#Sam never had any chance for autonomy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hood-ex · 1 year

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so ive only watched a few spn episodes ever, and your tags whenever you talk about any batfam member and comparing it to them makes me curious about your full thoughts regarding them, as in: who do you think dick is more like between dean and sam?

Dick shares qualities and experiences with both brothers, but I personally think he's more like Sam than he is like Dean.

I think when Dick was younger, he more closely resembled Dean in the sense that he started fighting young as Robin, and he wanted to be Robin. Likewise, Dean was brought into the hunter fold (or the knowledge of it) earlier on in life, and he enjoyed hunting, unlike Sam.

Dick and Dean also had a more similar relationship with their fathers. Bruce had high expectations for Dick to be Robin while John had high expectations for Dean to protect and provide for Sam. Essentially, if Bruce and John told their sons to jump, Dick and Dean would be the ones asking, "How high?"

Despite that, I think Dick and Sam are more similar for the following reasons:

Dick and Sam are more independent. Dick left Robin behind as well as his place at Bruce's side so he could become his own man and hero. Sam left a life of hunting behind to go to college and to live a normal life. Sam was also left by himself a lot when John and Dean went hunting, leaving him to fend for himself many times.

Dick went to law school and apparently has a law degree. Sam went to Stanford and intended to go to law school until he got dragged back into the hunting business. Speaking of school, Dick and Sam were more academically studious than Dean.

Dick and Sam are both good at leading teams. Dick has led multiple teams, and Sam led a group of hunters to take down the British Men of Letters as well as led members from the apocalypse world.

Dick and Sam both have a repeated history of loss of autonomy. Both are possessed or taken control of quite a few times.

Dick and Sam are generally more health conscious and aren't as gluttonous as Dean.

Dick and Sam are more empathetic/compassionate. Dick is willing to extend a hand to others even when they stumble on their path. Sam's empathy deals more with morality and how he realizes that not all monsters are inherently bad and that they don't all deserve to die. Sam can also be a lot more gentle and understanding when dealing with monsters or victims (hence why Dean once remarked that Sam was always saying "pansy" stuff to people).

Sam would absolutely murder Joker if given the chance since he HATES clowns and fears them. Dick and Sam have clown killing solidarity.

Dick and Sam's guilt has pushed them to extremes on a few occasions. For example, Dick and the Blockbuster situation. Dick tried to convict himself to prison over it. According to Bruce, he had also been showing suicidal tendencies during that period. Sam is similar in that he saw his imprisonment in hell for 100+ years as atonement for his sin (aka getting tricked into freeing Lucifer from his cage which then started the apocalypse). He also was going to let himself die after doing a series of trials because he no longer valued his life after viewing himself as a screw-up/unworthy.

When they take parental roles, Dick and Sam are more patient and understanding with their kids. Dick with Damian and Sam with Jack (Jack is a nephilim who becomes Castiel, Sam, and Dean's kid). Now Dean is actually great with kids (no surprise since he's got a baby brother) but he's horrible to Jack. I actually don't even like to think of him as one of Jack's parents because he never really trusted Jack and wanted him dead multiple times. (SPN characterization was not always... the best... in those later seasons alksda.) And listen, sometimes Dick did lose his patience with Damian, but he was never horrible to him the way Dean was with Jack.

There are also ways Dick, Sam, and Dean are all similar such as how they're all clever and inventive. Dick's a detective and uses his skills to solve problems. He also builds gadgets or inventions to assist him in his cases.

Hunting monsters also involves some form of detective work, but Sam is smart in other ways such as figuring out how to do a reverse exorcism on the spot. In season 11 when Sam got infected by a rabid virus and was trying to find a cure, he lured a rabid man to him with a video and then zapped him with a taser he built with materials from a hardware store.

Sam will be referred to as the brains of the operation, but Dean is smart as well, and Sam even says so in canon. Dean's good at lore and at figuring things out on a hunt. Plus, he's an amazing mechanic and knows how to work a car, which is something that he shares in common with Dick. Sam is less so involved with the mechanics of the car, but Dean taught him more about it before he was dragged to hell.

All three of them are also intimate with sacrifice. In general, they give up so much of their own lives to help others. In specific, Dick sacrificed everything to infiltrate Spyral. Sam sacrificed himself to lock Lucifer away in hell. Dean sacrificed the rest of his life to bring Sam back to life. And those are only a few examples. They sacrifice so much more.

#i think dick and dean can also be less willing to share their feelings or have hard time opening up #except... sam is also not the best at sharing his feelings soooo let's just say they all suck w emotions sometimes #oh i know. dick and dean don't have demon blood like sam does alskdja #sam's demon blood gives him issues that dick and dean don't have to deal with #but yeaaaah wow it's v hard to summarize sam and dean from 15 seasons lmao like there's so much i don't remember from the show atm #Dick Grayson #Sam and Dean comparisons #anon

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queermania · 1 year

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I think you don't really understand what it's like to be an adult that grew up with your bodily autonomy repeatedly violated and in a situation of extreme psychological abuse. Those types of things warp your experiences when you're an adult. Sam had his autonomy violated as an infant and it colors everything that happens to him after. He spends the rest of his life trying to regain his autonomy and it's understandable that there are times he would want to give-up because that's how that kind of abuse warps your brain. He should be able to be open about that without having his autonomy taken away.

1. you are making assumptions about my life and my experiences simply because i have not come to the same conclusion about something as you have. but you have no idea what experiences have shaped the way i approach this issue. and frankly, it's a little insulting that you think you do.

2. your experiences and your feelings about those experiences do not change what is actually happening to you. they influence how you react to what is happening to you. the fact that sam had his autonomy violated at any given point in time does not mean that it's happening again every single time something bad happens to him.

3. there's this concerning view that a lot of sam stans seem to have that because sam was a victim when he was a baby, he is now and forevermore a victim in perpetuity. he has no personhood and it's not possible for him to ever have any agency. he is tainted and he's going to spend the rest of his life repenting for something that happened to him. and you know, i kind of get it, because that is clearly how sam feels about the situation. but that doesn't make it the truth.

and if that's something you relate to, that's great! it's wonderful to find characters and stories that we see pieces of ourselves in. but i hope one day you're in a safe enough place, both mentally and materially, that you are able to accept that a.) you don't need to repent for the things that were done to you b.) no matter what's been done to you (or even what you've done), you are still a person deserving of all the love and respect that everyone else is and c.) your past traumas do not absolve you from your current and/or future choices.

4. it sounds like you're implying that sam should be able to follow through on suicidal thoughts and it's a violation of his autonomy that other people (usually dean) prevent that. this is a very complex issue in the real world where a lot of people feel like they can't be open about their struggles for fear of being locked up (in places that absolutely do violate your autonomy) and i sympathize with that. but we're talking about a fantasy show where sam's suicidal ideations were the effects of what was more or less a supernatural curse.

and even if that wasn't true, i still don't think letting someone die because they think it's the only way they can ever make up for the things that have happened to them (or even the things they've done) is... okay? people deserve the chance to get better, even when that seems like an impossibility, and not letting someone take that chance away from themselves is not a bad thing.

now, if you want to talk about the state of mental health care in the world, let's talk about that. but you're never going to convince me that letting someone give in to their most self-destructive impulses is how you respect their agency.

5. i just want to reiterate that nobody is saying that sam's autonomy isn't violated at various points throughout the show. the argument was that it's not violated any more than any of the other main characters, despite the fandom treating it as a sam-specific issue. that's literally it.

#replies #anonymous #sw #suicidal ideation cw #wank for ts

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dyed-red · 2 years

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I had a wonderful ask for you, and then I got distracted and forgot it, so I'm going with this one instead. Do you have any thoughts on disordered eating for both the boys? It is definitely shown that Sam has food issues ("Sammy is a chubby 12 year old" and "Organic") and does the whole stress-forgetting-to-eat thing. Food also plays into his body autonomy issues. I think Dean also has issues around food/eating. His just aren't shown as obviously as Sam's, but also are a manifest of his issues.

thank you for sending the ask :) feel free to send the other one if you ever remember it!

under a cut

Sam

i think sam's disordered eating is pretty textual, like you said, and i explored some of my headcanons for it in like a ghost with two voices, but that fic is... A Lot, and it's probably neater to explain them in one place. in brief though, some thoughts.

he grew up eating anything and everything and was not picky, and we know he liked monstrosities like marshmallow nachos

like many kids he put on weight before growth spurts which is where that chubby 12 year old line comes from (mostly him being acerbic about the nickname sammy, tbh) but for the most part he was always pretty lean

he learned about nutrition and the food pyramind in school and sought out more vegetables as a preteen and teen

he felt really self-conscious / embarrassed as a kid at another family's house for dinner when he asked what asparagus (or some other vegetable that wasn't broccoli or carrots) was and they were like ???? it's asparagus??? have you never seen asparagus?? and since then tried to eat a wider variety of foods so as never to embarrass himself over food again like that

he didn't actually have an Issue or a pickiness for food though until after being possessed by meg, after which he found himself feeling more easily put off by meals (like the one not that long later in Folsom Prison Blues)

he started to develop Actual Issues after ahbl when azazel showed him he put demon blood in him as a baby, but didn't directly identify that the unclean feeling was the source of his food issues until much much later in life

he rationalizes his turn toward healthier foods in the year that follows on being a byproduct of needing to stay healthy and strong for the job (he's already died once! not to mention what happened to Dean in Faith. it's important to care about their heart health!) and to keep himself focused and sharp if he's going to save dean

drinking demon blood does Not help his issues, neither does the way it changes him nor the detox/purge of that. what he puts and doesn't put in his body takes on explicit purity leanings around/after this point directly as a result

these issues don't have a chance to go anywhere really as the apocalypse is looming except for him to be eating salads and exercising and then he's soulless for a year and a half, and soulless doesn't really question his own desire(?) to exercise and eat well. he likes keeping his body in peak condition and likes the rewards he gets for doing so

obviously cage trauma fucks with sam's eating and this is where he starts to spurn meat more often because of the smell and texture and how it turns his stomach

these issues persist even after cas takes the cage trauma down to a notch where sam can compartmentalize it, and it would be here that he sort of has space to maybe start acknowledging that he is Different about food but the leviathan really are offering the perfect excuse for him to go all in on clean living and he's able to rationalize and justify his food issues to kingdom come, and he's good with that

amelia and whatever the hell is going on there (fuzzy fake memories) is more of the same

the trials are purifying him, don't you know? real talk, sam probably drinks holy water each day during this period and hides that from dean. he's got to keep his strength up but also he's coughing up blood and starts to look seriously anemic but everything is fine he's fine these trials are purifying him it's fine. he's probably not eating much except when dean makes him. he doesn't see this as an issue except that he needs to keep his strength up for the trials. part of him might prefer it this way. he doesn't want to examine that.

gadreel does not help.

sam started to eat a bit more during that period and felt good and things felt good and then he started losing time and the anxiety killed his appetite and he just had to push himself harder but what if this is just who he is now and he really really needs to look after his health if he's only this old and already has memory issues and he needs to eat healthy and -

gadreel and crowley together Does Not Help.

neither does antonia bevell.

although tbh by that point his food issues are pretty much fixed, not really in flux. they're issues, he knows they're issues, he eats healthy and he's got some idea where this shit comes from and he's got it mostly under wraps, even if it sneaks up on him sometimes and is something he has to work with. dean doesn't always get it and sometimes is insensitive af about it (the bacon incident) but for the most part lets it be so long as sam doesn't lose too much weight.

and so on.

Dean

dean's food issues are somewhat opposite to sam's, and i'll admit i have a lot less to say about them.

like sam, he did not grow up a picky eater. he was probably more conscious/aware of their food insecurity and at points was in charge of feeding sam, so took more responsibility to ensure food wasn't wasted

in part for that reason, he hates food waste as an adult, and will eat food even as it's edging toward probably not safe anymore (we see this in a few episodes actually) and won't turn his nose up at anything, and will finish food that sam doesn't eat almost out of habit

dean's had food poisoning a number of times, but that also means he's developed an iron stomach over time and now he can eat sort of anything and if it's not straight up moudly, he'll probably get no more than a stomach ache for a few hours or feel queasy and gassy the next day

dean also loves free food for the aforementioned reasons. it does not head off his tendency to get food poisoning, but again, that mitigates over time

dean prefers calorically dense food like proteins and carbs because it's less expensive and keeps him going longer. he doesn't hate vegetables but his somewhat arrested development in his teen and early adult years means he never really developed from child tastebud preferences to a more adult palette, at least not until much later, although he had no issue acquiring the taste for beer and whiskey. he seems to prefer sweet and despise bitter though, and i think it's a learned preference more than anything

learned preference by way of that same food insecurity in childhood and his body picking out the calorie rich foods and that never really going away? but protein matters a lot too -- notice that he likes peanut m&ms more than the regular ones, and likes jerky and slim jims and that sort of thing.

to bring this back to disordered eating, it's not really a problem except that he struggles to eat and enjoy healthier foods because he can't really acquire a taste for them and he struggles to pass up food when it's available, even though he can and does go without food on hunts and stretches when the situation calls for it

idk we could make some painful and vile headcanons here about dean in hell, much like with sam in the cage, but if alastair cut off piece of dean and fed them to him, it doesn't seem to have dampened dean's zest for meat or food, so might not have been an especially effective torture on dean

mostly -- dean's got issues, some of them are related to food, but mostly his issues manifest outside of the eating sphere. eating is pleasurable to him (sweet, tasty, beer and pie, hedonism, etc) but also important (protein, energy, strength, etc) and wires can get crossed there sometimes and he can and does give himself a stomach ache at big meals and food poisoning on occasion from not letting things go to waste, but he mostly manages this aspect of his life pretty well, especially considering his experiences

#sam #dean #characterization #my meta #kind of #filling up the first five tags so #that i can tag this as #disordered eating cw #and other unpleasant stuff like hell trauma mentioned #right on queue

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fandom-space-princess · 3 years

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Point of View

--- POV: your name is Isaac. Right now, the sum total of your existence is this: a sunburned neck from days spent climbing the mountain. Splinters, one in your shoulder and several in your arms, from carrying wood. A sore back. You built that wood into a pyre, side by side with your father, expecting a lamb to appear.

POV: your name is Claire Novak. Right now, the sum total of your existence is this: a bruise on your cheek, where the thing that wasn’t your mother hit you. Arms sore from being held, then tied. The father-shaped space that has been vacant for one-twelfth of your life has suddenly been filled again, but the man who filled it is bleeding out at your feet, and he is begging something that might be (but probably isn’t) the God you learned about in Sunday school to appear and save him, save you all.

POV: your name is not yet—but will one day be—Lucifer. As you are torn from the only home you have ever known at the behest of your Father, you begin to realize that you never had choice, not in the way you imagined you did. These are the things you thought you were building: a relationship, family, trust. These are the things He was building: a narrative.

POV: your name is Sam Winchester. You are twenty-five years old, and your body has never been your own. You were conceived in the light of this knowledge, and you have lived with it, and died for it; and though you do not yet know this, you will live and die for it again and again. And as you listen to the Devil confide that you were meant to be the vehicle for the end of the world, you wonder if anyone is ever going to stop and ask you how you feel about it. ---

--- POV: a knife is poised above your throat. The sun reflects off it, blinding you to all else. Your father looks down at you, but he isn’t seeing you, not really; his mind is lost to devotion. Later, as you bind the ram and draw that knife across its throat, he’ll tell you that he knew God would stay his hand. That’s what faith means, he’ll say; I knew He would not take you from me. His smile, like the knife, will be blinding as he tells you: stories will be written of this day.

POV: a demon dies under a hand that isn’t yours any more. The thing wearing your face is explaining to your father that he’s done now, that he can rest, and all that will cost him is: you. If he were destined to have a later, if that chance had ever come, you can imagine him saying that he and the thing possessing you both knew what choice he would make.

POV: the only available blueprint for Paradise calls for your bones to be laid into the foundations. And—as everyone keeps telling you—that's the best-case scenario.

POV: you can wrench your body free of the forces controlling it, and all it will cost you is your life. Standing at the edge of the abyss, you see for the first time what true freedom looks like. If you’re going to be damned, it will be on your own terms. ---

--- POV: your name is Isaac, and there will never be a single story—no parable, no holy writ—dedicated to how you felt as you lay on that pyre.

POV: your name is Claire Novak, and you were a child. What consent could you meaningfully offer to a servant of the Divine? Your body or your father’s—but that choice was never yours to begin with.

POV: your name is Lucifer, and to the one Being you ever truly loved, your presence was never important. It was merely a necessary precursor to your absence.

POV: your name is Sam Winchester, and this is the way you will save the world: by grabbing hold of the story with bleeding hands. Stop and look, you’ll command. Just this once, you will recognize the autonomy of the sacrifice. ---

--- Anyway. POV: the story is the altar. You are the lamb. ---

#hi i'm sorry for this #this fic just Happened to me. i had absolutely no control over the process. brainworms were 100% driving i'm just working the keyboard.#claire novak #jimmy novak #lucifer #sam winchester #spn #ficlet #my fanfic

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salty-ironstrange-shipper · 3 years

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I posted 5,351 times in 2021

1106 posts created (21%)

4245 posts reblogged (79%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.8 posts.

I added 8,159 tags in 2021

#ironstrange - 1535 posts

#stephen strange - 1490 posts

#tony stark - 1185 posts

#incorrect-ironstrange - 812 posts

#mcu - 698 posts

#marvel - 617 posts

#incorrect quotes - 569 posts

#peter parker - 443 posts

#fanart - 420 posts

#supremefamily - 390 posts

Longest Tag: 128 characters

#and the other half is dni if you like this disgusting irredeemable media: some kid's show everyone was obsessed with 2 years ago

My Top Posts in 2021

Sam's Louisiana neighbors being weirded out by the super soldier/Avenger/former brainwashed assassin when he first starts living with the Wilson's, vs them 5 years later just used to him.

Newcomer: Um ... Who's that guy with the metal arm?

Wise old neighbor who Bucky cats sits for: Oh, Bucky? That's Sam's boy. Don't worry about him none, he's quiet but he's nice.

1753 notes • Posted 2021-05-17 22:27:46 GMT

Wong: Ah yes, the five love languages.

*points to Tony*: my parents never told me they're proud of me

*points to Stephen*: im so fucking tired please god just let me rest for five minutes

*points to Harley*: I love Stuff

*points to Peter*: please pay attention to me

*points to Tony*: touch starved

Tony: HEY, WHY DID I GET TWO?!

1760 notes • Posted 2021-02-22 03:36:37 GMT

black widow just strengthened my resolve that clint should have died in endgame. “oh he had a family he had kids-” Natasha was taken from her biological family as a child, abused and stripped of her innocence and autonomy, forced to become a killer, had a family in the form of Yelena, Alexei, Melina, and the other widows, and barely had a chance to decide what she actually wanted for her life between being on the run and going from fight to fight. Clint had a life - Natasha deserved one.

3506 notes • Posted 2021-07-11 08:02:31 GMT

Bucky: I'm just dropping this off and I'll go.

Also Bucky two minutes later: So 🥺🥺 you need any help ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

4390 notes • Posted 2021-04-16 08:20:50 GMT

“My world doesn’t matter to America, so why should I care about its mascot?”

this is now a Sarah Wilson stan account

10125 notes • Posted 2021-04-09 08:01:19 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #incorrect-ironstrange #2021

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nougaty-nephilim · 3 years

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Supernatural trudged through many seasons feeling aimless. There was a point to it all from s1-5, but afterward they sort of slipped into bros just fighting to survive, endangering the world and then saving it from other entities (and themselves). In a way it went back to the s1 basics of saving people hunting things blah blah, but there was no overall trajectory like they once had with Yellow Eyes, the psychic children and the apocalypse. No real end in mind or point to get to. That's why I always expected the series finale to be doomed.

I knew eventually they'd get cancelled or keep churning out content until CW got tired and said told to wrap up a final season. Then they'd scramble to find a way to end it and likely choose the lazy, uninspired, 'what's the point it's not like ratings matter anymore' sort of ending.

But then they pulled the Chuck is a cruel, capricious God storyline. They revealed to the characters that they're just puppets to be controlled for entertainment. They have no agency, no autonomy no free will. Suddenly we had a villain more powerful than any other could hope to be because he created and controlled every other villain that came before him. He made them and handed them their power and purpose to play with them and toss them aside when he was bored of their plots. Suddenly there was a purpose to the show, face the puppet master then fight tooth and nail to get the free will you never quite had. And sure if they'd died in that process, it would be sad but at least it was to fight for their freedom to be real people with real lived. And if they survived it, they got the chance to explore who they really were when Chuck isn't dictating every line into his novels before they can say it. They can begin the road to self discovery, even if it's just implied and we don't see it on screen.

The finale was disappointing because we had 15 seasons, almost two decades in real time, of watching The Truman Show. But instead of Truman facing his master, choosing freedom from control at the end and discovering who he is outside of a controlled environment, he simply dies at the end. He never experiences real free will long enough to make the journey satisfying. He never gets to figure out who he is when he isn't micromanaged in his own life. He lives a life being controlled and dies the moment he's about to step out of the door of his simulated world. That's how Supernatural ends. Dean and Cas are killed before they can enjoy Chuck's defeat. Sam lives through it but he is so depressed the entire time that he doesn't seem to really enjoy any of it (and frankly looked depressed and su*cidal half the time). Jack becomes God so even though he didn't die he still lives in the afterlife as if he did and he never really gets to live his life despite being a toddler who never got the chance to experience much normal.

TL;DR In the end, it all feels like the show told us that Team Free Will 2.0 defeated the final villain yet it felt like he won

#dont mind me just needed to get this off my chest #supernatural #spn #if chuck = the writers #based on who created the story and controlled the characters #so if you make the villain into a mirror of yourself #and you show that the villain is defeated #if you continue producing the show with the same #callous and cruel storytelling that's similar to what the villain planned #then it will still feel like the villain lost #you cannot have a story where the characters fight for free will #and all but 1 of them die before living fully with free will #in fact they never live long enough to find out who they are when not controlled #which means their hero's journey was a pointless waste of airtime #my post

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

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Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 6

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader

word length: 2.9K

chapters: 6/?

warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. more detailed content warnings are included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers, click through the read more, CTRL + F “content warnings”.

notes: slightly shorter than my usual, but i needed to get some stuff fixed up. if ya’ll like my stories please consider donating to my ko-fi— a bitch is poor lmao

Steve swept you up in his arms and turned to deposit you on the landing upstairs, evidently trusting the others to keep you contained for a moment. There was an audible scuffle going on in the den, Bucky would be heard growling from outside—snapping at someone who made the mistake of asking how he’d gotten out there so fast? Tony was growling at Peter who looked seconds away from begging for forgiveness.

“You guys made it safe, I’m happy to see you Nat,” Steve drew the redhaired woman into his arms and sighed in relief, but you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement; honestly you were having trouble thinking, your brain clouded with the sudden onset of absolute and uncontrolled panic.

The moment the black-haired man had been pulled away by the delta currently stomping back up the stairs, clarity had returned to you like a slap in the face. The golden fog that obscured your vision immediately dissipated and just as quickly you’d been overwhelmed with gut wrenching fear. You didn’t actually remember kicking Steve in the face or making a break for the stairs, but evidently you had and you cursed your hindbrain for running towards the stairs—you should’ve jumped straight out the window; you had a better chance at out running Bucky and whoever else was down there than the two alpha primes and their surrounding packmates.

Before you could even take a step towards the still wide-open window, the black-haired man appeared with a green flash and wrapped around you tightly. “Shhh , pet, no. No windows for you, darling, come now—back to your nest.”

In a moment of truly unusual harmony, your consciousness and hindbrain agreed that the bed was the last place you wanted to be. That wasn’t your bed, the omega hissed tearfully, you’d never made a nest—that wasn’t yours. It could barely be called a nest, even. There hadn’t been any careful consideration regarding the placement of the pillows and blankets, there were no articles of clothing or soft items that had been scavenged or stolen to elicit a feeling of safety or comfort. Worst of all was the way it smelled. Obviously, it didn’t reek, the mix of individual scents wasn’t a bad conglomeration, but your hindbrain whined at the unfamiliarity. This wasn’t your pack’s scent.

The cohesion was jarring, and you groaned. Regardless of the reasoning, your hindbrain was aware that you didn’t get to have a pack and that reminder always hurt. It desperately desired one, but an omega’s primary objective was survival.

After all, you in all of your fully conscious state knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would never have a pack—it wasn’t a matter of wanting or not wanting at this point in your life. You were too old to be regressed into the type of omega that packs wanted, your body too badly reliant on the chemical reactions produced by suppressants after fifteen years to stop taking them. At your age, to be found by a pack meant death.

They would get sick of trying to fix you. You’d die from quitting the suppressants cold turkey. They’d beat you for disobedience until your body gave up. You were nearly thirty and that was ancient for an unbound omega and you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Especially an old dog who was bound and determined not to be taught.

“LOKI!” Bucky bellowed as he stomped past Steve and the redhead on the stairs, looking three shades past furious.

The man holding you let go very quickly after that, spinning you away and moving to intercept the furious delta with an equally unpleasant expression. Why couldn’t you have just fucking kept it together upon meeting Bruce—that blood in the water, shark nosed asshole, if you had reigned in your panic there was no way he could’ve scented you through your suppressants. Steve was a different story, but if you’d been quick and calm you probably could’ve made it.

You scanned the room quickly; Bruce was on the bed, checking on Wanda. Bucky and Loki were on the floor fighting, half entangled with Peter and Sam who were doing their best to put their own fight aside to keep the deltas from killing each other. Steve was still halfway down the stairs with the other redhead, talking to her quietly. Tony was—

“Okay, princess, okay,” Tony was wrapped tightly around you from behind, carefully keeping your head braced between his chin and shoulder when you tried to thrash. “This isn’t fair to you, you’re way too fragile for this right now. Put your head here, breathe with me.”

“Please let me go,” you didn’t realize you were crying until you spoke, words coming out in sobs. “I don’t want to die like this, please—”

“You are not going to die, little love,” Thor sounded so sad from where he came to stand in front of you. “I’m not going to bond you, not while you’re so upset. But the results of the tests Bruce ran showed that you are in danger. I cannot allow that and no matter how angry you are with us, we will not let you suffer needlessly.”

“I’m not suffering! I swear, I swear I’m not suffering I’m, I’m happy! I’m happy living my life the way I have been. Please, let me have the choice, I want to be alone, it makes me happy!”

Trying to explain to a literal God why you deserved personal agency was an exhausting business, especially when said God was as condescending as Thor. His indulgent and sad smile was nearly enough to tip you over the edge, but there really wasn’t a point in getting angry—he obviously couldn’t even fathom the concept that what he was doing was wrong. It’s not like you could do anything anyway, you weren’t built for violence but for running away. Every bone in your body vibrated with rage; the injustice was overwhelming.

For fifteen whole years you’d been just fine. You would’ve continued to be just fine, if it weren’t for some super nosed freaks crossing your path. What were the odds of the only people in the world who could scent you from beneath more than a decade’s worth of suppressant use would have a cabin in Quebec that you happened to clean—and run into said people because they happened to show up early; an incredibly unusual situation.

It made you think about Mrs. Hunt. She’d only called to give you a heads up because of the last time, when the homeowner had tried to assault you even while he’d thought that you were a beta . You wondered how long it would take her to realize something was wrong; it was getting late and you’d yet to return her cart despite telling her you’d be there shortly.

The real question would be whether she tried to help or not once she discovered your presentation. She could try to help, try to stick them with omega theft, but they could claim civic duty like Peter had earlier. Besides, that was contingent upon her wanting to help you considering you’d lied to her for so many years.

“You’re so distressed, won’t you let me purr for you?”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare take away—”

“Little love, please—”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t even know me,” you spat, turning to address the room at large. “What kind of fucking superheros are you? Let go of me! Let me go!”

Tony sighed and hefted you up into his arms, one wrapped around your torso while the other hooked under your knees and pinned you carefully across his body. You struggled uselessly against his strong hold; he wasn’t as strong as Thor or Steve, but his bicep was massive next to your head and you could feel his muscles through his clothes as he walked to the bed.

“We can’t, princess,” he murmured into the side of your head as he lowered both of you to the bed, sitting propped against a mass of pillows in the corner. “We’ll never find an unbound omega in your age range again. Plenty of omegas have been offered to us, but they’re all practically children. You’re our last chance—”

“There are plenty! You said plenty! Pick the oldest who wants to be in this fucking shit show and leave me alone!” Everyone tensed when the tone in your voice approached a shriek.

“We’re not taking an omega who’s not even legal to drink—”

“That alpha is like eighteen!” You tried to gesture to Peter, who gaped at you like you’d wounded him, but your arms were still pinned tightly to your sides.

“Peter is twenty-four, actually,” Tony spoke with mirth when Peter jumped onto the bed and crawled until he was pressed against Tony’s side and your back. “And before you ask, Wanda is twenty-six.”

“We’re so lucky to have found you,” the alpha half purred, pressing his nose into the back of your neck. “We’ll make you happy, happier than you are now.”

“It’s gonna be a rough start,” Bruce laid down in the nest a few feet away, welcoming the woman you recognized as the Black Widow into his arms when she slithered into the bed. “We have to balance your hormones, or you will die. You wouldn’t have lasted another year on those suppressants.”

“Death would be a reprieve,” you hissed shortly, freezing when the tone of the room immediately changed.

All attention was suddenly on you, Bruce still making direct eye contact with those sad puppy eyes, “I know that feeling, sweetheart—”

“We will do it another way then,” Thor interrupted, sending Bruce a quieting but loving look. “I said I would not bond you while you are in distress anda I will never break a promise to you. Open your mouth, this will be quick.”

Steve seemed to sigh in response and followed to stand next to the other prime, “I lost my chance. You’ll help her?”

Thor leveled the shorter blond with a careful look before nodding, both showing signs of deference and affection and respect that you did not care for. The rattle of a belt prompted Tony to turn you, setting you carefully between his legs while continuing to hold down your arms with what could appear to be an affectionate bear hug. He even linked his fingers with yours, squeezing gently as you tried to squirm.

“No. No, no no no, that’s disgusting, I won’t—”

“Shhh , I’ll do all the work little love, all you need to do is swallow.”

He was jerking his cock carefully, a flick of his wrist near the head catching your eye. That was a dangerous weapon, the same way you’d come to learn Steve’s was and you had no intention of letting it anywhere near your mouth. You clamped your lips shut, teeth grinding.

“Stubborn,” Peter snorted a laugh and you would’ve snapped at him had his hand not dove between your thighs, fingers gliding through the slick lips of your cunt until he found your clit.

You had to stop yourself from screeching, the head of Thor’s cock directly in front of your face. “Very. Come on now, open up.”

The fingers pinching your nose shut came as a shock, you’d crushed your eyes shut out without realizing it and they snapped open when your face was assaulted. Steve was kneeling on the bed, carefully cutting of your air supply with one hand and stroking your head with the other.

“Come on, precious, you’ve gotta breathe,” he stated softly, smiling when you were forced to pull your lips back to gasp for breath—until he realized your teeth were still locked together. “Really ‘mega?”

The next thing you knew his thumb was shoving against your molars, literally prying your jaw open. There was no way to fight it without hurting yourself, especially once he wedged his thick thumb between your top and bottom teeth. You barely had a second to anticipate the horror before an unnecessarily large cock found it’s way between your lips.

You tried to shriek, your brain finally catching up to the whole series of events, but it was no use. His scent was overwhelming and his dick stretched your lips, your jaw forced completely open. Thor groaned, a triggering noise as he very carefully pressed forward until your mouth was completely full and he was settled against you tongue.

“Suck for me, little love, just a little,” he grunted, just barely working his member between your lips while his huge hand stroked the rest.

It took a surprisingly small amount of time for a massive load of cum to shoot into your mouth. It was thick, and the way that Thor growled immediately made your pupils blow wide like you’d done a line of coke.

Your body went lax immediately and you swallowed on instinct when a hand gently rubbed your throat. The fuzz in your brain was the result of arousal, a brutal orgasm that rocked your body at the sound in combination with your body’s sheer delight at the taste of alpha cum. Somewhere you realized that was disgusting but the haze in your brain made you more focused on the hand between your thighs rather than the indignity.

“Man, this shit ain’t fair,” Sam complained, panting from the exertion of trying to prevent Loki and Bucky from killing each other. “They get to cuddle and we—Hey! Quit that, man!”

“All of you stop fighting,” Steve’s alpha order was brutal and effective.

The sounds of scuffling from behind Thor stopped immediately and there were huffs and snarls and low grumbles but the nest started shifting all around you. You were dropped back to lay against Tony’s chest, having inadvertently swallowed the entirety of the god’s massive load.

“She’s so cute,” Wanda cooed from somewhere to your left.

“We’ll need to go over what we’re doing from here,” Steve sighed once everyone had settled, still watching your dazed expression with a small smile. “But let’s just… nest for a bit, okay?”

The word nest triggered something in your half alpha-cum stoned brained and you looked around the den with a displeased expression. It was a terrible nest; all of the pillows and blankets were in weird heaps and the scent was so wrong. You didn’t really want to nest here, your hindbrain grumbled in agreement, but you’d fix the damn thing. You whined and wriggled until Steve gave Tony the go ahead to stop fully restraining you.

The bed was incredibly soft, which was an upside and crawling across it was like sinking your knees into clouds as you collected the soft heaps of blankets and pillows as you went. You wanted everything off so you could start from scratch, brain muddled by the wrongness of the current layout. You wanted to wash the sheets, the pillow cases, the blankets, all of it. The scent wasn’t right.

“Help her.” It was a quiet request from the Black Widow, who’d also started shifting around to remove the items. “She doesn’t like it like this.”

It was easier to get everything pushed away and in neat piles with the packs’ help, everyone immediately moving to help organize the pillows. You only snapped at the blond beta—Hawkeye, your memory supplied— once for putting a soft blanket on the pile with the not soft blankets. He immediately gave an apologetic burr to which your hindbrain purred back instinctually; evidently a good reaction.

“Why does she like Clint? They haven’t even spoken.”

“She doesn’t like him, she snarled at him!”

“She hasn’t purred at anyone else!”

“Shut up, fuckin’ idiot.”

The noise you made was one of discontent and disdain, the arguing deltas immediately quieting. You didn’t argue with the chirping growl that meant displeased omega, not in a real pack where the goal was to keep omegas pleased and docile. Somewhere your brain reminded you that this wasn’t your pack but the alpha hormones filling your blood and confusing you and yet somehow all you could focus on was whining and pushing at pack members to get them out of the way as your rearranged; clicking your teeth grumpily when you were handed a blanket instead of a pillow or vice versa.

You found yourself being corralled back into the corner, where Natasha and Wanda immediately wrapped themselves around you. Thor had found Bruce and settled beside and settled near your feet where you’d built an intricate nest wall of pillows and blankets. Two of the deltas, Tony and Loki seemed to be glaring at each other—even as Tony laid himself completely on top of the other and they both relaxed into comfortable holds.

It was interesting, watching the pack dynamics as they moved between each other. Clint wrapped around Natasha from behind the same way Carol found her way behind Wanda. Peter had weaseled his way into curling against Loki’s side while tossing a leg over the man’s hip, subsequently laying it over the backs of Tony’s thighs. Sam, Bucky and Steve all found their way into a neat grouping on the bed closest to the stairs, piled as close to the subsequent piles of superheros as possible.

There was some sort of pattern beginning to form in the back of your brain but you were still too confused, too sucked into your own omega hindbrain by the overwhelming introduction of alpha hormone to your system. Instead of following the thought through to the end, you found yourself warm and comfortable and full and falling asleep tucked between the groupings of presentations as if it wasn’t totally, 100% against your will.

content warnings: forced cum eating, chemical manipulation, dead dove: do not eat

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #tony stark x reader #carol danvers x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #bruce banner x reader #clint barton x reader #peter parker x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #sam wilson x reader #dark!avengers #dark!AU #pocketful of posies chapter 6

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mittensmorgul · 3 years

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aaaahahahahahhhhhhahahh the worst thing Sam ever said to dean. 9.13, The Purge:

Dean: About what you said the other day.

Sam: I thought it didn’t bother you.

Dean: You know Sam, I saved your hide back there. I saved your hide at that church — in the hospital. I may not think things all the way through but when I do, it’s because it’s the right thing. I’d do it again.

Sam: And that is the problem. You think you’re my savior, my brother, the hero. You swoop in and even when you mess up you think what you’re doing is worth it because you’ve convinced yourself you’re doing more good than bad... but you’re not. Kevin’s dead, Crowley’s in the wind, we’re no closer to beating this angel thing, please tell me, what is the upside to me being alive?

Dean: Are you kidding me? You and me, fighting the good fight together.

Sam: Just once be honest with me, you didn’t save me for me. You did it for you.

Dean: What are you talking about?

Sam: I was ready to die, I was ready. I should have died. But you, you didn’t want to be alone. That’s what this boils down to, you can’t stand the thought of being alone. I’ll give you this much, you are certainly willing to do the sacrifice, as long as you’re not the one being hurt.

Dean: Alright, you want to be honest, if the situation was reversed, and I was dying, you’d do the same thing.

Sam: No Dean, I wouldn’t. Same circumstances, I wouldn’t. I’m heading to bed.

(bolding mine, because we’re gonna talk about those words...)

The problem in the Winchester Codependency is this. We’ve talked about it for years-- the fact that yes, they’re brothers, but that Dean also still can’t help but feel “parental” toward Sam, because that’s the role he was forced into as long as he can remember. And as many glimpses of this as Sam has had, and as many small (and sometimes large) moments of insight into Dean, he still either refuses to understand this, or blocks it out, or assumes it’s all handled until the next time this issue rears its ugly head again and it’s like Sam developed amnesia again about why Dean defaults to the Bossy Parent role.

I mean, this is not to discount Dean’s own amnesia over the fact that Sam does NOT have the same hangups about feeling “parental” toward Dean in return, because to Dean the role of Brother and Parent are so tangled up together he can’t always tell what’s what.

And Kevin... he’s not dead because of Sam-- even though he enjoys putting the blame for it on himself. He’s dead because Gadreel felt BETRAYED by Dean, even though he himself had been betrayed for the better part of the entire history of time... so like... there’s much bigger issues here, but Sam reduces them all down to himself. I mean, Dean also blames himself for everything a lot of the time, but not when it’s in the attempt to save the people he cares about.

The whole “we’ll always try to save each other” that is a BIG part of Dean’s personal definition of what it means to be family on a very basic level... Sam just basically stomped on that and told him it was worthless. And the painful irony is that by 10.03, Sam gets this. He finally put on his grownup pants and did something far more horrific than Dean asking an angel he thought he could trust (based on Cas’s word about Ezekiel being a good soldier, and that angel not completely lying about his identity) to save Sam’s life, and then Sam effectively being held hostage by that angel-- which directly hurt Cas and Dean both, as well. So like... at least Dean is trying to keep the bigger picture in mind here.

And Dean has already punished himself for this in direct ways that Sam has also watched first-hand. He’s expressed how he feels he’s poison and went off and took the Mark of Cain, effectively sacrificing himself to spare Sam and Cas and everyone else from Abaddon. So that bit Sam says there in the second bolded segment? Is potentially the worst thing he’d ever said to Dean up to that point. Because Dean himself has sacrificed more than almost everyone else on this show combined-- his own identity, his own happiness, everything he’s ever wanted in life since he was four years old, his own soul in exchange for Sam’s, and most horrifically his own LIFE in a future where he FINALLY had a chance to be free and live unburdened by mechanism that caused their repeated need to make these awful sacrifices in the first place. They’d finally knocked the monkey wrench out of the cosmic gears, unseated Chuck, and then... for some reason Dean thinks one more final big sacrifice for Sam is what “was supposed to” happen? NO. No, no, fuck that sideways with a container ship.

Yes, Sam repents of all of this in s10 and goes WAY over the top on his revenge mission, because he thinks Dean is dead and that some rando demon was just using his body... at the beginning he doesn’t think Dean CAN be saved. 10.03 is the beginning of Sam’s redemption from this.

And this is why 15.20 is not only implausible to me, but outright offensive. They both struggled horrifically with these things and would eventually forgive and overcome them, only to fall right back into it just in time for the finale.

Yes, Sam’s issues with bodily autonomy and possession throughout the series are at play here, too. And that only makes things worse. Dean will only truly begin to understand that after 13.23, when he will-- without hesitation-- once again make the sacrifice himself to save the people he cares about.

I understand both of their perspectives here, but heck it’s super hard not to feel angry and hurt by Sam’s words. I mean, HOW MANY TIMES has Dean been perfectly willing to be the sacrifice for Sam’s sake, and the ONE TIME he made a choice for Sam-- bearing in mind that Gadreel was also playing ALL of them, and using Dean’s face to secure the Yes from Sam-- Sam can’t let it go. I mean, I’ve written about the “who’s to blame for this” argument and how it just goes right back to the start of creation and puts it all on Chuck for locking up Amara. In this circumstance specifically, though, this is at least PARTLY Dean’s personal guilt over “failing” that first trial way back in 8.14. Sam was never the one who was supposed to “sacrifice” himself to close up Hell. Dean even argued with him that they would find another Hellhound to kill, and Sam busted out the Power of Positive Thinking BS about wanting to SURVIVE the trials when Dean was looking at them as a death sentence. Because they always WERE a death sentence, and no amount of “golly I’d really like to live anyway though” was gonna change that. The entire POINT of what Dean did was trying to CORRECT what he felt was a pointless sacrifice of Sam on the altar of saving everyone else.

So yeah, I hate this bit here. :’D

Because as I hinted at in the previous paragraph there... THIS WAS ALWAYS CHUCK’S STORY. That one brother would have to be sacrificed so the other could live. Because that’s the story of him and Amara. Only one of them could rule over creation. Only Chuck could remain free to create the universe he wanted unhindered, and the story of his universe as told and retold through his own creations was his own self-justification for that original crime. And the final episode of Supernatural gave him exactly that, in the stupidest possible way. It was “we can’t have nice things or a happy life, only one’s death so the other can be free.” The irony was that they weren’t truly free. Dean was just ~dead~ and alone and never sought out what he never got to have in life. Sam abandoned everything he’d grown to know about himself to live a half-life without any real satisfaction, until he finally died, too. It’s just... depressing AF. And it all feels rooted in Chuck’s basic plot rather than truly winning for Free Will and humanity.

I typed on this so long that 9.14 ended, with Kevin’s admonition to them both that they stop behaving like that, since he’d ben watching them be petty from the veil for months. Dean was ready to talk to Sam, but Sam had already turned his back and walked away, completely convinced of his own righteousness in this matter. And at this point in the series I just kinda want to yell at him... >.>

#spn 9.13 #spn 10.03 #breaking the codependency #chuck's process #spn 15.20 #spn 9.14 #spiders georg of the tnt loop

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thran-duils · 4 years

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Use All of Me (P.14)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Fourteen) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 2,549 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death Author’s Note: Steve’s gaslighting and emotional abuse is starting to sink in for her near the end. Just a warning.

Part Thirteen || Part Fifteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

The ride home was uncomfortable. Not space wise, you had enough between Steve and Bucky in the middle row of seats in the SUV. No, it was uncomfortable because everyone was going on about their business like they had not just hijacked you from a cabin. Bucky and Steve were both on their phones, sending e-mails or checking documents. Clint was driving, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the music. Sam was staring out the window, watching the scenery go by. You could not see Natasha behind you but you were sure she was as relaxed as the rest of them.

Steve brought his phone up to his ear at one point and you heard on the other end, “Murdock Birth Center.”

“Yeah, I need to make a check-up appointment with Dr. Kamal,” Steve stated. You remembered you had had an appointment then and felt a pang of guilt. “As soon as possible please. For Y/N Y/LN. Hmm. Yeah, that will work. I’ll be sure to have her there.” He shot you a look and you averted your gaze. He thanked the person before hanging up.

You felt him still looking at you for a few moments and you turned your head towards Bucky’s window to avoid looking at him.

They did not take you home though, you went back to the facility. Questions itched but you were thinking that you merely needed to leave the SUV behind and get into his car for him to take you home. Steve helped you get out of the car, steadying you when your feet hit the cement. His arm came up to wrap around your shoulder, guiding you to towards the shade of the overhang outside the front door.

“Stay here,” he ordered you.

You did not get to respond before he turned and walked towards where the other Avengers were gathering further away. He was speaking to them and there were general nods and warm smiles.

Probably thanking them for helping to get you back, you thought sourly.

Movement caught your sight and Tony was coming out of the front door, looking suave as ever. You wondered why he insisted on wearing a suit vest and tie when he had nowhere to be. His gaze fell on you and he rose his eyebrows, smirking, in greeting. You forced a small smile, hating the smug look on his face. He caught Steve as Steve was leaving the group and whispered something to him. Steve met his eyes and hesitated before nodding. A few more words were exchanged before Tony let go of Steve’s arm and Steve continued on his way to you.

His arm came around your shoulder, guiding you again towards where his car was parked.

<><><>

You stood in the middle of yours and Steve’s room, staring around at the pristine furniture and unwrinkled bed. It was spotless, nothing out of place. Nothing changed since you had been gone for the week and a half. You thought to yourself Steve had probably barely been in the room anyway, spending most of his time searching for you.

The room was not homey. There was no personalization besides a couple framed photos of the two of you on the long dresser underneath the TV. You looked to the wall windows overlooking the grounds outside. They matched the inside: trimmed, everything in its place.

You were back to your perfect life in your perfect house. Alone. Except for when Steve was home and enveloped every ounce of your attention and being to him and him alone. You wondered how that would fare as soon as the babies were born. You wondered if Steve’s jealousy and possessiveness would extend to his children when you could not solely focus on him. That was a troublesome thought.

You sighed, your hands coming to rest at your hips, supporting your back. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, seeing your belly starting to peek out from beneath your nightshirt. Steve would want new clothes brought in for you now that you were getting in your final months and you were going to really balloon out now.

As if his ears were burning, his voice sounded from behind you, “Y/N?”

You turned your head towards the doorway; he was looking at you concerned. You gathered he must have tried to get your attention a couple of times. You were so lost in your thoughts.

“Come here,” Steve beckoned you with two fingers.

He did not have to request it twice. You followed him down the stairs, him walking a step before you, ready to catch you if you stumbled.

Halfway down the stairs, he chastised, “I don’t like the idea of you going up and down stairs too often without someone there.”

“That’s where our bedroom is,” you told him point blank. His mouth set into a thin line as you reached the final stairs. You inhaled deeply, calming any sense of argumentative behavior you had in your bones at his cautiousness. “I use the handrail. Always.”

“I’m worried about your balance.”

“I’m paying attention to that.”

Steve looked like he wanted to say something else but he turned away from you, striding towards the front door and you followed. As soon as you stepped out onto the front porch, you stopped, seeing all the security from around the grounds gathered in a semi-circle.

On a stair above them, Steve leveled all of them with a serious gaze, his profile visible to you.

“New ground rules starting today and running indefinitely. Y/N – and you can just start referring to her as Mrs. Rogers because it’ll be soon enough and I will have you all being respectful to my wife – is not allowed to leave the property without a proper escort and my permission. If you don’t see me face to face saying she’s allowed to leave or hear me over the phone, she doesn’t leave. No one comes onto the property either unless they’re one of the team or you have prior notice from me.”

Your breath was quickening with every word that fell from his lips.

“Does everyone understand that?” Steve asked, his gaze falling on you specifically.

There were a chorus of ‘yes sirs’ but Steve was watching you intently, expectantly.

“Yes,” you said quietly.

Your understanding was the one he ultimately wanted to witness. You had broken his trust like he had specifically asked you not to. And he was true to his word; he was locking the damn keys up.

<><><>

“You kept them alive?” Tony asked incredulously when Steve told him that Yua and Natalie were still alive.

Steve rose a brow, sending a challenging look right back at him. He shrugged lightly, “What collateral would I have over her head otherwise? They’re all I’ve got until the babies are born. I don’t doubt for a second any threat I would take them away from her permanently will keep her underneath my thumb. And warming my bed.”

Tony chewed his gum with purpose, staring at Steve, letting that sink in.

“That was a gamble. You are leaving a window for them to try something foolish again,” Tony finally said with a malcontent tone.

“She’s not allowed to leave the grounds.”

“At all?”

“Not unless I give permission. No more joy rides. And no one is allowed on the grounds,” Steve said. He noticed the cocked eyebrow sent in his direction and he added, “Unless they’re an Avenger. You’re still on the list, you baby.”

“I would be offended if I wasn’t,” Tony returned. He pushed away from the table he was leaning on to stand up straight. He walked around it, tapping his pen on his open palm. A nervous tick. “So, you are here for the chip I am guessing.”

“And for the company.”

Tony smirked over his shoulder. “Right.” He stopped, twirling on his heel to face Steve again who had begun to follow him. He set him with a look and told him sincerely, “I told Pepper to talk to Y/N. Give assurances and whatnot. I think with the right conditioning, Y/N will find comfort in motherhood.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “I don’t doubt that for a second. She’ll desire to cradle them… her motherly instincts kicking in to cradle them at her breast.”

“You’re banking on it,” Tony observed, chuckling. Steve merely shrugged and Tony laughed again. “Yeah, I did too. And it worked out. She’s gonna get protective. You’re right to use them for collateral. You should marry her and get custody put in place once the children are born.”

“I am already planning on marrying her. I already told the staff to start referring to her as Mrs. Rogers. Never too early to start showing her the respect she deserves,” Steve informed him. And then he asked, “But custody? I’m the father.”

Tony pointed his pen at him as they approached the worktable. “Yes, but if there’s no custody order in place then she can legally take them again from you… again. Honestly, Steve, do you not listen to anything I try to teach you?”

“Is that what you did with Pepper?”

“I threatened it,” Tony said and then made a face. “And thennnn… I actually did it. She doesn’t know that still but, I don’t leave anything up to chance. But the threat was enough and still holds to be enough. Even doing that might get Y/N to shape up.”

Steve admitted, “I would rather just have her sign the damn thing and see it for herself.”

“Probably smart with her. She is… what was your word? Squirrelly?”

“Shut up,” Steve retorted.

Tony chortled, “Well, she is. But, be proud of yourself. You have got a perfect one bagged. I’m proud of you.”

<><><>

Pepper had been elated to see you back safe and sound. She had prepared an entire smorgasbord for you, all different kinds of small things to snack on before dinner. You were surprised to learn she had actually done it herself and not the maid. She really must have been excited to have you coming over.

She gushed over your stomach, congratulating you on its size. You had told her you were not sure if the size is something you should be happy about and she waved you off, reminding you you were growing two babies inside there.

The food was delicious, you made sure to make two small sandwiches for yourself made out of different ingredients and an array of different sides to munch on. Morgan was down for a nap, so you had not seen her yet, surprisingly to your disappointment. Since you were really having to face you were going to have two small ones of your own soon, you wanted to be around another baby to learn the ins and outs.

Pepper’s back was to you, refilling your glass of water, still speaking over her shoulder as you reached for another handful of grapes. Being distracted by both the food and her conversation, you didn’t even notice Tony had come up behind you before you felt his grip on your upper arm and the stick into your bicep.

You tried to yank away, shouting in alarm. But Steve was at your other side, blocking you from leaving your chair and you all but collided with his chest. You hissed in pain as Tony scolded you for making that harder than it needed to be, telling you if you had just sat still you would not have had that much pain. You craned your neck the other way to look up at Steve in shock and he was staring down at you without remorse.

“What… what was that?” you practically demanded, your eyes narrowing in anger.

Steve did not answer you, Tony did, sounding pretty happy with himself. “Tracking device. Completely harmless, even with babies. Trust me. Pepper has one too. But I’m giving you the upgraded one. That baby will be able to find you no matter where you are. Top quality technology there. You are one of the firsts to be able to try it out.”

He said it like you should be thanking him and be in awe of the gift he was bestowing.

You noticed Pepper had turned back around, her jaw slack from disbelief at what she had just witnessed. Her eyes met yours and you saw regret and empathy in her eyes. Of course she felt that for you. Tony had just told you that she had one too. And they had used her extension of friendship as a way to distract you to be able to make sure you were just as trapped as she was.

Suddenly you did not feel like eating anymore. You threw the grapes back onto your plate, some bouncing off the plate to roll across the counter. Fury was welling up inside your stomach, threatening to boil over.

“Y/N,” Steve’s voice came deep and rumbling, warning overwhelming his tone.

Tony had discarded the needle down a chute on the counter across from you, whistling. He was pulling glasses out of the cupboards.

“Drinks before dinner?” he asked and then shot you an apologetic smile. “I’ve got some sparkling water for you, Y/N.”

You were having trouble focusing, trying to shove all the anger you felt down. You knew you had brought this on yourself by leaving, by betraying Steve’s trust. But you did not think he would go as far as to let Tony implant a GPS tracker in you. You did not think those were even real, but you should not be surprised with Tony. And poor Pepper…

And now, poor you.

During dinner, you were kind to Pepper, keeping up the face with her. You could tell she was distraught for you and you kept brushing it off with a wide smile. No need for anyone else to feel miserable on your account, especially her. You had gotten yourself into this mess and now you were reaping the consequences. You had pushed Steve past his breaking limit, and you had no one to blame but yourself. You were taking your medicine in each dose and you would continue to do it with as much decorum as you could muster.

On the way out the door, Tony grabbed your arm again, stopping your stride. You flinched at his touch and he noticed, a laugh leaving him.

“Oh, darling, sorry. Not another shot. It’s just me,” he told you, pulling you close. Your eyes flicked to Steve still walking down the hall towards the front door where his coat was hanging. Tony leaned in, grabbing your attention again. “You be nice to him now. He’s got something really special for you planned. You understand?”

There was menace lurking in his gaze and you nodded quickly to escape his stare. It was gone and he nodded. “Good girl. You treat him right. You have another opportunity to do so and I know you learned your lesson.”

He let go of your arm with a jerk and you stumbled back a bit. You nodded again, nervousness coursing through you before you turned and faced Steve again who had just realized you were not following behind him. He beckoned you and you walked to him quickly.

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @roxyfan14-blog @mrsnegan25 @coconutqueen21

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark marvel fic #marvel fic #my shit

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ineffable-snowman · 3 years

Text

And here’s my second Sambucky fic. You can read it here or on AO3.

Pet Psychopath

“Him? Really?”

Sam and Sarah were both glancing towards where Bucky was grinding the boat’s side with sandpaper with the single-minded focus of the Winter Soldier on a mission.

“I know I have a problem,” Sam said before Sarah could start to berate him for falling for yet another sad white soldier.

“You sure do.” Sarah shook her head, still eyeing Bucky warily. “At least Steve was pretty.”

True. Although Steve used to have terrible fashion sense, he was easy on the eyes and Sam suspected that half of the Avengers and at least half of America had had a crush on Cap at one time, so there was no reason to judge him for that. Bucky however, with his scruffy face and that murderous glare, was another matter. Sam judged himself for whatever feelings were creeping up on him.

“You should have seen him before he got a haircut,” he told Sarah.

“I did. Because his mugshot was all over the news. Jesus, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. The fact that Bucky was (or rather had been) a criminal was not what bothered him. After having been imprisoned in the Raft, he did not give a shit about what the government declared legal or illegal. He trusted in his common sense. Right now, his common sense told him that it was a fundamentally bad idea to develop feelings for Bucky Barnes. He had no idea how this catastrophe had happened, could not pinpoint the exact moment when Bucky had turned from a threat into a pity case into a nuisance into a reluctant co-worker and finally into someone Sam brought into his sister’s house and entrusted with his late parents’ boat.

“Right. I don’t know if I should hope for him to return your feelings or pray that he doesn’t.”

Truth be told, Sam hadn’t figured that out yet either. Bucky was thoughtless at best, often outright ignorant, petty and self-centred, not to mention reckless, irresponsible, a bad co-worker, and he did not like Redwing. And there wasn’t exactly a charming personality to make up for all these failures. It did not make sense for Sam to fall for him, and yet it perfectly did. Yes, Sam was fully aware he had a problem, had first come to suspect it when his parents had told him with constipated looks on their faces that, “No, Sam, we can’t bring every injured seagull to the vet.” It had been confirmed over the years when the teachers had asked him to look after the new kid in class or try to include the outsider and he had been unable to say no. Sam knew enough about psychology to know that pity was not a good basis for a relationship. He knew that and it didn’t change anything. Sharon calling Bucky a ‘pet psychopath’ seemed frighteningly accurate. (However, he heavily resented the implication that Zemo somehow shared ownership rights. Because it was Sam who constantly looked after Bucky, not Zemo. It was Sam Bucky followed around, not Zemo).

“Whatever.” Sam took the saw and jumped into the boat. “He’s useful for repair work.” Then he got to work helping his pet psychopath. He sawed planks of wood into smaller pieces to replace the dilapidated pieces on the boat.

After one hour, his shirt was drenched in sweat. Bucky was still grinding with the sandpaper, his movements like a machine. There was only the barest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

After another hour, Sam’s right hand cramped up. He dropped the saw and leaned against the side of the boat.

“How do you feel about a break? That something you do?”

“If you insist.”

Sam snorted. He could not believe he had to put up with this bullshit again. Damn supersoldiers. And yet he tried to engage Bucky in small talk.

“What do you think, how long until we’re finished?” He grabbed a bottle of water and threw Bucky a second one.

“Depends on how many breaks you need.” Bucky opened his bottle and kept staring at Sam while drinking it, never once blinking. Unbelievable.

“You keep this up, I might just throw you overboard.”

Bucky put the bottle down. He was still staring at Sam. “You can try.”

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing?” Sam’s heart was suddenly racing. There was no chance in hell that he could beat Bucky. But backing down from a challenge? Never.

“You talk big, Wilson, but I don’t see you acting on it,” Bucky taunted him.

There was no going back now. Sam was not entirely sure what Bucky was suggesting here but throwing his water bottle away and grabbing Bucky in a headlock seemed the appropriate choice of action.

Not that he succeeded for long. Bucky easily freed himself and proceeded to try to wrestle Sam down. Sam could tell that Bucky was pulling his punches because if he had used his full super strength, Sam would be on the floor by now. On the one hand, he was touched that Bucky was considerate enough at least in this situation and seemed to want to have fun with Sam, on the other, he wouldn’t have minded being on the floor. With Bucky on top of him. God, he was such a mess.

“That all you got?” Bucky said, grinning evilly.

Sam couldn’t help but snort in amusement. He was always glad to see Bucky happy, even though a grin made him look even more like a psychopath.

“You ain’t seen-aaaaaaaaaaaaa-”

It happened too fast to do anything and yet Sam experienced everything in slow-motion. A huge wave rocked the boat to one side. Sam, who was just about to back away from one of Bucky’s attacks, lost his footing and stepped on the water bottle. While falling, he caught sight of the stern of the fast ferry, and his mother’s words echoed in his mind, Always pay attention to the fast ferry. Then he was finally on the floor and shit, that hurt! He exclaimed a string of curses and then he finally saw what had caused the pain: he had landed on the saw which was now stuck in the back of his right thigh. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, ignored Bucky’s “Don’t!” and quickly tore it out with another string of curse words.

Suddenly there was blood. A lot of blood. Blood streaming out of his thigh, drenching his pant leg. Not good. Not good at all. Too much blood. Over the loud rushing and pounding in his ears, he heard Bucky call him an idiot and then he passed out.

When he came back, he felt pleasantly woozy, warm and well-rested. The next thing he noticed was the smell of leather, paint and sweat under his nose. He blinked his eyes open. His head was cushioned on a leather jacket and he was lying on his left, still on the boat, which gently rocked from side to side. Going back to sleep seemed like a good idea.

“Are you back?” came Bucky’s voice from behind him.

“Mm.” Then he noticed that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Huh. “Are you staring at my ass?”

“I’m stitching you back up.”

“You what?” Suddenly the pleasant wooziness was gone.The searing pain came back and so did the awareness of what had just happened – of what was happening right now. He tried to sit up but Bucky’s vibranium arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam really hoped he had misheard, but no –

“Stitching you back up,” Bucky repeated stoically, sounding somewhat distracted.

“Why?”

“It’s a big wound. You lost a lot of blood.”

“How -? Stop that!”

“It’s fine, I’ve done this before.”

“What, like in the 40s?!”

“…yes.”

“You know we have surgeons for this, right?”

“I’m faster.”

“I swear to you, if you’ve used dirty needles on me or fishbones or whatever…!”

“Didn’t you get your tetanus shot?”

“Oh my God, you did, didn’t you?”

“No. I found a first aid kit. It looked a bit old but seems to be good.”

“Seems to be?! You should have at least asked me before you decided to operate on me!”

“You were unconscious and bleeding,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “There, done. Not bleeding anymore.” Bucky appeared in his line of vision. There was blood on both hands, his shirt and even his pants. There was also a lot of blood on the floor around Sam.

“I want to go to the hospital and have someone competent check if you’ve butchered my leg.”

“Fine. But let me dress the wound first.”

“Okay.” Sam turned back around and let Bucky do whatever he thought needed to be done. Sam wasn’t usually squeamish, he had been in the army and seen much worse. But waking up to someone stitching you up with probably outdated surgical tools? Not cool.

“When I’m back from the hospital, you and I are going to have a long talk about bodily autonomy.”

“You can schedule it right after the talk about workplace safety. Because letting a saw lie around like that? Just no.”

Sam had to concede that was a fair point, so he kept his mouth shut. When Bucky had finished wrapping a thick bandage around Sam’s thigh, he helped Sam up. He was wobbly on his legs, still feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, and his right leg was doing weird things.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked the most superfluous question ever.

“Take a wild guess.” Sam clung to Bucky and somehow they manoeuvred him out of the boat and he hobbled back to Sarah’s house.

Sarah screamed when she saw them.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said quickly. What it looked like was: Sam in just his boxer shorts with a thick bandage around his right leg, leaning heavily on Bucky, and both of them covered in blood from head to toe. “It was an accident.”

“Don’t let the boys see you like this!” Sarah ushered them into the bathroom. “Get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll bring you new clothes.”

Sam sank down onto the toilet lid. Damn it, even sitting hurt like hell. Changing and cleaning up in the tiny bathroom was awkward. Without asking Sam if he needed the help, Bucky had obviously decided that he did need help and had started wiping the blood from Sam’s arms and legs with a wet cloth. They really needed to have that talk about boundaries. Not that Sam was complaining, though. The problem was, he liked it. (Not in a sexual way, he was not that messed up and in too much pain and in his sister’s bathroom – just no.) For some reason, Bucky taking care of him was what did it for him. And Bucky wasn’t even particularly gentle, just efficient and matter-of-fact about it. But it was apparently enough that there was someone who had decided to take care of Sam a little bit more than was strictly necessary.

“This is not exactly flattering,” Sam said when Bucky had helped him into a pair of too-short sweatpants.

“Pretty sure you’ve seen me in worse states.”

Sam chuckled but then winced in pain when he tried to stand up. He was too exhausted to even pretend to protest when Bucky put an arm around him and supported him into the kitchen where Sarah was making dinner.

“Better?” Sarah asked Sam. “Need anything from the pharmacy? I can send Cass. They’ve already played long enough.”

It didn’t sound much like playing anymore. From the living room, the boys could be heard arguing loudly over the explosions and the music of their video games.

“I need to go to the ER,” Sam said, “and have someone check this.”

Sarah grimaced. “That bad, huh? Okay, let me just finish--” She was interrupted by the telephone ringing. “Sorry, have to get this, it’s probably Regina about that delivery tomorrow…” She hurried off into the living room to get the phone. Then there was a loud smashing sound followed by both boys screaming insults at the top of their lungs. Sam hurried over – as fast as he could with his injured leg – to make sure they didn’t need to bring more people to the hospital.

It did not look like anyone was injured. Just the coffee table had been thrown over, smashing a vase and two glasses. The boys were at each other’s throats, apparently fighting over the controller.

“Stop it!” Sam bellowed. At the same time, Sarah shouted, “No, no, everything’s fine!” into the phone that was squeezed under her chin, while she was trying to separate the boys.

“Do something,” Sam told Bucky. Staring did not seem to help to subdue kids fighting over video games.

Bucky grabbed each boy with one arm and separated them easily.

“Let go of my kids!” Sarah shouted immediately and then, “No, really, it’s fine!” into the phone.

Bucky let go of them as if burned and took a step back.

“I’ll call you back,” Sarah said and then proceeded to give the boys a thorough dressing down that ended in the threat to sell their game console if something like this ever happened again, “and I don’t care who started it!”

In the ringing silence that followed, they finally could hear the bubbling and sizzling from the kitchen. Bucky was the fastest and yanked the saucepan from the burner but the damage had already been done, the tomato sauce had boiled over onto the whole stovetop.

Sarah sank down on a kitchen chair. “Can you drive a car?” she asked Bucky.

“Of course.”

“Do you have a driver’s licence?” Sam asked Bucky once they were in the car on their way to the hospital.

“No.”

“God help me.” Sam tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his injured leg. Hopeless. It hurt any way.

“Couldn’t exactly take driving lessons as the Winter Soldier.”

Sam chuckled despite himself but then he stopped when he remembered the situation in the living room. “Look, Sarah knows you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. But parents are wildly protective of their kids and wouldn’t take any chances.”

“I know, I get it.”

“It’s nothing personal. Maybe, once she knows you better, she’ll trust you with the boys, too.” Implying that Sam would bring Bucky to Sarah’s house more often in the future, often enough that she would come to eventually trust Bucky.

“Sam, it’s fine.” Bucky stretched the fingers of his vibranium arm and examined them with a frown. “I need to get your blood out of my hand. It’s not moving smoothly anymore.”

“Jesus, Buck.” Sam let his head fall back against the seat. “Please don’t make any comments like that in the hospital.”

Sam felt kind of sorry for the other people in the waiting room. They were injured or sick and now, on top of it, had to deal with the ominous presence and murderous glare of the Winter Soldier.

“Look, this is going to take some time,” Sam finally said to him. “Why don’t you go and…get a coffee or something?”

Bucky nodded and left the waiting room. The air eased immediately. Suddenly there was movement again. A mother let her kid down to run around, a young woman stood up to grab a magazine from the table, a man with his arm in a makeshift sling cleared his throat and attempted smalltalk.

“He’s harmless,” Sam tried to assure everyone. “Guy’s just got a staring problem.”

But then said staring problem was already back and stood in the door to the waiting room – with a cup of coffee in his hand. Well, that had not worked according to Sam’s plan.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky said. “I’m James Bucky Barnes.” Then he smiled an awful smile that did nothing to help his case. He sat down next to Sam and handed him the coffee and a chocolate bar. Pet psychopath, Sharon’s words echoed in Sam’s mind.

Sam had very strong opinions about coffee from hospitals’ vending machines but just now realised that he had not eaten for hours and gratefully took both the coffee and the chocolate bar.

They had to wait for over an hour until it was finally Sam’s turn. The doctor was surprisingly okay with Bucky’s stitches, and just cleaned up the wound, gave him another tetanus shot for good measure (because they weren’t exactly sure yet how the Blip had effected vaccinations), dressed the wound, prescribed some strong painkillers and told Sam to keep the leg still for the next few days.

So that was what Sam did. He spent several days just lying on the couch in the living room, getting progressively competitive at video games. In turn, he tried to teach his nephews board games and helped with their homework to unburden Sarah at least a little bit. He also did a number of phone calls to try to get that damn loan (unsuccessfully). How Sarah had not killed anyone yet was a mystery to him.

Bucky spent the days on the boat. Every evening he came to report to Sam about his progress, never failing to mention how he wasn’t slowed down by Sam’s need for breaks anymore.

“I hate him,” Sam told Sarah, who was happily showing him photos of the boat while Bucky was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

Sarah shrugged. “He is kind of useful. If he continues to work on the boat at that tempo, it’ll be ready to sail much earlier and I can minimise my losses.”

“I’m glad at least someone will profit from this mess.”

“He also knows how to gut and fillet fish.”

Sam chuckled. “Gutting fish and repairing boats – do you think those count as good character traits? Enough to justify falling in love with him?”

“I could introduce you to someone, you know. There’s this new guy in town, he’s an art teacher and he seems like a really sweet guy, very cultured of course and elegant – he is an art teacher after all – and he has those beautiful eyes... I’m pretty sure he’s interested in men.”

Sam frowned. There was nothing wrong with Bucky’s eyes. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”

Sarah sighed. “No, he certainly isn’t. You know, Sam, you do deserve a healthy and loving relationship like everyone else. Maybe give this guy a chance instead of always…” She trailed off. She didn’t have to say more.

“I’ll get back to you if I’m ever over the brainwashed serial killer.”

“It’s just that Daniel might already be seeing someone else by then. Like I said, he’s an attractive guy.”

“Wouldn’t be fair to Daniel if I tried to date him while, well.”

“You know what, Sam? What you’re doing is not fair to yourself. Look, I’ll send you his number, you can text him and meet up for a coffee, no commitment. Just give it a chance.” She opened the contacts app on her phone.

“Dinner is ready.”

Both Sam and Sarah whipped around in shock to see Bucky standing stock-still in the door, holding a plate with fish in each hand. Of course the first thought in Sam’s mind was, How much did he hear? Although it was hard to read Bucky, Sam prided himself in being able to interpret some of his stares. This one was somewhere between confused and irritated. Great.

“Great. Let’s hope you removed the bones properly and no one dies tonight.”

A deep crease appeared between Bucky’s eyebrows. Rightfully so, because that had been a stupid comment. But Sam could not think of anything funny or normal to say right now.

“Great,” Sarah said, then helped Sam up. They followed Bucky to the dining table.

Dinner was torture. The fish wasn’t half bad (no bones) but it was almost cold, which could only mean that Bucky had listened to too much of that conversation before he had announced his presence. And now he was staring again. By now, Sam had grown used to it, but this staring was on a whole new level, as if Bucky wanted to burn a hole through Sam’s forehead with his eyes.

“Staring,” he mouthed at Bucky while the boys thankfully babbled on about a football game a friend of Cass was organising.

Bucky jerked slightly but then finally tore his gaze from Sam and proceeded to glare daggers at the fish on his plate instead.

“Well, that was lovely,” Sarah said at last. “Thanks for cooking.” She stood up to do the dishes but Bucky got in her way with his superspeed.

“I’ll do it.”

Sarah shrugged and threw Sam a pitying glance.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, explaining to his confused nephews, who did not understand why anyone would voluntarily go to bed so early, that he was really tired.

Back in his room, he flopped down on his bed and groaned loudly. How was this his life? Having a crush was one thing, Sam could easily suppress that. But his co-worker knowing about it… From now on everything was going to be so awkward. What had that stare meant? Would Bucky be fine with Sam’s misplaced affections? Should Sam start dating Daniel just to make it less awkward between Bucky and him? He buried his face in his pillow. Yeah, way to make it all worse and pull another, unsuspecting party into this mess.

There was a knock on his door.

He took a deep breath and sat up, dreading the worst. “Come in.”

Bucky came into his room, closed the door behind him and then – did absolutely nothing. He just stood there and looked at Sam.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Sam said after about a minute of ominous silence. “Are you going to say something?”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it again.

Right, one of them needed to do the talking, and obviously it was up to Sam to be the mature one. Nothing new there. “So I’m assuming you eavesdropped on that conversation between Sarah and me.”

“The door was open.”

Oh, finally he was speaking. That was progress. “Anyway. I get that this may be awkward for you.” Sam’s throat was tightening up at the thought of Bucky not only turning him down but maybe even avoiding him in the future because he was…no. He soldiered on. “Just know that siblings often talk trash.”

“I know. I have a sister.”

“Good.” Sam tried to unclench his hands, which were gripping his thighs too tightly. “Then, what is your problem? Is there a problem?”

Bucky shook his head. He stepped closer and sat down next to Sam on the bed, never once taking his eyes off Sam’s face. Sam had no idea what to do. The words were stuck in his throat but it turned out he didn’t have to do anything because Bucky took his left hand, placed it on his lap and cradled it in both hands. So, this was his answer.

Sam exhaled, slowly, shudderingly. He finally met Bucky’s eyes that were still fixed, unblinking, on Sam’s. He liked it. God help him, he liked being the single focus of that stare, he liked the irritated and confused stares, the hard and sometimes worried ones but most of all the challenging ones. Sam was veering towards a highly dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship (if a relationship was something Bucky wanted – they really needed to talk about this!) and he was not willing to change the course.

They stayed like that for too long, eight minutes and thirty-two seconds too long, as the display on Sam’s alarm clock showed him, and each second that ticked by in silence made it more difficult to just speak up and say something non-monumental.

But Sam finally did it because he knew that someone needed to say something and, well, that someone usually tended to be him. “We should probably talk about this.”

“I can schedule a session with my therapist.”

Sam snorted with laughter. “She’d have a field day.”

But Bucky was not laughing, not even grinning psychopathically. He was still staring at Sam, waiting for an answer.

“Wait. You’re taking this seriously. You really want us to do this?”

Bucky gave a curt nod.

Wow. This was monumental. Not meeting up to get a coffee but couples therapy. “Right.” Sam’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. This was like putting the wings back on after many years and flying again. Frightening, yes, but also exhilarating. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

#sambucky #fanfic #sambucky fic #my writing

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tintentrinkerin · 4 years

Text

adelphopoiesis

Author: tintentrinkerin

Title: adelphopoiesis

Requested by: @schaefchenherde

Header by: @wincestismyheart

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Sam

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Sam Drinks Dean’s Demon Blood, Anal Sex, Not Canon Compliant

Content: Chasing your baby brother around the bunker with a hammer is fun, right? But what if you tickle his thing for blood?

Read here or on AO3

Dean’s most effective weapon is not the hammer he destroyed the door with. The hammer that’s stuck in the wall now beside Sam’s head. It’s not his physical strength, radiating like utter heat from his body, showing in the tension of his neck, the firm grimace of his mouth, his pretty mouth. It’s not the First Blade. A blade powerful enough to kill anything and anyone, but Dean himself.

Sam’s only weapon is a lousy knife. A demon knife, that will barely leave a scratch on a Knight of Hell.

“It’s all you”, Dean says, leaning in the knife, leaning into Sam’s half hearted attack.

The way Dean looks at his brother, it’s tearing Sam apart in so many ways. Ways he thought he’d buried under guilt and hunts and lore and his shame. Sam gives in and takes the knife away, he will regret it so bitterly, he knows. Of course he knows. He can’t even lay a single finger on Dean. The demon in front of him wears the face of his brother but there is nothing left of his soft side for Sam. His voice, how he calls Sam, how he says Sammy, the hair, the determined look, the tongue against his teeth. Like he’s a predator and Sam’s the prey.

Dean’s eyes turn black.

It’s a whooshing sound and it darts Sam’s ears the moment he thought he’d surrender and then, the First Blade, fast as an arrow lands in Dean’s hand. There is not a blink for Sam to react before Dean looks at him with a triumphant smirk. The knife glides through Dean’s smooth skin of his throat like it’s warm butter. Blood spills.

Blood

Spills

Blood is Dean's most effective weapon.

Its smell is so familiar, so luring. So intimate and so…powerful. Sam turns and runs. He needs to go. He needs to get away.

“Oh Sammy, baby brother, don’t run away!”, Dean mocks.

Shit, he’s right behind Sam and Sam’s judgement clouds already. He isn’t even fast. It feels like running through molasses. The air feels thick and strong, pressing Sam down, and the smell of iron and lust and Dean, oh my God, it’s Dean’s blood! - He needs to get away! Sam manages to worm through the destroyed door to the electrical room, but he catches several splinters. Some even bite his face and he gets stuck with the cast of his elbow. Spraining the right elbow, why, Sam, why did that happen? Everything’s against him.

Memories of Ruby appear in his head. Of the smell, the taste, her body, the sex. The grunting and the mind blowing orgasm, the banging against walls everywhere they went. The power, the trip. His increasing power, a stimulant better than any human known drug. It resonates all within him with the odor of Dean’s musk and his blood. He can smell its potential, its strong taste. Sam even imagines how it would make him feel. Running away never felt so hard like right now. He remembers the withdrawal and the pain behind his eyes blinds him as he trips in the hallway and tumbles against a wall. Stinging pain in his arm, in his head and his legs feel heavy. It’s like he has Dean’s breath in his neck all this time. Even though he can’t hear him come close at all. It sounds like Dean is far away, in another world.

“Come on, Sammy, I know you want a sip of it. Makes you all giddy, doesn't it? I can smell you. All of you.”

Sam yells something, but he can’t even make out what he says.

“Keep runnin’ if you must, but you know I gotta find you sooner or later. It’s my home, too!”

The alarm is blaring again and Sam has no idea how far he can run. There won’t be any walls that might hold Dean back. He’s regaining strength, the human blood wears off. Even that Sam can smell. How much stronger Dean gets with every minute.

“I taste delicious, Sammy. Just fuckin’ delicious.”

Oh, yes, Sam bets he does, that’s exactly why he needs to keep running. The smell gets even more intense now and Sam wonders how much Dean can cut himself up with the First Blade. He should’ve given the damn thing to Crowley when he had the chance to do so.

“Stay away”, he croaks.

There’s another hallway, one leading deep into the intestines of the Forbidden Bunker, how Dean and him called it jokingly, when they discovered it. An area full of locked doors made of the weirdest materials. Only one chance is left for Sam, when he finds that one door he unlocked in these months without Dean. He had learned a lot about witchcraft since Dean left this note on his bed, when he left Sam for Crowley and a life as a demon. When the only way to save himself from Dean was to hide himself in a panic room again, hallucinate again, he would have to do it. He rather sees Lucifer again, Mary, Bobby, all the victims they couldn’t save than to fall for Dean’s lure. Drink his own brother’s blood. This was perverted, disgusting, twisted. Even for them. The monster hunters, the monster fuckers, the monsters themselves.

“The longer you run, the harder I bleed, brother!”

Sam tries every door on the way, but none opens. Sam’s eyes sting from the smell. What the hell is Dean doing? Covering the walls in blood? That would be insane. Even Dean would faint at one point. It must be impossible to drain a body so much before it dies. Dean isn’t possessing a body, he still has his own, whatever that means for him and his physis then. Sam trips again, he falls, on his right arm of course. He tears up from the pain that fills his chest, his arm, his shoulder. He can’t survive that long if doesn’t find a hide-out.

It seems to be near, because Sam still can read the signs on the doors and when he finds room 616, he pushes the door open with a long and agonizing cry and slams it shut. It’s the door he unlocked already, a room, bleak as an empty tomb. Cold and pitchblack, there’s no electrical light, just candles, but Sam won’t be able to find them. He can just hide in here, pressed against a wall, praying to Castiel, to Hannah. He even cries for Crowley inside, someone needs to help him.

Footsteps.

The smell of blood. The First Blade scraping on the tiles, Sam knows it’s that.

“Gotcha! I really thought you’d be a bit cleverer than that. Where’s the fun when you cage yourself like a mouse?”

The door bursts open, way too easily. None of the sigils and runes seem to be an obstacle for Dean. And when light shines in the room and Sam can see not only Dean’s silhouette but also his face, he knows. Dean is covered in his own blood. His face, his slit throat, still pumping blood in long and rhythmic spurts from the wound. His arms are drenched in blood and now, with a biting smile, Dean looks at Sam and the Blade carves an S in Dean’s arm.

“Come here, Sammy. Come to your big bro and lemme get you something real good

The stench is so intense now that Sam first vomits in violent jerks and then faints. The last thing he sees before the world turns completely black is Dean’s triumphant, sweet smile and his eyes. His normal green eyes.

When Sam awakes again, he is tied up. Bound to a chair. They’re in the dungeon again, how did Sam come here? His head aches like it’s been run over by a stampede of bulls and his mouth tastes like vomit and blood. He tenses immediately as he’s present enough to realize his situation. Dean has tied him up here, and now he’s sitting on the desk in one corner, right beside the blood donor box that Sam got from the hospital. His legs swing and he hums a strange melody.

“Oh, look who’s up.”

Dean jumps on his feet. Sam can see the First Blade, the damn Blade, resting on the table. Then Dean takes the syringes of human blood and starts spilling them.

“You won’t need them anymore, Sammy. I think I won our little chase.”

“Dean, don’t do that… please. I can still…”

Dean hisses. His eyes turn black.

“You can still what, brother dearest? I already told you. I am what I am now, I am free. I’m finally free. Of humanity. I’m strong now. Efficient. Deadly.”

Sam winces when he moves in the ties. The ropes cut in his flesh and Dean removed the sling on his arm. His elbow hurts so much, it’s taking his words away.

“You were deadly before already. The Mark made you powerful.”

“But guess what, I’m even better now. Dean Winchester 2.0 - I’m all in for my upgrade. You see it as a bad thing, but what I see is … potential. Chances. Oh Sammy, I can conquer the world. Hell. Heaven. You really want the boring Dean back, huh?”

Sam shakes his head but that makes him feel dizzy, he stops.

“I want my brother back. The brother I loved.”

Dean’s black eyes target Sam like he’s prey again and he hates being looked at like this. It makes him feel less human, less Dean’s brother.

“I am your brother. Nothing ever changed that. But I told you to stay away from me, I told you not to look for me. But you did. You plotted against me, with Crowley, with Cas. You tied me up in this chair, you tortured me with human blood. Against my will. For someone who’s all over the place with autonomy and respecting boundaries you violated mine just perfectly.”

Sam squirms. The problem is that Dean is right. But Sam did it for the greater cause, didn’t he? Dean becoming human again was the best for everyone!

“You make me sound like the bad guy here, that’s not fair”, Sam mutters.

Dean laughs and it’s a deep, rough laugh that makes Sam’s skin crawl. This is so much Dean, even darker than usual. And it shakes Sam to the core.

“Good, bad… Who cares. Human categories, bullshit. Nothing’s fair, Sam.”

“I need something to drink”, Sam says faintly now.

He won’t make Dean untie him, that’s for sure, but maybe Cas will come to the rescue soon, he can maybe delay things. Also he needs to get rid of the taste of old blood in his mouth. Dean doesn’t reek of his blood that bad anymore, Sam is very much aware of the pink line across Dean’s throat. A scar. The blade will cause scars. Or at least the weapon delays even Dean’s healing.

Dean smiles.

“Sure. But why waste water on you when I kill you anyway?”

Sam’s heart sinks.

“Will you?”

Dean shrugs as if he doesn’t give a shit at all.

“Thinking about it. But you’re my brother, as you keep on reminding me. Maybe I should give you a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes and let you live?”

“And how would you do that?”, Sam asks, winding in his ties.

Dean goes away. Doesn’t say another word. Sam is stunned and damn, holy shit, he’s afraid. Dean will kill him. But what is it with the possibility of letting him live?

The smell of iron. Like a perfume, soft and silky. No. No no no.

“Dean? Dean!”, Sam cries and fights the restraints harder.

He did it again. He slit his fucking throat, Sam knows it. And this time, he won’t be able to run, he won’t be able to fight back. He’s tied up, he’s in pain, he’s weak. It’s not like with the other hunters who wanted to force him to drink demon blood. He could fight them off, but now?

Emaciated. Sick. Depressed. A broken arm. Hungry. Tied up. The addiction is pulsating through his veins, giving him the chills. It’s hot and cold at the same time. Like crackling in the air, the heavy scent of blood and Dean, he can only say no.

Dean won’t take a no, why should he? He’s a Knight of Hell. Sam is human. His brother is back, his throat cut deep enough to see the structures of muscles, veins, nerves, his trachea, the pulsing blood. Sam vomits all over his shirt, but there’s not much left except bitter, yellow gall.

“You’re sick, huh?”, Dean coos in a voice like he did when Sam was younger. It’s meant for comfort but now it just feels like mockery and Sam wonders how he deserves to see his brother slit his throat, twice, just to seduce Sam to drink it. It's so fucked up. It’s low, even for lean, mean Dean. Human Dean would’ve never provoked Sam’s demon blood addiction.

Sam nuzzles against the hand that’s stroking his face, his eyes squeezed shut. His lips tremble.

“Let me make you feel better, don’t pull away, Sammy…”

Sam cries out and some ugly big tears fall down his face. Is it so easy to break? He’s gone through so much pain already, through torture, rape, withdrawal. He was betrayed by everyone he loved, especially Dean. Dean’s hand is warm, but his skin feels like marble when Sam leans in, rubs his face in the palm of Dean’s hand. Is this still his brother? Is there any humanity left?

But what would that change? They’re here now. In a bunker soaked with demon blood, Sam is tied up, Dean reigns.

“Hush, hush”, Dean purrs, both of his hands holding Sam’s bobbing head. “It’s gonna be alright… Sammy, just give in. There will be no more pain, just us. You and me, against the world. Like it used to be.”

Sam opens his eyes but all he sees is blurry and red, it stinks of iron and vomit and Dean’s black eyes…

“I wanna see your normal eyes”, is all Sam can say right now.

A smirk.

“Anything for you, Sammy.”

And Dean’s eyes flash back to green and Sam can have the illusion of his brother just for a moment longer. Thick dark blood is pulsing out of Dean’s cut on his throat.

“It looks disgusting, Dee.”

Dean only laughs.

“It’s not supposed to be beautiful.”

Dean cups his hand before the dripping wound, collects a tiny lake of blood in his hand and then, gently presses his blood covered hand against Sam’s lips.

The world turns upside down. Sam feels the spinning, the spinning, the spinning!

The taste makes him want to barf, violently, but the old creature, the blood sucking monster was waiting patiently beneath the surface. Patient but greedy. Now it’s unleashed it bursts out and the first drops, he swallows. His lips limp and curled in utter disgust, but now, oh now, there’s a jolt running through his body, he sits straight up, first ties grinding, the ropes won’t last. The shackles won’t last.

“Come on, sweet baby boy, you want more…” Dean sings, eyes black as the night.

And slowly, very slowly and enjoying, Sam’s lips brush Dean’s hand, collect the blood, a tongue, pink, hot sneaks out, licks the offered hand.

The ropes break. The pain in Sam’s arm fades. It’s a movement even Dean didn’t see coming when Sam bursts out of all restraints he put on him and grips Dean’s hand tight, as tight as possible and sucks three of Dean’s fingers dry.

The Knight of Hell rejoices, pulls Sam close, closer than they’ve been for a very long time.

“That’s it, Sammy, yes, that’s it, let me take care of you… such a greedy boy…”

Dean’s voice is distant to Sam, distorted and hollow, he remembers their youth, the motel rooms, the flickering lights, the old tv, how Dean smelled of whiskey and beer. John’s passed out in an armchair, stained in blood, piss and vomit.

He remembers Dean’s care. The kisses at night, the stealthy handjobs in the shower, how Dean ‘taught’ him how people do it.

Make love.

Sam was twelve. Dean was sixteen. And he was a grower.

A slut.

All of this drenched in velvety red tint.

The ritual.

“Let me take care of you, Sammy…”

“I love you, Dee.”

“Never tell anyone.”

And Sam never had told anyone (but Lucifer knew - he knew everything) and deep down, buried in his mind, these feelings were in peaceful slumber, violently dragged across the floor now, kicking and crying,

A W A K E

Sam is awake.

He remembers the awkward, painful, dry fuck in the back of the Impala after they killed the Wendigo, so long ago, and how they never ever said a word.

Spit is shitty lube.

So is blood.

It roars. The monster roars in Sam’s chest. It’s in agony, it’s in joy, it’s free!

And Sam is just a puppet, always been nothing more than a puppet. He watches himself suck Dean’s fingers, then sticking his own fingers in the wound, stir it, stir Dean’s insides. The gurgling, the retching. Dean’s satisfied moans, his hands all over Sam’s now healed body.

“Yes, Sammy, let it all out, come on… Let it all out.”

Sam only hisses. This blood, Dean’s blood, the blood of a demon, of a Knight. It’s so much more potent than Ruby’s or any other demon’s he’s ever drank and tasted. Dean is delicious. Demon tend to taste like rotting meat, titan arum aroma.

But Dean tastes of all the good things. Dahlia, petrichor, amber. His musk makes Sam’s blood boil and his pants bulge.

“Sammy.”

“Dean”, is the first thing New Sam says.

What Monster Sam says. His voice sounds low, rough, barely in control. His body is shaking, too much force is withhold now.

“Brother.”

The wound on Dean’s throat is closing up again already, the healing ability is really incredible. Sam will bite it open very, very soon, but first…

Dean doesn’t protest, he doesn’t fight back at all when Sam slams him down to the ground like he weighs nothing. There’s the crunchy sound of maybe, bones breaking, or just getting sprained, but even that, Dean will heal in no time. Dean lies on his stomach, attempts to get up.

“Sammy-”

“Sammy is not here right now.”

There’s no surprise, no scare in Dean’s voice. Sam stomps his bare foot in Dean’s back and Dean stays, doesn’t even breathe. The adrenaline rush in Sam’s ears makes him deaf for most other things and seeing demon Dean down on his stomach, defeated so easily, it’s almost an insult. Sam crouches down, one foot still on Dean’s back, pressing him down.

“You surrender?”, Sam asks, eyebrows raise.

“I didn’t mean to fight you at all.”

Dean chuckles, his voice raspy

Sam drags Dean on all fours, rips apart his shirt (the pretty red shirt, ruined with blood anyway) and Jeans and when he holds Dean’s hips, bends over and bites Dean’s neck, Dean hisses “Come on, Sammy, that’s it.”

That’s it.

Sam tears apart skin, Dean’s blood gushes in Sam’s mouth, warm and silky, smooth and delicious.

“Is that what you wanted?”, Sam says in a breathless moment, before he starts sucking the wound dry, the bleeding will stop soon, way too soon for Sam to be satisfied.

Dean growls deeply, pushes against Sam. Pleading. Sam pushes two fingers inside Dean, but feels very quickly, Dean doesn’t need it. He doesn’t want it. He needs Sam. He rips off his jeans, down to his knees and when that’s not giving him enough space, he just tears it to shreds completely. Dean’s ass is perfect. Round, juicy, firm. When he gives it a slap - a hard one - he enjoys the noise Dean makes. And then he thrusts completely inside, without hesitation. No foreplay. No gentle feeling ahead and preparing Dean’s wonderfully tight and delicious ass. He feels amazing, hot, tight, smooth. Dean hands grip Sam’s wrists tight while he fucks into him, raw, without anything to soothe the pain, make it easier, make Dean nice, slick and wet. But he doesn’t complain at all.

“That’s it”, Dean chants, in his low, low “Let’s finish this game” voice. That’s it, over and over.

This is no sex Sam would ever have if he was in his right mind. Covered in his own vomit, Dean’s blood, on the cold floor. Not that he has fucked any guy after he fled off to Stanford anyway. Dean is all he knows. He only knows what Dean taught him about fucking ass.

Dean starts getting slippery with his own blood, Sam’s blood infused spit and finally, cum. Sam loses the feeling of time and space, all he can do is fuck Dean until one of them passes out, and if Dean passed out, Sam would continue anyway.

The adrenaline rush plummets too early for Sam’s taste, the haze clears up and he’s getting aware of his ripped off clothes, the shreds of Dean’s. The fluids, the smell, the feeling. Crust everywhere. Dean is still on his knees, head sunken on the floor, his arms stretched out, breathing heavily. There’s no sign that he’s in pain. But Dean’s a demon, right? He will be fine.

Sam drags him up, and the cocky smile, the perfect hair, it’s all gone. Dean looks like he’s had the same otherworldly experience. It’s a sight that makes Sam chuckle.

“What are you laughing at?”, Dean asks, coming on his feet, gently swaying, but finally his wounds are closing up.

“You threatened to rip my throat out. With your teeth.”

“Not there yet, Sammy. Not yet.”

The situation is unreal, Sam feels unreal. He knows he will never be the same. Something’s broken inside him, crumbled - yet ready to expand again, into unknown territory.

He doesn’t remember the coercion, Dean’s betrayal - or was it Dean’s way of deliberating Sam?

Sam, leaning on the table, watches Dean come close and he leans in, a hand in Sam’s hair, gently pulling. Their kiss isn’t gentle, nothing will be gentle for a while. Teeth clash, the table scrapes along the floor and the throbbing of Dean’s pulse makes Sam rise up again. Dean bites Sam’s neck, sharp pain - and Dean drinks. The feeling is satisfying and roughening Sam up at the same time. He pulls his Knight close, closer, grabs him and bends him over the table, both still bleeding, Dean high from Sam’s blood.

“For a Knight of Hell, you’re very pliant”, Sam growls in Dean’s ear.

Dean chuckles.

“I just bend the knee to my King.”

Sam frowns.

“What do you mean?”

Dean hikes up and drags Sam to the mirror in the Dungeon.

“Take a look”, Dean hums, rich and satisfied in tone, “acknowledge who you are.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. First, Sam’s mossy eyes just look glassy, clear, beaming with desire for Dean.

Then he draws in his breath with a sharp hiss.

“You got your daddy’s eyes, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes turned yellow.

#wincest #dean x sam #samdean #deansam #demon!dean #sin is sinning #tw:blood #tw:gore #tw:addiction #kink:blood #bottom!dean #powerful!sam #demon blood!sam #yellow eyes!sam #boyking!sam #tw:smut #tw:violence #tw:knives

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