#d&d f!oc

[dreamwinged]

misc. selfship asks ❤︎

thank you for 400! <3 answer these asks however you'd like, but please practice reblog karma if applicable! ���

🧸 - how would your f/o try to comfort you if you were upset? 🦢 - what's a petty argument you'd have with your f/o? 🍡 - what nicknames do you have for each other?

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

🪺 - describe your f/os perception of you before you got together, compared to what it is now! 🪷 - if the roles were reversed and your f/o was the one selfshipping with you, what would their blog look like?

🧊 - how would your f/o text you? would they use proper punctuation/capitalization, or type more informally?

🍋‍🟩 - similarly, what would your contact names be for each other?

💍 - how do you and your f/o feel about marriage?

🪻 - what's your f/o's coffee or drink order?

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you? 🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

🫧 - what song(s) remind you of your f/o?

🪼 - what’s your favorite way to feel closer to your f/o?

proship/comship/neutral dni

[babeydollx]

Take Care of Eachother | Rafe Cameron

❀ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, very slight mention of drugs, mentions of sex MDNI.

❀ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Rafe Cameron x Female Pogue Reader

❀ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: In which Rafe comes to Y/N after getting into a fight. Y/N tries to take care of him and clean him up but, Rafe also has other ideas.

❀ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1k

❀ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I'm not sure if I am going to make a part two to it or not, I might if enough people want a part two.

© Maybanks-Luver 2023, please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

You listened to the sound of the thunder and the rain patter on your bathroom window as you did your nightly routine. As you were doing your skin care, you herd someone knock on you door. The knock was loud and a little frantic. You put your moisturizer down and hurried to the front door. You grab the curtains that were attached to the window that was beside the door and peeked out to see who it was to decide if you would open the door this late at night or not.

To your surprise the person behind the door was none other than your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron standing out there in the rain and he looked pretty hurt. You felt your stomach sink when you saw him in this condition. You quickly unlocked the front door before gently pulling him inside. You cupped his face and looked up at him. He had a black eye and a busted lip. You used your thumb to gently wipe the blood off his chin. He also had a pretty bad bruise on his cheek along with other cuts and bruises on his body.

"What the hell happened to you?!" You asked frantically as you checked him all over, making sure that there was nothing severely wrong. All of his injuries seemed minor but still looked pretty painful. "I just got into a fight with these two guys, it's not really a big deal." He said as he winced slightly when you checked his bruised eye. "Sorry.." You said softly, trying not to hurt him as you checked the injuries on his face. "Here, how about you sit down and let me take care of you. Then you can stay here with me for the night. You shouldn't be out there anyways in that bad storm." You said softly as you helped him over to the couch.

You disappeared into the bathroom before coming back with your first-aid kit. You sat down beside him on the sofa and began to gently clean his wounds. His winced and hissed a little as you did so. "Sorry, I'm trying to be as gentle as I can." You said with a small frown. "I know, it's okay princess." Rafe said with a small smile. "So how did this fight start anyways?" You asked as you began to wrap his arm with a bandage since he had a kind of nasty cut on his bicep. "Please don't tell me it was over drugs again." You said with a sigh. "No no, not drugs." He said as he shook his head. "Then what happened?" You asked.

"It's just- it was about you." He said. You stopped what you were doing to look at him. You were shocked that the answer was you. "Me?" You asked in confusion. "What do you mean about me?" You tilted your head. "Those two guys.. they had a thing for you." Rafe said as you could see the rage coming back in his eyes slightly as he spoke of what happened. "Which, obviously I can't blame them but, they knew that you are mine." You felt butterflies in your stomach when Rafe said that you were his out loud. "They were saying so much sexual things about you to me just to rile me up but, they also meant it so... I beat them up." He said, almost sounding proud of himself.

"Well as much as I appreciate you protecting me like that, you know it didn't have to end in a fight baby." You said softly as you ran a hand through his hair. "I- I know.." He sighed. "It's just.. I got so enraged and I couldn't help myself." He said. You smiled a little and kissed his cheek before he looked at you. "I love you, Rafe." You said as you smiled more. "I love you too, Y/N, so much.." He said as he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss was soft and loving. You pulled away eventually and looked back to the first-aid kit. "Well, I better get you fixed up." You said and he nodded.

You finally finished fixing your boyfriend up and he gave you a kiss on the cheek as a thank you. "Well there you go, all better." You giggled as you gentle kissed his nose causing him to scrunch his nose slightly. "Now that I took care of you, we can get ready to go to bed." You chuckled as you went to get up but, Rafe gently pulled you back down onto the couch. "I- baby what are you doing?" You asked as you looked over at him. "You took care of me, now let me take care of you in my own way." He said with a smirk. You laughed and shook your head. "You need to rest, love." You said with a smile.

"And I'd say fucking you tonight.. getting to have you all to myself so I can have my way with you is a pretty damn good way for me to relax, wouldn't you say?" He said with a wicked grin. You giggled and bit your lip. You couldn't lie, the idea of him having his way with you did turn you on but, you just didn't want him to over do it. "Are you sure you are up for this baby, I don't want you to do too much." You say softly, your voice laced with concern. Rafe smiled before cupping your face and kissing you softly. "I'll be fine, princess." He said with a smile. "Okay." You smiled back and nodded. He leaned in and kissed you again but this time the kiss was rough and passionate. This was going to be a long, pleasurable night and you couldn't wait.

Author's Note: tysm for reading, lovies!

[choicesficwriterscreations]

SECOND CHANCES - CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT

Book: Desire and Decorum – Modern AU  Rating: G Word count: ~7K (huge, i know)

Summary: The weekend at Edgewater reserves many surprises to Elizabeth and her friends, and might turn out to be just what some of them need to speak up about their feelings...

Characters: Elizabeth Foredale (OC); Briar Daly; Edmund Marlcaster, Annabelle Parsons; Prince Hamid; Luke Harper; Dominique Foredale; Vincent Foredale; Mr. Sinclaire.

Notes:  * All characters belong to Pixelberry, except OC. * I want to thank @princess-geek for being my beta in this chapter and her support to my writing. You're a treasure, my friend! 💝 * This is my awfully late submission to @choicesjanuarychallenge2022: Day 12. stairs

Smiling, Elizabeth sings along in the chorus of another pop song from the playlist she created with Briar and Annabelle, looking out of the window, the countryside slips by. Villages with ancient stone houses come into sight for a moment, disappearing in the next. The further they went North, the less traffic ahead. London has given space to greened hills that were now covered by the blanket of darkness. Though, even before the nightfall, the dark and heavy clouds hanging above barely let any sunlight through.

The weather forecast predicts rain for the weekend; however, this predicament did not reduce Elizabeth’s enthusiasm to see Edgewater, nor her friends’, who are looking forward to spending fun days together.

The car swivels to the left, taking a secondary road. Behind the wheel, Edmund Marlcaster relaxes. The closest red lights flicker many meters away and disappear after the curve. Adjusting the rear-view mirror, he takes a good look at Briar, who was doing a little dance.

“I love that song!” Briar chanted from the backseat.

When another pop song started playing on the radio, she and Elizabeth singalong, ignoring Edmund’s visible annoyance after he pleads to play something else.

“No,” they both reply in chorus, and laugh. However, despite the failed attempt to change the playlist, he smiles softly when his gaze meets Briar’s.

“How long till we get to Edgewater?” Briar asked, trying to keep his attention a moment longer.

“We’re halfway now.”

Elizabeth takes the mobile from her bag and checks the messages.

“Hamid says they are on their way,” Elizabeth announced, and her attention was absorbed by the mobile while she typed the response; meanwhile, Edmund’s eyes found Briar's again on the rear-view mirror. She offered him one of her most flirtatious smiles and a wink, causing him to flush bright red.

“So… Edmund, is your fiancée joining us?”

Edmund coughed a few times, and Elizabeth cast a side glance at him. Clearing his throat, he managed to find his voice.

“No, Theresa is staying at London during the break.”

Averting her eyes, Briar hummed to herself, and a smile curled her lips.

“Doesn’t she mind you going to Edgewater without her?”

“She has her own plans with –” Edmund paused, searching for the appropriate word to not speak ill about the vipers that are Felicity Holloway and Donna Bowman. “Friends. She’ll spend most of her time occupied helping Felicity with her party. By the way, Theresa mentioned your name was on the list, Eliza… Are you going to the party?”

“Absolutely not! I already RSVP’d my ‘no’.”

“Oh,” he sighed, without looking away from the road, “I was hoping you'd keep me company…”

“Sorry. I really need my Felicity free time.”

“I envy you!” he muttered.

“There will be plenty of people to keep you company… Even Hamid is going.”

“You’re letting him?” Briar howled her question from the backseat, startling the other two.

Turning around on her seat to face her, Elizabeth asked, “What do you mean I’m letting him? Briar, he’s a grown man who can go wherever he likes...”

Her words were received with a dramatic eye roll and a disapproving slowly shake of head.

“Unbelievable!”

“Hamid is thrilled to wear his zombie costume... and I’ll help with the makeup.”

“Have you ever heard about that party and what goes on there, Lizzy? There will be a throng of gorgeous girls on the pull and a geezer man like Hamid all by himself...” Briar trailed off, casting a knowing look at her friend. “You know what can happen, right?”

“Well... it’s up to him.”

“Won’t you mind if he meets someone?” Briar insisted, “What if he starts dating? What if he falls in love?”

Elizabeth swallowed the lump on her throat and looked outside. “What if he already did?”

“Oh, my God! Are you talking about yourself? Did he say he love you?”

“What? No; why would he?”

“Must I state the obvious?”

“We’re friends.”

“You’re more than that! You’re more like a real couple than some couples I know.” Briar scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Briar, please,” – Elizabeth turned around again, facing the passenger seat’s window – “I don’t feel like having that conversation again…”

“But, Lizzy, only the truth will set you free!” The seat belt snapped, pulling Briar back when she tried to lunge forward and approach Elizabeth. “You must acknowledge your feelings and speak up! You love him!”

Elizabeth’s head snapped back to face the other. The word love was definitely a stretch, but Briar has no parsimony in using that verb, especially when referring to her relationship with Hamid. Whenever she does, Elizabeth scowls in the most unladylike way imaginable. She does not love Hamid. How could she? They barely know each other. That’s not how this love thing works. Hamid is someone dear to her, someone she cares about and wants to have close. But love? No, she is not in love, but it’s futile to argue with someone who does not listen to reason.

“I beg you stop this nonsense once Hamid gets there,” Elizabeth said softly with pleading eyes, “I don’t want things getting awkward... He told me he likes someone and wanted –”

“What?” Briar cried, eyes open wide and eyebrows shooting up and disappearing underneath the black bangs; the car swivelled slightly with Edmund’s reaction to the high-pitched noise, and Briar apologised.

Even Edmund, who abstained himself from joining the conversation this far, looked gobsmacked. “He actually told you that, Eliza?”

“Yeah. Last time we met… He asked me advice on the matter… Why would he do that unless we are only friends?”

“That’s impossible!” Briar exclaimed, “What were his words exactly?”

Burying herself further into the seat, she rested her hands on her lap, and reminisced for a moment. “Suffice to say he asked me advice on how to talk to this woman, because he gets speechless around her.”

“Speechless? Hamid?” Briar snorted. “Are we talking about the same guy who never shuts up?”

Edmund cast a sideway glance at his stepsister. “This woman must be really extraordinary to leave someone as eloquent as Hamid tongue-tied.”

“Probably. And I’m not ready to hear about her. Or them. I need time to process this and whatever it means to our friendship... so please, let us all have a quiet weekend.”

“I cannot promise quiet. I cannot promise I won’t try to set you two up either. Or lock you in a room together. With only one bed and –”

“Briar!” Elizabeth squealed, and Edmund snorted with laughter.

“You are my friend, Lizzy. I will not lie to you.”

“Welcome to Edgewater,” Edmund announced when the manor comes unmistakably into sight after a curve, the façade illuminated by a soft yellow glow, and recited the same words one can read in the brochures about the estate. Elizabeth knows it is a show for Briar, however, her very own heart races at the sight.

“Quite impressive,” Briar sighs, nose a hairsbreadth to the window. “Can you imagine all the secret romances, intrigues and betrayals that have happened there over the years?”

Elizabeth and Edmund shared a knowing look. “Yes, we can.”

After crossing the gate, the car followed the path through a manicured lawn with statues illuminated by yellowish lights. Everything looks so quiet, but Elizabeth knows how deceiving that is. Similar to other manor’s this size, Edgewater has an army of employees working from dawn to dusk and beyond; and depending on who is staying at the house, gossip is served 24/7.

When they pulled over, members of the staff were already waiting. While one took their luggage, another guided the trio inside, where Lady Dominique waited to offer a proper welcome. No sign of the countess, despite the news she would be staying at the manor until the end of the following week. Maybe she was avoiding Elizabeth, and she would not complain if she did this the entire weekend.

“Where’s the wicked witch?” Briar whispered into Elizabeth’s ear, acknowledging the absence too.

Holding a chuckle, she forced a polite smile to greet her grandmother.

After the proper greetings, Lady Dominique asked about the rest of the party, and Elizabeth explained they were coming with Annabelle.

“Annabelle is such a talented young lady. Did she tell you how she used to come here often and play the piano for us?” Elizabeth nodded, and Lady Dominique smiled wistfully. “It will be delightful to have her here again.” After a pause, certainly reminiscing about her grandson Harry, the woman collected herself, and her gaze focused on the present.

“Now, you should go upstairs and get ready. Melinda is waiting for you, and I asked Joanne to assist Miss Daly. I will guarantee the others are welcomed and escorted to their respective rooms.”

With a polite smile, Elizabeth thanked her grandmother. Despite her disagreements, she admires the way she manages to run things at the house so smoothly. There is usually not a situation unforeseen. The moment she learned about the plans to the weekend, she was extremely zealous and helpful; even if Elizabeth suspects it is another attempt to earn her forgiveness after the incident with Felicity, she thanks her again for everything.

Accompanying the trio out of the parlour, Lady Dominique was amused by Briar’s wonder.

“This is all so fancy! It looks like a museum. But in a good way, of course.”

Lady Dominique expressed her gratitude, without hiding the pride in being the major responsible for the current decoration and pointed at some esteemed items. After speaking to one of the employees, Lady Dominique proceeded to tell them about the accommodations, and soon Elizabeth, Edmund and Briar were on their way to the stairs.

“I thought we were all staying together in one giant room, and have a big slumber party.”

“Maybe some other time.” Elizabeth smiled.

“Don’t ever expect Lady Dominique to allow single young ladies to share accommodations with male guests, unless they are in some sort of extremely official commitment,” Edmund explained, following her dangerously close upstairs, delighting on the sweet smell of her shampoo.

“I have a feeling my mother would get along well with Lady Dominique…” Briar snorted.

“Briar, your room is in the family wing, next to mine,” Elizabeth said when they reached the second floor. “Annabelle’s too.”

The news she would have a room for herself and a bathtub in the en-suite made Briar squeal, and both Edmund and Elizabeth were amused by her reaction.

When the door from Elizabeth’s room closed, Briar mused for a second, biting on her lower lip. Lingering by the door of the assigned room, she looked over her shoulder at Edmund who was debating with himself on what to do next.

“And where’s your room, Eddie?” Briar asked and her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Mine?” he gasped, then pointed at a door across the hallway.

“Good to know.”

“It is?”

“Of course.” Briar grinned. “I need to know where to find you to hold you to your word.” His eyebrows shoot up and almost disappeared beneath the ash blond hair. When there was only confusion in his eyes, she teased, “Your promise; or have you forgotten the reason you’ve invited me to Edgewater?”

“Lady Clara’s journal! Of course. I will definitely take you to the library… and we can look at the journals together… if you wish…”

“I expect you to fill me in all the gossip about Lizzy’s great-great-grandmother.”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright then. See you later.” With those words, she waved and closed the door. The man couldn’t hide his smile.

Elizabeth picked the mobile from the vanity and checked the messages. She could hardly wait to see her friends’ reaction to the surprise. Annabelle and Hamid have been present to the historical re-enactments at Edgewater, but Briar and Luke have never seen them personally. What would they think about being part of one? Judging by the pictures in the group chat and Pictagram, at least Briar was enjoying the look. There was no text from the others, which increased her fear that Hamid could be offended.

“Your hair is done, ma’am,” said the woman standing behind Elizabeth, observing her expectantly.

“Thank you, Melinda.” Elizabeth smiled at her reflection, her curly brown hair was deftly pulled up in a bun with braids at the top of the head. “It’s perfect,” she said softly at the woman.

“Can I assist you with anything else?”

“I’m fine,” Elizabeth said, and her words were the queue to Melinda collect and organize whatever was used to do the hair and were occupying almost every free space over the antique vanity. Quietly, the woman excused herself, leaving the young Viscountess alone in her room to finish getting ready for dinner.

After putting on the earrings and necklace, Elizabeth got up, smoothed the skirt of the dress, and took another look at her reflection, still debating on how she felt about the Empire-waisted ivory dress with a bodice with golden embroidery, puff sleeves, an embroidered fine sheer silk that covered the long skirt. An unexpected look even to someone used to gala dresses. Swaying in front of the mirror, the golden details sparkled under the light, projecting little diamond shapes in the floor, and she smiled.

The sound of someone knocking at the door rapid and strong, startled her. Her mind pictured the only person she wished would come knock on her door, and her heart accelerated at the thought. In the blink of an eye, her hand reached the doorknob. The sight of Briar standing in the hallway, was not what she desired. Though, the other was too overjoyed to notice the disappointment in her face.

“Lizzy, I’m never ever taking this off my body!” Her friend’s excitement could not be contained in her tiny body, and it overflowed in her eyes, smile, and voice. Like a ballerina, she twirled in her long purple and golden dress also with the same kind of high waistline and embroideries, black hair pulled up in an elaborated bun, with a few loose strands framing her smiling face.

Another door clicked open, and Annabelle came out in a long satin ruby red gown with a richly ornamented bodice. “Why are you being so loud?” she teased Briar, brandishing a mascara brush, “I almost poked my eye!”

“How are you not screaming, Ann?”

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t do my makeup while screaming…”

“Hush! I love this dress! And I love the corset! My spine has never been straighter and look!” – she exaggeratedly pointed both hands at her breasts – “I look like a C cup now!”

The others laughed, and Briar pulled them to a photo. After complimenting each other’s looks some more and a little demonstration from Elizabeth on how to hold the skirts to go down the stairs, the three were ready to make their appearance. However, footsteps coming from the other wing caused them to halt.

“And look who else has outdone himself,” Briar nudged Elizabeth, pointing at Hamid sporting the Ottoman attire Elizabeth had picked for him.

Bowing with an exaggerated flourish, Hamid addressed them in his most charming tone and flashed an equally charming grin, “Good evening, ladies!”

While Hamid kissed the hand Briar held out to him, she theatrically fanned herself with an invisible fan. However, quickly, Hamid’s gaze found Elizabeth’s, and she returned his smile, pleased to see his choice of outfit and no visible sign of annoyance.

“This outfit is amazing!” Annabelle said, and Hamid opened his arms to let her inspect the details in the golden embroideries in his long teal kaftan, that was an accurate reproduction like the dresses the trio was sporting. “Now I wish I could paint portraits of all of you!” she sighed disappointed.

“If our host allow us the use of futuristic technology, we could take pictures,” Hamid suggested looking at Elizabeth, who giggled.

“Pictures? Do tell us more about that...”

“A wonderful invention, my lady, that shall make painters jobless!”

Slipping out of character, Annabelle feigned offense, “I resent that, Hamid.”

After an effusive apology to the artist of the group, more banter ensued before the four huddled with Hamid in the middle. Following Briar’s directions, a few selfies were taken, and once Briar was satisfied, she posted the best two to Pictagram.

“Brilliant! And look at you!” Briar cried, turning the screen to Elizabeth’s face, “You look like those portraits at the museum!”

Embarrassed, Elizabeth blushed and looked away. “We all look lovely.”

Annabelle and Briar did not ignore the way Hamid contemplated the young Viscountess, studying her as if she were indeed a portrait from a Renaissance master; sharing knowing looks, they excuse themselves to find Luke downstairs, and deliberately left him alone with Elizabeth.

The man did not waste the opportunity and stepped closer. His intoxicating perfume filled the air around them, and in such proximity his eyes sparkled more than the silver medallion hanging from his neck or all the golden in his outfit.

“She is right,” Hamid whispered. Taking her hand, he kissed it unhurriedly, lingering on her knuckles while never tearing his gaze from her face. “Tonight, you look like you stepped out of a painting,” he explained still holding her hand, “The most exquisite masterpiece, I must add.”

Heat creeped up her neck, straight to her face, tinting her cheeks in a darker pink hue, and she wished he would not notice. However, judging by his grin, she could never dissimulate how he affects her.

Clearing her throat, Elizabeth changed the subject, “I see you picked the Ottoman attire.”

“How could I choose anything else? It is gorgeous, and it suits me to be a prince for the evening, don’t you think?” he asked, straightening his posture.

She nodded, averting her gaze. “I was afraid you could think it was offensive.”

“I figured by the two-page note where you apologised several times in case it was discriminatory or distasteful, and suggested I could wear that boring British suit, or my own suit or whatever I felt like… I must say this last part actually let me a bit confused about the dress code, and I considered coming in my pyjamas, but I don’t think my charm would be enough to prevent Lady Dominique from sending me immediately back to London …”

“Don’t mock me…”

“I would never. I was just remarking the comical aspects...” He smiled fondly and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate your concern. But you should not have worried so much. I know you, and your heart.”

“My heart?” she scoffed. If you knew my heart, you would never ask me advice about someone else! “Isn’t this a little presumptuous?”

He chuckled and pressed her hand against his chest, and she looked up at his face, his smile almost reaching his ears, dimpling his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I am not humble when it comes to my skills,” he said, and his words still carried the lilt of his laugh, “and you, Lady Elizabeth, have a heart of gold and only a fool would mistake your actions like that... And I am no fool, yes?”

Tilting his head, he gazed at her face. His heart drummed beneath her palm in a steady cadence. She could not resist staring at his shapely lips curled into a wide grin. For a second, she almost forgot herself and where they were; at least, until the indistinct sounds from the conversation Annabelle, Briar and Luke were engrossed at the ground floor reached her ears.

“Hamid,” she breathed his name.

“People expect us… May I escort you downstairs, my lady?”

She acquiesced, and he placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. In that moment, she was no longer Elizabeth, but the protagonist of a period drama, and Hamid was the charming love interest, who could inspire anyone to defy the entire society for their love.

“According to your note, my outfit was inspired by one that belonged to the Imperial prince who married the countess. What about your stunning dress? Was it by any chance inspired by one of hers?”

“Yes!” she replied, excited at the chance of talking about the subject. “Actually, mine and Briar's were inspired by her outfits. This one was modelled after one of Countess Clara's portraits. It’s said it was a gift from her father, and the one chosen when she presented herself before Queen Charlotte for the first time. Lady Grandmother showed me this reproduction of a note that a London newspaper wrote about her elegance at the time. They praised her as the most beautiful debutante in the Season.”

“I can imagine. And you are doing justice to her elegance, Lady Elizabeth, and dare I say, you outshined her beauty.”

“Have you even seen her portraits?”

“I don’t have to,” he said in a serious tone, and gazed with adoration. Elizabeth’s heart threatened to escape, pounding against its cage with unprecedent impetus.

When they reached the ground floor, despite the indiscrete stares of their friends, he kissed her hand again.

“Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company, Lady Elizabeth. Or should I call you Lady Clara for the evening?”

“If it is important to your commitment to your character, you can. And perhaps I will call you Your Highness for the rest of the evening as well.”

“Nothing would please me more, my lady,” he said in the most pompous tone he could impersonate and enveloped her hand with both of his, his thumb gently drawing circles in her skin. “Now, since we are impersonating them, does this mean I get to escort you the whole evening?” he asked inching closer. The intensity of his gaze burned her skin, but she did not avert her gaze this time, and her lips parted to answer.

However, instead of Elizabeth, it was someone behind them who replied.

“Actually, according to proper etiquette, if you were a true Regency couple you would spend most of the evening apart, focusing your attention on the enjoyment of your guests,” Lady Dominique said in her grave voice.

“How does she do that?” Briar mouthed to Annabelle, uttering the surprise etched in her and Luke’s faces watching the elderly woman approach them barely making a sound. Annabelle shrugged, then offered a warm smile at the elderly woman, who patted her arm fondly.

“However, this evening Lady Elizabeth will be hosting us, and a much less formal setting has been chosen. One more suitable for a night amongst friends in the twenty-first century.”

The elderly woman’s fingers encircled the delicate pendant hanging from Elizabeth’s necklace and she simply smiled. The gesture probably a pretence to address her granddaughter.

“You look absolutely stunning, my dear. You would make this house proud in any century.”

Elizabeth thanked her and returned the smile.

“And you look extraordinarily elegant, Lady Dominique.” Hamid bowed and kissed her hand, and she thanked him, taking the opportunity to contemplate everyone dressed in Regency Era fashion.

“Don’t you all look lovely?” she said. “However, I believe the foyer is not the place any of us was supposed to be right now.”

“Of course. Follow me,” Elizabeth said, leading the group to the drawing room.

When Elizabeth entered the room, her jaw almost fell. Sitting with her father was Mr. Sinclaire. Both dressed in contemporary suits and engaged in a serious conversation that had creased their brows. Seeing the group, her father grinned, stood up and walked in their direction; Mr. Sinclaire followed him close, hands behind his back and uneasiness in his eyes.

“Welcome to Edgewater. We are content to host Eliza’s friends this weekend. I hope you all have a pleasant stay.”

Her father kissed her cheek, and she hugged his waist with one arm. Leaning closer, he spoke softly, “I am awfully sorry, my dear, for not wearing the ensemble. You know how thrilled with the idea I was, but our meeting got delayed…”

“I understand, dad.”

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, Miss Foredale, but your father extended me an invitation.”

“I do not mind at all, Mr. Sinclaire. You’re a friend of the family and you’re always welcome at Edgewater.”

Mr. Sinclaire bowed, and a hint of a smile curled his lips.

Working with him this past month and having his company at events was important to get to know him a little better. They have become friendlier, but not exactly friends. Either way, it’s a remarkable progress considering how reserved Mr. Sinclaire is, and they feel less awkward around the other.

Earl Vincent excused himself to make rounds, leaving Elizabeth and Mr. Sinclaire alone. Somehow, Briar and Edmund managed to sit together at the furthest corner possible and whatever they were talking about was more appealing than anyone or anything else, including the food.

Holding a tray with hors d’oeuvres, a member of the staff dressed in a uniform that resembled the ones used in the manor in the 1800s approached Elizabeth and Mr. Sinclaire, who picked one tartlet.

“Was that the secret meeting?” she asked Mr. Sinclaire who had taken a nibble at the tartlet.

“I never said it was secret,” he replied. “The client requested discretion and I complied. Like we ought to.”

“I am your assistant and the client’s daughter.”

“Therefore, I assume you will not feel discouraged to ask your father details about the meeting.”

Elizabeth cast a sideway glance at the man; he is smirking, knowing she won’t interrogate her father about any subject they discussed.

“Maybe I will...”

Ending their conversation, she waltzed to where her friends were engrossed in an animated conversation with her father, standing close to Luke.

“This is amazing. I lack the talent to play any instrument, however I can still appreciate –” Earl Vincent interrupts himself when Elizabeth approaches the group. “Eliza, did you know your friend can play the violin?”

“Yes, father, I am aware.”

“If only we still had one... Luke could delight us with a performance.”

Elizabeth glanced at Luke, eager to apologise for any annoyance in advance, but he offered a content smile to her and her father.

“It would be my pleasure, sir.”

The Earl of Edgewater smiled fondly, certainly delighted with the breath of fresh air the lively group brought to the manor.

“We may not have a violin; however, we have a piano that has been neglected these past several months and dearly misses to be played.”

Understanding the hint, Annabelle laughed. “Why, we cannot have that, can we, sir? Perhaps I should play it later.”

“You read my mind, my dear,” Earl Vincent joked, earning a few chuckles from Hamid. “And to make the night absolutely perfect, perhaps Eliza could join you for a duet...”

Elizabeth visibly cringed and tried to disguise it by taking the glass of wine to her lips.

Annabelle sought to sort that out with the Earl and Lady Dominique, both already excited with the prospect of a soirée overflowing with music and laugh, and suggesting songs for the repertory.

“I will have someone bring the songbooks.”

“Did you hear that?” Elizabeth asked. “We’re been summoned to dinner.”

“I did not hear a thing.” Lady Dominique looked at the doorway where someone from the staff was supposed to ring the bells like it used to be done in the past. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“I heard it too,” Hamid avowed. “My mouth already waters in anticipation of the delicacies the cook has chosen to surprise us, my lady.”

“Indeed, I believe it will not disappoint. The menu is suitable for a special evening, Mr. Osmanoğlu.”

Hamid placed a hand on Elizabeth’s back, and she breathed relieved watching Lady Dominique inviting the group to place their mobiles in a wooden box before going to the dining room.

“Thanks.”

“Will you allow me the pleasure to escort the most beautiful heiress to the dining room?”

“Well, you’ll have to ask her yourself...” Elizabeth joked, and Hamid nudged her side.

“I am asking her!”

Smiling shyly, she offered her hand, which he promptly placed in the crook of his elbow, and they handed their mobiles to be stored before walking together to the dining room. From the corridor, they still could overhear Briar’s opposing the idea.

“What if we want to take photos?”

“The meals are made to be enjoyed, not photographed,” Lady Dominique insisted, and Briar hesitated. “You will have your mobile back after dinner.”

The two giggled, and Hamid leaned to speak closer to Elizabeth.

“Will you really deny us the joy to hear you play?”

“I do not perform in public anymore.”

“Public?” he asked with an offended pout. “We’re your friends. And fans.”

“Fans? None of you ever saw me perform.”

“Are you sure about that?” he teased, “I know people too.”

“You wouldn’t...”

“You went after my childhood pictures… maybe I have videos of your recitals, Miss Foredale.”

“Correction. Your sisters came to my DMs. Then two of your cousins. And your aunt. It would be rude to tell them not to send your pictures and videos.”

“Videos? Which videos?”

“Which ones do you not want me to see?”

“You’re bluffing...” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Maybe... or maybe not.” Elizabeth giggled and pulled him. “Now, come. We must find our seats...”

The illumination of the immense room had been dimmed, and flameless led candles created an intimate atmosphere at the long wooden table covered with a white tablecloth where elegant dining utensils were neatly arranged to accommodate the party. Beautiful floral arrangements made the dining room look even more beautiful than she remembered.

Elizabeth’s lips curled into a wide smile. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she uttered the words with sheer amazement.

“Stunningly beautiful,” he replied, eyes fixed on her face, and she pretended not understanding what he implied.

Chatter increased around them, when everyone was gathered at the room, and Briar still lamented parting from her mobile.

Gentlemanly, the Earl helped Lady Dominique, then occupied the seat at the head of the table. His daughter’s name was written in a beautiful cursive font on the card on his other side. Due to the countess still unexplained absence and to accommodate Mr. Sinclaire, the sitting chart had been reorganized. For instance, Elizabeth noticed how Hamid's name had been moved from the place beside her to give room to Mr. Sinclaire. Considering it was a small gathering and people would still be able to enjoy themselves despite the minor changes, she held her tongue. Whatever else were her grandmother’s intentions behind the new arranges, she wouldn’t let it get under her skin.

“I suppose we part here,” Hamid said with a smile, oblivious to the changes, and pulled the chair to help Elizabeth sit, a gesture that earned teasing remarks from their friends. “But our conversation is not over,” he whispered so only she could hear and moved to the other side, to take his seat beside Annabelle.

While enjoying the delicious courses and the conversations – which navigated from political topics and the latest news to art and even a little bit of gossip to Briar’s utter pleasure –, Elizabeth and Hamid stole glances at each other from time to time, like true characters of a Regency novel. Both smiling at the wordless jokes exchanged in their meaningful looks, anticipating what the other might say.

To everyone’s amusement, Hamid delighted them with the many stories of his travels and funny diplomatic incidents. Even Mr. Sinclaire chuckled at the retell of one of his gaffes at Russia.

“Why did no one warn you?” Luke asked, wiping a tear escaping from his eye, after all the laughing.

“Who knows?” Hamid's shoulders raised almost touching his ears and he grinned. “However, afterwards the Minister bent over laughing. Actually, he cackled. Loudly. Many people never saw him smile before that evening!”

The presents laughed almost as much as the Russian Minister from the tale, only stopping when a new course arrived. Desserts were served after the fourth course, and then it was time to return to the drawing room. It didn’t take long until the first plea to Annabelle play be heard, and she obliged after finishing the brandy in her glass.

Standing beside Edmund, who smiled against the scotch tumbler while admiring Briar dancing in Hamid’s company, Elizabeth also observed the pair. Her mind, however, was on a complete opposite setting from her step-brother’s.

“Can I ask you a question?” Elizabeth’s soft voice broke the spell, and her step-brother’s gaze teared from the couple dancing. “How can one know if a flirty guy is flirting with you because he likes you, or if he’s just charming you like he does to anyone else?”

Edmund’s eyes squinted in thought before addressing her. “Is this you asking romantic advice from me? In a room where every single person is more qualified than myself?” She nodded and he downed the remaining of the liquid in the tumbler in one gulp. “Why don’t you ask the guy?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Then the only other option is mind reading, and I cannot help with that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m serious!”

“Are you talking about him?” Edmund tilted his head to the spot Hamid was having a blast following Briar’s directions to what seemed some sort of ballroom dance probably inspired by one of the scenes from the 2005 version of Pride & Prejudice. “I am no expert, but... when he flirts, does he look at anyone else the way he looks at you?”

Elizabeth's head jerked up and she stared at him. “What do you mean? How does he look at me?”

“If you have to ask, I believe you haven’t been paying enough attention...”

Silently, she observed Hamid and Briar. Edmund smiled when the man’s gaze found Elizabeth and his grin widened, confirming what he suspects.

“I’ll get another drink. Do you want one, Eliza?”

“No, thank you,” she said and returned to the settee where Luke was enjoying the music by himself.

When the second song was over, Briar and Hamid finished their impromptu waltz in a fit of giggles; and Lady Dominique suggested, “Elizabeth, my dear, you should join Annabelle and delight us with your angelic voice.”

The attention focused on the young woman.

“I don’t know...” she said wringing her hands. “It is awfully late, and we have plenty planned for tomorrow...”

“It’s not even midnight!” her father remarked. “I believe your friends wouldn’t mind losing a bit of sleep in exchange of listening to you. I know I wouldn’t.”

“I second that,” Hamid said, joining the chorus who begged her to play.

“Play with me!” Annabelle invited, patting the empty space beside her with the most impressive performance of the puppy eyes to this day. “Please! It’ll be fun!”

Briar plopped beside her, “You better accept it already, Lizzy! We can be very persuasive.”

“You mean terribly insistent?”

“No, I do not. And Edmund said you loved playing.”

“Loved. Past tense.”

“Seriously, what’s the worst that could happen if you’d give it a try, Liz?” Luke asked and she considered which would be the worst possible scenarios.

Disappointing her father would be almost impossible at this point. If she sits right in the bench and not falls off, he’ll possibly cheer her for that. Another possibility is embarrassing herself in front of Mr. Sinclaire. Though, he wouldn’t be her boss for long, and whatever critics about her skills couldn’t possibly be worse than her own judgement.

As if listening to her thoughts, Luke added, “Even if you make mistakes, your audience is maybe a little too tipsy to notice…”

Besides being the only sober and able to discern if she sucked at the piano, Hamid was too kind to criticise her and would certainly find something positive to say about her horrible performance.

With a resigned sigh, she got up and marched to the piano, sitting with Annabelle.

“We need an easy one… I’m a little rusty,” Elizabeth confided.

Amongst giggles and whispered words, the two went through the songbooks Lady Dominique had someone bring earlier. Finally, they picked a music to play together: Pachelbel’s “Canon in D major” to help Elizabeth warm up. Frustrated, she puffed whenever her fingers slipped and missed a key or she messed with the tempo.

“Don’t overthink,” Annabelle reassured her, “You’re doing fine.”

Next, Annabelle picked a Broadway songbook, one of Lady Dominique’s favourites, and they perused the sheets and deliberated about the songs.

“Seasons of Love”?

“I don’t know that one…”

Briar approached the piano and whispered a little too loud, “Beauty and the Beast”. Her suggestion was accepted, and both played and sang the lyrics to everyone utter enjoyment.

Their third song was “I dreamed a dream”. More confident, Elizabeth sang, while Annabelle played. Her angelic voice filled the room, who went completely silent. All eyes on her. Overjoyed, Earl Vincent stood up and clapped when they finished, and she could swear a tear escaped his eye.

Lastly, it was an improvised version of “Make you feel my love” to keep the Glee vibe and prompted Briar to stand closer to the piano and sing every word with them, despite being off key. At that point, Elizabeth couldn’t even remember why she was so worried about playing for them. Forty minutes after she sat at the bench, she was breathless and thirsty, but smiling. Annabelle didn’t miss the glint in her eyes.

“It wasn’t that dreadful, was it?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

Elizabeth snorted with laughter and said, “Who knew not playing to impress a lot of stiff nobles could be this fun?”

“Me! And I have been telling you this the entire time!” Annabelle nudged Elizabeth’s rib playfully, who giggled.

“Even if it had been dreadful,” Elizabeth said in an even lower tone, “seeing that look on his face would have been worth the trouble...”

Annabelle glanced at the spot the other was staring at and saw the Earl. His smile glowing with a mix of joy and pride.

“I haven’t seen him this happy in years,” Annabelle remarked, and Elizabeth’s eyes lingered on him. Unable to forget his earlier troubled expression and the meeting with Sinclaire, she wondered if he was truly happy or hiding something from her.

Noticing the attention of the young ladies on him, Earl Vincent smiled. “Are the artists still taking requests?”

“From you, sir, always,” Annabelle replied. “But first the artists need a break and refreshments.”

The two moved away from the piano, and Annabelle whispered, “I thought you decided to play for a different reason…”

“What do you mean?”

With a meaningful look, she signalled at Hamid, who was sitting with Mr. Sinclaire, but his gaze would often search Elizabeth. “I saw him begging you to play…” Annabelle said in a conspiratorial tone, while pouring water into two glasses.

“He encouraged me, of course, and so did Luke and Briar, but…” Elizabeth picked one of the glasses and stared at it for a moment. “That was not the reason why I played… I… I did it for myself. I haven’t played like this in so long… because I disliked what it meant: being the centre of attention, having people singling me out, judging me… and I forgot how music is something I truly love… my mom’s gift to me… and I should not let anyone stop me from enjoying it...”

“I’m truly happy you remembered that.” Annabelle raised her glass and they clincked.

“Thanks for helping me.”

Annabelle’s free arm pulled her to a hug.

After complimenting the pair for their performance, Lady Dominique retired to her room. Instead of following her example, the five friends decided it was time to join around the piano to sing improvised versions of old and new hits from the charts, butchering them in the most terrible and democratic fashion; however, no one complained. Not even Mr. Sinclaire, who cradled a whiskey tumbler, sitting in an armchair in one corner of the room with Edmund. The man smiled when Earl Vincent succumbed to the appeals and joined them for an extremely off key version of “Satisfaction”.

Later that same night

Elizabeth had changed to her pyjamas and was brushing her teeth when one sharp knock on the door interrupted the rituals before bed.

Again, her heart betrays her, wishing Hamid was on the other side. An idea that both excites and terrifies her. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him like that? Especially now that there might be someone else in his life?

Once more, when she opens the door, wearing a black jumper and leggings instead of a dress is Briar. This time, she is not smiling either. The tip of her bright pink fluffy slipper scuffs the carpet in the hallway, while her lips turn into an exaggerated pout.

“I know it is late, but can we talk for a minute?”

Elizabeth nodded and ushered her inside.

“Did something happen?”

Briar plopped on the bed and sighed.

“Has your heart ever betrayed you, Lizzy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Arthur is the sweetest man I’ve ever met. He never ghosts me and texts every single day… He actually planted the flowers of that bouquet he gave me!”

“That’s lovely!” Elizabeth remarked, without knowing exactly where this conversation is going.

“It is… He would be the most perfect boyfriend; someone I could introduce to my mum… maybe even plan a future with…”

“That’s something good, right? May I ask why you look so upset?”

“Because my heart is bloody stupid! Or my cupid is testing me!” she growled, “I cannot stop thinking about someone else. Some stupid random mate I met. Well, he is not actually stupid. Or random. The other mate is quite dreamy too. A bit awkward. And nerdy. But we have meaningful conversations. And I think he sees me. Really sees me, you know?”

A knot settled on Elizabeth’s stomach when realisation dawned upon her. She knew exactly who this was about. Taking a deep breath, she asked the question that was merely rhetorical, “You are talking about Edmund, right?”

Briar growled again and let her body fall back. “He is not free to date me. I should be running the other way. But I don’t want to…” Her stare fixes at the ceiling and Elizabeth sits beside her, patting her arm.

“I thought it was just harmless flirtation… like you said…”

“I thought so too…” Briar’s hands covered her face, and what Elizabeth assumes is a string of curse words is muffled by her palms.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed… I guess we don’t choose who we become fond of…”

“This is all so… Complicated... Once, he called me by mistake. At least that’s what he said… but he stuttered, you know, in that way the words tumble over when he cannot say what he means…” Elizabeth nodded, and she continued, “But I didn’t mind. Even if it was a little lie and he was not going to admit he wished to talk to me… I just asked him about his day. And we spent an hour talking about nothing and everything… we just talked. He’d call me every now and then ever since that evening… And now we don’t know what to do with these feelings.”

“We?”

“That engagement means nothing to him…”

“He told you that?”

“He’s not happy.”

“But he’s still engaged. And knowing Henrietta… well… she would never approve him breaking up the engagement unless the woman was wealthier and had better connections –”

“He’s an adult, Lizzy. He can make his own choices,” Briar’s words were firm, no sign of the usual warmth and sweetness, and Elizabeth suspected it was herself who needed to hear that, to believe in that.

Lying down, Elizabeth held her hand and offered an encouraging smile.

“Can I do anything to make you feel better?”

“You did. I just needed to talk to someone…” Briar smiled. “But I wouldn’t mind some distraction... maybe you can tell me nasty things about his fiancée, so I won’t feel like a terrible person...”

“You probably already know more about her than I do... And you’re not a terrible person.”

After a few moments of silence, Elizabeth peeked at Briar, eyes open wide and unusual pensiveness creasing her forehead.

“The answer is yes. My heart betrayed me too.”

“Are you admitting you love Hamid?”

“I do not love him. But I kinda like him. And I can’t stop thinking about him. And maybe I want to be with him. If he wants to be with me of course and not –”

“Ohmygod!” Briar squealed and threw herself at Elizabeth. “Finally!”

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3658

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

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

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

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

3. Cream filled Sponge Cakes (with chemicals)

Bucky

They plan out what they’re going to do when they get to the hospital on the car ride over.

“I think it’s best if you wait outside at first,” Bucky says, glancing away from the road for a second to try and gauge Steve’s reaction to this. He looks neutral. “Just because she’s already pissed,” he adds. “And it’ll probably be overwhelming having one person telling her they’re taking custody, let alone two.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “That makes sense.”

Bucky holds his hand out over the center console, waiting for Steve to take it. He does, and Bucky grips his hand tight. “I’ll get the initial stuff out of the way. I’m sure there’s gonna be a ton of paperwork.”

“What if she refuses?” Steve worries. “She can, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. I don’t have any legal hold on her. Yet. I’ll just have to try and talk sense into her, get her to see that we’re better than the alternative.”

Steve gives his hand a squeeze back. “You can do it.”

Bucky sighs. “I hope so. I really do.” Inside though, he’s already not so sure.

They get to the hospital about forty-five minutes after Bucky’d hung up from the phone call with the police officer. He spots a cruiser parked outside when they approach the emergency room, and it rankles his nerves to think of Mary being forcibly shoved into the back seat of said car.

He goes to the check in desk with Steve and asks for Officer Santiago. “I got a call about an involuntary hold. My submissive,” he says. 

The woman at the desk does a double take at that, looking up and down Bucky where he stands like she’s just realized he’s a different species. “Oh,” she says. “You're one of those?” 

Bucky ignores it, but he can sense Steve tensing up by his side, indignant on his behalf. “Yes,” he says. “I am.” He’s not going to waste time getting on his spiel about mental illness and stigmatization. They’ve got bigger problems right now. “I’m going to need her records,” he says, injecting authority into his tone. “And any paperwork for transfer of custody. The cops brought her in. Name’s Mary.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to look self-assured while he waits, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the woman demands a last name.

It takes her several minutes to gather everything up for Bucky. She hands it all over to him and says, “That’s the paperwork for custody. The attending physician should be able to provide you with her medical workup.” She points to a set of double doors. “You go down that hallway and to the left. Bed number four.”

Bucky nods and thanks her, then turns to Steve.

“I know,” Steve says, putting on a brave smile. “I’ll wait here.”

“Baby.” Bucky steps close, pulling him into his arms. Steve’s physically just a little bigger than him, and Bucky has always liked the novelty of that. He kisses him gently and then rests their foreheads together for a moment, letting Steve feel their connection. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You’re the best thing I could ever hope for, you know that?”

Steve’s smile is more natural, now. “Yeah I know it.” He gives Bucky another kiss and stands back. “Hey, what about this?” He knocks on Bucky’s shoulder—the metal one. “She know about that?”

Bucky realizes that he’s not wearing his glove, and tries to remember if he’d had it on at the café. He frowns. “Oh well. I don’t think that’s going to be her main focus, not after I explain everything to her.”

“Yeah.” Steve gives him a light push. “I Love you. Now on and get the hard part over with. I’ll be here when you need me.” 

Bucky nods. He knows he will. He goes back to the check in desk, one last question on his mind. “Is there a food court or something around here?”

Mary

Mary’s taken a break from saying pissy things to the cop who’s guarding her. She’s been so angry, she’s felt like her skin’s boiling. But now she’s starting to get tired, too. She hadn’t slept last night, just stayed up and gabbed on the phone to that crisis counselor. 

She grits her teeth as she fumes about that, feeling betrayed all over again. That bitch had called the cops on her!

“You can tell me anything you want to. I’m here to listen, remember?”

Liar!

“I hope you know I don’t have insurance,” Mary snaps at the officer. He’s sitting in a chair in her little curtained off area. He regards her coolly, saying nothing, and she jerks her head to indicate the emergency room. “And I’m not paying a single red cent for any of this.” So far, they’ve taken her blood, her pulse, an EKG, and sent in nurses, a resident, and several shrinks. They’d tried to put an IV in her but she’d ripped it out as soon as nobody was looking. “I’m suing the hospital,” she adds. “And you. I’m suing the whole police department.”

“Okay,” Santiago says, annoyingly calm.

Mary growls, rattling her hand where it’s cuffed to the bed rail. “This is unconstitutional!”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing, and then the curtain to their area is being pulled aside. Mary’s eyes go wide when she sees who it is. “You?!”

Bucky smiles politely at her. “Me.” He steps into the curtained room, a little snack bag in his hand. He holds it up to show her, and she sees the Hostess logo. It’s a bag of little … sponge cake pastries. “Best I could do on such short notice. They’re for you, if you behave,” he says, talking to her like a pet being offered a treat.

Mary wrinkles her nose. “Pass. D’you even know all the chemicals they put in those things?”

Bucky shrugs and turns to offer them to officer Santiago, who more than happily accepts. Mary pouts as she watches him rip open the bag and stuff one in his mouth.

“How are you doing, Mary?”

She turns her attention to Bucky and scowls at the way he uses her name like he knows her. “Awful,” she says. She jerks her head at Santiago. “Officer Dickwad over here won’t let me have my phone.”

“Language,” Santiago says dispassionately, through a mouthful of cake. 

“Shut up and eat your fucking donut, Rent’a’cop.”

Bucky

He puts his foot down once she starts flinging curses and insults at the officer. As a paramedic, Steve is always in and out of emergency rooms, often working in coordination with law enforcement to deal with uncooperative patients. So Bucky knows just how much drama and belligerence these guys have to deal with on the regular. 

“Hey,” he says sternly. “Don’t disrespect him. He’s just doing his job.” He’s not mean about it, but it’s verging on what Steve likes to call his “Dom” voice, and Bucky can see how it affects Mary. She freezes up, all of her focus on him. For a few seconds, she even forgets to be angry. Bucky takes the opportunity to step close to the bed. He eyes where she’s cuffed to the rail. “Mary,” he says gently. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re angry.”

“You’re damn right I am,” she growls. “They just showed up and threw me in a cop car! Didn’t even give me a choice!”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand atop her cuffed wrist. It’s his metal hand. Her eyes widen when she sees it, but she doesn’t pull away. “I know,” Bucky says. “And I’m sorry it happened that way. But do you understand why people were concerned for your safety?”

Her face tenses up as she tries to hold back some emotion (something tells Bucky it isn’t anger, this time). “They called the cops,” she pouts. “They lied to me.”

“They did,” Bucky agrees, wanting to placate her. “But you were hurting yourself, honey. And you were talking about doing worse, weren’t you?”

She can’t meet his eyes, instead staring at where he’s holding her wrist. “I … I talked about a lot of things,” she mumbles. “It was just talk. I don't even remember half of it. I didn’t … I wasn’t really gonna do anything.”

“Can you show me where you hurt yourself?” Bucky asks, careful to keep his voice gentle. “I want to see how bad it is.”

Mary shivers, shaking her head sadly. Her hair is loose and hanging messy around her face, so Bucky reaches up to tuck it behind her ear. He hears her give a quiet, shaky inhale. “Come on now,” he coaxes. “Let me see.”

For a long moment, it seems like she won’t obey, but then her shoulders sink down and she takes a deep breath and lets it out, whispering a tiny little. “... kay,” as her hands creep down to take hold of the tee shirt she’s wearing. It’s extra large, going all the way to her knees, and it’s all she’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t know if the police brought her in that way, or if it’s something the hospital gave her to put on after being examined, but either way, he schools his expression as she edges the tee shirt up her leg, higher and higher, until it becomes apparent that she is wearing underwear, and she’s bared her hip to him.

Cutting, then.

Bucky looks her over, not as upset by the fresh cuts so much as the old ones. They litter the skin of her upper thigh and hip—some so old they’re scars, some still in various stages of healing. Bucky forces himself not to touch, even though his brain is screaming at him to fix fix fix! There’s nothing here that can be fixed easily—certainly not with a bandaid. Bucky takes a moment to calm himself down before he asks, “How long have you been doing this, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers. She shoves the tee shirt back down and meets his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Moment of truth, Bucky thinks. “The police called me. They got my number from your phone. They wanted to call your Dom to come get you.”

She frowns, looking confused. “But … you’re not—”

“Officer Santiago,” Bucky says quickly, cutting her off. “Could you give us a moment alone please?”

“Sure.” Santiago gets up and takes his bag of cakes with him. “Just a couple’a minutes,” he warns, then steps outside the curtain and pulls it shut. Bucky can see as his shoes walk away.

“You told them you were my Dom?!” Mary hisses.

Bucky looks at her sternly. “No. They assumed I was. You had me in your phone.”

“I … I did?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything,” she huffs. “I’m not even submissive.”

“I think you know that’s not true,” Bucky says. He reaches up and gathers her hair back in one fist and pulls—gently, just enough to put the barest of pressure on her scalp—forcing her to raise her chin. She visibly reacts to it, softening into his grip, eyes slipping closed and features going slack. “You like that,” Bucky says, making it a statement rather than a question, because it’s obvious she does.

Her eyes open slowly. “S’nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He releases her hair, cupping the back of her neck instead. He grips her firmly in his hand, and this time she nearly moans, lips parting and the sound coming out before she can fully stifle it. Bucky’s mouth curls and he hums. “And that? Is that ‘nothing’ too?”

“Please.” She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact, which is typical. There’s a little pinch between her eyebrows that’s so sweet and needy, Bucky wants to kiss it. It makes her look like she might cry, and that thrills him too. “Please,” she whispers. “I just wanna go home.”

“You’re not going home, Honey,” he tells her, keeping the grip on her neck steady and petting at her hair with his other hand. She’s going down a little, likely so easily because of the alcohol in her system, because of how deprived she’s been until now. She whines a little at his words and he shushes her. “They won’t let you. You’re either gonna have to let me take you, or else stay here in the hospital, in the psych ward.”

Mary whimpers. “No.”

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I know. I don’t want that for you either, but you have to make the choice. If you want to leave here, then you have to sign the paperwork that gives me custody of you.” He tilts her chin up. “Look at me now, Honey.” She’s sluggish, so it takes a second, but her eyes come up as she obeys. They’re a little glossy, pupils blown wide, and Bucky gives her neck an encouraging squeeze. “Good girl,” he praises.

She practically melts at hearing that. “Please …” she says again. 

Bucky would bet money that she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. He does, though. He knows down to the marrow of his bones what a ‘please’ like that means. “Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll take care of you. I will.” He bends and pecks a kiss to her forehead, then steps away. She makes a weak noise of protest and he shushes her. 

“I’m just gonna go get officer Santiago back. … And my husband, Steve.”

She blinks at the word ‘husband’. “Steve?” she repeats, shoulders shrinking as she pulls into herself. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky promises. “He’s a very nice man. You’ll like him.”

Mary looks unsure. Bucky’s glad she’s down, otherwise he’s fairly certain she’d be arguing by now, maybe even pitching a fit and cursing. Instead, what comes out of her mouth is a hesitant little, “... He’s like you?” 

“No. No he’s not designated. He’s—”

“Normal.” She says it so sadly, sounds so demoralized. Bucky has to fight the urge to correct her, to give her a speech about how, ‘just because they’re designated, it doesn’t make them abnormal’. He bites his tongue. What’s more important right now is that she’s making progress in accepting the reality that she’s almost certainly submissive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Steve’s not like us. But I wanted him to come in here and meet you. Do you think you can do that for me, Sweetie?” The pet names come naturally, are a part of his dynamic as a Dom, and Bucky can tell that she responds favorably to them. “Hm? Answer me, Mary.”

(And of course, the use of her name gets instant attention and obedience.)

“Okay,” she says. “Yes.”

He smiles and gives her a heartfelt, “Good girl,” wanting to show her that he’s pleased, that she’s doing well. “I’m gonna go get him, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Steve

Steve is equal parts excited and nervous to meet the woman Bucky has found, the woman they’re going to be taking care of. … Maybe more, if things work out. 

He holds Bucky’s hand as he’s led back to where the emergency room beds are. Bucky draws back the curtain and Steve sees the cop sitting there, looking bored, … and her.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Hey.”

She’s pretty—which is saying a lot, because that’s Steve’s first thought, despite the state of her. She’s got goo gobs of dark eye makeup that it looks like she put on once she was already drunk, and by now it’s been smeared to kingdom come by tears and her own hands. Her hair sits messy and unbrushed around her shoulders, and her eyes are glazed and tired from a high that’s probably going to wear off soon and leave her looking even more exhausted than she already does. 

“Hey,” Steve says, eyes flicking up and down her body where she’s sitting on the bed. She’s wearing nothing but a big tee shirt, and Steve allows himself one glance down at her shapely legs, then resolutely keeps his eyes trained upwards. She’s a disheveled mess, but even like that, Steve can see how she drew Bucky’s attention, that day in the café.

“Hi,” Mary says.

Steve smiles hopefully. By his side, Bucky squeezes his hand in encouragement, and offers, “Mary, this is Steve, my husband.”

Steve watches her face, curious to know what she thinks of Bucky being married. He’s expecting displeasure maybe, imagining that a submissive would feel jealous or upset, if their prospective Dom was already attached to someone else.

But she seems to stay calm, sitting there and taking Steve in with slow blinks, even looking a little bit shy herself. “... You’re big,” she eventually says. “I thought you’d be smaller than him.”

Steve grins and he hears Bucky’s scoffed, “Size has nothing to do with our dynamic.”

Steve knows he’s got half an inch on Bucky, more muscle mass too, but he’s never felt bigger than his husband. Bucky’s personality, his dominance, is larger than Steve.

Mary’s still staring at him, a thoughtful little pinch between her eyebrows. Steve waits in expectation of a question, but none comes. “What?” he asks. He pulls up the room’s extra plastic chair and sits close to the bed, offering her his hand. He’s surprised when she takes it. Steve stares thoughtfully at his hand as she drags her fingers over his fingers, his palm, still not saying anything. He looks over at Bucky, concerned. “Did they give her drugs?”

Thankfully, Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s down,” he explains.

Oh. Okay. That’d explain her calm affect. Steve had come in here halfway expecting a screaming hellcat. He hadn’t expected this. He turns back to Mary, giving her a friendly look. “Did you have questions you wanted to ask me?”

She bites her lip, clearly working something out in her head. “Bucky said you two have a ‘dynamic’.”

“He did.”

“But he said you’re normal.”

Steve’s lips thin once he figures out what she means. “We’re all normal,” he scolds. “But no, I don’t have ‘Dominant or Submissive Personality Disorder’, if that’s what you mean.” He puts sarcastic quotes around words to clearly convey his distaste for the classification. He wants her to know how ridiculous he finds it.

“Babe,” Bucky warns quietly from behind. “We’re not getting political right now, okay? Just focus on her, on what we have to do.”

“Right, sorry.” He knows that Bucky’s right, so he tries again, telling Mary, “I’m ‘normal’, but Bucky and I still have a very intimate relationship together. We’re husbands. So yeah, we’ve developed our own dynamic. When I’m with him I tend to follow his lead, so to speak.” He smiles and shrugs. “It works for us.”

Mary looks like she’s thinking this new information over. There’s a slowness to her, a dreaminess in her expressions and her reactions.Steve figures it’s a combination of her being down, and not being sober. In fact, he can smell the vodka leaking out of her pores. It’s actually pretty horrible. “So does that make sense?” he prods her gently. “Mary?”

“… Yeah, I think so.” She eyes him up and down, looking back and forth between him and Bucky. “What will you do?” she asks Steve. She blushes a little from asking the question, so he deduces that she’s asking what he’ll do with her; what their dynamic together will be, outside of her and Bucky.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, because that’s all he knows for sure, and he wants her to feel safe. Steve knows that it’s absolutely crucial for this woman to feel safe right now, if they’re going to take her home with them. “Bucky and I both will.” He holds her hand—the one that isn’t cuffed to the bed—enveloping it between his. “It’ll be much better than staying here,” he promises. “You’ll be so safe. And much happier.”

Mary’s body draws in, seems to actually get smaller as she pulls back into herself. “I’m never happy,” she says mournfully. It hurts Steve’s heart to see it, so he knows it must be killing Bucky, given his overly protective instincts. Steve glances over at him. “Babe?”

Bucky has a clipboard full of papers, which Steve knows must be the custody orders. “Here, Honey,” he tells Mary, handing her the clipboard and the pen. “This is what you have to sign to be able to come home with us.”

It kind of bothers Steve that Bucky doesn’t encourage her to read through the documents more thoroughly, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows they have only the best intentions for her. She’ll be safe with them. He watches as she signs her signature in the places Bucky points out, trying to scan some of the fine print as she goes. Anxiety is written across her face and she starts to bite at the chapped skin on her bottom lip. “But, um … what if I’m not what you think?” she worried, not looking at either of them. 

Bucky pets her hair and reassures her. “You are, sweetheart. Trust me. And we’re gonna take you to a therapist anyway, to get an official diagnosis.”

Normally Steve would be scoffing at the word “diagnosis,” but he’s too busy watching the two of them together. There’s a strange feeling in his gut, at seeing his husband touch Mary like that, at hearing him call her pet names and calmly take control of her. Steve’s never seen Bucky dom another person before, and he … he kind of doesn’t hate it. In fact, it’s actually making him feel all the more attracted to Bucky, and curious about Mary. Like he wants to help, wants to get to know her.

She signs the rest of the documents without making a fuss, so Steve figures he’ll be getting that chance.

Series Masterlist

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Square G5: Dom!Bucky Barnes

[tyrianludaship]

having him as a platonic f/o is so funny. like yeah this dude is a loser but he's my friend and only I get to say that.

[candyheartedchy]

Chy I'm channeling you energy rn I've come up with an OC f/o who is so shape

HECK YEAH!! “Shaped” characters are just so much fun design wise and to draw!!

[shesaloserhesaid]

haiii! *posts this just to go on another eternal hiatus*

[signatureartsblug]

Happy Birthday to this motherfucker right here C:<

[honeybear-yammy]

Hi!

Can you do a Damon X Reader smut where the reader loses her virginity to him and he is a softie!

Softer Than Silk

Warnings: cursing, smut, sexual themes, p in v, soft!Damon, praise kink, soft sex, sex, loss of virginity, virgin!reader.

Pairings: Damon Salvatore x Female Human Reader

Summary: In which Y/N losses her virginity to her boyfriend, Damon Salvatore.

Requested: yes.

Author's Note: omg I actually love this request! :)

© Honeybear-Yammy, please do not steal, translate, copy, or transfer my work.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Your boyfriend asked you softly as you shifted on the bed slightly from nervousness. You nodded a little before looking up into his gorgeous blue eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm ready, Damon." You said with a soft smile before leaning up and giving him a gentle peck.

"Okay but, you need to tell me if anything gets too much or if you're uncomfortable or if you just want me to stop or anything. I need you to tell me okay, baby?" Damon asked. "Okay, I will." You nodded. "I- please promise me you will, Y/N." He said. "Yes baby, I promise I'll tell you." You said with a smile.

Damon nodded before leaning in slowly and kissing you. The kiss was slow and gentle but also passionate and hungry. You let your hands move up his shoulders and along his neck until your hands reached his raven black hair, your hands making home in his hair. Your fingers tangled in his hair as Damon gently bit down on your bottom lip, causing your mouth to open with a quiet gasp.

He took that opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth as the two of you made out. You and Damon continued to kiss for awhile before he pulled back. His hands began to play with the hem of your shirt before he looked back up into you eyes. "Is it okay if I take this off?" He asked. You nodded and raised your arms so he could pull the fabric off over your head before tossing it onto the floor somewhere.

His eyes trailed down to your lacey bra. You gave him a nod, silently telling him that it was okay for him to remove it so he did so. He unclipped your bra and you let the bra slide off your shoulders, revealing your breasts before letting your bra fall into your lap. You picked up your bra and tossed it onto the floor where your shirt was. Damon's hands came up to gently cup your breasts before he gave them a gentle squeeze.

You bit your lip softly and sighed as he did so. He continued to massage your breasts for a minute or two before leaning down to gently flick his tongue over your hardened nipple causing you to gasp. Damon did that a few more times before drawing your nipple into his mouth. You hummed softly and put your hands in his hair once again as he sucked on your breast. After doing that for a few minutes he switched to your other breast, giving it the attention it had not received yet.

He gently pushed you back so you were laying down on your back on the bed and he began to kiss down your stomach but, before he could reach your cunt, you ended up gently pulling him back up and kissing him passionately. Damon pulled away after a moment and looked at you concerned. "Did I do something wrong, baby?" He asked with a worried tone. "No, no, you did nothing wrong, baby. I just can't wait any longer." You said with a small smile as you gentle bit your bottom lip.

A smirk danced across Damon's lips when you said that and he kissed you once more before leaning over. Once he had leaned over he opened up the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a small silver packet from a box before closing the drawer. He used his teeth to rip open the silver packet before rolling the condom onto his hardened cock. He gently spread your legs, your wet center now exposed to him and the cold air.

He positioned himself between your legs, aligning his dick with your entrance. You laid there nervously, not knowing what to expect from all of this. You had some friends that had already had sex before and had told you about their experiences but, you were still worried about how it was going to play through. Damon could tell that you were still feeling anxious and he leaned up and kissed your forehead softly and lovingly. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked softly. You bit your lip softly and nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm sure, baby." You said with a small smile. "Okay but, remember, if at any point you want me to stop, I will. No question about it." He said. "I know." You said with a nod. "You ready, sweet girl?" Damon asked with a little smirk.

"Yeah, I'm ready." You said with a smile, still biting your bottom lip. He re-positioned your legs and he slowly pushed into your tight hole. You gasped and your back began to arch off of the bed as Damon pushed his length into your pussy. Tears welled up in your eyes from the feeling of being stretched out by his cock. Once he was settled in your cunt, he gave you some time to adjust to his size, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

"It's okay, baby. I know it hurts but, you're about to feel so good I promise. Just tell me when you're ready to move, okay?" Damon asked. You nodded as a single tear fell from your watery eyes. He used his thumb to brush away the tear. After you felt that you were as adjusted you could be you decided that you should finally experience this. "Okay, I'm ready.." You said softly. "Are you sure?" He asked. You nodded. "Yes, I'm sure." You said with a gentle smile.

Damon nodded before he began to slowly and gently thrust into you. You felt a slight burn as he began to thrust. Your hands came up to your face and you covered your face as he continued to thrust into you at a slow, gentle pace. The pain quickly turned into pleasure and a moan escaped your lips. You removed your hands from your face before wrapping your arms around Damon's neck and shoulders. "Faster, please.." You whimpered needing more friction.

He obeyed your wishes and he began to thrust into you faster. The feeling was euphoric to you. Damon was your first time but, you could already tell that he had to be very skilled in bed. "Fuck, I love this pussy." Damon groaned out as he continued to fuck you. "Mm.. and I love your cock." You said with a giggle as you bit your lip before moaning out loudly. He slowly began to pick up his pace even more, his mushroom tip slamming into your g-spot over and over again. The feeling of his dick dragging against your gummy walls was immaculate. It was fucking perfect.

You then began to feel a burning feeling in the pit of your stomach. As Damon continued to fuck you, you could feel the feeling growing stronger and stronger with each thrust. As the feeling in your stomach grew, you clenched on his cock. "Fuck." He moaned out as you did so. "Are you gonna cum, babygirl? Are you going to cum for me?" Damon asked with a smirk. "Fuck! Yeah I'm gonna cum!" You moaned out loudly as his cock continued to drag along your gummy walls, the feeling of his dick plowing into you was the driving you crazy. "Come on, cum, cum for me princess." He said.

With that your back arched off of the bed, eyes rolling back, and you became a moaning mess as you gushed all over his hard cock. Damon thrusted into you a few more times before cumming himself. He continued to thrust into you as you both rode out your highs. His thrusts slowed to a stop before he slowly pulled his cock out of your pussy. He disposed of the now dirty condom before laying down beside you. You smiled and rolled over to Damon before snuggling into him. "Fuck, that was perfect." You said with a smile.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" He asked softly. You shook your head. "No, not at all. I loved it." You said with a smile. "Good." He smiled and kissed your head. "How about I'll go and get a bath started for you so you can relax, does that sound good?" He asked. "Yeah, as long as you come into the bath with me." You said with a grin. Damon laughed and kissed your forehead before getting up off of the bed. "Okay, sounds good." He said with a smile.

Author's Note: tysm for reading!

[grianthedecayingbird]

Actually you guys get an art dump, here u go

Gonna be a HUGE art dump bc I've been keeping a lot of art from y'all </3

[dreamwinged]

id love to know! feel free to elaborate if u want <3

[babeydollx]

The Second Day of Kinkmas: Tit Fucking | Damon Salvatore

Warnings: cursing, smut, sexual themes, tit fucking, minors dni

Pairings: Damon Salvatore x Female Vampire Reader

Summary: I really don't know what to put for a summary this time so lmao.

12 Days of Kinkmas Masterlist

© Maybanks-Luver 2023, please do not steal, copy, modify, repost, or translate my work.

"I know you'd like it, baby." Damon said with a smirk. "Plus, I thought you wanted to try some new things. This way we could try something new and I would be able to see your tits, it's a win win." He said with a grin. You chuckled and shook your head. You always knew that when it came to Damon's preference sexually that he was more of a tit person and you had been waiting for him to bring tit fucking into the bedroom, you were just shocked that he hadn't done it sooner.

"Alright, we can try it out." You said with a chuckle as you looked up at him. "Well then, why don't we get these pesky clothes out of the way then." He said with a smirk as he pulled your shirt over your head before unclasping your bra and taking that off too. His hands reached up to kneed at the soft flesh of your tits before he gently squeezed your nipples, causing you to whimper.

He began to unbuckle his belt as you got onto the bed for him and sat on your knees. He laid his already hardened cock on the valley of your breasts. You used your hands to squeeze your breasts around his cock before he started to slowly begin to thrust. You looked up at him as he let out a soft moan. He began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, the quickened pace causing you to have a little bit of a harder time breathing.

You leaned your head down and started to lick the tip of his dick as he continued to thrust his cock between your squished tits. He looked down at you and watched you lick his tip only brought him closer to his release. You squeezed your tits together more as he thrusted faster. He thrusted a few more times before cumming on your breasts and on your tongue. You giggled and swallowed it before Damon pushed you down onto the bed. "Now it's your turn to cum." He said with a devilish smirk.

Author's Note: tysm for reading!

[geosaurus]

Get Your Life Together AU

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3399

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

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

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

Series Masterpost for all chapters

2. Hazelnut Ganache Tart

Mary does sober up during her shift.

She feels kind of miserable, so she’s thankful that it’s a slow Monday. She’s also vaguely ashamed of how she’d shown up to work. It’s a new low, even for her. And then someone had seen her and called her out on it. It’s mortifying.

The encounter with Bucky preoccupies her thoughts all day, and she winds up burning a batch of croissants as she daydreams. She’s more careful after that, taking extra care with the assembly of her hazelnut ganache tarts.

Focusing on the intricate details of the pastries, on executing them perfectly, helps her to calm down and forget about the embarrassing encounter. For a little while at least. Alcohol would be better, and by the time she’s clocking out she’s already thinking about getting home so she can have the relief of a drink.

Or ten.

If anything, she throws back the first few even faster than usual, eager to wipe the memory of what’d happened that morning out of her mind.

Bucky, she thinks acerbically. What a stupid name.

And the nerve of him! To just assume those things about her. Has that loser never seen somebody hungover at work before? It's quite the presumptuous leap from that to … submissive.

‘Dominant’. Mary rolls her eyes. He could’ve just been making it up. Probably was. She’s certainly never met anybody who’s just come out and announced it the way he had. What a bizarre thing to do. It’s not like it’s something people go around broadcasting. It’s … well it’s a mental disorder, isn’t it?

They’d mentioned it in her Psych101 class back in college, but she’d dropped out before that semester was halfway through. Unable to help herself, she pulls out her phone and googles “Dominant,” then navigates to the Wikipedia page on “Dominant and Submissive Personality Disorder.” She winds up getting sucked into reading about it. But as soon as the article starts talking about the submissive subsection, she closes the browser in discomfort. 

She remembers back to the encounter with that guy—Bucky. He hadn’t seemed like there was anything wrong with him (other than being bossy and intrusive as fuck).  But where the heck did he get off throwing out psych diagnoses at total strangers? Mary's cheeks grow hot the more she thinks about his cocksure attitude and the pitying way he’d looked at her.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Doll.” 

She remembers how he’d spoken to her, how he’d called her out on her behavior and spoken so assuredly, like he could see right into her. Like he knew all her secrets. It’d been unnerving.

Her pulse quickens as she thinks about it. The way his big hand had felt, wrapped so securely around her wrist. And how he’d squeezed her wrist—slowly, gently.

“Oh, honey. I think you are.” 

Fuck, it’d made her knees go weak.

Sighing, she takes the bottle of vodka and her glass to the couch and plops down, using the remote to turn the tv onto YouTube. She starts up a playlist that she can lose herself in—music videos, stuff from all the tv shows she likes, edits, fail compilations, whatever. Maybe it’s pathetic that this is how she spends most nights, but there’s no one that she has to impress. And she can’t bear the feeling of being alone in her brain otherwise. At least this way everything is warm and entertaining. She pours herself a little more, throwing off the ratio of vodka to ginger ale, but the taste doesn't bother her nearly as much once she's on the third or fourth drink.

The bottle’s half empty, and she wonders if she’ll finish it. She’ll be drunk again at work tomorrow morning, if she does. Yikes. She’ll stop after two more. One more. Two more.

The bottle’s three-quarters empty and an Adam Lambert music video is blasting on the tv. He really is the most underappreciated vocalist of his generation! And he’s got such nice makeup, too …

Maybe she won’t even go to work tomorrow, Mary thinks manically. They don’t appreciate her there anyway. Maybe she’ll just stay here and drink the rest of this and enjoy herself until… until…

The bottle’s empty and the party’s in full swing. No worries though, she thinks, she’s got some of that nasty cheap rum in the back of the pantry. Blecgh. She orders DoorDash that she doesn’t really have the money to be wasting on, puts on makeup while lip syncing to the tv, and thinks about calling Chase to tell him what a loser he is and how glad she is that they broke up. Haven’t had to use this concealer to cover up anything but acne in over a year.

Rum isn’t so bad when you mix it with orange juice!

She gets on a depressing video kick. She bemoans the state of politics, then society, the world, her life. She goes through all the old pictures in her phone and gets pissed at the ones with Chase in them. She imagines running into her ex somewhere random, with a super hot new boyfriend on her arm. She imagines the dumbstruck expression he’d have on his face, and how she’d introduce her way-hotter new boyfriend to him. 

Ohmygosh, Chase! How’ve you been?! Oh me? I’m doing great. This is Bucky, he’s a surgeon-slash-green beret-slash-musician. Ha! Yeah well we just got back from two months in the Bahamas, so that’s why we’re so tan. 

It’s the rum, Mary decides. It makes her sad. She stops feeling fun and happy, and starts feeling lonely and morose. She finds the cardboard sleeve that Bucky had written that phone number on. Hell no, she’s not calling it. She’s got the internet. There’s tons of info online about this stuff that she can look up. Besides, it’s just curiosity. She’s not like him. She's not like that.

She googles BDSM disorder and clicks on the first search result, which winds up being porn. That’s a mistake, but then she decides to watch the porn anyway, because it’s sexy—plus, it's sort of educational, right?

The porn starts making her even more sad. She stares at the paper cup sleeve in her hand while some girl gets the tar beat out of her backside. The last video had been an over-the-lap spanking video—Mary had liked that one. But this doesn’t look nice at all. Especially when the guy switches to hitting her with a friggin’ stick. 

Is this the sort of stuff Bucky likes to do? Jeez.

She has the receipt that Bucky wrote his own number on, too. On impulse, she pulls out her phone and starts to enter a new contact. 

“Asshole Dom Bucky,” she mumbles as she types the words and saves the new contact number with a giggle. It takes more than one try, her fingers not hitting the right keys very often, but she gets it done. 

She comes very, very close to calling Bucky, but winds up calling the hotline phone number instead at the last minute. She’ll whine and cry to them instead, she thinks. At least they’re strangers. She can tell them anything. It’s confidential, anonymous. They can’t tell anyone what she says.

A woman picks up the phone and greets her in a calm, friendly voice.

“Hello, my name is Sharon. I’m a volunteer counselor at the National Submissive Crisis Intervention Hotline.”

“Whatever,” Mary slurs. She is so drunk. She gulps more of her rum and OJ, thinks about going and getting the little razor blade that she only thinks about picking up when she’s wasted. Sometimes it feels nice to do something outrageous when she’s this sad. Nobody can stop her from it, and that feels nice, too. “M’not having a crisis,” she mumbles.

“Okay,” Sharon says, voice still so pleasant and accommodating. “What’s your name?”

“Mary.”

“Okay Mary. I’m glad you called. Would you like to talk to me about what you’re going through? We can talk about anything you’d like.”

“I’m not a freak,” Mary blurts out. “You know? Submissive, or whatever. I’m not. M’normal.”

“Okay,” Sharon says calmly. “Well just so you know, I’m not here to judge. I’m on the spectrum myself.”

Mary blows air through her teeth disdainfully—though deep down, she guesses it’s nice to know that. "So what," she mutters. "You're like, a submissive?

“I’m actually dominant, but I’m not going to do anything to try and boss you around or control you. I’m just here to listen to and support you.” 

“Oh.” She looks down at her glass, feeling like she doesn’t even want to finish drinking it. She’s tired … And sad. “Kay,” she mumbles. “Well I’m not. Like that.”

“You don’t think you have a designation disorder."

Designation disorder, pfft. Mary scoffs again. “Yeah, no.”

“Then why did you call tonight? Do you need someone to talk to?”

She grumbles unintelligibly, then repeats herself when the woman on the phone prompts her. “Some guy just gave me this number. He said that I was.”

“He said that you were what, Honey?”

“… Submissive.” She says the word quietly, embarrassed of it. “But what does he know, right?” She huffs. “Fucking stranger. He doesn’t know me.”

“Okay. What are you going through tonight?” Sharon asks, still sounding kind but also mildly worried. “Do you want to talk about that? About what made you call the hotline?”

Mary sniffles, feeling stupid. She’s suddenly tearing up and she doesn’t even know why. She wipes her eyes hastily and takes another big sip of her drink. “I’m drinking,” she says tearfully, bluntly, expecting to be scolded for it. "M'drunk."

“Okay,” Sharon says. She doesn’t sound mad. “Okay Mary, are you by yourself right now?”

“Yeah. M’in my apartment.”

“Okay. Okay. … Do you drink alone there often?”

Oh. That hits hard for some reason, and suddenly Mary’s crying, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to hold back a sob.

“Mary? Are you there, Honey?”

Honey. Mary cries harder. That's what Bucky had called her. She likes hearing it, but also she feels desperately sad because it reminds her about how she’s all alone and doesn’t have someone to call her ‘Honey’ or ‘Doll’ or ‘good girl’. And nobody’s ever spanked her over their lap, either. 

“Mary?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice all choked up. “Yeah, m’here.”

“Okay. Good.” Mary can hear the sound of typing on the other end of the line. “How are you feeling Mary? Do you think we could make a plan together? Maybe drink some water and get you ready for bed? It’s late. You must be tired, huh?” 

Mary sniffles. “Um,”

“It’d make me so happy if we could make a plan, Mary. Would you do that for me?” 

“... Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s so great. Good girl.”

Mary’s face crumples. She’s not a good girl. She’s not good at all! 

Sharon hears her crying harder and asks worriedly what’s wrong. “Mary,” she says, voice sharper—stern-sounding. “Mary, you need to talk to me and tell me what’s happening.” 

“Sh-sharon?” Mary cries. “What I tell you is private, right? You won’t tell anyone or report me, will you?”

“... The goal is to keep you safe, Honey. I’m here to help you do that,” Sharon says. “You can tell me anything you want to. I’m here to listen, remember?”

She sounds so kind and caring, so steady, and it makes Mary want to tell her everything. It’s been so hard, not having anyone to talk to. And anyway she’s already crying at this point, and it feels good in that way that crying sometimes does, so she might as well. It’s confidential.

She takes a deep breath, takes another big gulp from her glass, and starts spilling her guts to this stranger named Sharon over the phone.

Bucky’s phone rings early in the morning. He groans as he wakes up, grumpily reaching for it. He peeks at the red numbers of the alarm clock over on Steve’s side of the bed: 4:30 AM. 

If this is a robocall this early in the morning, he’s going to be tempted to commit capital murder. “Hello?” he rasps.

“Hello. Is this, um … ‘Bucky’?”

It’s a man’s voice. Bucky squints blearily up at the bedroom’s popcorn ceiling. “Yeah? Who is this?”

“Sir, my name is Officer Santiago with the New York Police Department. I’m calling from Holy Cross Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Bucky says, more alert at hearing that. “You’re a cop?” Why is a cop calling him? Bucky can’t think of a good reason.

“Yes Sir.”

He sits up in the bed. Beside him, Steve starts waking up, too. “Mmph, who is it?” he asks sleepily.

“What’s happened?” Bucky asks, dread already curling in his gut, imagining who could be hurt or dead at the hospital that they’re calling him at this hour …

“We have a woman here,” the officer says. “She called a crisis hotline. The operator was worried about her safety, she contacted us.”

“Those hotlines are supposed to be confidential,” Bucky growls.

“She was making threats of self harm. We had to pick her up. We’ve got her down here at the E.R. at Holy Cross. Involuntary hold.”

“Wait a minute ... What was the hotline she called?” Bucky asks, as the thought occurs to him and he hopes he’s wrong. “It wasn’t a D/s hotline, was it?” 

Beside him in the bed, Steve is grimacing and rubbing his eyes. “Babe?”

“Some submissive crisis line, yeah,” the officer says. 

Bucky’s heart sinks. The woman from the coffee shop yesterday. “Mary,” he murmurs, remembering how neat and cute her handwriting was on her nametag and on the side of his to-go cup. “Shit,” he says.

“She’s stable. She has minor self-inflicted injuries but nothing life threatening. We found your number in her phone.” Here is where the officer starts to sound uneasy. “You’re listed here as her, um … her Dom.”

“I … am?” Bucky’s eyebrows climb his forehead. He hadn’t thought the girl would keep his cell number, let alone save him as a contact. He’d thought he’d pissed her off, that she was too proud, too mortified.

“Babe, who is it?” Steve asks, awake now and frowning at Bucky in concern. He can tell something’s wrong. Bucky shushes him with a gesture and Steve’s face flashes with annoyance. Bucky gives him an apologetic wince.

“Specifically, you’re listed under ‘Asshole Dom Bucky’.” The officer clears his throat uncomfortably. “She wouldn’t give us a number to call, and department policy is to contact designation partners, if possible.”

Bucky opens his mouth to tell the officer that he’s not Mary’s partner, that he doesn’t even really know her. But he stops himself, thinking about what happens to subs who get dragged into the E.R. and go unclaimed. “I … yeah,” he hedges. “Yeah, that’s me.” After an awkward pause and feeling guilty for the lie, he checks, “You said she’s okay?”

“Yes. She’s pretty upset, and intoxicated. But the doctor checked her out and said she’s okay. Well … physically-speaking,” he adds awkwardly. “They’re ready to admit her.”

“Psych unit?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky sighs. “No. That’s not good. It’d be better if I came and got her.”

“Okay.” The officer sounds relieved. “She uh, she’s pretty upset.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that,” Bucky says. “What does that mean? Is she frantic?”

“She’s angry,” the officer says, and it sounds like he’s trying to keep his voice low now. Bucky wonders if Mary is somewhere in the near vicinity of the officer. “Drunk and super pissed. Belligerent.”

“Is she restrained right now?” Bucky asks, worried.

“Yeah. Cuffed to the bed.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “She shouldn’t be restrained by a stranger. It’s not healthy for her. Can't you just watch her?”

“Sorry Sir, that’s our policy when we bring in the involuntary cases. We have to do it.”

Bucky is already up and heading to the closet to grab clothes. “Okay,” he says curtly. “I’m coming to get her. I’ll be there within the hour.”

The officer thanks him and Bucky hangs up. He looks back at Steve, who is propped up on his side and staring at him in something close to shock. 

“Buck, what the hell?”

Bucky winces and goes back to the bed. He climbs up and takes Steve’s hand. Steve isn’t on the spectrum, but his dynamic with Bucky has always been more on the subservient side. Bucky sees that he’s not mad, is just waiting for an explanation, so he takes a breath and tells him, “You remember the woman I told you about? The one at the coffee shop?”

Steve nods. “The lemon tarts.”

“Yeah, her. She’s in the hospital. A psych hold, that was the NYPD on the phone. Somehow they think I’m her Dom, and she’s being difficult. Won’t give ‘em a name of anybody they can release her to.”

“Oh, man.” Steve is well-educated on the intricacies of Designated people: He’s married to one, after all.

“Baby.” Bucky rubs the back of Steve’s hand. “I have to go get her.”

“You don’t ‘have’ to,” Steve corrects. He looks at Bucky knowingly. “But you want to, don’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or not. “I … yeah. I want to.” He and Steve have talked about the possibility of bringing another person into their marriage one day, a submissive to meet Bucky’s needs. Steve has always been open to the idea, especially since they’re both bisexual.

“We gonna try and make that work out?” 

Bucky scoffs. “That’s way down the road.”

“But it would be good for you too, wouldn’t it?” 

He shrugs, and then admits, “Yeah, probably.” Bucky’s what’s known as a ‘high needs’ dominant. The condition affects him more severely than it does others. He tries to figure out if Steve is at all upset by what they’re discussing. “It’s crazy, I know,” he says. “Not exactly what we always talked about. We don’t even know her.”

“But she’s in trouble,” Steve says. “And you were drawn to her.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. I don’t think she has anyone else to go to. And they’re talking about admitting her to the psych unit.”

“That’s not good, is it?”

“No. They won’t have the knowledge to help her. Places like that tend to use meds first and ask questions second.” He sees Steve’s wince and nods. “It could definitely make things worse.”

“What’s wrong with her? Subdrop?”

“I don’t know. Cop said she was self-harming and drinking. That’s all I know so far.”

Steve nods. “Can I go with you?” he looks hopeful and ready to jump into action, and Bucky is surprised—even though he knows he shouldn’t be.

“Babe, you want to do this? Bring her home? Take care of her?”

Steve nods, stalwart. “We should try. It’s the best option she has. If it works out, great. And if not … well we can get her the help she needs, at least.”

Bucky nods. Steve is on-board. He doesn’t think this is stupid, or crazy. Bucky’s chest swells with affection for him. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Steve leans over and kisses him on the mouth. “I trust you,” he says. “And I love you.”

Bucky smiles, stupidly in-love with his husband. “Love you too, Stevie.”

They kiss once more, and then Steve is pulling back and clapping his hands together. “Alright! Let’s get going if we’re really doing this.” He hefts himself out of the bed, moving with purpose. “She’s waiting for us.”

Us, Bucky thinks happily, realizing that it’s true: They’re husbands—soulmates, in his opinion. They’re partners, an inseparable unit ever since the day they got married, and they do everything together. So it’ll be the two of them taking care of this woman together. They’ll be a team, each giving her what she needs in their own ways. And maybe it’ll go somewhere, who knows? Thinking about it makes Bucky feel settled and satisfied inside, the barest ghost of the sort of feeling he gets from domming someone.

Impulsive as it is, he’s got a hunch that this is the right decision.

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[tyrianludaship]

did a quick house md screenshot redraw in spirit of bi visibility day :)

Original version

[selfindulgentfandomstuff]

Ummm I like them. Be so niceys to me pls and thx 👍💗

(Btw for any other Jack D/elroy selfshippers/oc x canon shippers who might see this, I’m fine sharing him!/gen pls see my pinned for who I’m not comfortable sharing if you plan on interacting! I can’t force you to but I’d really appreciate it <3)