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creatingblackcharacters · 3 months ago

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No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

“It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

#creatingblackcharacters #black character design #whitewashing #antiblackness

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appalachianapologies · 1 year ago

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*squints at notes and notfis and new followers* hello sapphics i see u and i am waving to you with gay undertones i hope you're doing well!! i can only assume you are here bc of my Last Night at the Telegraph fic and first of all !!!! and second of all !!!!!

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if you're interested, A Penchant for the Ordinary is available on amazon here and is only 3 USD on kindle! it's a fun way to read more gay novels and support your local queer <3

#is it a perfect professional grade book? nope! is it a grade a realistic lesbian? YES #anyway hi hello i hope you enjoy your stay at my blog and if all goes well i WILL have the second half of the last night at the telegraph #fic up tonight #that is if i stop writing tumblr posts and start writing fic #ALSO another lesbian book is in the words rn. and as i plotted out plot today i promised myself i'd turn my attention to it #so i'm gonna try (emphasis on try) to give update snips every week starting next week #will this go well? probably not but at least it'll keep me writing #ps if you search ''a penchant for the ordinary'' on my blog you can find some snazzy fanart <3 #and you can find even more snazzy fanart if you go to my instagram (vi.writes.words)#this entire post is just one big plug for my work but hey #a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do #no but really it is a delight seeing so many new sapphic followers i love you all #and i'm like 2 away from 500 followers which is ABSOLUTELY MAD #(in a good way)#it's also available in amazon in a dozen and a half other countries if u need one of those links just dm me #bc the link i linked here is for us amazon but i have it for a bunch of other countries as well

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queen-of-the-avengers · 2 months ago

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Red

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: sexual assault (not quite rape), angst, feeling uncomfortable by a man touching you, minor fluff at the end

Summary: A mission calls for you to find your inner vixen to get information from a man who is known to be a womanizer. Things don’t go according to plan, so Sam has to step up and take matters into his own hands. When Bucky hears about it, he turns to you knowing you need comfort in the safest way possible.

Want A Commission?

Author’s Note: this is a commission fic for the lovely @elegantauthor! go give her a follow! if you'd like a commission, use the link above for more information!

The short black dress stares back at you in your closet with a knowing look. You don’t want to wear this. you don’t want to go on this mission. You’d rather spend the night cuddled up next to your boyfriend and watch movies. Instead, you’re going on a mission to essentially be a vixen, not in the literal sense where you have sex with someone but in the sense where you have to seduce the target to get what you want.

It's not ideal but this is the job.

The man in question is a womanizer and is high in the weapons world. He’s one of the most well-known weapons dealers across the country. He mostly deals out of his club but whenever authorities raid his club, they can’t find anything to nail him with. That’s when they called your team to do what they clearly can’t.

You yank the dress off the hanger and quickly put it on. You haven’t worn this since before you started going out with Bucky. You can remember wearing this to the club with your friends. The material is a bit tighter than you remember but it’ll help you get what you want. You shift your boobs to make them pop more without having them completely spill out the top. You walk to your vanity and sift through your makeup.

Someone knocks on your door before walking in. You smile when you see it’s your boyfriend.

“Hey, baby.” He has a frown etched onto his face, deeper than usual. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this plan.” You’re the only one who can get close to Mezzi. Anyone else would just tip him off. “Not that I don’t want you flirting with another man, but Mezzi is bad news. He treats women like shit. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You set down your makeup brush and walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands automatically settle on your waist.

“I’m a professional, baby, and a really skilled spy. I’ve gotten bigger, more tougher men to talk for less. I’ve done this before. Plus, Sam and John will be there if anything goes wrong.”

The mention of the blonde man makes his frown deeper.

“I don’t like that John is going.”

“You don’t like anything he does.”

“There’s something dirty about him. He’s not a good man.”

You pull Bucky down toward you and kiss him, keeping the kiss short and sweet.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. It’s just another mission.”

Bucky slides one of his hands into your hair and kisses you for longer this time.

“Okay, I trust you,” he whispers against your lips.

“Good,” you grin and peck his lips once more.

You finish getting ready and leave with Sam and John to the car. Bucky leads his own team of soldiers who will wait outside until the cue is given. He would have gone in with you but Mezzi knows Bucky’s face. He would have ruined the entire mission before it could begin.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” you say. “I’ll go in first and distract him while you two go to the bar and pretend to be just like any other customer. Once I’m close, I’ll casually ask how my friend heard about his weapons and would like to buy some. Hopefully, he’ll be drunk enough to say where he keeps them which we would call in Bucky’s team.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam shrugs.

“We need a safe word,” you say.

“Why?” John asks.

“Because I’m a woman going in to seduce a womanizer who looks like he doesn’t like the word no. So, I need a safe word or I’m not going in.”

“Seems fair,” Sam says.

“Fine, what is it?”

“Red. I’ll work it into the conversation but if you hear me say that, move in immediately.”

John doesn’t say anything but nods in agreement. When you get to the club, you go in first. The place is already crowded with a bunch of people but you push past them all to get to the far end of the club. There is a section separated by curtains and guards which can only mean it’s the VIP section. Through the large slit in the curtains, you see Mezzi sitting back with both arms on the back of the couch.

Bingo.

You walk closer to the VIP section and start to move your body to the music. Sam and John walk in and head to the bar like they’re supposed to while keeping a close eye on you. You look up and meet Mezzi’s eyes through the slit and smirk at him. You’ve got his attention. You run your hands down your body and move sensually to the music. He leans forward and licks his bottom lip, already entranced by you.

He calls for one of his guards and whispers something to him while maintaining eye contact with you. The guard leaves and heads over to you, and you pull your eyes from Mezzi to look at the guard.

“Boss wants to see you.”

“Lead the way,” you grin.

He allows you to pass into the VIP section, and Mezzi leans back with a lazy smirk on his face.

“Up close, you’re even more beautiful,” he grins. “Drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He gets up and walks over to the mini bar to make your drink. You watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t put anything in your drink, and you relax when he doesn’t. This place is so secluded from the rest of the club due to the curtains so anything can happen in here and no one would know about it. Luckily, you have Sam and John in your ear so you’ll be able to call for them if things get out of hand.

“Thank you,” you smile and accept the drink. He takes a seat next to you, a little bit closer than your liking. It’s okay. Pretend he’s Bucky. “I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so handsome before.”

“Oh, baby, there is no one else like me. You’ve come to the right section. I can blow your mind without even touching you.”

“Oh, really? Lucky me,” you giggle.

Mezzi reaches out and runs his hands over your exposed thighs, and you picture Bucky’s hands touching you. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to do this for a mission, but it is the first time since you’ve been with Bucky. You respect him too much to do things like this, but there was no other way to get close to Mezzi.

“God, you’re so sexy. Best looking girl here.”

“You’re just saying that.”

His hands briefly slide up your dress before he moves it back down. “No, I’m not. When I see something I like, I make sure she knows about it.”

“Here’s to new opportunities,” you grin and hold your drink out to him. He raises his own drink and clinks it with yours, but he only takes a sip. He’s careful not to intake too much alcohol, especially when he’s involved in so much illegal shit. “I was hoping to talk to you tonight.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“I have this friend who was asking about you.”

“What friend?”

“Oh, just a friend.” You reach over and dance your fingers across his chest, slightly sliding them through the buttons of his shirt. “He says you have a certain shipment he’d like to buy from you. He wouldn’t tell me more. He says you’d know what I was talking about.”

Mezzi’s attitude switches but it’s very subtle. You can see it in his eyes. He does not like that question. He slides his hand up your body and rests his palm over the hollowness of your throat. Not hurting you but letting you know he can hurt you if you piss him off.

“Well, you tell your friend if he wants something I have, then he should be the one asking for it, not sending his whore after me.”

“Now, that’s not very nice.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, baby, it was a compliment.”

He pulls you in closer so that you’re practically in his lap, and you suddenly grow uncomfortable. He has one thing on his mind and it’s not talking.

“Out of curiosity, what’s the shipment?” you ask, trying to get his mind somewhere else.

“Enough talking. You clearly came here for one thing and one thing only. I deliver on all of my promises, and I promise to make your time here worthwhile.”

He slides his hand up your dress and rests it very close to the one place you only ever want one man to go: Bucky. He leans in and presses kisses to your neck so lightly, and that’s when you panic. No mission is worth feeling like this. You don’t want to be here anymore.

“Red,” you blurt out.

“What?” he asks and pulls away.

“I like your red shirt. It’s very silky.”

“It looks better on the ground.”

Sam’s earpiece has been bothering him since he got here, so he’s trying to fix it. He should have gotten a new one when he had the chance since it’s not the first time this has acted up. John’s earpiece, however, works just fine. He hears your cry for help yet he does… nothing. He looks toward the VIP section and sips his drink casually.

“My favorite color is red,” you say with slight panic.

John can’t give away their position because Mezzi hasn’t given the location of his weapons yet. If they raid now, they might not have anything. Sam tweaks a few parts before putting it back in his ear. He smiles when it works but it’s lost when he hears your panicked voice.

“Has she been saying this? Why are you just sitting there?” Sam asks.

He gets up to rescue you but John grabs his arm.

“He hasn’t told her where the shipment is.”

“I don’t fucking care. Get your hand off me.”

Sam yanks his arm away and leaves to come to your rescue. John, on the other hand, finishes his drink leisurely.

Mezzi has you pinned to the couch with your dress bunched up at your hips. The only thing separating him from rape is a flimsy piece of cotton. You wish Bucky was here.

“Please stop,” you say, close to tears. “Red!”

He is about to silence you with a hand to your throat when he freezes. Sam places a gun to the back of his head.

“Let go of her.” Mezzi does and you scramble as far as you can get from him. You shake slightly and pull your dress down as much as it can go. “If you don’t want to get your head blown off, I’d suggest you tell us where your shipment is right now.”

“You’re bluffing,” he chuckles.

Sam moves the gun away from his head and aims it at his leg. He shoots once, and Mezzi jerks back in pain. The gun has a silencer on it so no one can hear how much Mezzi is in pain. The music drowns out his shouts of pain, and Sam moves the gun back to his head.

“Am I bluffing now?”

“In the basement, man. In the tunnels.”

“Come in, Buck. You’re up. It’s in the tunnels below,” Sam says into the earpiece.

“Copy that.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asks you while keeping the gun on Mezzi.

“I think so,” you whisper.

“Go. We’ve got it handled from here.”

You don’t think twice about leaving. All you want is to go home, shower, and cry.

“Shame,” Mezzi groans in pain. “She looks like her pussy would be tight.”

Sam rears his fist back and punches Mezzi hard in the jaw. So hard that Mezzi passes out right there and then. Bucky and his men found the shipment and were able to arrest Mezzi and his men on the spot. With that much evidence, no judge would ever think about letting them go. The adrenaline has worn off and the shakes have replaced it. You were almost raped. You were sexually assaulted. You might be a trained spy but that all went out the window the second Mezzi forced you on your back.

The second Bucky heard about what happened, pissed doesn’t even cover what he’s feeling. Sam had to tell Bucky what John did because it was wrong of him to hear your safe word and do nothing about it. Bucky storms into home base and makes a beeline for John. He grabs his collar and yanks him violently toward him.

“You heard her safe word and did nothing about it?”

“I knew she had it handled! He didn’t tell her where the shipment was.”

“I oughta kill you,” Bucky growls. He grabs John’s throat with his metal hand and squeezes. “She’s my girlfriend, you bastard.”

John is no match for Bucky so he doesn’t even try to fight back. Bucky is about to do more damage when Sam walks into the room.

“She’s asking for you, Buck.”

Bucky lets John go, and the latter coughs violently. “Get him the hell out. He better be gone when I get back.” He leaves the room and walks into your bedroom. The shower is going in your bathroom, and he looks inside to see you sitting on the shower floor with your knees to your chest. “Y/N?” You don’t reply. He knows how scared you must be. “He can’t hurt you anymore, baby.”

Again, you don’t respond to him. He steps inside the running shower and turns off the water, not caring if he has water on his clothes. He wraps you in your fluffy towel and scoops you into his arms. He brings you to the bed and sits you down before going into your closet. He grabs one of his big hoodies and dresses you in it.

The second he has you in his arms, you bury your head in his chest and cry.

“Shh, I’m right here. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I was so scared,” you whimper. “I thought… I just wanted you.”

“I’m here now. I won’t let him touch you again. You’re safe now.”

Bucky smooths down your hair and allows you to cry as much as you need to. He won’t tell you what John did because that would only make you feel worse.

“Please stay with me,” you whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere. You can rest knowing you’re protected. You’re safe now.”

“I love you,” you say and snuggle closer to him.

“I love you. Get some rest. I’ll be here the whole time.”

That’s all the comfort you need. He makes you feel safe, and that’s all you can ever ask for.

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gghostwriter · 3 months ago

Text

A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation.

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team.

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was.

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in.

No, he needed to.

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze.

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers.

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks.

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him.

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him.

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on.

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?”

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions.

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone.

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that.

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm.

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same.

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over.

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho.

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door.

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call.

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI.

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid.

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team.

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.”

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.”

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically.

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?”

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else.

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor.

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone.

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end.

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back.

Check.

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake.

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days.

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be.

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.”

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career.

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger.

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed.

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need.

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber.

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer.

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t.

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time.

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?”

A light rustle replied.

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.”

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door.

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home.

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late.

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle.

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.”

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.”

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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felassan · 1 year ago

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[source (Senior Reporter at Kotaku), linked Kotaku article, two, 'FC 24's performance link', three, four, @/N7SeveranceDay (source of the last two images, "Account supporting BioWare employees laid off in 2023."), five, six, Polygon tweet, Polygon article]

"BioWare Continues to Refuse to Pay Severance" statement transcript:

“BioWare Continues to Refuse to Pay Severance On August 23 of this year, BioWare eliminated “approximately 50 roles at BioWare”. Following the layoffs, seven ex-BioWare employees engaged the services of R. Alex Kennedy to represent their interests, stating that the amount of severance offered was insufficient under Alberta common law. Counsel for the employees has attempted to reach a compromise that would avoid requiring lengthy court proceedings, but BioWare’s lawyers refused any offers to negotiate and settle out of court. The basis of Kennedy’s claim is that according to Alberta precedents and under Canadian law, these employees should be receiving approximately 1.7 months of severance per year of service they gave to BioWare. BioWare has now filed a Statement of Defence, which argues that the seven terminated employees are only entitled to two weeks of severance per year spent in service to BioWare, because of a contract provision that Kennedy says is not enforceable. The filing means BioWare will be taking these former employees to court rather than working towards finding an out of court resolution. The developers involved in the suit have expressed their disappointment: - “We are disappointed that BioWare prefers stalling and intimidation tactics to fair dealing with people who have given years, and in some cases decades, of dedication and hard work to the company.” - “We believe they are using intimidation and stalling tactics to try and get us to drop out. A lot of the more junior employees and those with families, who had more monetary pressure on them, could not risk waiting on a court case that may take many months more to resolve, and have already had to drop out.” - “At the time of the layoffs, BioWare offered us professional assistance in finding new employment, and an additional payment, but ONLY on the condition that we signed an agreement saying we cannot talk about any details of the settlement, and that we would completely waive any right to legal action or even to complain in any way about anyone associated with BioWare now or ever in the future. Tactics like that sure make me think that BioWare knows it is in the wrong.” - “Despite what they publicly announced when they laid us off, this process has been anything but empathetic, respectful, and communicative.” The latest BioWare layoffs were the third round so far this year, and many of the developers affected even in earlier rounds are still searching for work, though some have started to find new positions. Regardless of employment status, the members of the current lawsuit state they remain determined to pursue BioWare in court, regardless of their employment status: - “We strongly believe that if Dragon Age: Dreadwolf does not do as well as BioWare or EA wants at launch, there will be more, even larger layoffs. Therefore, regardless of our own well-being, we believe it is important to hold BioWare responsible and get a clear decision on what settlement amount is legal. We’re no longer part of the development team, so the best way we can help our former teammates now is to hold BioWare accountable and ensure that the next group who is laid off are not treated as poorly as we were.” November 7th marks “N7 Day”, which is a fan celebration of BioWare’s Mass Effect games featuring Commander Shepard and the crew of the Normandy. The developers involved in the lawsuit are hoping N7 Day this year will be a reminder to BioWare of the importance of loyalty to your crew, and hope fans can have a little fun and help express their support with memes and images using an #N7SeveranceDay hashtag. The ex-employees involved in the suit are all based in Canada and have an average of 14 years at BioWare.”

[source]

You can express your support using the hashtag #N7SeveranceDay.

Edit: [Part 2/update] [more on the Keywords topic]

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #mass effect #video games #long post #longpost #mass effect 5 #signal boost #N7SeveranceDay #worker solidarity #labor rights #pls note that i did not create any of the images in this post #or the N7Severance twitter account. pls see source links

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myfictionaldreams · 2 days ago

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Edge of Glory // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Defiance is something you are not accustomed to, but when the love of your life is in danger, there is no stopping you. Now, the repercussions of your actions have you contemplating the decisions that you've made.

Requested by: My bestie, thank you for giving me the spark and motivation to continue writing!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, fluff, threesome (F/M/M), BDSM, punishment, sensory deprivation, crying, overstimulation, begging, edging (!), subspace, restraints, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, praise kink, degradation, aftercare

Words: 6.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Masochist: someone who enjoys pain. That word echoed in the forefront of your mind as your muscles strained and ached from the exertion. Deep breath in and out, shoulder joints rolling to ease the stiffness in your neck as your arms are raised in defence once more.

It’s not that you were averse to pain; in the right circumstance, pain could be mixed with pleasure or have a reward such as a tattoo or piercing. However, the pain that came with working out, forcing your muscles to move to their limits, and lungs burning with the movements were things you were not used to or could say you were enjoying at the present moment. Hence why, the woman in front of you, with stunning red hair and a bright, taunting grin, was being labelled a masochist because there was no way you could fathom that she was enjoying any moment of this, but the sharp laugh she released had you shaking your head in concern.

“Again,” she ordered breathily, her arms remaining at her side as she carefully stepped around the thin mat positioned in the centre of the office. The chairs and table are pushed against the wall, giving you more space.

Taking an exaggerated deep breath, ignoring that fire that coated the inside of your lungs, you lunged towards Natasha, looking as if you were going to grab her by the shoulders, but in the last second, you dropped to your knees. With surety and remembering the instructions of your mentor, who watched from the sidelines, you tackled your friend to the floor.

With the rush of air that escaped her lungs, you knew you’d taken her by surprise and couldn’t help the shit-eating grin across your face as you stared triumphantly down at Natasha.

Within a single blink, an unnatural grunt was forced from your no longer smiling lips as Nat was quick to swap the positions, causing your body to roll and her now hovering over you with both of your arms pinned on either side of your head.

“What now, Sugar? Try and get out of this one”, she taunted as her flaming hair framed her beautiful face. With a surge of adrenaline, you were able to swing your hips up, pushing her body away enough to kick your knee up. Natasha, the ever-professional bodyguard and part-time assassin, knew your next move and could twist both of your legs together until you were thoroughly held down with no hopes of escape. “Come on, you know how to get out of this hold, just think”, Natasha continued to tease, holding onto your limbs tightly.

The panic of being held down with the pain pulsing through your muscles, you couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even think of another way out, let alone the right way. Turning your head to the side to look towards your mentor, you were suddenly turned as Natasha forced your body onto its side as she tuts, “No cheating, don’t look for Wilson for the answers, use your head!”

“I can’t; I give up,” you grumbled as your face smushed into the cool mat, finding some relief in the lower temperature. Relief instantly eased into your limbs as Natasha released her hold on you, and you flopped face-first on the floor. “Thank you.”

“You did well today. You finally got me onto my back, which most can’t say. Good job!” Natasha praised you as she moved to grab a drink. You’d intended to raise a thumbs-up in her general direction, but all you could manage was flop an open palm onto the mat and continue to lay there.

The next voice that praised was Sam, your mentor and personal bodyguard, as he reprimanded Nat, “You didn’t have to play dirty; the hold was for next month's teaching, Romanoff”.

“Whoever said I played fair”, she teased, her voice sultry and low as she gently pushed against Sam’s shoulder.

Not that you were particularly listening as you breathed deeply in the middle of the floor, becoming so relaxed that you contemplated having a nap. Except someone had other ideas as large, firm hands scooped beneath your body, causing you to groan dramatically as you’re lifted until sitting sideways in his lap, your face resting carefully against his shoulder as warm arms wrapped around you.

Steve held you closely, gently kissing the top of your head as you breathed him in, finding comfort in his cologne and warmth. For a moment, you admired the parts you were touching, from the firmness of her muscular body to the coarse, dark blond facial hair that rested against your temple. Lifting your heavy head, your lips pressed against the thick column of his neck, you asked, “Did I do good today, or is she just saying that because she has to?”

The brief grunt of a laugh that Steve released had your insides warming, especially as the vast chest you were resting on vibrated, nothing to you was more attractive than being the reason for your partner laughing. Once again, Steve kissed the top of your head gently before answering, “You did do good today, baby. Even though I don’t see the point in you having to learn all of these moves. There’s a reason why I hire all of my friends and colleagues to be your bodyguards you know”.

You sigh into his neck, reaching up to play with the curling blonde wisps of hair at the nape of his neck, “I know but it still can’t hurt to know some self-defence, especially when, oh I don’t know, two of the most wanted and dangerous men in all of Brooklyn are my boyfriends”.

Steve hums against your forehead but you can feel him smiling. It’s not that you wanted to become as highly trained as either of your boyfriends or your bodyguards but with the way the company and job roles that everyone was playing, it was probably for the best that you had some skillset for defending yourself.

“Anyway,” you continue, leaning back slightly in his hold so you can look up into his bright sky-blue eyes. Maybe I’ll be good enough to get you or Bucky onto your backs one day. “The brightness in Steve’s eyes seemed to darken as his eyelids lowered. His gaze sharpened down to your lips, and you knew the hunger in his eyes wasn’t for food.

“Baby girl, if you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask”, as he spoke, he dragged you down as he led, your body now covering over his chest, legs shifting until you’re straddling over his waist. Pushing up against his firm chest, you grinned down at him, already feeling the warmth radiating from between your legs as you clenched in arousal.

“Hey! No fornicating on the gym mat!” Natasha shouts, interrupting the heated exchange for a second.

Not that this at all differed, Steve as his hands skimmed over your legging-covered thighs, massaging the muscles as he then settled over your hips, pushing your lower body down so that you could feel all of him, hard and pulsing between your legs.

As a moan of need slipped past your lips, a multitude of events happened. Every phone in the room, except yours, pinged with a single notification and all warmth, happiness and lust ceased to exist as this was never a positive text. Steve reached beneath your thigh to retrieve his phone from his trouser pocket. Reading it briefly before beginning to sit up.

Staring around the room, you could feel the energy was anything but positive from the frown now marring Natasha’s face.

Bucky, the tightness in the centre of your chest became unbearable as your eyes darted back to Stee, who was now carefully trying to stand between you. No words were spoken, but they weren’t needed. Just from Steve’s exterior, you knew it was something regarding Bucky. He was supposed to confirm a deal—no action, just papers and signing.

“Please,” your voice was barely heard over a whisper as you took a shaky step toward Steve, who began clipping his guns back into the leather holster hidden behind his suit jacket. You weren’t entirely sure what you were begging for—some reassurance? To come with them? But Steve hardly even paused to look at you as he rushed past, his hand cupping your cheek before moving towards the door with Natasha in tow.

On instinct, you followed his steps as the thumping of your pulse in your chest tempted you drastically with the spike of adrenaline.

“Hold up, Boss Lady. We’re staying here,” Sam calmly reminded you as he carefully stepped into your line of sight. For a moment, you relaxed under his gentle gaze as you examined him, from his buzzed short hair to his black polo top and jeans.

“There’s no way I’m staying here, I know it’s Bucky. I’m going”, you spoke with all the authority you could muster whilst stepping around him. However now, it was Steve blocking your exit as he stood to his full height, staring down at you with pity in his eyes.

“You’re going to stay here where it’s safe with Sam. I’m not risking you”.

Shaking your head, you try to push past his towering body, but he doesn’t budge a single step. Grunting in frustration, your eyes ablaze, you stare up at him again. “Please, Steve, don’t leave me behind when Bucky’s hurt! I know it’s him; I can feel it.” You press your hand over your heart for emphasis. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll sit in the car. Please let me come with you!”

Steve opens his mouth but a shout from lower down the corridor interrupts him as Natasha informs him that the car is ready. Rough fingers cup your cheeks, tilting your face towards him further as he leans down to kiss the tip of your nose and then your forehead, “I will call as soon as I can, but you need to stay here”.

Steve leaves without any time for argument. It takes a total of ten seconds before you rush back into the office, collect a hoodie, phone, and car keys, and plan to ignore Steve completely and rush after them, following the GPS on his phone.

One small, or rather tall interruption came in the shape of one frowning bodyguard as he held onto the front of your shoulders. “No”. Simple, authoritative, and mostly effective. But not today.

Pushing past him, you made it another step before he grasped your inner elbow and pulled you back. “No, you aren’t following them. If Boss’s orders are to stay here, we are staying here. I’m sorry I know that’s not what you want-”.

“What did the message say?” Sam’s jaw muscles tighten as he closes his mouth, saying nothing and everything simultaneously. “Exactly. Bucky is in trouble, and I’m not staying here waiting for a phone call to say whether he's okay or not. At least if I follow and stay in the car, I can have immediate answers. So it’s up to you. You can stay here or do your job and protect me in the car.”

You were never firm like this with Sam, who was not only your bodyguard but also your best friend. However, right now, with adrenaline pulsing through your veins, there was no way you were going to act rationally. Sam took a moment to battle himself internally before cursing lowly under his breath.

“Fuck. They are so going to fire me but fine but you listen to everything I say. You must stay near the car; if there’s any sign of danger and we need to leave, you go without question. Understand?”

“Yes, I promise. Now let’s go!”

On the way to wherever Sam was driving you, your nerves seemed uncontrollable. Your legs bounced, and your fingers wrung together in an attempt to calm down. “They won’t fire you, you know, " you said to try to distract yourself as the scenery became one of vast landscapes, greenery, and nothingness.

“Oh yeah? And how do you work that one out then?”

“Because you’re still protecting me, no matter where we go. I have full trust in you, Sam, and I know they do, too. They’d be as lost without you as I would be.”

His face seemed to ease slightly as he reached across the centre console and gripped your fingers tightly, stopping your movements and reassuring you.

Entering into a derelict area, Sam reminds you again of your promise to stay close to the car as he parks, where you recognise Steve and a couple of other SUVs who have haphazardly parked outside of a warehouse. Stepping out of the vehicle, you remained close as promised, but Sam stood directly before you, his gun raised and prepared to be used.

It was silent. Entirely and utterly silent. There weren’t even birds singing in the trees nearby; only the wind rushing over your face as the hood flapping in the breeze kept you company. You wanted to talk, to replace the silence, but knew that would earn you a one-way ticket to being placed back into the car and removed from the area because what’s one way of announcing yourself to the enemies? Talking, that's for damn sure.

Your knuckles ached as you clenched your fist tightly, waiting and waiting. At one point, you had to lean onto Sam's back, rest your forehead against his back and take a few steady breaths to prevent hyperventilation as the worst thoughts came to mind.

A loud bang, you at first mistaken for a gunshot and therefore had Sam pushing you to the ground, but soon realised that it was the metal door slamming open. Voices then echoed into the open area. You searched over Sam’s shoulder, and men and women dressed in black began to exit the building.

You recognise them as part of your team, and the muscles in your and Sam’s bodies relax as you shoot to stand up. However, once again, your bodyguard forces you back: “Easy, Boss Lady, give them a second.”

You knew what he was referring to, as neither of your boyfriends had yet to follow the team out of the building. Just as you were about to push past the protection in front of you and storm the warehouse, the loud door slammed again to allow Natasha, Bucky and Steve to exit.

The brunette man was being supported by the blonde and red-haired, limping on a foot that barely scraped along the floor. The relief that rushed through you was overwhelming as you slumped against the side of the car, sucking in easy breaths as all tension and tightness in your chest eased.

“Hang on, let me call her,” came Steve's distant voice. Before you could react, your phone began to ring loudly, filling the quiet within the area. The two of you had previously been concealed by the multiple vehicles, but there was no hiding that you’d gone directly against Steve’s orders now. The ringing instantly stopped, and you were suddenly face to face with your fuming boyfriend.

Before he could react or speak, you were darting around him and racing towards Bucky, who Natasha was holding up. A whoosh of air burst from his lips as he wrapped his metal arm around your shoulders, holding your body close to his as you breathed him in, gripping the back of his crisp, button-up shirt. He mostly looked the same as when he’d left you hours ago: a black suit, buzzed hair, and clean-shaven hair.

“You let her come?” Bucky asked with indifference and concern, directing the question to Steve, now a step away. You would have been sheepish and embarrassed, but the relief that Bucky was alive was overwhelming as you held him tighter.

“Do you really think I would let her come when you send a text like that?” Steve retorts back with frustration, lacing his words.

Bucky’s hold seemed to loosen slightly as he tried to defend himself: “I asked for SOME backup; I didn’t expect all of this to come! Especially not you.” At first, you assume he’s referring to Steve, but as Bucky gently pushes back against your shoulders, you realise he’s talking to you. Now, the full extent of your embarrassment flushes your cheeks with warmth as you refuse to meet his eye.

Staring down, Bucky is now resting some weight on his foot, which had previously appeared injured. “What happened to your foot? Are you okay? Where else are you injured? I need to see!”

As you spoke, your fingers ran over different body parts, ignoring the burning stare from Steve as you did so. Not happy with being ignored, he stepped forward, standing between Bucky and yourself as Steve cupped your cheeks as he did before leaving, forcing you to look and meet his stare.

Even though you could tell he was angry and frustrated, he was only ever soft and gentle with his touches as he demanded, “What are you doing here? I explicitly told you to stay behind and not to follow!”

Licking your dry lips, you emphasised, “I couldn’t stay at the office knowing Bucky was hurt! Sam was with me the entire time; I was completely safe!”

This was an entirely wrong thing to say to him. His glare turned to your bodyguard, who had remained by the car, leaning against it casually and holding his hands up in defence. “I couldn’t say no to her, alright? She was going to follow whether I liked it or not.”

“The command was to keep her at the office, where it’s safer than standing directly outside the conflict, Wilson.” You flinched at using his surname, something Steve tended not to do when it came to his longtime friend. “It should be fairly simple to read behind the lines and keep her there by any means necessary.”

Now it was your turn to have the fiery rage of anger in your glare as you snapped, “Excuse me? Stop talking about me like I’m not here. What would you have had him do? Tie me to a chair? I don’t think so-”

“That’s exactly what I would have expected him to do”, Steve cuts you off as he leans down so the tips of your noses rub together. “You know what? We aren’t discussing this out here, so get in the car. Please”, he added for good measure. Following his instructions, you climbed into the back of the SUV that you’d arrived with, Bucky following closely behind, sliding in beside you, Steve in the front with Sam driving.

The drive was tense and silent as you thoroughly checked Bucky. He had only slipped on blood and twisted his ankle, which was already nearly back to normal thanks to his healing abilities. You could see Steve’s jaw clenching from the front of the car as he shook his head in disappointment. “Why didn’t you listen to me?” he asked, turning in his seat to look at you directly.

Leaning into Bucky’s side, you didn’t back down from your reasoning, “I’ve already told you why.”

“I never give you orders, not in our personal lives or on the job, but this was important, and I needed you to listen to me.”

“What, so you expect me to just sit pretty at home and wait around all day for you both to come home? What’s the point in me training with Natasha if you don’t even give me the chance to help?”

Bucky's hand squeezed your thigh as he reprimanded, “That’s not what he meant, and you know it”.

“I don’t think you understand how important your safety is to me. You never come to where the danger is, not out by the warehouse where something could have happened to you, too. You made a stupid decision by not listening to me.

I can’t lose you, Bucky. I want a life where I know you are safe at home and can protect you or trust the people I pay to look after you. Anything I do now is to ensure I can provide for my family and keep them safe, which means keeping you safe. So, next time I ask you to please remain where there is no danger, I expect you to do so. Do I make myself clear?

“So I’m supposed to stay behind knowing you AND Bucky are in danger? Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” Steve answers like it's the simplest thing in the world. It wasn’t; it never was, and you struggled more and more with it every time either of them left to do anything related to the mafia.

There were a thousand things you wanted to say, to argue back to him, but through the fogginess of red, you couldn’t see and feel the urgency with which he spoke. He was scared. As scared as you were for Bucky and Steve, he liked to bottle this emotion up more than anyone you knew. As much as he craved the control of being the leader, you knew he was close to breaking.

Reaching forward, you cupped his face, not wanting to argue anymore. You knew he was saying these things and being firm because he was scared. “I will try, Steve. I’m sorry I scared you, and I’m sorry for not doing as you asked.” Thankfully, he nodded, the tension easing tenfold as he kissed the inside of your palm before turning around in his seat.

Returning to your home, you quickly had Bucky undressed and checked for any further injuries, knowing he liked to downplay them. His ankle, now only a slight yellow hue to the skin, could be moved without any flinching or pain voiced by him, but you sat with his ankle in your lap so that you could hold some ice to the area as he sat in his boxers.

Steve had gone to shower but had yet to speak to you since being in the car. Guilt lay heavy in your stomach. It wasn’t an argument, but there was still a bitter taste in your mouth as you continued to think about him. Following Steve to the location was more an instinct than a logical thought. These two men meant the world to you.

A cool finger curling around the top of your ear had you pulling out of your thoughts, “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours, Doll?”

“I think I upset Steve”, you say, stating the obvious and leaning heavily into the back of the couch.

“You’ve upset us both”, Bucky reminds you, causing your head to snap in his direction, the unease making you feel queasy. “Woah, I didn’t mean it like that, Sweetheart. We aren’t angry with you; we just never want you to be in danger, you know that”. You nod your head in understanding.

“I’m worried I’ve broken his trust in me. I should have just stayed back like he said”, you admit sadly. Bucky sits up hearing this, his muscles flexing, working as a quick distraction from your happiness as he moves closer, his metal arm working between your back and the couch so you’re being pulled into his side.

“I can understand why you wanted to come along and check on me, but we know what’s best in these situations. We’ve been doing this a long time, Doll. Everything will be fine. I’ll go and speak to him, and I know he still trusts you; he just needed to clear his head a little bit.”

Bucky stands, testing his weight on the foot that looks practically healed, before leaning down, kissing your temple, and jogging up the stairs. A few minutes pass before he returns with a grin on his handsome face.

“He’s fine, exactly like I’d told you. Come on, it’s getting late; let’s go to bed.” Taking his warm hand in your own, you followed willingly. Not realising how exhausted you were from the high emotions of the day and the previous workout at lunchtime, you now thoroughly looked forward to falling into your soft bed with both your partners wrapped around you.

Bucky stepped into your bedroom first, followed closely by you as you automatically moved towards the en-suite to prepare for bed. In your haste, you did not notice the tall, muscular man waiting for you until his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling your body back against his hard. Squeaking in shock, you soon melted into the hold, especially as Steve’s other hand cradled the front of your throat.

“I’m sorry-“ you’re forced to stop talking as his hand covers your mouth. It was only then that you realised that he was utterly naked, as evidenced by the hardness stabbing into your lower back as you leaned into his hold.

“No talking now, baby girl. Bucky told me what you said downstairs, and let me start this by saying there’s no one I trust more than you, so I never want you to think negatively about that ever again. Next, as much as I’m over the day, I think some repercussions need to happen, don’t you agree, Bucky?”

Stepping so he was standing in front, you watched as Bucky began to slowly remove his boxers until the thick length of his hardened cock sprang up and pointed in your direction. Thankfully, Steve continued to hold you up as your knees began to feel weak with the need to drop to them and please your boyfriend as he licked his lips, nodding his head. “Yeah, I’d say someone has earned a punishment after not listening to orders today”.

Punishment. That one word has you snapping out of the lustful gaze as you try to pull away from Steve. “Shh, easy, Sweetheart. It’s not going to be a painful punishment. I need you to trust me; you trust me, right?”

The fingers covering your lips move enough for you to agree, “Yes, I trust you both quickly”.

“Good,” Steve proudly responds before forcing your legs to move with him. You’re facing the bed now and see that the quilt and pillows have been removed and restraints attached to each corner. “Arms up,” your boyfriend asks, and you comply.

Carefully, the two men begin to strip your clothes until you’re as nude as they are. A shiver runs up your spine as you’re led down to the centre of the bed. Steve begins to remind you of the rules as Bucky tightens the straps around your wrists and ankles until you’re completely tied down.

“We won’t cover your mouth, so you can tell us to stop at any time or red and amber as usual. You can also shake your head, and we will stop, do you understand?”

“Yes”.

“Yes, what?” he says with his eyebrow raised expectantly.

Swallowing audibly, you wished at that moment that you could reach out to touch him as you all fall into the role perfectly. “Yes, sir”.

“Good. Do you have the blindfold, Bucky?”

A black satin eye mask is carefully placed over your eyes until all you can see is darkness. This is followed quickly by headphones that begin to play classical music.

Sensory punishment was their plan, and you couldn’t help but feel trepidation build in your core. You couldn’t touch either man, only the softness of the bed sheet beneath. You couldn’t hear them talk, moan, or specifically praise, which you always worshipped when with the two of them. Without sight, there was no way you’d know when or where they would touch you.

It was a vulnerability that you’d learned to have complete trust in Steve and Bucky.

There was one more twist as leather began to stroke down the centre of your chest in a gentle caress—gloves. Whoever was touching you had put on leather gloves, which meant there was no determining who was touching you. Usually, Bucky’s metal hand would then indicate who was who.

With a heavy breath, you tried to calm your nerves as you focused on the touch as whoever it was explored your chest. Delicate strokes of the gloved palm ran over your breasts, pressing into the softness of your chest and then pinching your already hardened nipple.

The anticipation and thrill of the situation meant that your upper thighs were already sticky with your arousal. Moreover, there was no covering this with how your legs were spread, and you knew that Steve and Bucky were probably staring right at it.

The mattress dipped between your spread legs as someone crawled between them. The deep breath you were drawing in stilted as firm hands cupped each of your ankles, exploring the skin as they ever so steadily moved to your inner thighs. Trembling was an understatement with how much the anticipation was pulsing through you. The image of a naked Steve and Bucky flicked in your imagination, feeling utterly vulnerable under both of their eye.

Your clit pulsed with desire, awaiting a touch, flick, lick, anything; you were desperate for any sort of touch to ease the ache that was burning through your cunt.

It wasn’t any of these touches, though, that greeted you. It was a raw, penetrating cock stretching you to your limits as it inched in. Your back arched with the intrusion, arms and legs pulling on the restraints with the movement as you tried to adjust to the intrusion.

The words ‘Bucky’ and ‘Steve’ continuously begged from your lips as inch after inch pushed further inside. It hurt to be stretched, but it was a burn that you needed and craved, the blinding pleasure that came with it almost acting as a drug to cover the pain. Maybe you did like pain after all.

Heaving in a breath as the weight of the mysterious hips fitted perfectly in with yours, spreading your thighs further apart. The sensation of the cock being completely inside felt almost like it was too much, and you were sure you had spoken those words out loud, but the noise was muffled with the music continuing to play in your ears.

A sharp sting across your breast had you almost biting the tip of your tongue as you clenched tighter around the hardness inside your walls. Teeth. Sharp teeth nipping at the soft tissue surrounding your nipple came as a welcome distraction.

The first thrust was driven with power, deep and blinding with pleasure, as whoever it was did not hold back, and it was just what you needed. Fast and hard seemed to be the theme of the night as your body moved with the fucking, your hips attempting to roll with the movements, but heavy hands pushed down on your waist, keeping you thoroughly pinned in the centre of the bed.

You were at their mercy. The punishment aspect seemed to be more a reward than anything negative as you accepted every ounce of pleasure both men were willing to give you. The pulsing of your walls increased with the thrusts until that beautiful sensation built, tightened and ready to explode into a sympathy of bliss.

Except, just as your orgasm was about to peak, all hands and cock disappeared from your body, leaving your body cold and empty. Whining and pulling against the restraint, you could do nothing but feel the squeezing of your cunt in the attempts to chase the orgasm fades to nothing.

It truly dawned on you now. The sensory restraints weren’t the punishment. The lack of an orgasm was. Regret already was writhed with the begging coming from your mouth, but it was ignored as the hands resumed their wondering of your breasts and a cock fucked back into you.

With the overwhelming sensations, you were unsure if it was a different cock or the same. You were so thoroughly turned on that the wetness that was coating your cunt and upper thighs aided with them fucking inside of you.

On and on, the pleasure continued, fucking and pausing until finally, whoever it was that was inside of you had reached its limit and quickly pulled out, and a warm, wetness began to coat your stomach.

Steve or Bucky had just come over you instead of inside as you’d preferred. It felt dirty. Degrading and once more added to the punishment as you continued to try and wiggle your hips to continue chasing your pleasure that never peaked. However, there wasn’t even a moment to contemplate this as you’re being fucked once more, presumably by the other boyfriend.

It was an endless cycle. Edged to the point of orgasm before it all comes to a stop, just to have cum sprayed over your abdomen. Usually, Steve and Bucky’s heightened libido was a blessing, but tonight, as they fucked on and on, cumming again and again, you were quickly losing your mind.

The caressing over your nipples thankfully lessened as you could feel the blindfold over your eyes dampen with tears of overstimulation and frustration. Yes, you could scream yellow or red, you could stop this all, but somewhere at the forefront of your mind, you wanted to take this punishment, and there was no one you trusted more than Steve and Bucky; once you had hit your limit, they always stopped.

The layers of cum coating your stomach began to dry, causing your skin to feel irritated and tight. All the sensations going over your body became disorientating, leaving you feeling spaced and like you were lying on a cloud, suspended in the air, floating with no chance of returning to earth. Your hands were numb from the restraints, your lungs aching from crying and pleading to please orgasm.

Each breath only heightened that sensation until you were close to hyperventilating. A firm gloved hand rested in the centre of your chest, and the pressure helped to remind your spinning mind to slow your breathing as you sucked in a wet, heavy breath.

The fucking continued. It felt like hours had passed. Your cunt was swollen, drenched and sore. From the edging, fucking and touching of the leather-covered fingers. You were sure if this went on for much longer, you’d pass out, so you attempted to hide your face in your shoulder, but the large headphones stopped the movement.

More cum coated your middle, and as your body tensed with the anticipation of being fucked again, you couldn’t help but sob further when it never came. Instead, the headphones are removed from your ears, and the momentary silence causes you to shake your head with disorientation.

“Easy, Doll. Slow your breathing for us; you did so fucking good; you did so well for us”, Bucky gently praised as he removed the damp blindfold. However, your eyes remained clamped shut as you stayed in that subspace.

Warm hands massaged your arms and legs, working the muscles until they tingled as the sensation returned to them as you were released from the restraints. “Careful, Baby, move slowly. That’s it, good girl”. Steve’s voice was calming and yet distant as your sobs echoed in your ears.

“Can you open your eyes for us? Let’s see those pretty eyes come on,” Bucky coaxed as his cool metal fingers stroked against your wet cheek. The touch was soothing and grounding, like the praising words and comfort. However, you couldn’t muster the energy to open your eyes, so instead, you nuzzled into his palm and concentrated on slowing your breath enough that the tears finally stopped.

What followed was utter exhaustion, physically and mentally. Thankfully, this is where your boyfriends shine as you’re quickly scooped into Steve’s arms, your head feeling heavy against his muscular shoulder, leaning further into his natural body heat as he carried you into the bathroom.

You were half asleep as he waited for Bucky to fill the bath with warm water, but as he carefully eased the two of you into the tub, did you wake enough to hiss through your teeth as the heat of the water surrounded your aching body. Even as the warmth soothed your cunt, as you naturally clenched, the soreness throbbing caused a pathetic whine to come from you.

Steve’s arms held you more firmly as he settled back in the tub, Bucky joining behind with his chest pressing against your side. After a couple of breaths, the water's warmth helped you relax until you were blissed out, the punishment long forgotten as you nearly fell into a deep sleep in their arms.

Aftercare was always something they did very well. Both men were so attentive and caring that you would have shed a tear with love and affection if you weren't already mentally numb. Bucky carefully washed your hair and then your body with his body wash, pine and citrus scent that gave you further comfort in these moments. Also, you secretly thought that Bucky used it as a possessive touch, loving it when you smelled like him and no one else.

Steve continued to whisper words of affirmation, helping to bring you out of the submissive headspace and back to reality whilst also trying to check in on your well-being. “Shake or nod your head for answers. Are you in any pain?”

Shaking your head no, you could feel the tenseness in Steves's posture relax as he kisses your temple reassuringly. “You took your punishment so well tonight. I’m so proud of you”. This particular praise had you smiling and leaning further into their touches. “I think that’s the longest you’ve been edged for as well. Do you want to cum? You aren’t being punished anymore, and I think you’ve more than earned a reward”.

You could hear the smile in his tone as you contemplated his offer. You were sore and aching, that was for sure, and you’d been begging for so long to have an orgasm all night, so with some uncertainty, you nodded against his chest.

With gentle touches, Steve turns your body so you’re now facing Bucky, your back pressed against the blonde’s sturdy chest. Carefully, Steve eases your thighs apart, and just as you anticipate the pain that is sure to come with being fucked by fingers or a cock, you’re crying out in pleasure as Bucky lowers his face and dives right in.

Your eyes open in shock as your body jolts with the sensation of his warm, soft tongue circling your clit as you look down at Bucky, the lower part of his face beneath the water. You were so sensitive and so desperate to orgasm that he didn’t even need to come up for air before you were tightening and throbbing with bliss.

You’re left feeling sated, and your body turns to mush as you collapse back against Steve. You’re only half aware when lifted out of the water and carefully dried. An oversized, soft t-shirt is pulled over your head before you return to the bed.

With your face pressed to Bucky’s chest as Steve spooned you from behind, legs completely tangled with your own, your last thoughts lingered on the day's events. It seemed so did both of your boyfriends as they held you tighter, and an echoing of “I love you” was shared before darkness finally consumed you all.

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