didn’t know the family would sometimes assume that Kanna was Kya’s mother rather than Hakoda’s.

Kya thought she wouldn’t be able to have children. She had several miscarriages and then no indication of pregnancy for a number of years before she had Sokka. In memory of her unborn children, she carved small figures of bone to commemorate them and pray for their safe return to the cycle of death and rebirth. When she was killed, Hakoda buried those little carvings with her.

She referred to Sokka as her ‘miracle’ when she delivered him safely and latercalled Katara her ‘blessing.’

When both Sokka and Katara were young they came down with terrible fevers from a sickness that was tearing through the South Pole. Kya stayed awake for days tending to them and praying to the spirits to save them.

When Katara was discovered to be a waterbender, Kya was overjoyed and convinced Hakoda to launch a search for a waterbending master. When no one could be found in the South Pole, she tried to talk her husband into them all going on a family adventure to the Northern Water Tribe to find Katara a teacher.

She was deeply compassionate towards people who were treated unjustly. During a gathering of the clans, the Whale-walrus Clan chief was brought before the council of elders for trying to beat his daughter, Tuktu, to death for “profaning herself with another girl.” Despite the man being publicly censured for his inexcusable actions, he threw his daughter out of the clan. Kya was the first to step up and offer Tuktu a place in their home. After this, little Katara, who had witnessed everything, asked her family if they would hate her if she grew up to like girls instead of boys, to which her mother responded that it didn’t matter if she like girls or boys or both or neither, her family would always love her. Tuktu later moved in with a girl in another clan, with whom she is still happily living by the time the show’s events roll around.

Kya was going to be named the clan mother for the Wolf Clan once Kanna stepped down, but she was killed before the official installation took place.

[lullahswhores]

TRIGGER WARNING FOR DOMESTIC ABUSE !!

immallex you are one disgusting fucker, "Internet sensation" my ass, preaching about how people who are abusive should be locked up when you yourself are abusive. anyways always support victims and stop watching alex

the evidence and even more evidence

sorry but at no point in time should anyone speak to another person like this but it's especially not the way someone should speak to thier partner who already struggles with depression and self harm

and the videos aswell?? the way he speaks to her is fucking disgusting and I felt comfort in this man as he spoke so badly about domestic abuse and spoke down on abusers and acted like he supported victims when in reality, him himself is an abuser. and the part of the video where he states "your boyfriend is a fucking famous Internet celebrity and doesn't trust these people" that Alice was friends with when he literally had his exes NUDES saved in his camera roll and was still talking to MULTIPLE exes he told Alice he has cut contact with as she had did the same with her exes at the start of thier relationship

and the sending apology "letters" to her house through AMAZON is insane, how is this not considered harassment ??!!??

UPDATE

I seriously have no words, all I can say is that I am in a state of shock about the amount of girls who have came out about this man, it's disgusting and he deserves everything bad in this world, like seriously.

[fayeandknight]

Personal post in which I am processing old trauma.

It's weird how you can clearly recall an experience but have no emotional response/true comprehension of it until many years later.

My relationship with my ex fiance happened during my first three years of college, if you don't count the stalking and harassment that went on for several years after. I'm in my 30s now, that was a long time ago.

It took me a few years after breaking up for the last time to realize that the relationship wasn't just "really shitty" but had in fact been extremely abusive. To this day when I think of him I think of screaming and crying, breaking glass, blood, absolute terror, and the inability to breathe.

Over the years I've been processing the truth of things he'd normalized/minimized/gaslit me on and trying to give myself grace for the long term effects it's had on me. And for a while I thought I'd acknowledged all of it. But recently (last year or two) it's hit me like a sack of bricks that he tried to murder me. I don't mean going too far in a fit of anger, I mean he planned out and followed through on a deliberate plan to kill me that I survived by sheer luck.

That day has always been a cold, stop motion memory since it happened. I can recall it in a series of snapshots, each clean and neat and utterly detached from each other.

He tells me we'll have the house to ourselves.

He's drawn me a bath in the big Jacuzzi tub with rose petals in the water.

I undress and get in.

He is sitting on the side of the bathtub.

He is cupping my face for a kiss and whispers something about Ophelia.

My head is underwater.

I am flailing and grabbing at his hands, the side of the bathtub. Water is going everywhere but I can't get out from underneath his hands.

I can't breathe. My lungs are burning. I am beyond terrified. This is the inevitable end. This is how I die.

His hands are off me and I am able to get my head above water.

He is taking keys off the counter and handing them through the cracked open door.

I am soaking wet and holding my clothes against me in a bundle that mostly covers me.

I shove past the person on the other side of the door and run barefoot back to my dorm.

He gaslit me hard about this that it never happened. I didn't even get a chance to bring it up. He just showed up the next day to take me on a date (which he very rarely did) and complained about how outside of sex we never had one on one time because there were always people in the house. I was still in shock I think and don't really remember what happened in between my running out of his house and him showing up at my dorm apartment. I do remember being in the living room of his house after the date and having a very public fight that he pulled out of nowhere.

For a long time that memory has been something I shied away from even thinking about. It was a cold spot in my brain that gave me mental frost bite.

And then when I did acknowledge it, it was framed as 'I almost died' in my mind. But the more I think about it, the more clear that this was a planned murder becomes.

We were in college and he lived in a busy frat house/known party house with four other guys. He either dedicated significant time to tracking people's coming and going to find a long enough window of time to drown me and dispose of my body. Not a small feat considering the near constant foot traffic in the house. Or he engineered having that house be empty.

The tub, which wasn't normally used due to being disgustingly dirty, had been spotlessly cleaned.

He never got undressed or into the tub with me. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt with shorts and angled his legs away from the tub.

He referenced Ophelia, who dies via drowning. I was a theatre major at the time.

He very much intended to murder me by downing me in that bathtub.

The only reason I survived is because someone forgot their keys on the bathroom counter and had to come back for them. That's it.

It's so wild to me how long it's taken my brain to feel, I don't know safe??? enough, to really put the severity and full implications together. I didn't repress the memory, just avoided it. And I'm not even shocked that he tried to kill me, more that he tried to murder me - though I'm not sure how much sense that distinction would make to anyone else.

Seeing romantic gestures between couples makes me feel cold and frightened and grief stricken. And for a long time I attributed that to my most significant/serious relationship being an epic shit show and a half. But I'm starting to realize that it's also because one of the few romantic gestures I've received was actually part of the plan to murder me. So I'm trying to be gentle with myself when I experience those feelings.

I'm not some bitter shrew who hates seeing happy couples. I am experiencing the fallout feelings of an extremely traumatic and very nearly fatal event.

Anyway I'm not really expecting for anyone to have read this whole mess. But if you did, here's a picture of Forte snuggling me from this morning as thanks for sitting with me for a bit.

[theokusgallery]

tw for implied self harm

do you think that nick and sunny would get matching "<3" scars/cuts

Oh yeah totally

I mean they have a weird relationship with their/each other's bodies and (if you've read the 15+ comic, which I assume you did considering your question, you'll know what I'm talking about) a weird relationship with cuts & markings. Specifically in relation to each other, and ownership of each other

Arsenic's thoughts are usually along the lines of "I want to mark him everywhere with my name and have it on display that he's mine and mine only, I want to kill everyone who isn't us because then no one could even look at him or think about him or exist to him but I need people to exist in order to see and acknowledge that he's mine, it's pointless to own him if there's no one else around who can, he's mine because he chose me among everyone else, he's mine mine mine and everyone else only exists to see that and know that I'm better than them and that they'll never have him"

Nick loves to leave his name everywhere on Sunny. It's not enough to say "he has a boyfriend/he's taken", the point is that he belongs to Arsenic specifically, and that no matter what he always will because there's literally branding all over him and not all of it will ever go away.

He is also very, very fond of the concept of matching with Sunny. Usually couples do this about clothes? But clothes are too superficial for Nick (and Sunny's too weird about clothes to ever change it anyway) and matching with their bodies feels more sincere/meaningful. For Nick though, no name, just hearts is fine — because they have a very strict power dynamic and they are not on equal ground. Sunny belongs to Nick, but Nick could walk away any second. Which means Sunny feels pressured to do everything Nick wants so that this doesn't happen. Making Sunny insecure about their relationship is one of Nick's greatest joys

[plato-repulsed-culture-is]

sorry if this is a weird question, but um, a girl i know asked me out. Shes aplatonic but alloromantic and allosexual. I do like her back, but im a bit worried.. ive dated a guy before who didnt have friends and what ended up happening is that i had to support him 100% of the time when something bad happened and i had to be with him after school every day because i was the only person he talked to and he would get lonely otherwise. He even threatened to do bad things to himself if i went to a friend's sleepover because it made him feel bad. Im really worried that something like this would repeat... it lowkey traumatized me i think. Is this a valid concern or are aplatonic people different and they dont really need much emotional support compared to non-aplatonic people? Or was my ex just uniquely an asshole? Thank u so so much if u respond

I am prefacing this with a disclaimer that this blog was never for giving people advice, especially when they view aplatonics with such suspicion and are not actually asking any advice related to plato repulsion which is what this blog is about. I can also only go off of your statements here to draw conclusions, and I am assuming you are stating the truth here (especially as this is online, I know there is a possibility people can lie, but may also be telling the truth.). Also, we are not responsible for anything that happens to you emotionally or otherwise if you make decisions based off of this advice, because thats not within our control.

From what you said, your ex sounds like he was being rather toxic and manipulative towards you. That kind of behaviour is harmful (threatening self harm as a form of control, trying to control who someone spends time with, and not respecting peoples boundaries regarding interaction or emotional support, are all harmful actions.) and nobody should be acting that way towards others, we're sorry that happened to you. You also don't need to be concerned that someone will act this way towards you just bc theyre aplatonic. Your concern is valid, but it is in no way something that will inherently apply to aplatonics.

If you are concerned about whether this person has unmet social needs then you should just ask her about her social needs and emotional needs and what she expects in a relationship, and communicate about your needs and emotions regarding these things too. If its possible to, maybe mention that you have past issues or trauma in relationships which is why you want to be careful about dating, while not making it seem like aplatonicism is inherently a reason you think someone might hurt you(because it's not).

Set boundaries about what amount of time you want to spend with someone you're dating, and state your limits regarding how much you are okay with emotionally supporting someone / what topics you are ok with talking about / etc. . Don't assume that someone will be toxic or abusive towards you just because they're aplatonic. Its not really like your ex was inherently aplatonic just because he didn't have friends, and it may even be more likely he was alloplatonic.

Some aplatonics have and/or want friends but some dont, and moreover, if someone doesnt have friends by choice, that's very different from someone who is lonely because they don't have friends and mistreats a partner because of it. I will also add here that I don't intend to malign mental health issues just because it sounds like your ex may have had them (as you mentioned loneliness - which is different from just being alone or even liking solitude) ; mental health issues do not innately make someone abusive or toxic, and one can have mental health issues and still be respectful to people.

Someone without any mental health issues can also still very much be abusive or toxic towards others. And honestly, if you associate the concept of aplatonicism itself with this trauma then maybe its not in the best interest of you or the other person to date? And if it applies maybe it could be possible that you are simply not ready to date someone again after what happened, which is also okay, but I don't intend to assume that or be harsh in stating it as a possibility. I will also add that not having friends is not a 'red flag'. If someone has a preference to date/ be involved with people who have friends, that's okay, but not having friends is not inherently a 'red flag'.

Some aplatonics may not get lonely if they don't talk to people (but this can also be true of alloplatonics), and just because someone is aplatonic doesnt mean they will expect their partner to support them all the time to an unhealthy level or to an extent that crosses their boundaries. I will also add that there is no surefire way to tell whether someone will be abusive or toxic, although if they cross your boundaries or are disrespectful to you from the start, its worth staying away from them. Even ppl who are very kind to you initially may at some point abuse you or mistreat you, and theres no way to tell for sure whether or not this will happen because thats kind of how social relationships of any kind are.

But don't profile aplatonics as inherently more likely to be abusive or toxic (I don't know if this is intentional on your part, but hearing the word 'aplatonic' and making all these assumptions about how one may be in a relationship wounds like either this and/or like a trauma trigger extending to the concept of aplatonicism). Not all aplatonics even approach social relationships the same way, and even those who don't have friends are still capable of respecting boundaries in relationships they engage in. I wouldn't say that aplatonic people don't have emotional needs, but people in general have varying social needs and emotional needs. Some people who don't want friends may specifically not have a social drive towards having friends, but this may also apply to people who want friends.

If someone is happy without having friends then they probably don't seek emotional or social fulfillment from friendship. They may have other relationship types even if they are aplatonic (such as familial , romantic, sexual, alterous, etc.) (I don't know if you and this girl are monogamous are not but if you are intending to be monogamous that obviously is excluding sexual and/or romantic then) , and I will add that people don't always need social relationships/ bonds for emotional support. Some people may process emotions through journalling, or may go to a therapist, or such.

Some people may have people they talk to sometimes but don't call them their friends. Having friends does not ever guarantee anyone emotional support, and neither does any other relationship. It just so happens that a lot of people end up mutually (i.e. more or less both ppl give the other emotional support, it doesnt have to be equal so much as it is respecting the boundaries of both people. It is also possible that people may be incompatible in this regard) giving emotional support due to just being around people they are close to and also due to having some kind of emotional connection.

Anyways, long answer short, aplatonicism doesn't say anything about someone's social needs or emotional needs, and neither does alloplatonicism, and its often better to communicate with people you are close to or are looking to be close to, about important aspects regarding relationships.

(Also stating here that this is not an advice blog, we will be deleting any asks seeking advice from now on. If you want you can send in asks as reply to this response, as long as you aren't asking for more advice)

Anyways I hope it works out for you, whatever you decide to do.

(Additional disclaimer - to anyone who sees this post - do NOT suggest that 'narc abuse' 'borderline abuse' or whatever is real, do not imply mental health issues cause ppl to inherently be abusive, and do not treat having no friends as a 'red flag', regardless of platonic orientation or favorability)

[nostomannia]

I ranted about this in a voice call earlier but I think I should put it into writing here, as well as some extra thoughts.

Have you guys ever thought about how we can kinda start to woobify abuse victims? Or at the very least like. Not give them agency or even actively take away their agency? I've had that happen before with Solita and it bugs me.

Deity is her abuser. But they're her parent. Her best friend. Her most hated enemy. Her purpose and her downfall. You can't just take them away without even consulting her about it. Or on the flipside, take her away. It's like if you took away someone from their abusive S/O or parent by force, without verbalizing and convincing them that 'hey, this person is horrible.'

Solita NEEDS the agency to walk away from Deity. If she doesn't, she falls back into a cycle of toxic dependency on someone else at BEST. At worst, when her ties are cut from Deity, she will flat out end her own life.

I understand the sentiment of wanting to save someone from an abuser. That's an entirely natural reaction. But if the person doesn't understand, or believes that they deserve better, where's the closure? That's not a satisfying end, is it?

Solita will actively place herself in the way of any attempt someone may try to rid her of Deity, so it's not like she's gonna stand by and watch. SHE'S the roadblock every single step of the way. Going behind her back is only going to break a relationship or plainly just break her.

Easy solutions sometimes make the situation worse. Taking someone from an abuser, no matter how right morally it is, can still just be kidnapping.

[athetos]

Okay this is something that has taken me years to come to terms with and I just need to get off my chest especially since im not in therapy anymore and honestly only a few close friends know this but talking about it is still hard and I want to be able to better forgive myself and get rid of some of the internalized shame that plagues me because of this, and like, just be more comfortable admitting this fact to myself so I can better heal from it. And I know it’s also triggering to a lot of people so I never feel like it’s ever appropriate to discuss I should have a therapist again maybe sometime. But I’m gonna just say it and maybe delete this later. But I’m a rape + abuse survivor and it’s took me years to even “unlock” this trauma and properly process it. I’ve come a long way but idk I just wanted to get this off my chest because it’s been aching to come out but I also don’t wanna burden people.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 5461

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, and alcohol abuse.

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

8. Banana-Dulce Cheesecake

Bucky

It occurs to him to tell Steve about the kiss later that night, when Steve is three fingers deep in him and Bucky wants some leverage to make him get in him already. He’s told him four damn times already to move things along.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, making an effort to control his voice so that Steve doesn’t know just how well he’s getting at his prostate like this. “If you don’t listen to me and get your dick in me in the next fifteen seconds, I’m tying you up and riding the dildo while you watch.”

Steve’s rhythm falters and his eyes widen, because he knows his husband and he knows it’s no idle threat. Sexual denial is one of Bucky’s favorite cruelties. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, okay.” His fingers leave a sad absence inside of Bucky, but he gets right to work in reaching for the lube bottle to slick himself up.

“Aht, forgetting something?” Bucky raises his eyebrow and watches Steve huff in exasperation as he stretches across the bed to reach for their beside drawer. Bucky takes the opportunity to smack his ass, enjoying the slight jiggle and the clenching muscle. “Good boy,” he purrs, as Steve comes back with a condom in hand. 

Even when he’s fucking Bucky, Steve isn’t allowed to come inside of him. Only Bucky gets the privilege of leaving a load up inside his husband's ass, a possessive reminder left behind to slide out, slow and filthy. He watches Steve roll the latex down his dick and then give himself a few indulgent pulls with the lube. He's red and throbbing, and Bucky can tell by the way he keeps sucking his bottom lip back into his mouth that he’s feeling very sensitive. “That feel good, Honey?”

“Nngh.”

“That’s enough. C’mere.” He hooks his heels in behind Steve’s ass to urge him forward. Steve drops his dick and climbs over him, settling into the spread of his legs and reaching down to line himself up. Bucky feels the wet drag of his cockhead over his hole.

Obedient boy, he thinks with a smirk. But it slips off his face when Steve starts to push in. He inhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes as he focuses on letting Steve in. “Ungh,” he grunts quietly, brow furrowed at the stretch.

“You okay?” Steve’s hovering, not pushing any further. Waiting for permission.

Bucky swallows and nods, because he is okay, but goddamn. Sometimes he forgets just how big his Stevie really is. (No better reminder than to have it shoved up his ass.) “Yeah,” he pants, sliding his hands up the backs of Steve’s arms and feeling up the tension in his triceps—he’s straining so beautifully, trying so very hard to hold still for him. It makes Bucky melt when he opens his eyes again and gets a look at the beautifully pinched expression on Steve’s face.

Oh, his golden boy.

“C’mere, you,” he husks, pulling him down by the jaw for a kiss. It forces Steve’s cock a little bit further into him, and he groans at the stretch. “Ff-uck, uhn, Ssteve.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

He shoves his tongue into Steve’s mouth like it’s payback for the way he’s invading his body right now, the lewd, wet swipe of his tongue a counterpoint to Steve’s dick. Bucky just wants to get inside his man, any way he can. Steve makes a filthy, tortured noise when their tongues roll together, and Bucky relishes it. He growls and drives their mouths together again and again, making it sloppy, taking Steve’s breath away, tongue-fucking his mouth before he gets any real chance to start fucking him.

“Buck,” Steve breathes, the word wet on his lips as he holds himself still. He’s looking so pleadingly at Bucky, near-pained self restraint and begging eyes that make Bucky want to destroy him. “Please. I gotta. Gotta move.”

Bucky feels that ever-familiar dark thrill zip through him. “Yeah?” he asks, mock sympathy lacing his tone. He strokes Steve’s hair. “Is that what you want, big guy? You wanna bury that fat cock up in me? Wanna go to town?” Steve nods, of course he does, and Bucky forces one more harsh, unyielding kiss onto him before he pulls back and relents. “Okay Baby, push it in a little. Go slow. Make yourself feel good.”

Steve sags with relief, instantly sinking deeper into Bucky’s body. He goes slow like he’s been told, easing in each of the seven plus girthy inches he has to give, and since Bucky’s just put up with God knows how much time and lube and fingers softening him up for this, it doesn’t hurt.

It’s just so fucking much.

Steve waits once he’s settled all the way inside, because he knows he needs permission to start thrusting. Bucky strokes a tender thumb just under his eye, taking the time to soak up his expression, his pretty features when he’s feeling good like this. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, y’know that?”

Steve grins shakily and knocks their foreheads together. “That why you married me?”

“Mmm. Had to do somethin’. Couldn’t let somebody else get at you.” Bucky grinds up, feeling Steve’s hot length rub inside him, so big. “Oh, Honey.”

“Fuck,” Steve says tersely. “Fuck, Bucky please. Say I can. C’mon Baby.”

Bucky nods, and that’s all the permission Steve needs. He starts moving, thrusting into Bucky with short, deep rolls of his hips. Steve’s a goddamn savant when it comes to getting at Bucky’s sweet spot with his dick, and now’s no exception. Bucky hisses as sparks fly up his spine, his balls pressed deliciously by Steve’s pubic bone every time he rocks in deep. It’s so damn good. “S-sumthin happened today,” he says, stuttering over his words in a way he almost never does.

“Mm.” Steve starts necking at him, humming in acknowledgement. “What?”

“With Mary,” Bucky grunts. “I—nnh—I kissed her.”

Against his neck, Steve makes this tiny, appreciative sound that just about makes Bucky's blood boil. His hips jolt down in an uncontrolled thrust. “Yeah? She liked it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, a dirty thrill shooting through him at this: at talking about someone else while Steve fucks him. Talking about her. “Yeah she did. She felt so good, Stevie. Felt so nice in my arms.” 

Steve groans again. "Tell me."

“Wanted more, God, I wanted to squeeze her, y’know? Trap her. Right up between me and you.”

“Fuck, Bucky. Uhn.”

“Yeah.” They’re grinding filthily now, all firm and deep, skin slapping quietly, Bucky’s legs wrapped up around Steve’s waist to draw him in hard again and again. “I wanna do something about it,” he pants. “Want to have her.”

Steve moans and nods, his face pinking from the effort, from the thought of the three of them together. This, the idea of the two of them in a three-way relationship with a woman, used to be one of their biggest fantasies that they’d talk about. “Can we?” he asks, looking to Bucky for permission. Always to Bucky. It gets him hotter than anything, so in love with his man.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching down to grab handfuls of Steve’s flexing ass, urging him on. “Yeah we can. We’ll take her apart. Fuck her so good.”

“Oh, God. How?” Steve’s back to kissing on his neck while he grinds into him, dirty pants against sucked-wet skin going straight to Bucky’s dick. “Tell me.”

“Mm, I dunno. Maybe you can hold her, huh? Hold her open while I go down on her. Or maybe we’ll—ugh, shit—maybe we’ll both have her at the same time, yeah? You behind her and me in front, taking turns dipping our cocks in her ‘til she screams.” 

Steve groans, his hips slowing and his head sinking over Bucky’s shoulder—He’s close and doesn’t want to come.

Bucky bites sharply at his neck. “Did I say you could stop? Keep fucking me.”

Steve, trooper that he is, whimpers and gets back to it. Bucky grits his teeth, angling his hips into the thrusts just right so that his prostate is getting it good. “Aw, fuckyeah. Like that, Honey, juust like that. Shit. You’re gonna make Daddy cum, y’know that?”

Steve whines, his hips stuttering at the words. Bucky rarely calls himself “Daddy” when they’re together, it’s usually something he only utters when he’s domming a sub. But with Steve topping like this, Bucky needs the extra dominance. The growled words get to Steve too though, and he starts to come, shoving harder and uncoordinated. “Ohn ... shit,” he whimpers, the high pitched, desperate sound of it making Bucky’s cock pulse dangerously.

He growls and smashes their mouths together, shoves his flesh hand down between their bellies and grabs himself, starts stroking off hard and fast as he feels Steve’s jerky final thrusts. They finish seconds apart, with Steve still grinding his orgasm out as Bucky’s cock starts shooting up his belly and over his knuckles. “Uh, ughn, godyeah …”

They slump against each other with exhaustion once it’s done, panting against skin and reveling in the aftershocks. Steve eventually takes the initiative to pull out, getting rid of the condom and snuggling back up against Bucky’s side. Bucky hums and wraps his arm around him, pressing a kiss to the edge of his temple. “S’good,” he mumbles, letting Steve pull the blanket up to cover their legs, even though they haven’t even wiped off yet. It feels too good to move right now.

“So,” Steve says a few minutes later, his voice softened and lax from the afterglow. He’s got his head pillowed on Bucky’s chest, and Bucky begins to play idly with his hair. “The Mary thing.”

Bucky inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling underneath Steve’s cheek. “Yeah. The Mary thing.”

“What’s the plan?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, picturing various scenarios in his sated brain. “Hell if I know.”

Bucky

Steve’s already back from his ass-o’clock morning jog and putzing around the kitchen by the time Bucky has finished dressing for work and emerges from the bedroom. He hears (and smells) the coffee pot percolating, and sighs gratefully as he walks into the kitchen to join him. “Mornin’ babe. Thanks. for getting that started.”

Steve gives him a cheerful peck on the lips as he passes to open one of the upper cabinets. “There’s a piece of cheesecake in the fridge for you,” he says. 

“Cheesecake?” Bucky’s slightly distracted by the shape of Steve’s muscular back through his tight Under Armour top as he stretches to reach his preferred to-go mug. “For breakfast?”

“I may have mentioned that it’s your favorite dessert of all time.” Steve shoots him a knowing smile when he turns back around. "Enjoy the view?"

"You know it," Bucky says, shameless. "I'll have to have a talk with her about making cheesecake. The first step is admitting you have a problem, and I have a problem."

Steve snickers and goes to grab the coffee pot and fill the mug. “At least take it to work with you for lunch. She’ll be bummed if you don’t.”

“Sure.” In the fridge, Bucky discovers a clear plastic clamshell box with a single slice of cheesecake inside. Previously unaware of any hunger, his stomach suddenly turns over in a growling vote of confidence for the cheesecake. “Damn,” he mutters, reaching in and pulling the clamshell out. “So that’s what the banana threats were for.”

“Yep.” Steve chuckles. “I already had a piece. And Buck:” He turns around and looks at him with theatrically wide eyes. “It’s really good.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” Bucky checks the time on his phone, decides that he has enough time to sit down and eat it there before he leaves for work. He goes to grab a fork from the silverware drawer. Seated on the stool at the breakfast bar, his eyes slide shut as the first bite of dense, creamy goodness slides over his tongue. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” he moans. “Caramel.”

“I know, right?”

He opens his eyes again and gives Steve a withering look. “We’ve gotta set some boundaries for ourselves. Or she’ll have us rocking dad bods in no time.”

Mary’s laugh sounds from the hallway just before she appears, dressed in sneakers and workout clothes. “With the way you two work out? Yeah right.” She shoots a cheerful finger gun in Bucky’s direction. “And it’s dulce, not caramel.”

“Oh. Well I stand corrected, then.”

“Basically the same thing as American-style caramel.” She makes a face. “Which hardy counts at all. Just wait until I make you a real caramel. Where the sugar’s actually cooked dark enough to taste.” She nods with an adorable amount of conviction. “Your mouth’ll know the difference.”

“I’m sure it will,” Bucky drawls, looking her over with the same sort of appreciation that he’d just done with Steve. Mary wears leggings on a regular basis, which is always very enticing, but her gym leggings are even tighter, and it’s a total cocktease. Bucky waits until she has her back turned before he lets his gaze drop to her hips and ass. Jesus, help him. “You going to the gym?” he asks, knowing that it’s her day off.

“Yeah,” she huffs, going over to grab her jacket from the catchall. “I’ve gained so much weight since Halloween, it’s not even funny. Got about fifteen pounds to work off now. Blegch.”

Bucky actually puts his fork down, he’s so disturbed by the casual way that she throws it out.  “What?” he says, and Steve echoes him with a stifled noise in his throat that basically means the same thing. “Fifteen pounds?” He lets his eyes drag over her body, mouth agape. “Mary, wait.”

“What?” She’s shrugging her jacket on with a humorless laugh. “It’s true.”

“No it is fucking not,” Bucky snaps, and at hearing his tone, she stops laughing. “Mary,” he says sternly. “You do not need to lose any weight. And certainly not fifteen pounds. Jesus. That’s ludicrous.”

She turns around with an incredulous expression. “Seriously? I literally just heard you complaining about dad bods. Have you seen yourself? And you’re gonna talk to me about what’s ludicrous?”

Bucky frowns at how defensive she’s gotten and how fast. “Mare,” he says, trying to soften his tone. “You look great. Now I’m fine with you going to the gym if you want, but let’s not get out of hand, here.” Something about the tense determination in her features sets off alarm bells in his head. “You should wait to go to the gym with Steve when he goes in the afternoon,” he decides, making it an order. “You don’t need to be going by yourself.”

Her entire face screws up. “Excuse you,” she scowls. “I’m not a child. I can go to the freakin’ gym by myself.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I want you to wait.”

For a split second, he sees her expression smooth over at how calmly and firmly he’s said it—her own natural submissive reaction to a direct order from him. But that quickly bleeds back to astonished anger. “Sorry, Daddy, but I’m ready to go now. I already took my pre-sup and I’ll just waste it if I—”

“Pre-sup?” he hisses (forcing himself to ignore the ‘Daddy’ thing—holy shit). “What supplements are you taking?”

“None of your business!” She laughs meanly, and Bucky sees Steve shift out of the corner of his eye at how quickly this is devolving. “Jesus. I’m a grown woman, Bucky.”

“I know that, Mary,” he grits. “Now take your coat off and wait for Steve.”

“No.”

“Have you even had any breakfast?” he growls.

“I don’t like to eat before a workout,” she says, grabbing up her purse from the catchall. 

“Mary,” Steve pleads, looking worriedly at Bucky. “You should have something for fuel. C’mon, let me make you a piece of toast at least.”

She huffs, shouldering her purse and heading for the door. “You guys’ bread has like a hundred and thirty calories a slice. No thanks. I’m fine.” She unlocks the deadbolt and reaches for the doorknob.

Bucky lets loose his full Dom-voice when he warns, “Mary, don’t you open that door.”

Her shoulders visibly tense, as if she’s fighting off the full-body urge to obey him. “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” she says, then pulls open the door and leaves.

Bucky stares, furious. “A couple of hours?!” The barstool’s legs scrape against the floor as he hastily pushes out from the counter, intending to go after her.

“Babe, wait. No.” Steve stops him with both hands on his shoulders. “That’s not a good idea.”

“She just willfully disobeyed me!” Bucky snarls. “I can’t let that go!”

Steve’s fingers curl over his shoulders in a squeeze and he ducks his head to fix him with a meaningful look. “Buck, hey, take a deep breath. You’re not handling this well.” 

The message is clear. This is the way Steve talks to him when he’s trying to calm him down from domspace—and not the good kind of domspace, either. Bucky jerks away from his hold, but Steve arches an eyebrow, and so Bucky takes a few deep inhales and exhales, glaring at his husband the whole time he’s doing it. “She can’t get away with behavior like that,” he reiterates once he’s done. He forces his tone to be more calm so that Steve can’t hold it against him. “That was out of line. She needs to be corrected.”

“I know,” Steve says, still looking at him cautiously. “But we don’t have a discipline plan in place, so what’re you gonna do? Go grab her in public and drag her back here kicking and screaming?” 

Bucky's jaw works in frustration. “No," he grits. "No, that won't work."

“Good. I'm glad you can see that.” Some of the tension releases from Steve’s shoulders, and Bucky instantly feels bad. Poor Steve. He’s already married to one erstwhile/sometimes mental case, and now he’s got another one on the extreme opposite end of the spectrum to deal with.

“Sorry,” Bucky says tightly, turning away in embarrassment. He can still feel the ticking of his pulse in his veins, and the desire to control pulled tight throughout all his muscles. “Sorry,” he says again, going back to sit at the breakfast bar.

“It’s okay, Babe.”

He scoots back in to the counter and grabs his fork, moodily spearing another bite of the cheesecake. His thoughts still linger on the showdown with Mary as he chews, and after he swallows he mutters, “The hell’s gotten into her?” Normally she’ll go soft as a stick of butter the second he starts talking sternly at her, but this time she’d seemed to actually harden against him the more he tried it. 

Steve comes over with the to-go mug, emptying a Splenda packet into it. “You think it has anything to do with you kissing her?” 

Bucky frowns, not having considered that. He shakes his head grumpily. “No. She’s been coming down every night. It doesn’t make any sense for her to be acting like this."

“Okay, but Babe … maybe we should try to get her in to see Linda this week. See if there’s something she needs that we’re not—”

“What she needs is a quick trip over my lap,” he growls, left hand flexing. “She’s bratting.”

“She does like to go to the gym,” Steve hedges, but he shuts up when Bucky shoots him a withering glare. “Yeah, okay, maybe you’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right. Call the Center today. Try and get us in. The sooner the better.”

Steve nods. “And what do you suggest I do about her when she comes back?”

Bucky grunts and eats the last bite of cheesecake n his plate, vaguely aware that he would’ve savored it a lot more if he wasn’t so riled up over Mary’s behavior. “Just leave her alone. You’re right: we don’t have a discipline plan in place.” (Though he plans to correct that very soon.) “We’ll sort it out at this next visit. Linda already said she has strong indications for impact play.”

Steve winces. “Why do they need to put the word ‘play’ after everything?” Bucky shrugs, and Steve looks rueful. “You know she’s gonna throw a fit when you bring it up.”

“I know.” And he really doesn’t care. A dark thrill of dominance zips through Bucky at just the idea of putting Mary over his knee, of trapping her wrists at her lower back and holding her down, giving her a good spanking until she’s crying and grinding and sorry. “She’ll learn real quick that it’s what’s good for her. That girl needs consequences like a fish needs water."

“Uh huh.” Steve seems almost amused, but he holds up his hands again when he gets another glare from Bucky. “I’ll call and make an appointment, I will,” he promises. “But what about you, Babe?”

“What about me?”

Steve gives him a look. “You could stand to go in yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

His eyes slip down to Bucky’s left hand. “Babe ...”

Bucky looks down—Somewhere in the past few minutes, he’s bent the fork in his fist a little bit. Huffing, he sets it down.

“Take the morning off and go get a session in with one of the Pros,” Steve coaxes. “Spare your poor coworkers.”

Bucky scoffs and takes his plate to the sink to rinse it. “No. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am,” he insists, giving Steve a warning look when it seems like he’ll argue further. “Steve,”

“Okay, okay.” Steve holds up his hands in surrender. “Just trying to help.”

Bucky softens, feeling bad. “C’mere, you. Hey, I’m sorry.” He gives Steve a big hug, and then a kiss that’s equal parts possessive and apologetic. They part, and he smiles a little, nudging Steve’s nose with his. “You still having fun in the nuthouse?” he murmurs.

Steve ‘tsks’ at him for the joke and give him a chiding squeeze. “Yes,” he insists. “Now get going, nutso, before you're late. And don’t forget your coffee.”

Bucky gives him one last peck on the lips and then grabs his things. He puts his coat on and drapes his suit jacket over his arm at the door. “Try to keep her here once she’s back,” he says, frowning once again as he thinks about the “hours” remark Mary had made. “Ridiculous,” he mutters. 

“I’ll head over to the gym in a bit. Make sure she isn’t overdoing it,” Steve promises. “Now go on, try to have a good day. Try not to make your secretary cry.”

Bucky huffs, though he is smiling a little as he heads out the door. He’s only ever made his secretary cry once, and Steve will never, ever let him live it down. “Bye Babe. I Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Steve

That evening, they bite the bullet and show Mary the letter that came in the mail: addressed to Bucky, from the circuit court of New York. It lists the court date for review of Mary’s case of custodianship.

Steve’s expecting a meltdown, but what they get instead is a morose sort of silence. He’s not sure he wouldn’t prefer the meltdown. Mary just sniffs and doesn’t talk much, picking her portion of dinner to smithereens before deigning to eat any of it. After their nightly tv time and Bucky's low key domming, she goes off to bed without bidding them goodnight like she usually does.

Steve wakes in the early hours of the morning, having to take a piss. He’s just flushed and is considering being naughty and slipping out to the kitchen to grab himself a slice of cheesecake, when he sees that Mary’s bedroom door is open. He sticks his head in to check on her, but she’s not in her bed. “Mary?” he whispers.

That’s when he hears soft noises coming from the kitchen.

It’s Mary. Steve stalls in place when he sees her, leaning back against the cabinets and face splotchy from crying. She’s dressed in her workout clothes again, hair messy like she’s already been out and back from another workout. Steve frowns worriedly when he spots her house keys and empty water bottle on the counter next to her phone. “Hey Mare,” he says quietly, so that he doesn’t spook her. 

She sniffles as she sees him and hurriedly scrubs her face. “Oh. Hi Steve.”

“What are you doing up?” He takes a few cautious steps closer. “It’s late."

“Just wanted to get a snack,” she says, voice sounding tearful and pitiful. It’s such an obvious lie, Steve doesn’t even bother remarking on it.

“Were you at the gym again, Honey?” he asks. He’d had to intervene at the gym yesterday, when she’d been approaching hour number three with no signs of stopping. Now, he walks over and leans against the countertop’s edge right next to her. The room is dark, but he can just make out the silvery tracks left behind on her cheeks, the puffiness around her eyes. He smiles sadly at her. “You want to talk about it?”

Her expression pinches and she looks away. “No.”

“Okay.”

“... I went to the gym,” she eventually murmurs. 

“Yeah, I cry at the gym, too. All the time.” Steve nudges his bare foot against her sneakered one. “Come on,” he coaxes. “I’m a good listener.”

“You’re a good tattletale,” she grumbles.

“Hey.”

“Well you are. You tell Bucky everything I say and do. And he’s always on me about everything and I just …” she huffs. “I just don’t want to deal with it sometimes.”

“Well …” Steve hedges, knowing that he shouldn’t say what he’s about to say. “You could still tell me,” he offers. He lets his hand inch over on the counter’s edge and hooks his pinkie over hers. She looks down at it, then up to him. Steve’s mouth quirks. “Bucky can be a lot. I know. But he’s just trying to do what’s right. And you’ve gotta remember that he isn’t perfect. He has to live with this thing just like you do. Some days he handles it better than others.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve sighs. “Look, if there’s something you want to talk to me about, but you don’t want him to know, it can stay between us.” Mary looks over in surprise and Steve cringes. “Just ... promise me that you’ll talk it out with Linda, too?”

She hums noncommittally. “Walk me back to bed?”

“Course, Hon.”

She shuts herself into her bathroom and returns after a few minutes, dressed in pajamas and her hair towel dried. She seems surprised that Steve has stuck around when she sees him standing there, toeing the line of the doorway. "Oh."

“I didn’t know if you meant …” he shrugs. “Tuck you in?” 

She smiles a little, though it’s sad. Steve thinks she might’ve been crying again in the shower. “Sure,” she says, tucking her head down. She gets into bed and Steve covers her with the blankets, then sits on the edge of the mattress for a moment. “So do you want to talk?” he asks softly.

She chews her lip for a long moment, and just when Steve thinks she’s about to turn him down, she whispers, “... I don’t think it’s working the same anymore.”

“What isn’t working?” 

“The stuff with Bucky. The drops.”

Steve’s lips part in understanding. “Oh. I see.”

She nods and won't meet his eyes. “It doesn’t feel the same as it did before. Like it’s not as strong, or something. And it’s wearing off faster.” Her face pinches and for a second she really looks like she might cry. 

“Honey?” Steve reaches to tuck her damp hair back from her face, and that seems to be what does it. She starts crying and turns into the pillow, hiding there as her breath hitches in tiny sobs. Surprised, Steve lets his hand fall to her shoulder, where he gives her a comforting squeeze. “Hey,” he soothes. “Shhh, it’s okay. It's okay.”

She shakes her head with a little whimper. “No it’s not. I th-thought they’d stop now. They did stop, for a while.”

“What stopped?” Steve asks, confused. 

She sniffles, face crumpled up in distress. “I have bad dreams sometimes. That’s why I was up. Went to the gym to try and run it off.”

“Bad dreams?" Steve says, concerned. "You mean nightmares?" Sometimes Bucky has them too, so he's under no illusions about how debilitating they can be. "Mare?" he prods gently. "What are the nightmares about?”

She burrows further into the pillow, turning onto her side and curling up in a little ball. “Just stuff,” she mumbles. “From when I was a kid.”

Steve gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he has to really consider his words carefully before he speaks. He finally settles on a quiet, “Your dad?”

“... Yeah.”

Ouch. Steve swallows. “Honey … you really need to talk to somebody about this.”

She sniffles and shakes her head, and when Steve puts his hand on her shoulder again, she doesn’t try to shrug him off. “You promised not to tell Bucky,” she says.

Steve winces. “Yeah, I know.” Bucky and he already had a pretty good idea about this, but he doesn’t feel the need to point that out right now. “And you promised you’d talk with Linda,” he reminds. “It’s not safe for you to be sneaking out of here at night.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. "It’s just that ... the only thing that ever really made ‘em stop was getting drunk. And then with Bucky …” Her body shudders in a quiet sob. “But now it’s not working the same anymore! So what am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, Mare.” Steve rubs her shoulder. “Shh sh sh, Honey, it’s alright. It’s a process. We just gotta figure out what works for you." He gives her a comforting squeeze. “We’ve got an appointment for tomorrow, okay? We’re gonna talk to Linda and figure this all out. It’ll get better, I promise.” He bends to kiss the top of her head, and soothes her with a gentle litany of murmured words as she cries. “It’s okay, Mare. We’ll figure this out. It’s all gonna be okay.”

She calms down after a while of that, and Steve gives her one last hug before he stands to leave. “Goodnight, Sweetheart. Tomorrow’ll be a better day, you’ll see.”

“Steve?” He turns back around to see her peeking at him from over the top edge of the covers. “On the dresser. On the top, there's a ... You can take it.”

He’s confused, until he goes over and sees the only thing that’s sitting on top of the room’s highboy dresser. His heart all but stops. Carefully, he slides it into the palm of his hand, dread filling his chest like cold water. “Mary,” he says, fearful. “Did you—”

“No,” she says. “But I was thinking about it.” 

With a sinking sense of horror, he realizes what a massive mistake it was to tell Mary he’d keep secrets for her. “Mary,” he says warningly, “You know I can’t keep this from—”

“I’ll talk to Linda,” she says, looking at him with tearful, angry eyes that dig into Steve’s heart. “I gave it to you, didn’t I?”

Steve’s lips thin and he frowns, pained. “Where did you get it?” 

“From work.”

“Why would they have these at your work?”

Mary squirms, looking embarrassed. “It’s for a lamé. For scoring the bread before it goes in the oven.”

Steve sighs and drops his hand, letting his fingers curl loosely over the razorblade. “There’s a limit to this, you know,” he warns. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me without worrying that I’m gonna tell him every little thing, but he’s still my husband. And that means that my responsibility is to him, first.”

Her eyes lower in defeat. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “I know.”

“Hey.” He holds up the blade and gives her a pointed look. “And you can’t be doing this. Because at the end of the day, he’s still the one who’s legally responsible for you. He has to do what he thinks is in your best interest. We both do.”

She frowns and won’t meet his eyes, but after a moment she nods, and Steve believes that she means it when she mumbles a tiny little, “Kay.”

“Kay. You gonna try to get some sleep now?”

She nods, still tearful, but calmer. Steve gently bids her goodnight and heads for the door. When he’s almost got it closed, Mary calls out softly one more time. “Steve?”

“Yeah Honey?”

“Thank you,” she says, so quiet that Steve almost doesn’t hear. “I feel like … I just needed that. To talk to you.”

Steve’s shoulders relax and he smiles grimly, relieved to hear that he’s made her feel a little better, and that he’s able to be someone she can confide in. He even feels a little bit proud that she trusts him enough to tell him these things. It’s almost enough to take away his guilt over promising to keep secrets from his husband.

… Almost. 

“G’night, Mary,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Steve.”

Series Masterlist

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[balestrem]

Sometimes it sucks when you haven’t received unconditional love as a child, because it feels like you’ve lost something and now you‘ll never attain it, because adult relationships are conditional and now you have to walk around with that feeling of being somewhat unsatisfied or incapable of love because you have not experienced it as a child and it so often triggers childhood trauma. Yearning the idea of what could’ve been if only the people who raised you would’ve treated you differently is mentally exhausting.

[jinxvents]

[theokusgallery]

#if you had any hope nick could ever be redeemable here's your sign that that's just not gonna happen

Bold of you to assume we don't want to make him worse

LMAO that's the spirit

[jahayla-parker]

You’re Losing Me

My favorite verses in order of their place in the song (NOT in order of how much I like them):

(That being said, purple is my all time favorite and hits so hard. My counselor and I have a new song to break down why it is so impactful now ��)

You say, "I don't understand" and I say, "I know you don't"

I'm getting tired even for a phoenix — Always risin' from the ashes — Mendin' all her gashes

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'? — I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick — My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick

I know my pain is such an imposition

I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy

And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier

And I wouldn't marry me either — A pathological people pleaser — Who only wanted you to see her

Tbh was hoping for a song I couldn’t relate to but was a bop…. Then she dropped this song instead 😭

[boundforhale]

🎶 — favorite song at the moment?

MUNDAY ASKS

[  I  have  a  terrible  time  picking  a  favourite  anything,  but  I've  been  listening  to  Happy  by  NF  on  repeat  a  lot  lately,  so  I  guess  I'll  go  with  that  one.  Plus  the  lyrics  give  me  serious  Derek  feels.  ]

(p.s. shout out to @stilesstylelinski for recommending it to me initially)