#m/m/f

[leriexoxo]

ESCAPE 6

LAST CHAPTER

“Give me all of you everyday oh, Come with me lets escape now”

pairing: Chan x Reader x Hyunjin

tags: feelings realization, smut, threesome, boyxboyxgirl, oral (m, m, f receiving), voyeur, happy ending

word count: 3.5k

This work contains mature themes (boyxboyxgirl) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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Some days later…

“You ever think we fucked this all up?” Hyunjin said, voice low, roughened by whatever was still stuck in his throat.

Chan’s gaze didn’t waver. “No,” he answered. “I think we finally stopped lying to ourselves.”

A beat passed.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was charged. Warm. Laced with something that neither of them had wanted to name until now.

Hyunjin sat at the foot of the bed, back pressed to the post, long legs stretched out and tangled with Chan’s. His hair was slightly damp, fresh from the shower, skin clean and flushed like he’d been thinking too much. Chan hadn’t said much when Hyunjin appeared in his doorway and climbed into his bed instead of his own. He just shifted over, pulled the blankets back, and let the weight of him settle.

“I’ve never…” Hyunjin started, voice catching before he could finish the thought.

Chan looked up from where his hand had been tracing idle circles along Hyunjin’s shin. “Never what?”

Hyunjin licked his lips. “Wanted someone like this. Her. You. I thought it was just sex, but… I think about both of you even when I’m not supposed to.”

Chan’s jaw flexed. His eyes lowered, thoughtful. And when he finally spoke, it was quieter than usual. “You think I haven’t been trying to push all that shit down since the first time I saw her in this dorm?” He gave a small laugh—dry, breathless. “You’ve had her all along. I didn’t want to mess that up.”

Hyunjin reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “You didn’t mess anything up. I wanted you too—I was just scared.”

Chan didn’t respond right away.

Then something shifted. His grip tightened. His gaze lifted—and this time it wasn’t soft. It was sharp. Focused. There was tension in the lines of his jaw now, in the way he sat up, crowding closer into Hyunjin’s space.

“That all I needed to hear”

Hyunjin blinked. “What?”

Chan’s hand slid up his neck, thumb brushing just below his jaw. “You want me too.”

It wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer.

Hyunjin’s breath stuttered, and he nodded.

That was all it took.

Chan kissed him—slow, firm, full of purpose. No more testing, no more hesitating. He guided Hyunjin back against the headboard, lips moving with heat and hunger, tongue sweeping over his, hand cradling the base of his skull like he’d been waiting to touch him like this. Hyunjin gasped into his mouth, gripping his shirt, already losing ground under the weight of it.

Chan leaned into the kiss, groaned low and deep in his throat. “You’ve been driving me crazy,” he murmured, mouth brushing along Hyunjin’s jaw, down the side of his neck. “Watching you with her. Thinking about you. The way you sound when you fuck her.”

Hyunjin let his head fall back, voice cracking on a moan. “Fuck, Chan…”

Chan smirked against his skin. “You want my mouth too, don’t you?”

Hyunjin’s thighs tensed under the covers, already betraying how hard he’d gotten from just that whisper. He gritted his teeth, fighting back the wave of arousal that surged through him at Chan’s voice, low and wrecked, all heat and knowing.

“Say it,” Chan murmured, pressing a kiss right under Hyunjin’s ear. “You want my mouth.”

Hyunjin whimpered—actually whimpered—because it was too much. The pressure, the way Chan’s fingers curled around the back of his neck, grounding and possessive. He didn’t know how to hide it anymore. Not when his body was so obviously begging.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, almost a whisper. “I want it.”

Chan pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and glinting with something unreadable—hungry, yes, but there was a softness there too. Something like reverence.

“You deserve it,” he said, voice lower now. “Let me take care of you, Hyune.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fluttered shut. He didn’t know how to take those words. Not when they were spoken with such weight. Not when they made something ache in his chest, something raw and deep and unfamiliar.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Chan promised, already sliding down the bed, kissing his way down Hyunjin’s chest, mouthing over his ribs. “Gonna make you forget every single time you doubted what this was.”

Hyunjin gasped, hand flying to Chan’s hair, fingers tangling deep in it as he felt Chan’s breath ghost over the waistband of his sweats. The intimacy of it made him dizzy. It wasn’t just a hookup anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

“Chan,” he whispered, voice already frayed.

Chan looked up at him from between his legs, lips parted, eyes blazing.

“Yeah, baby?”

Hyunjin’s chest heaved. “Don’t stop.”

Chan didn’t break eye contact as he tugged Hyunjin’s sweats down—slow, deliberate, like he was unwrapping a gift he’d fantasized about a hundred times over. Hyunjin’s cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, painfully hard from the buildup, and the breath that left him when Chan wrapped his hand around it was shattered.

“Fuck—Chan…”

Chan just smirked, lips brushing the head in a teasing kiss, tongue flicking the slit before dragging slowly down the underside. “You’re so fucking sensitive,” he murmured, voice like silk over gravel. “Bet I could make you come without even touching you again.”

Hyunjin’s hips jerked, but Chan held him steady, one hand on his waist, the other stroking him slow and tight—almost cruelly slow. His tongue followed every movement, wet and warm and relentless, his lips finally wrapping around the head and sinking down, deeper, deeper, until Hyunjin couldn’t take it anymore.

The moan that tore from Hyunjin’s throat wasn’t just pleasure—it was surrender. Head thrown back, muscles shaking, one leg bent awkwardly against the headboard as Chan devoured him like a man starved.

“Chan—shit—I’m gonna—”

Chan pulled back just in time to let the words die in the air, saliva-slick lips curling in a smug little grin. “Not yet.”

Hyunjin could barely think. His hand tightened in Chan’s hair, body twitching with every shallow breath. “You’re a fucking sadist,” he gasped.

“Only for you.”

He was about to say something else, something breathless and half-strangled—but then the door creaked open.

You froze in the doorway, mouth parting, eyes wide as you took in the scene before you: Hyunjin wrecked, legs spread, flushed and panting, Chan kneeling between them with that same dark glint in his eyes and Hyunjin’s cock still twitching from the loss of his mouth.

The silence was thick—just for a second.

And then you smiled. Wicked. Playful. Hungry.

“I wanna watch.”

Hyunjin’s head snapped toward you, still dazed and wrecked, pupils blown. “Wh-what?”

But Chan—Chan didn’t even blink.

He turned to you slowly, like a wolf acknowledging a challenge in his territory. “Is that right, baby?”

You nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind you with a quiet click. “Unless…” you tilted your head, lips curving, “you’d rather I joined.”

Chan’s smirk could’ve lit a match.

“You’re not just joining,” he said, rising to his feet, walking toward you with that look. “You’re ours tonight.”

Before you could breathe, his hand was cupping the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that stole every rational thought from your brain. Dominant, possessive, claiming. His tongue pushed past your lips without hesitation, and you melted—knees weak, heart racing.

Behind him, Hyunjin was still catching his breath, hand wrapped loosely around himself as he watched you fall apart in Chan’s hands.

“She’s so fucking pretty when she gives in,” Hyunjin murmured, voice hoarse.

Chan hummed against your lips, pulling away just enough to speak. “Wait ‘til you see what she looks like when she’s got both of us inside her.”

Your knees did give then—but Chan caught you easily, lifting you like you weighed nothing, carrying you straight to the bed and laying you down between them.

“Clothes off,” he ordered, voice thick with lust. “Now.”

You obeyed, breathless as Chan helped peel away every layer, baring you to both their eyes. The look they gave you was primal. Hungry. Worshipful.

Chan leaned over you, pressing your wrists into the mattress. “You trust me?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Always.”

“Good,” he growled, kissing you hard. “Then be a good girl and let me show you what it means to belong to us.”

Chan kissed you like he was claiming every breath in your lungs—devouring, unrelenting, tongue tangling with yours as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand. His other hand trailed down your chest, fingers brushing over your nipple, rolling it slowly until you arched beneath him.

“She’s so sensitive,” he murmured, glancing back at Hyunjin. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Hyunjin’s voice was thick, already drunk on the sight of you spread out and naked, flushed and trembling. “Didn’t wanna share.”

Chan chuckled darkly. “You’re gonna have to now.”

And then his hand slipped between your legs.

One finger—then two—slid through your folds, and he hissed when he felt how wet you already were.

“Fuck. Look at her, Hyune. Already soaked and we haven’t even started.”

You whimpered, head rolling back into the pillows as Chan circled your clit with maddening precision. Slow, teasing strokes that had you trembling in seconds.

“I can’t decide what I want first,” he said, mouth brushing your ear. “Wanna feel you clench around my fingers while you beg for my cock—or maybe I’ll make you come on Hyunjin’s tongue first.”

Hyunjin moved closer, kneeling beside you, eyes darting between your flushed face and Chan’s hand working between your thighs. “She sounds so fucking pretty,” he whispered, voice low. “Let me taste her.”

Chan’s smirk turned feral. “Be my guest.”

He moved aside, releasing your wrists just long enough to let Hyunjin slip between your legs. His hands slid under your thighs, spreading you wider, mouth already trailing kisses down your stomach until he reached your center.

Then he licked you.

Long, slow, filthy.

You cried out, hips jerking, but Chan caught you again—one hand on your stomach, holding you down while Hyunjin’s tongue swirled around your clit like he was starving.

“Good girl,” Chan purred, brushing your hair back from your face. “Taking it so well. You like having his mouth on you?”

You nodded frantically, words tangled in your throat.

Chan leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “He’s gonna make you come for him, and then I’m gonna fuck you while he watches.”

Your nails dug into the sheets as Hyunjin flattened his tongue against you, curling two fingers inside and moaning like you were the one pleasuring him.

The orgasm crashed over you hard—tight, intense, blinding. You gasped his name, body shuddering as you came on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t stop. He licked you through it, slow and greedy, like he was tasting the best thing he’d ever had.

Chan watched it all with blown pupils and clenched fists, cock straining in his sweats. “That’s enough.”

Hyunjin finally pulled back, face wet, lips shiny. “She’s perfect.”

“I know,” Chan growled, already pushing his sweats down.

He didn’t waste time.

He crawled over you, kissed you deep—making you taste yourself on his tongue—and then lined himself up between your thighs. He dragged the head of his cock through your folds, smearing your arousal, teasing you with short, shallow thrusts that made you whimper.

“You want it?” he whispered.

“Yes—please—Chan, please—”

He gripped your thigh, pushed in slowly—inch by thick inch—until he was fully seated inside you, hips flush against yours.

You both gasped.

“Jesus Christ,” Chan choked, head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

And then he moved.

Hard. Deep. Devastating.

The bed shook beneath you, headboard slamming the wall as Chan pounded into you with precise, punishing strokes. His grip on your hips bruised, his mouth hot on your throat as he fucked you like he was trying to brand himself into your soul.

Hyunjin hovered beside you, kissing your shoulder, whispering filth into your ear.

“You look so good like this… stuffed full of him, moaning like you’ll fall apart if he stops. Can’t wait to be inside you too.”

Chan groaned at that, eyes locking with Hyunjin’s over your body. “Not yet. She’s mine right now.”

You cried out when he angled his hips just right—hitting that spot that made you see stars—and his hand flew to your clit again, circling it mercilessly.

“Come for me again,” he growled. “I want to feel you come around my cock. I want to own it.”

You shattered—again.

Body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as the orgasm tore through you, Chan’s name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Chan followed with a loud, guttural groan, burying himself as deep as he could and spilling inside you with a broken moan of your name.

The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

Chan collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest, one arm wrapped tight around your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Hyunjin leaned over you, brushing your hair back with the gentlest touch. “Still with us, baby?”

You nodded, boneless, ruined, glowing.

Chan smirked lazily, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“That was just round one

—

The air in the room was heavy, quiet. Not with tension, but with something warm—thick and golden like honey. Your skin still tingled where Chan had touched you, kissed you, claimed you. His chest was pressed to your back now, arm slung possessively around your waist, the thrum of his heartbeat steady against your spine.

Hyunjin lay beside you, one hand lazily stroking up and down your thigh. His cheeks still flushed from everything that had just happened, but his gaze was soft. Open. Like he wasn’t hiding anything anymore.

No one spoke for a while. Just the sound of breath. Of hearts settling.

And then Hyunjin whispered, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You turned to look at him, eyes lidded and heavy, but your smile was soft. “Like what?”

“Like… we weren’t just doing something. Like we are something.”

Chan didn’t speak at first, but you felt his grip on you tighten—like the words hit somewhere deep.

“I thought I could just keep it casual,” Hyunjin continued, voice quiet, vulnerable. “But the more I watched you—both of you—the more it started to hurt when I wasn’t near you.”

Your heart clenched. You reached for him, threading your fingers through his.

Chan’s voice rumbled low against your ear. “You’re not the only one who tried to push it down.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked to his, surprised. “You too?”

Chan nodded slowly. “From the first second you brought her back to the dorm… I wanted both of you. But I told myself it was wrong. That I’d ruin everything.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes prickling. “You wouldn’t have ruined it. Either of you.”

Hyunjin shifted closer, nose brushing yours. “Then let us have it. Let us have you. Together. No hiding, no guilt.”

You blinked, breath catching.

Chan’s hand curled tighter around your waist. “We want to love you, baby. Both of us. For real.”

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming relief of being seen. Known. Chosen.

“I want that too,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I want you. Both of you.”

The silence that followed was full of everything—promise, hope, something infinite settling into the spaces between your ribs.

And then Hyunjin kissed you.

Not hungry. Not desperate.

Worshipful.

His lips moved against yours like he was memorizing you, every curve and sigh and shift of breath. His hands were careful, reverent as they slid over your skin—down your arm, across your stomach, up to cup your breast with a tenderness that made you ache.

Chan pulled back just enough to watch, his gaze soft and full of awe. “She’s so beautiful like this.”

Hyunjin nodded. “She deserves to feel it.”

He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts—slow and sacred. His mouth moved lower, nuzzling your inner thigh before he looked up at you from between your legs, eyes full of wonder.

“Let me make love to you.”

You nodded, breath caught in your throat, and Chan moved behind you, spooning close, one leg sliding between yours while his hand settled on your hip, grounding you.

Hyunjin pushed inside slowly—so slowly—like he was savoring every second, every twitch of your body around him. His forehead rested against yours, his moan soft and broken.

“You feel like home,” he whispered.

He moved in gentle, rolling thrusts—deep and unhurried—his lips never straying far from your skin. Chan kissed along your shoulder, whispering praises into your ear as Hyunjin worshipped you from the front, the three of you tangled in a rhythm that felt less like sex and more like breathing.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Hyunjin gasped. “So good… taking me so well…”

Chan’s hand moved down, found your clit, rubbed soft circles to match Hyunjin’s pace. “Come for him, baby. Let him feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

You cried out, body arching, muscles tightening around Hyunjin as he gasped your name and spilled inside you with a long, trembling moan.

You collapsed into Chan’s arms, Hyunjin’s head resting on your chest, all of you breathing as one—hearts pounding in a shared rhythm.

No words were needed now.

You belonged to each other.

And nothing had ever felt so right

THE END

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Masterlist

Authors note: its final chapter, this was so fun 😭😭😭 i wanna be y/n so bad to be in the middle of all this hotness.

Thanks for all the support guys, please continue liking and reblogging guys!! I’ll tag my masterlist below so you can find my other fics

taglist: @skzskzskzskzskzskzskzzzz @hwangjoanna @miyaluvvsyou @hijadeplutao @rougegenshin

[mclager]

🟩McLager's F1 Masterlist🟩

F1 obsessed writer, who's english is not her first language

🍏・Smut

🥝・Fluff

Max Verstappen x reader

Little miss red bull addicted 🥝

Landoscar x reader

Winners deserve prizes 🍏

McLaren Christmas Dinner 🥝

The rumours got it wrong! 🥝

Devil's roll the dice (angel's roll their eyes) 🍏

Hints 🥝

And McLaren will call them... 🥝

Charlos x reader

Like I'm gonna lose you 🥝

Carlos Sainz x Lando Norris x Daniel Ricciardo x reader

A Lover winter break pt. I 🥝

A Lover winter break pt. II 🥝

Carlos Sainz x Rebecca Donaldson x reader

Three 🥝

Charles Leclerc x Alexandra Saint Mleux x reader

Better in colour 🥝

Franco Colapinto x reader

Ollie Bearman x Kimi Antonelli x reader

Happy Birthday 🍏

Back in pink 🥝

Let them hear 🍏

Probability 🍏

Ollie Bearman x reader

Highheels 🥝

Fernando Alonso x reader

Latinos unidos! 🥝

Gabriel Bortoleto x reader

It's ok, I'm ok 🥝

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

It's not a goodbye 🍏

Cowboy 🥝

Toto Wolff x reader

Am I your little secret?🍏

Other masterlist non-f1

[thatwritterbeach]

Hugs and soul string tugs .1

dc masterlist

Dick grayson x reader Jason Todd x reader

Summary: soulmate au, Jason dies and reader's soul latches onto Dick for comfort bring your tissues, not my usual writing style

warnings: blood, conon typ' violence, rejection, soul sickness (soulmates au ) angst, hurt little comfort, Jason dies but he comes back, fever, Jason being an ass Dick being a softy

A/N: I do not own dc this is short, might become a series might stay a drabble lmk what ya think

She didn't know how she ended up in Gotham, she'd just hopped a bus to get away, get out from under her parent's thumb. It wasn't a nice place, she should have paid closer attention to the glowing red sign stating the location. There was a slight tug on her soul, that ever present tightness when you go without your soulmate, and she hadn't even found them yet. Surely they must be here though by the way her heart started to sing. She stopped off the bus readjusting her backpack and gazed up just in time to see batman and Robin fly. Her soul ached to the point of tears. She ran and ran, trying to catch the duo, surely he could feel it, surely this all consuming love and hope wasn't just on her end but he kept getting away. He was running from her, and the clear rejection sent a knife through her heart and she let out a scream, dropping to her knees in pain. The small string that had been tight her entire life fell slack. Loose inside her like he'd let go of his end.

He didn't come back.

The pain didn't die down, never so much as eased. She wondered the streets of Gotham, alone and in pain begging for her soulmate. Crying into the void for him to just pull back on his end, please just tighten the string, he didn't need to pull it closer, just get rid of the slack between them.

He ignored her.

So she dug, and dug until she found the name Dick Grayson and an apartment number in bludhaven. It took two days to work up the nerve to knock on his door.

"Hello," he asked, with wary eyes. She knew what she looked like.

"Your brother is my soulmate and he dropped the bond and I think I might die without him." He just stared at her.

"Please," she added. He stepped aside to let her in and busied himself making tea for them both. She sat on the ground to avoid dirtying his couch. He sat on the floor with her.

"He's mia at the moment sorry." And he was, she could feel it coming off of him in waves.

"That's ok, I've made it this long." The tea fell to the floor when she felt the string tug, tighter and tighter in her chest until it snapped. And she screamed. Screamed and thrashed and cursed. She was faintly aware of arms around her but they weren't his, they would never be his. He was dead, she could feel it. The pain radiating through her entire body like an explosion. She screamed until her throat no longer worked, until her eyes started to close and her body gave up against the pain.

"He's gone," she whispered before giving in and letting the darkness embrace her. Dick rocked her back and forth until his own tears stopped.

Bruce didn't call. Dick was floored. A teammate gave their condolences.

Its rare, so rare in fact its considered legend that if a bond is broken in death a new one can from between the living and someone close to the deceased.

The snapped string hung around her heart like an anchor. A new one formed a loose knot and she latched onto it like a vice. Sobbing in agony over the loss and gain.

Dick was shocked when he felt the pull. The crying girl (because she was years younger than him, the age of his brother he assumed) seemed to glow and the string around his own heart yanked as she pulled on it desperate for connection, she pulled and pulled while he resisted. Finally she relented and the string stayed taut before falling slack. A second rejection would kill her, so he scooped up the string and did some yanking of his own. Dick had never felt a soulmate, he assumed he just wasn't close enough to meeting them to ever feel the pull. But now he understood. His job was to keep her alive. The bond felt odd once it settled into place. He felt warm and content even through his grief.

He called Alfred a week later to ask about coming home. He couldn't get her to eat, he didn't trust her to be alone.

Alfred said no.

Six months after Jason's death she woke up screaming. Nightmares ever since. She won't talk to him about them.

A scrawny kid came to his door demanding he become Robin again, he felt the bond inside him ache.

Tim was a great Robin.

Dick was proud of the kid, he went to Gotham when he could desperate to do it right this time.

Bruce refused to meet his bonded she said it was fine.

He visited less as her pain grew. Even going to work he could feel her clawing at the string, terrified it would disappear too. He would tug back, he would always tug back. Then he would text her and ask if he needed to come home. She always said no.

The red hood hurt Tim. His bonded was waking up screaming each night. He took her to manner, he and Bruce had gotten on better terms. Bruce seemed to like the girl, she was twenty now, to Dick's twenty-seven. Against his better judgement over the last year he's fallen in love with her. She knows, she can feel it through the bond, she replies with hesitant love, he can accept that.

Jason Todd is alive. His brother and the original soul mate of his bonded is alive and seething in front of them. Y/n was shaking, silent tears running down her face and the string inside him burned from her insistent tugging. He tried to tug back but she wasn't paying attention to him.

"Why the fuck are you holding my soulmate." Jason was tied up in the cave riding out pit madness when Dick and y/n had gone down to see what all the commotion was. Bruce and Tim stood off to the side, Tim still in a few casts but walking with a crutch.

"You died," she said softly pulling away from Dick and slowly making her way to him.

"Yeah, and you're fucking my brother."

"Don't talk to her like that," Dick seethed yanking her back to him and behind him.

"I'm not," she squeaked.

"I can feel you panicking, the string..." Jay trailed off, he wasn't used to the feelings being so strong from proximity. He's been able to stay far enough away it only ached, this felt worse than the pit. His skin burned to touch hers, his entire being was raw with need. He could faintly, like a whisper, feel his brother mixed into the bond. His claim over her clear even through Jason's green filled mind, his soulmate wasn't his. And didn't that hurt like a bitch.

"You died. I tried to find you and you ran away and then you died. I would have died without your brother," she begged him to understand but the words meant less coming from behind the protection of said brother.

"How long have you two been a thing?"

"That's none of your-"

"We've been romantic for less than a year but bonded since the night you died," she filled him in ignoring Dick's protest. She owed him the truth even if he had stayed away for so long.

"So you didn't feel me claw out of my grave," he accused with venom.

"I thought it was phantom. I-I looked I swear I did. I dug up your grave by hand, it was untouched...the coffin," she paused to fight the bile in her throat," the coffin had a body in it. I'm sorry I didn't get it dna tested." She couldn't deal with this, even now she could feel him letting go of the string, rejecting her. Dick's pull only became tighter and she fell back onto his familiar strength.

"Jason, why didn't you come to her," Bruce asked. He couldn't fathom staying away from Selena.

"Don't you people get it? I'm a monster!"

"And why not before! I followed you as Robin, chased you endlessly through the streets, screaming in agony over you and you fucking left me there! You let go of the bond not me, fuck you!"

"Did it ever occur to you I did you a favor. Did it hurt when I died?"

"How fucking dare you," she screamed storming over to him and taking his head up by his hair to glare into his green haze of eyes.

"Imagine how it would have felt if we'd been together, I saved you needless pain-"

"That's not fair, I felt everything damn you, every hit, cracked bone, broken skin, beaten flesh, I fucking burned when the bomb went off, so don't you think for one second that it made it better!"

"I didn't know that," he conceded, unable to drop his head in shame from her grip on his hair.

"You died, and you left me. You came back and you still left me. My soul couldn't take it, when you died, it clung to Dick's and his clung back. He is mine and I am his. There's no changing that but dammit Jason I can fucking feel you letting go of me again. I almost didn't survive it the first time, it fucking hurts don't you get that." She was shaking him now, both hands on his shoulders and willing the sense to get knocked into him.

He tugged on the string. She tugged back. And faintly they both felt Dick tug on his.

"I gotta share you don't I," Jason said quietly.

"You didn't even want me. You hurt me beyond words. Either share me or fuck off. I can't take it again."

Dick didn't wanna share, he wanted to wrap her into his heart and never let her leave, but after finally getting Jason back he couldn't do that to her. He was the third wheel, he came second, he knew that but when she turned to look at him, nothing but love in her eyes, he didn't care.

___

It was awkward, sharing a room and a girlfriend with his brother. But Dick was already a touchy feely person and he'd been smothering Y/n in affection for years, there was no way the bond would let them go too long without physical contact. Oddly enough the bond between he and Jason craved nearly the same. His brother would hug him at random then look annoyed with himself, he would go to grab Y/n then backtrack like he wasn't allowed. Y/n of course noticed and would drag them both to the nearest couch, shove them down onto it and lay across them both until the bond was satisfied.

Dick had to go back to bludhaven to tie up some loose ends. You know like quitting his job. The second he was in the car headed to the train he felt it, the little tug on his string, he tugged back, and received two text messages wishing him well, and telling him to hurry up. The first day was tolerable, sucky but ok. The second he woke up with a fever and a quick call confirmed both his bonds in the same state. Day three he felt and looked like death. The near constant tugging on his string when he was trying to eat lunch forced him to excuse himself to make a call.

"It hurts," Y/n wailed through the line, not so much as a hello.

"I know baby. But you've got Jay and-"

"No! s'not the same, please I can't-" she cut herself off with a sob and the string in his heart was pulled so tight he nearly had a heart attack.

"Baby, where's Jay, go sit with him it'll make it better." Like he felt any better, he didn't have anyone to ease the ache.

"He's not here. I can't-Dick please, it hurts!" She kept pulling on the string tapping out freaking Morse code for sos and he couldn't take her anguish anymore.

"Give me an hour." He marched into his bosses office, and quit, screw his two weeks. He didn't even stop at his apartment for his bag, he was on a train and tugging quick 'i love you's' into the string. Jason was getting punched. The hell did he go, he knew she needed care. Her side of the bond had always been stronger, which he found odd since he himself was emotional but whatever he was feeling she got twice or three times as much so if the headache behind his eyes was anything to go by she was going through an agonizing migraine. To be fair they hadn't gone longer than 24 hours without touching each other since Jason died, even when he was patrolling he would always have to swing by to ease the ache in his chest a few times throughout the night. She was used to not feeling Jay, but she couldn't handle not feeling him.

The manor was empty, eerily so, but he didn't have time to dwell the string was still tugging, but it was coming farther and farther apart like she didn't have the energy anymore. He took the steps three at a time, curse long legged people, and made it to their shared room in under a minuted. No y/n.

"Y/n," he called though the halls, tugging at the string in worry.

Your room-Honeypumpkin

He frowned at that but hurried down the hall to his old room. She was laying on top of his blankets, in a pair of his boxers and Jay's shirt practically sweating through the mattress.

"Shit baby," he muttered placing his hand on her forehead. She was beyond burning up. She made a low keening sound at the contact but the fever stayed. He shucked out of his work clothes and curled himself around her. His soul buzzing in joy at the contact. She smiled at him and he was a gentle 'thankyou' tug on the string. she went to sleep and he texted Alfred wondering where the hell Jason was. Out. Is what the butler replied, and Dick had known him long enough to know that one word held more disappointment than imaginable.

At some point he fell asleep, and was woken up by a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

"Master Dick, I have brought some supplies."

"Thanks, Alf, she still have a fever?"

He hhmed and stuck a thermometer in her mouth, disturbingly she didn't budge.

"104, we need to get her in an ice bath I'm afraid."

"We need Jason to not be a piece of shit and leave her like this," he seethed standing up to scoop her into his arms.

"I'm afraid they had a fight and Master Todd stormed off," Alfred supplied, leading the way to the cave, where there was medical supplies more equipped. Though nothing could stop soul sickness but the touch of the one who hurt you, isn't that great.

"So he hurt her, again. If I didn't know it would mess her up I'd kill him again." They were quick but not urgent in their treatment, Dick cursed the air black and blue as he lowered them both in a tub of ice water. He didn't have a fever but if he stopped touching her the sickness would worsen he was sure. He kept tugging at Jason's string but the little fucker never answered so he asked Alfred to call and hand him the phone.

"Listen here you little shit," he said in favor of a hello.

"Uh oh."

"Yeah fucking uh oh, get your ass back here, I don't care if it's in one piece or not or so help me I will send a super or a speedster for your ass," he demanded then hung up.

"103," Alfred praised as Dick got them both out of the tub. He dried her off but left her in her wet clothes (hello boundaries) he would call one of the girls in a minute for help. In the time that it took him to get himself dry and in warm clothes her temp had gone up to 105 and sweat was pouring off of her.

"Shit," he exclaimed practically throwing himself onto the bed with her. He wrapped himself around her and pulled reassuringly on his string but she didn't pull back.

"Fuck fuck fuck, she always pulls back, even when she's asleep!"

He tried again, this time tugging out 'i love you's' over and over until he felt a reply. 'k' came a week tug and he nearly sobbed in relief.

"K, I tell you I love you and you say k," he asked her sleeping form.

104* (I cant find the degrees symbol)

Jason was back, Dick could hear his bike. He tugged at his string, Jason tugged back.

"What happened?"

"What happened is that she can't keep taking your rejection, she's sensitive and the bond makes it stronger," Dick explained, brushing her hair back.

"I'm sorry she didn't..."

"What tell you that you were ripping out her soul and killing her, well fuck you!"

"What do I do," he asked wringing his hands in rare uncertainty.

"Just touch her, tug on your string, she likes it. Three long pulls means 'i love you'." Jason grabbed her hand and gave the string three long tugs, over and over and over again until his real hands felt rope burned.

101*

She still wasn't awake, but she wasn't at risk of dying on them so Dick told Jason to 'hit the fucking shower you stink' and meet them in their room. Alfred trailed behind holding her IV bag, but made no move to keep her in the medical wing, after all the only cure was well...hugs, and soul string tugs. Which both Jason and Dick were taking turns doing, until it felt like a dance.

oct-18-24

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 5461

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

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

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

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

8. Banana-Dulce Cheesecake

Bucky

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

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

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

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

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

“Nngh.”

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

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

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

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

Oh, his golden boy.

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

“Sorry, sorry.”

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

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

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

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

It’s just so fucking much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve groans again. "Tell me."

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

“Fuck, Bucky. Uhn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the plan?”

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

Bucky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, right?”

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

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

“Oh. Well I stand corrected, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay, Babe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?”

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you too.”

Steve

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

“Yeah, sure.”

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

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

“Course, Hon.”

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

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

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

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

“What isn’t working?” 

“The stuff with Bucky. The drops.”

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

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

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

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

“What stopped?” Steve asks, confused. 

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

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

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

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

“... Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From work.”

“Why would they have these at your work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah Honey?”

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

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

… Almost. 

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

“Night, Steve.”

Series Masterlist

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[robinewe]

Two Soulmates

Prompt #22-- Doubles

My heart was pounding amid the quiet, the occasional creak of metal or far off shouting. The light was dim, I could tell even under my blindfold, but even though I couldn’t see I could sense that I was alone. My fingers worked at the knots at my wrists. I’d always been good at knots, I had a Girl Scouts badge to prove it. The rope was slick, synthetic fiber, so it came easily undone.

I yanked off the blindfold and blinked while I willed my eyes to adjust faster. The room was much as I’d expected. Cavernous, dim, no windows, light only from a flickering fluorescent bulb somewhere high above. Lots of entrances and exits to choose from. Rusting metal and clouds of dust everywhere.

I checked my wrist, still feeling the bite of the ropes, and saw that the number etched in white across the skin there read a clear 00:00:00:00:02:46. I yanked the sleeve of my jacket down over it, heat rising to my face. That was just so soon, and I couldn’t imagine the most momentous occasion of my life occurring in such a place as this, an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Just my luck.

Seeing as I was alone, I had some searching to do. I dashed out of the room, following those distant shouts with a growing apprehension in my stomach. What happened after I found them? How were we to escape?

00:00:00:00:01:25 read the counter on my wrist. A part of the infrastructure collapsed and sent a storm of dust and debris through the corridor. I coughed, hacking into my elbow and squeezing my eyes shut.

There was now a gaping hole in the wall, and artificial light streamed through. The sounds of fighting were much louder now. They were through there.

I took a deep breath and braced myself and climbed over the metallic shrapnel through the wall. I could hear nothing but shouting, weapons firing, metal hitting metal, objects raining to the floor. I caught sight of neither combatant, only finding the evidence of their battle.

The timer on my wrist ticked down as a blast of heated energy hit the platform above me, and the supports gave out from under one side. It came swinging down towards me, and I screamed, throwing my arms over my face. The thing exploded in the air above me, but a clear glowing shield of energy surrounded me then, the debris bouncing harmlessly away. I found myself on the ground regardless.

I opened my eyes to see two concerned faces as the timer struck zero. There were warm, dark brown eyes further away, amidst curly light hair and an orange scarf covering the bottom half of his face. He held a long, thin gun that radiated heat and distorted the air around it, recently used. Much closer to me were eyes that were icy blue, set in a face with gaunt cheekbones, under dark hair, hidden with no mask. Emanating from his hand was the energy shielding me from harm.

The moment stood still, frozen, while we watched each other with wide eyes.

The villain spoke first, recovering his calculated posture and withdrawing the energy. “So it’s you.”

The hero took a second to recover, but then he took a stilted step towards us. “I-”

A look of irritation passed across the villain’s face. “This is a private moment, if you wouldn’t mind.” He snapped his fingers and a flash of ice erupted from his palms, encasing the hero’s entire body in a jagged block of ice.

I was still on the ground, and I started pushing myself backwards, away from the villain. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I wasn’t sure if the hero was dead or not. I knew that I was afraid of the villain. I had seen what he’d done before.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, holding up his hands placatingly. “Look.” His sleeve slipped down to reveal a timer ticking up, only a minute or so in. I quickly looked down to my own wrist, and saw a duplicate of the same number: 00:00:00:00:03:11. They counted up in tandem. They had since the moment I had first locked eyes with the villain. The notion made me feel something in my stomach, a sort of nausea, though whether it was giddiness or dread I couldn’t say.

I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t say anything, and I was worried that my soulmate had just killed someone in front of me not moments after we had met. I was afraid that my soulmate was a murderer, and I didn’t know what that meant about me. I still found myself on the ground, unable to move away further.

“I would never hurt my own soulmate,” the villain said. “I’ve been waiting an awfully long time to meet you. Haven’t you?” Cautiously, he offered me a hand, stepping closer to do so. He was tall and slight, bending like a tree to lean over me and extending a hand tipped with long, graceful fingers. I placed my hand in his, and he easily pulled me to my feet and then close into his side, wrapping an arm around me. My head didn’t reach the height of his shoulders.

“Is this some kind of trick?” I asked, once I could force my lips to move again. His face fell.

“Of course not,” he said. “How does one trick fate itself?”

“Why would I fall in love with a supervillain?”

His lip twitched. “Now that’s stereotyping. It’s rude, you don’t even know me.”

“I’ve seen what you do,” I protested.

“We don’t have time for this. Hero’s already thawing himself out,” he jerked a thumb towards his ice sculpture. Those brown eyes were still frozen staring at me, looking almost frantic, as the ice around him dripped. The tip of his heat gun had already freed itself, sticking out of the ice and a little streak of fire coming out of the end. Soon the hero’s hands would be free, and then the rest of him.

I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. He was alive. I took a step towards him, to go and make sure that he would stay that way, but the villain blocked my path.

“Please, we can talk more about this somewhere else where it’s safer. Look, you’ve already got me begging. That’s something I don’t do every day.” My eyes drifted back up to him.

“Fine.”

He replaced his arm around my shoulder and guided me swiftly out of the warehouse, to where a car awaited us. It hovered above the ground with a gentle hum of air, and the windows were tinted entirely black. The villain opened the rounded door, gesturing me inside with a bow and a quirk of his lips. I stepped inside, and found it well-kept and clean, a newer expensive model of the podcar that I would never have expected to see in my lifetime. My friends all had the first generation, with all their faults and peculiarities, most of them full of patched repair jobs and junk filling the space.

It had an automatic pilot, so the villain needed only to duck in behind me, and order, “Drive us home.”

The ice eventually thawed to the point where the hero’s wrist was out and visible. It counted upwards in perfect synchronicity with the villain’s and mine. But he was powerless to stop as his worst enemy stole away his true love.

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century poly shifter romance (Part one, sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Well folks, here it is. You said you were interested, so I hope it meets expectations! Here's part one for you, of a multi part story. If you want to kno wmore about it, you can find some more info here, as well as a little 'mood board'.

Content: sfw, the daughter of a country gentleman from Sussex relocates to a sleepy fishing village in Cornwall in order to become the paid companion of a young widow, and meets some of the locals on her arrival. Wordcount: 3972

Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark - Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk. Laces for a lady; letters for a spy, Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by! ~ from ‘A Smugglers’ Song’, Rudyard Kipling (1906)

In the cool, lavender light of a late spring dawn, a gaff-rigged cutter drew into the sheltering arms of a small bay at high tide, and quietly dropped anchor. As if the soft splash had awoken him, a cockerel spluttered to life in a farmyard somewhere inland, but most of the villagers were already up and awake and steering their small, secret fleet of boats out from the golden crescent of sand beneath the cliffs to meet the waiting ship fresh from Roscoff.

Beneath the waves, where churning kelp moored itself in unyielding handfuls to the ancient granite of the sea floor, a long, serpentine shadow snaked between the stalks, and the currents of the coastline subtly shifted. Any revenue men trying to sail along the coast from Fowey to catch the smugglers would have found the wind and tide set dead against them, and in the subtle wake that wafted from the mottled, eel-like tail as it passed unseen, the waters of the secluded inlet calmed beneath the keels of the scurrying fishing boats. The drag of the oars through the waves lessened, and muscles already tired from heaving and hefting goods up the cliff moved a fraction easier for the unexpected boon.

Between them over the next hour, the gathered men and women shifted their haul of half anker barrels and dozens of crates and boxes of goods ashore. The small kegs of rich, French cognac would fetch a pretty price all across Cornwall, and along with the liquor came smaller luxuries like lace and silk, and bundles of tobacco and spiced tea, all meticulously wrapped in oil cloth to keep the sea and the salt and the water out.

And when the speedy, slender ship was riding noticeably higher in the water, the locals simply melted away into the countryside like so many mice from a late summer granary before the excise men even knew the ship from Guernsey had visited the cove at all.

Fifteen miles away, as the sun breached the horizon and cast its first rays of warmth along bellies of fleecy clouds and the flanks of blossoming hedgerows below, a stagecoach lurched and rumbled westwards along potholed roads, and a young woman stared out of the grimy window as the horses carried her into a new chapter of her life.

After leapfrogging some two hundred miles or so along the staging stations that dotted the South Coast, with nothing but a small trunk of her belongings and a thrice-read, dog-eared novel for company, Eleanor Bywater was more than ready to see the back of that infernal stagecoach. Had it not been for the small but inconveniently bulky travelling case sitting at her feet, she might have hired a horse and ridden from the last staging inn at Plymouth to reach the secluded fishing village of Polgarrack, but given that the trunk held all her worldly belongings, she had not been quite desperate enough to escape the discomfort of hard seats and poor suspension to abandon it.

Bouncing along in the nearly-empty stagecoach, she studiously tried to ignore the older woman sitting opposite her. She’d stared intently at Nel since they'd left Plymouth behind that morning, and her scrutiny had begun to make that last twenty mile stretch feel much, much longer.

Finally, after jouncing over a pothole deep enough to start prospecting for copper ore at the bottom, Nel gasped and then raised her eyes to meet the woman’s openly curious stare. She found sympathy for her own discomfort, and a small degree of kindly amusement too. 

“Where are you headed, miss?” the stranger asked after Nel raised the hint of an eyebrow at her as the silence stretched.

“Polgarrack.”

At that, the woman’s grey eyes narrowed in confusion. “Now what takes a young miss like you to an old fishing village like Polgarrack?”

She looked to be in her fifties, though a life beside the harsh sea had weathered her features somewhat, and her wiry grey hair was covered by a simple linen cap. Her dress was dark and plain, though there was a hint of tired lace around the neck and cuffs. Her hands had the tough, reddened look of someone who scrubbed pots and salted fish, while Nel’s own hands were smooth and soft, if a little ink stained from sending a letter to her friend before leaving the inn that morning.

Nel laughed quietly and shrugged. “There’s no mystery to it,” she said. “I am to be employed as a companion to the widowed Lady Penrose at Heath Top House. I am expected there this afternoon.”

Given that only ladies of relatively high social standing themselves tended to become a ‘lady’s companion’, the older woman made a hasty re-evaluation of her fellow traveller, and her already ruddy cheeks flushed a darker shade as she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces in Polgarrack, is all. I didn’t mean to pry or cause offence with my questions.”

“No harm in a little curiosity,” Nel said, trying to put the stranger at ease to avoid any further awkwardness between them on the remainder of their journey. “I take it you’re from Polgarrack yourself then?”

“Oh, born and raised, miss,” she chortled. She eyed the forest green redingote Nel wore, with its rather masculine high collar, wide lapels and small, gold pocket watch dangling on a chain, and the contrasting sage green skirts beneath, and no doubt made one or two judgements of her own about the young lady. “And yourself? You don’t sound as though you’re from these parts at all, if I may be so bold.”

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

The woman’s watery, grey-blue eyes widened almost comically and she gasped. “’at's a bloody long way, miss! And all on your own?” She shook her head but remembered herself and mumbled, “Begging your pardon.”

“You’re right,” Nel sighed, letting her gaze slide to the window to watch the countryside roll past in a blur of salt-bleached grass and vibrant yellow gorse flowers. “It is a bloody long way.” And her spine and backside felt every lump and bump and lurch of the stagecoaches from Sussex to Cornwall. With a warmer smile, she turned back to the woman. “My name is Eleanor, but most people call me Nel.”

“Agatha,” she replied with a grandmotherly smile of her own for the young woman. “But everyone calls me Aggie. My husband, Martin, is the village carter and smith, and we’ve got four boys, all of them either fishermen or miners. They all married too, so I’ve got nine grandchildren, if you can believe it!”

Nel offered Aggie her congratulations and another little smile, and then ventured to ask, “Will you tell me a bit about the place? I should like to know more about it, since it is to be my home for the foreseeable future.”

Aggie brightened even more and shuffled her plain, dark skirts, giving a wince and a grunt as the coach lurched over a pothole and the driver cursed audibly above them. Settled, if not entirely comfortable, she began.

“Well, see now. Folks has been fishing these waters for time out of mind. Pilchards is our mainstay, o’course, but the folks over St. Austell way mine clay, and obviously there’s copper and tin mines all over in the north of Cornwall. Mining here is as old as fishing, but it’s starting to dry up here and there now, o’course.”

She barely paused to draw breath before barrelling on, and Nel sat and listened while the older woman talked.

“Now, your Lady Penrose married into the Penrose family — see, she’s from Bath herself originally, though I can’t rightly remember what her family name was, but…” Nel let Agatha's potted history of the fishing and mining community wash over her, paying just enough attention to make polite sounds at the right pauses, but the discomfort of the journey and a decided lack of sleep was beginning to wear her attention span down to a single, fraying thread.

After two hours in the swaying, rolling coach, she felt woozy and weak-stomached, but with Aggie’s near-constant chatter, she at least had a better understanding of the politics of the little village than she’d ever have gained in six months on her own. She’d also learned why Aggie had been in Plymouth, since most folks never had any reason to travel further than the bounds of their own parish. Agatha’s sister’s husband had apparently been killed in the American Revolutionary War some ten years earlier, and since the widow’s health wasn’t the best these days, Aggie made the trip along the coast when she could to see her and take care of her.

Nel’s ticket took her as far as Whitcross, a desolate intersection of paler roads on a clifftop overlooking the tightly-nestled fishing port below, and away across the heather and tufted grass of the heath, she could just see an old manor house in the distance, flanked by tall copper beeches and ash trees. It looked slightly further away than she had anticipated, and she glanced apprehensively down at the travelling trunk at her feet.

Still, she was aching for fresh air and to be free of the sickening motion of the carriage, so she took the driver’s hand and allowed him to guide her safely down onto the hard-packed surface of the road before he lifted her case down for her as well.

From inside, Aggie peered out and scowled disapprovingly. “Now just you wait a moment,” she barked at the driver, who cocked an eyebrow but did pause. “Did they not send someone for you, dearie?” she asked Nel, still leaning out of the doorway and peering about like a disgruntled badger, and using the endearment freely. Apparently, two hours of talking non-stop at Nel had removed any pretence of formality or sense of social distance. Nel might as well have been adopted into Aggie Carter’s family as a niece by that point, and she couldn’t help but smile at the warmth it conjured in her chest.

“I… I never thought that far through,” she admitted, with her hand atop her bonnet as the wind gusted up from the sea below, soaring delightedly over the edge of the cliff and racing on inland as if to continue the momentum of the great rolling breakers that foamed and thundered against the shore. The coachman glanced at his pocket watch and groused something about a schedule that was almost immediately lost to the next inward gust.

“No, no, dearie,” the old woman scoffed. “No, you must come into the village. It’s far too far to go all by yourself, and with that case as well. Here, let me —”

“I can manage the case, I assure you,” Nel said with a gentle smile as Aggie half-toppled, half-leaned out of the coach to pick up the case. “How far is it to the house?”

“Two miles up that hill yonder,” Agatha said, pointing with one gnarled and arthritic finger towards the house on the rise to the north. “Come to the Lantern, and we’ll have one of the lads take you up once you’ve caught your breath.” The Lantern, as Nel now knew thanks to Aggie’s detailed prattling, was the inn at the centre of the village, right on the water near the harbour.

She had been about to protest, but with a sigh, she simply nodded. The constant journeying and jolting had worn her down more than she cared to admit, and while she wasn’t the kind of wallflower she’d met any number of times in London during the Season, a life led mostly indoors with few opportunities for physical activity had not prepared her for a two mile walk in heavy, too-fine clothes, carrying an unwieldy case in gusty conditions. Her family had been invited a number of times to Goodwood House to walk the large park there, and she had frequently ridden a rather spirited mare through the parkland of Lavington Hall with her dear friend William, so she was not entirely unused to the great outdoors, but she did have to admit that her experiences had been rather more curated and sanitised than the wild expanse of heathland visible on all sides of the stagecoach from Whitcross.

“You’re kind, Agatha,” she said, and let the woman heft her case into the otherwise empty coach.

The thing about a tiny village was that an outsider stood out a mile, and a young lady in her mid twenties and dressed in impractical, rich green clothes, stood out like a beacon in a dark night. Everyone turned to watch her as she disembarked from the coach. At home, she had barely garnered a look from anyone. Being the centre of everyone’s curiosity there was novel and, in a word, horrifying.

She almost blurted aloud that one would think she was a revenue man come inspecting for smuggled goods, but she bit it back just in time. Cornwall’s so-called ‘free trade’ and smuggling rackets were absolutely none of her concern as an outsider, infamous though they may be, and it would do her no good to start sticking her nose where it did not belong.

The Lantern was a half-timbered, two-storey building that faced the walled harbour. Its painted sign was peeling and sun-bleached, and it squawked something dreadful as it swung back and forth in the squalling wind. Mullioned windows glinted and shimmered, though the small, diamond panes were caked with a haze of salt spray, and alongside the inn, a hand-cart rumbled down from a narrow side alley towards the harbour beyond, where fishing boats bobbed on their mooring lines at the lapping high tide.

Agatha pushed open the black-painted door but came to an abrupt halt as someone appeared to be leaving the inn at the exact same moment, and nearly barrelled into her and Nel.

“Oh, excuse me,” came a young man’s hoarse tenor, and he stepped aside within the inn’s small porch to allow the two women to enter before he left.

Nel noted briefly that he wore well-made but plain clothes, and carried a hefty looking cane in his left hand, upon which he leaned while he waited for them to pass. He was pale and thin, his undyed linen shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his light brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck into a horsetail. The moment he met her eye, he inhaled in surprise and almost immediately looked away, his large, dark brown eyes turning shy and uncertain. “M’lady,” he mumbled without looking up.

She didn’t have time to correct him and tell him she had no such title, because the moment she had stepped inside, he was off out into the day beyond, limping markedly on his right leg as he went.

Nel turned back to find Agatha waiting for her, watching. “That there was young Edmund Nancarrow,” she supplied as Nel caught up with her. “Local lad. Lots of Nancarrows in this area,” she chuckled. “Can’t move for tripping over a Nancarrow. He was a shy, skittish thing even before he went off to war in the Colonies and came back with a bad leg,” she added. “But he’s a sweetheart if ever I saw one. Tailor’s ’prentice he is now.”

At that, Nel just nodded. Something in her ached when she realised she probably wouldn’t have much to do with the folk from the village once she was ensconced up at Heath Top House, and she half wised she could. They already sounded far more interesting than the Lady Winnifred Penrose, with whom Nel had only exchanged a short flurry of letters before becoming formally engaged as her ‘companion’. 

Still, an unmarried woman of Nel’s age and social standing was considered almost past her prime, and given that the few marriage proposals she had received had faded into the mists of her very early adulthood, she had had to find another respectable way to support herself. Hence, Heath Top House.

Aggie bustled her into the main room of the pub, and their arrival caused a flurry of activity that drew the eyes of a good few patrons. 

Seated at the wooden bar inside, hunched over a pewter tankard, sat a tall, bulky man in his late-thirties or early forties, with long, thick, dark grey hair shot through with a shimmer of silver white. He had it tied back off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and as he turned to regard Nel’s arrival, she met unusually deep green eyes surrounded by a web of crows’ feet lines in a tanned, weathered face. His scowl was dark and full of suspicion, but even the storm clouds in his expression couldn’t mask the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged, rough-hewn kind of way.

When she saw where Nel’s attention had snagged, Aggie let out a little gasp and snatched her by the upper arm to steer her towards an empty table in a bay window, about as far from the wooden bar where the man still sat and glared at them as it was possible to be. 

“And that’s Locryn Trevethan,” Aggie hissed as she saw Nel settled into a seat. “Can’t say as I’ve seen him in here more than a handful of times this year though. He’s usually out on the water. Lives alone in an old stone cottage round the bay from here, up at Pilchard Sands. You’d probably best be giving him a wide berth, miss. Not that he should give you any trouble, mind,” she amended carefully, “But he’s not for the likes of you to go mingling with.”

Nel smiled at the protective tone in the older woman’s voice, and nodded once.

With her warning given, Aggie raised her voice and called over to the old man behind the bar. “’ere, Tom! This young lady needs a ride up to Heath Top. You think you can arrange that for her?”

The stoop-shouldered, white-haired man nodded and knuckled his forehead at Nel across the space. “Not the finest, but we got a cart.”

“If you have a horse, I could ride,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Ain’t got a saddle for a lady,” he said regretfully.

Memories of galloping through the leafy trees of Lavington Hall’s parkland with William flashed across her mind and she suppressed a smile. She certainly hadn’t ridden the grey mare side-saddle while keeping up with her childhood friend, and although it had been a year or so since she’d sat astride a horse instead of side-saddle, she thought she could manage well enough. “I know how to ride a man’s saddle,” she said, “But I do have a travel case I’d need to send someone back for.”

“I could get one of the lads to bring that up for you after,” said Tom, “But it’s almost as much effort to hitch up a cart as it is to tack up a horse for riding, ma’am.”

“Whatever is the least trouble for you will do fine,” she said, and the stoic, weather-beaten old man’s red cheeks darkened and he ducked his head.

While Tom left to sort out transportation to the house, Aggie flapped about getting some refreshments for Nel, leaving her to wait at the table alone.

In the wake of the hubbub and pother Agatha left behind her, Nel took a long, deep breath looked around to find Locryn Trevethan still staring across the room at her. Taken aback by his directness and the intensity of his glare, she tried to smile, but his expression remained thunderous beneath strong, dark brows, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

In a face turned to leather by the sun and sea-wind, wide cheekbones and a heavy brow framed his piercingly green eyes. Never mind that marked crow’s feet around his eyes that made him look like he would rather have been laughing; the contrast between the dark, hostile glower and the soft laughter lines unnerved her and made her feel off-balance, as though her stranger’s presence in their local pub had unknowingly raised the ire of a usually gentle man. 

He had a short, neatly-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard around full lips that were currently turned down at the corners and which bore a silver-pink scar across the middle. Despite the warm day, he wore a fisherman’s dense, woollen sweater, and when she risked another look back at him, she found him still frowning openly across the bar at her.

Nel didn’t relax until Aggie returned, at which point the man snapped abruptly out of his trance, slammed a coin down on the bar, and strode from the pub on long legs that were thick as tree trucks at the thigh. The door bounced back off the plasterwork in his wake and his boots rang on the flagstones outside.

“Not one to welcome strangers, I take it,” Nel muttered, and downed half of the cheap, watered-down wine that Agatha had set on the table for her.

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind, miss,” Aggie scoffed, settling herself down into the seat opposite her like a brooding hen and glaring at the pub door. “He don’t seem to like no one in Polgarrack save for sweet Ned Nancarrow, strangely enough. Then again, I ain’t met no one who’s taken a disliking to sweet Ned. Now, Tom will have the horse and cart ready for you in just a moment, but you just take your time and recover after your journey.”

Nel, who had felt ten times better the moment she’d taken her first proper lungful of sea air on stepping out of the swaying stagecoach, looked across the table into the older woman’s face and found a mother’s kindness and compassion in her wrinkled face, and something twisted in her gut. “You’re very kind,” she whispered, unable to muster anything more. “Thank you.”

She chuckled. “You know, and don’t you take this amiss, but you remind me of my niece a little, though she’s a little younger than you.”

Nel’s eyebrows twitched in wry amusement, and Agatha blushed at the impropriety of her words. Nel didn’t get the chance to reassure her because Tom shuffled back in and told her the cart was ready for her.

She laid a coin on the table for the wine and stood, following the innkeep out into the yard and clambering up with her case into the back of the cart. It was hardly a very dignified mode of transport for someone of her station, and when Tom said as much while they rumbled out of the inn’s yard, Nel just laughed and said she didn’t mind.

“Anything is better than that awful rolling stagecoach,” she beamed, and swung her legs back and forth like a child off the back of the cart bed while Tom clucked his tongue at the horse to hurry up.

As they trundled up the narrow, cobbled street from the harbour, they passed Edmund Nancarrow standing outside a tailor’s shop, talking with the beast of a man from the bar. Both men looked up and watched her pass like she was some kind of rare spectacle.

In a way, she supposed she was. 

Still, she smiled at them despite her nerves, and Edmund knuckled a non-existent cap at her with a shy smile, while Locryn just glared.

She sighed and wondered what this next chapter in her life would bring.

___

Next chapter ->

Well, what did you think of it so far? I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it, as always!

I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[prpfz]

[21+ lf 21+ ‼️] lowkey looking to play a polyamorous relationship that includes 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒! Mx(MxM) or Mx(MxF) (in brackets it's who i will play!)

The original idea that i had in mind was that our characters are a couple already, and my character invites yours to finally meet the family for dinner!

The couple arrives to dinner and that's when your character mets their partner's sibling or cousin(also played by me!)(mightt also be interested in playing a mom 👀👀 just maybe), soon enough the sibling/cousin gets interested in your character, going as far as trying to seduce them to try and win them over.

i want this to be some sort of love triangle turned poly relationship! and yes! i mean relationship as a romantic one!!

nsfw info- i prefer doms w/ a switch lean (not mean ones, i much prefer playful, loveable characters!), since the chracters that i had in mind were subs w/ a switch lean (not brats or overly subby either)

i already have premade characters w/realistic face claims (pinterest boards)!! ^^

2-3 paragraphs/semi literate only! i'm interested in shorter daily responses (maybe rapid fire?), since i totally value quality over quantity!! ooc chatter is appreciated!

this will take place on discord!!

like this and i will reach out! byebye!!

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

[luthien-under-bough]

like light refracted - Aegon II Targaryen x Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen (complete)

This fic was written as a gift for the brilliant and talented @anamazingangie. Thanks to her wisdom, I have seen the light, and have hopped aboard the Daegonyra train. 🚂

Warnings: Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Relationships: Aegon II Targaryen/Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen Additional Tags:  Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e08 The Lord of the Tides (House of the Dragon), No Dance of the Dragons | War For Succession Between Aegon II and Rhaenyra Targaryen Never Happens, rhaenyra and daemon avert war through the power of bisexuality, Aegon II Targaryen is Not a Rapist, he is just a sad baby in need of hands-on parenting, Mommy Issues, Daddy Issues, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, sad man jerking off, medieval butt plug, Threesome - F/M/M, Brother/Sister Incest, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Uncle/Niece Incest, Everyone is Bisexual, Pregnancy Kink, Lactation Kink, POV Aegon II Targaryen, Praise Kink

Summary:

He had scarcely seen them since he was a boy — since the scandal of their wedding. But it was immediately obvious how much they adored one other. The casual intimacy between them, the way they always found a way to touch. Aegon swore he could see the sparks wherever their skin met. His father had been a fool to ever deny them their match. It was plain to see that they were utterly besotted with each other — even after six years of marriage. He wondered, despairingly, what it must feel like, to have someone, anyone, love you best in all the world. — In which Aegon is deeply depressed, and the only remedy is the healing power of Daemyra threesome. 

Chapter Links:

🤍chapter 1 🤍chapter 2 (mostly smut)

*banners by @anamazingangie! 🤍

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

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

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

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

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

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly. 

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s  three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water. 

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?” 

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive. 

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness. 

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout. 

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

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@badthingshappenbingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square O2: therapy session

@marvel-smash-bingo

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square I1: enemies to lovers

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card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square B5: Love triangle

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Square B3: Inconvenient attraction

[faegoddessog]

22: I just can’t get you out of my head

Ok loves, I've decided to try something to stretch myself creatively with this challenge. I'm gonna dribble my drabble and see if I can tie each theme into an actual story that I'll write day by day! We'll see how it goes! Wish me luck!

Here is my ongoing masterlist of this project.

My other works are here if you are interested!

Check out the fun challenge here by @slowsweetlove . Feel free to jump in too!

WARNINGS: Explicitly Mature Content, 18+only, fellatio, cunnilingus, kissing (m/m &m/f). soft Dom, mention of spanking with a belt, handjob (m/m), f turned on by m/m

You bite your lip, appreciative noises sneaking from your throat as you drag your hands over their naked chests. You wind your hands up to the sides of their necks. After thoroughly  kissing them each again, you pull them together, nodding slightly, eager for them to explore one another. 

Sitting back, you watch them kiss. Their lips meet, then part slightly and you catch a glimpse of  Austin's tongue dipping out to catch the taste of Callum’s lips. Callum grabs Austin’s face with his free hand, his jaw opening and closing, sucking in Austin’s full bottom lip. 

Austin’s fingers slip between your labia and Cal’s between your buttcheeks as if they are both reassuring themselves that there is a woman near. 

As they play at each others' lips, teeth, and tongues, your fingers toy with their nipples in turn. Their reactions span a spectrum.  Austin is indifferent, until you pinch. It’s then that his abs clench and he moans into Cal’s mouth. 

Cal, on the other hand, twitches at the slightest touch, obviously sensitive. You lean down, sucking first one’s, then the other’s into your mouth. One gentle, one with a bit of nip. You are rewarded with sharp intakes of breath, fingers stuttering on your skin and their kiss becoming that much more passionate. 

As your mouth explores, so do your hands. You palm each of their bulges through their pants. It strikes you suddenly, just at how you ended up  here, your ass in the air, being willingly groped by two of the most  sumptuous men, who are also into each other as well as you. Dream come fucking true.   

You slip to your knees, their hands dragging lightly along your body. You unbutton Austin’s fly, as Callum cups his jaw. Austin’s hand lands on his friend’s thick thigh, rubbing back and forth. Austin's hand on your shoulder tightens and as you pull out his pretty cock. Callum greedily swallows his moans. 

You can’t help but play your tongue on his tip. Licking with the flat of your tongue along his frenulum. You do it mostly for yourself, for the feel of his tender skin on your tongue.  Still, it makes his breath stutter in, then out with  soft throaty grunts.  His other hand lays along your jaw, fingertips curling around the back of your neck at the hairline. 

You glance up and see a scene that later you can't get out of your head, it’s so damn hot.   

Austin’s tongue is almost lazily drifting into Callum's mouth, and his long fingered hand,  now wet with precum, is wrapped around Calllum’s cock. His dark red tip winks in and out of sight as Austin pushes and pulls Callums foreskin up and down. Austin’s hands are a good size, but don’t look like it around the big phallus. 

Although your mouth is still occupied with Austin, that doesn't stop the shaky yet appreciative noise from escaping you.

They both break the kiss at your spontaneous moan.

Callum smirks, then whispers in Austin's ear, Austin nods. You pull back with a little suspicious frown.

Callum stands up, stripping his clothes into a puddle on the floor, then pushes the footstool aside, making room. Austin lifts his hips quickly divesting himself of the rest of his clothes. 

Two magnificently naked men are in your apartment: Heaven. 

You stand and grab the chunky zipper on your dress. You really loved how this dress just zipped off for easy access.

“No, no don’t,” says Callum grabbing your wrists in a gentle but firm grasp before you get the zipper down. His body is all at once pushed against your back, his hardness pressed up against you. “You’re fuckin’ sexy with it on, so much so that I don’t think I’ll be able to get you out of my head.” 

Austin is nodding in agreement. 

Callum towers over you, still restraining your wrists. His words are low and  hot against the back of your ear. You see flashes of being on your knees in front of him, calling him Sir and doing his every  bidding. Even if that bidding was to bend over and take your punishment from his belt. You try to shake the image from your mind. That sort of a scene was not what you three had discussed. 

“Get down on those knees” says Ausitn in soft, intense tones. What the fuck, is he a damn mindreader? Now in your mind’s eye there are two masters. Each one dripping pre-cum for your tongue, each one claiming you, claiming your pussy, your hands, your mouth, between your tits, in your ass crack. 

“Do it,”  the fair one says in your mind, or was it Austin himself? You are brought back to reality by the gentle nudging of your thighs. You don’t actually remember kneeling. 

You reach for a condom and try to hand it back to Callum as you spread your knees, assuming he was positioning himself back there to fuck you doggy style. You really hope you can take his thick cock.  

“Thank you, but I’m not there yet hunny, I need a taste of this sweet pussy first,” Callum says. You clearly have judged him wrong, you figured him for a get in and get wet ASAP kinda guy. It’s now that you realize it’s his head that he has pressed between your knees. He wraps his arms  around your thighs, pulling you down to his face. 

The second his tongue touches you, you know this man has a thing for pussy. It’s like art, the way he strokes you. Painting rapturous pictures with lips, teeth, tongue. Slowly but surely it transports you. 

Your head tilts up, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Now that’s a sight I don’t even want out of my head,” Austin rumbles low, “Do you like him between your legs like that sweetheart?” 

He pulls your chin, forcing you to look into his normally lovely blue eyes. His lustful pupils seem to swallow his blue irises.

credit to @saradika for the graphic!

Always tag me: @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight

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[asnowdriftsomewhere]

A Court of Myth and Rain

Ch5 Sunbeams and Shadows

Is now live!

Helion told Reina that Death was an old friend, but what does he actually mean by that? And how does he plan to answer her accusation that beneath the playboy facade and irreverent charm Helion is actually incredibly lonely?

Meanwhile...

Azriel has a problem, and that problem is Reina.

Azriel is a loyal male. He owes Rhysand everything... So why does he have a problem with these new orders? Its not like he hasn't spied on their 'allies' before but, its different with Reina... Isn't it?

[malady335]

Chapters: 61/? Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: original female character/original orc character(s), Human/Orc, Orc/Orc Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Orc Character(s), Original Rohirrim Character(s) Additional Tags: brief description of assault, Rape Recovery, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Orcs Being Orcs, Cannibalism, Cultural Differences, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood, Orc Culture, Post-War, Fourth Age, Orcs, Don't copy to another site, Blood and Injury, Moria, Isengard, Uruk-hai - Freeform, Goblins, Animal Death, Brief attempted assault, Childhood Trauma, Murder, Reverse Harem, Fourth Age (Lord of the Rings), Post-War of the Ring, Post-Lord of the Rings, Oral, Vaginal Sex, Hand Jobs, goblin/human, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Bondage, Cuckolding, Dubious Consent, Drug Use, Culture Shock, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Power Imbalance, Child Death, original male character(s)/original male character(s) - Freeform Summary:

A group of orcs from different cultures and backgrounds are forced to stay together in order to survive post-war Middle Earth. They stumble upon a Rohirrim woman disposing of a body leading to a new element for their group. Will sparing this woman lead to their deaths or bring about their survival?

Status: Updates Wednesdays(till caught up than update schedule might change)

[pqt-tumble]

@ot3-week day 4: The knight, the princess, and the dragon are all actually together

My true OT3. Loves of my life! This prompt fit them so well!

DO NOT REPOST! Reblogs encouraged! All other uses please ask.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 2637

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

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

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

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

7. Strawberry Cream Puffs

Mary

Mary doesn’t realize what she’s hearing at first. If she did, she’d hightail it right back out the front door, phone be damned. But the sound of Bucky and Steve talking is muffled and indistinct from the distance of their bedroom, and Mary hurries around the apartment, checking for her phone by the coffee maker in the kitchen and then in the couch cushions after that. “Fucking fuck,” she hisses, annoyed. She doesn’t have time for this! She has to get back to work.

It’s only when she walks down the hall to check in her bedroom and is passing the door to Bucky and Steve’s room that she figures it out.

"Bucky!"

"That’s it, Princess, just like that. You’re almost there."

Mary freezes, whole body tensing as she realizes that Bucky and Steve are not just “talking.” Her face flushes, arousal swirling hard and sudden in her core at the sounds.

“Fuck, fuck … unhshit."

That’s Steve moaning. He sounds totally gone for whatever Bucky’s doing to him (God, Mary wishes she could see what Bucky’s doing to him). Against all common decency, she takes a step closer, putting her ear millimeters from the door. She can hear their heavy breathing, can hear the wet sounds of them fucking. Steve is making all sorts of obscene sounds, and Bucky’s talking to him, encouraging him in a dark, goading voice that Mary’s only ever heard the barest hint of.

"Ride Daddy’s hand, thaat’s it. Fuck back on it. Good girl."

Oh. my. god. Mary’s eyes go wide and her panties are suddenly, horribly wet. She forces herself to step away, then hears Steve wailing and grunting like he’s coming. Maybe he is, she doesn’t stay to find out.

Her face is flaming hot as she hurries into her room. And of-fucking-course: there’s her phone, still sitting plugged into the nightstand. She scowls at it, as if it’s the phone’s fault that she’s just witnessed what she has.

Wet panties don’t feel great, so she shucks her leggings off and changes, then grabs her phone and cautiously makes her way back out into the hall. Bucky and Steve are still in their room—she can hear them talking in there (this time only talking). But Mary knows they both have freakishly good hearing, so she’s dreadfully careful as she sneaks back out of the apartment. If they catch her now, the jig’ll be up. There’s no way in hell Bucky won’t take one look at her face and know. Then he’ll tell Steve, of course, because those two freaking live in each other’s skin. And then Mary’ll have to face them every day with the common knowledge between the three of them that she knows Bucky calls Steve a “good girl” in bed.

She makes it out of the apartment unnoticed, goes back to work, and spends most of her shift in a distracted daze, messing up more than one coffee order as she contemplates why she finds it so hot.

Bucky

It’s the weekend, so after Bucky’s done “teaching” his husband in bed that morning, they both get dressed and head out for their usual Saturday routine of going to the gym together.

Bucky’s not as obsessed with lifting as Steve is, so he finishes first and sits by the overpriced juice bar, entertaining himself with a little sample cup of some green apple-kale concoction and the view of his sweaty husband’s backside as he does weighted squats. “Looking good, Cap!” he calls out, loud enough for Steve to hear. Steve shoots him a peevish glance from across the way, which Bucky knows means Shut the fuck up. You’re so embarrassing. Bucky snickers and brings his green juice up for another sip.

“Been discharged for over a decade and you’re still using that,” Steve grumps at him when he’s finished and they’re walking out of the gym.

Bucky hums and kisses him on the cheek. “It suits you.” They join hands and start off down the sidewalk. Their Saturday morning routine is to get coffee after a workout—Bucky’s iced, Steve’s with whatever horrifically sugary additives he can think up. “My baby made Captain at twenty-five. That’s fucking hot.” He sees Steve’s blush and feels accomplished. “Plus, I know you like it.”

“Don’t hear me calling you Sergeant.”

“That’s cause I’m higher rank than you and you know it,” Bucky quips, and the two of them share a saucy grin that kind of makes Bucky want to shove Steve up against the nearest building and “teach” him something else. He refrains. “Have you told her we served?” he asks, referring to Mary. He’s steering them in the direction of the café where she works, rather than their usual place, and he’s sure Steve notices.

“No. But we haven’t gotten much into the details about anything.” Steve’s tone is slightly disapproving. “You let her avoid us with too much streaming."

Steve’s not wrong. They are halfway through the third season of Game of Thrones. Bucky squeezes Steve’s right hand with his left, indicating the metal arm. “She hasn’t asked about this.”

“S’probably just trying to be polite.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Bucky’s arm is StarkTech, so even though he’s a veteran with an amputation, he doesn’t come off that way to strangers at first glance. He gets passed over for the usual silent deference. And when people do clock the arm, he’s more likely to get stares and questions, rather than pity. He’s noticed Mary looking a few times, but she hasn’t said anything.

“You’re in long sleeves all the time, Babe,” Steve says. “She’ll ask when the weather warms up, I bet.”

“Yeah.” Bucky remembers why he likes winter so much. “… You think she’ll be with us that long?”

Steve looks over at him. “Honestly? Yeah. I do. She’s got a lot of issues, Buck. Have you noticed her eating habits?”

Bucky frowns. “I mean, she’s picky …”

“She restricts,” Steve corrects. “Her counselor called the other day and recommended we file a petition to extend the custody order.”

“Really? We’re not even halfway through it yet.”

“I know.” Steve twists his lips unhappily, looking down at the pavement as the walk. “Linda said we should try and talk to her about it now, rather than later. Try and frame it in a positive way.”

Bucky scoffs. “She’s gonna throw a fit!” (She does about most things.) “It’d be better if you or Linda brought it up,” he grumbles. “She hates me.”

“Hey.” Steve stops walking, stilling Bucky with a hand to his shoulder. “Hey. She does not. She’s just reacting to you cause you don’t pull any punches. I mean imagine how scary it must be, what we’re asking of her.”

Bucky frowns as he thinks about it. “I guess.”

“We bring her in, telling her she’s an incapable mess and that her life’s a shambles, and then she’s supposed to just one hundred percent trust us?”

"Well when you put it like that,” Bucky grumps. Not like they haven’t been doing absolutely everything in their power to show this woman that they’re not pervert serial killers, or whatever.

“Plus, she’s embarrassed about it. About what she needs.”

Bucky grunts, thinking back to how he’d felt when he was a kid and got placed on the spectrum. “You think evenings are helping?” he asks, looking to Steve for reassurance. “I’ve been trying to keep it as light as I know how …"

“Babe, aw. C’mere.” Steve pulls him in for a big hug and presses his face against Bucky’s neck. “Of course evenings are helping.”

“Steeve! Gross! Get off me, you’re all—"

“Shuddup,” Steve scolds quietly. He kisses his cheek, then pulls back with smiling eyes. “You’re a good Dom, Buck. Even a normie like me can tell that.”

Bucky’s insides warm at the praise, but he masks it with a theatrical scowl and a shove to Steve’s chest. “You’re all sweaty.”

“So are you, Jerk.” Steve takes his hand again and pulls him along. “It’s slow going, but it’s going. We just gotta give it time.”

Bucky grumbles quietly. They both know that giving anything time is not his forte. A few shops down, the café comes into sight, and Steve gives his hand a squeeze. “You know, she did tell me the other day that she thinks you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“She said that?” Bucky blurts before he can catch himself. Steve’s smirk widens and Bucky drops his hand. “Punk,” he huffs, pushing past him to open the café’s door and hold it for his husband.

The smell assaults them as soon as they step inside. It smells like heaven; like coffee beans and yeast, warm spices and flaky pastries. Bucky looks for Mary at the service counter, but when he doesn’t immediately see her he joins Steve in front of the pastry case to drool over said pastries.

“Oh my God,” Steve moans. “How’m I gonna choose?”

“How is my BMI not gonna go up with this chick?” Bucky agrees.

The case is stocked full for the Saturday brunch rush. Bucky’s eyes flit between the shiny-glazed doughnuts, the already-crumbling scones, the sugar-crusted muffins, and the cheese-stuffed Danish. “Fuuck,” he breathes, imagining a mouthful of cream cheese and dough. Steve makes a similar sound right next to him.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts in. “No jerking off to the baked goods. This is a family establishment."

Bucky’s eyes shoot up at the sound of Mary’s voice, then he grins as her words register. This is the first time he’s ever heard her use sexual innuendo. “Well I dunno …” he drawls. “That cream filling really gets Steve going.” Steve shoots him a dirty glare and Bucky thrills a little at the blush he can see creeping up the big lunk’s neck. So fucking easy. He looks back to Mary: She’s got her hair up in a sporty ponytail today, and there’s something shiny on her lips that makes them look extra plump. “How’s your shift going?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from her mouth.

“Good.” She offers him a little smile for asking, which is something she wouldn’t have done two weeks ago. She’s been resentful up until recently, of Bucky and Steve keeping such close tabs on her. Bucky’s hopeful though, because lately it seems like she’s taking to it. Maybe even mellowing out. “You guys look like you’ve been working out,” she says. The way her eyes sweep over them is appreciative, lingering on their chests and arms. 

Bucky can’t help it; he swells a little with ego. “Worked up an appetite,” he agrees. “Stevie and I usually go to a coffee shop that closer to the gym, but ever since we discovered this place …” Since we discovered you, he wants to say. “Well, let’s just say it doesn’t hold a candle to here. This place’s got better pastries—cuter baristas, too.” He winks at her and watches in satisfaction as she flusters and looks away, unable to keep from smiling just a little bit. As a Dom, Bucky’s always been drawn to that kinda thing. A girl who can’t take a compliment is damn tempting. It’s that shy little blushing smile that does it; it makes him want to tie her down in his bed, take her apart bit by bit while he forces her to cum and take compliments over and over again.

Bucky shakes himself out of it when he hears Steve asking Mary what she recommends from the case that morning.”Oh! Well, let me see…” She gives the pastry case some consideration. The way her lips purse in a thoughtful moue as she thinks seriously about it is very cute. “Hm, maybe the frangipane mousseline …  no! Oh, no, get the cream puffs. I made strawberry and raspberry ones today!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Bucky but help and smile back at her. “Right. Two of those, then. And our usual coffee order.” He pays for the order and she starts flitting around making their drinks. On the other side of the counter, Bucky glances over to Steve. “Gotta get that cream filling,” he murmurs, and Steve rolls his eyes and tells him he’s a lousy human being.

Later on, Bucky goes to meet Mary after her shift ends. It’s been unseasonably cold for October and it had sleeted a bit during the afternoon earlier in the day. There’s a slick patch of sidewalk just outside the café’s front doors, which Bucky avoids but Mary doesn’t. It catches her off guard and her feet go out from under her in a flash. Bucky doesn’t think, he just reacts, catching her in his arms and yanking her in against his body. She gasps and grabs onto him, and once they’ve caught their footing, they’re just left standing there on the sidewalk, pressed as close together as they’ve ever been. Mary’s cheeks color so prettily, and her lips are parted, and they’ve still got some of that shiny whatever-it-is smeared on them, making them look vulnerable and kissable … Bucky’s struck hard by the sudden urge to take.

For once, he gives in to his urges.

Her reaction is a tightening of fingers on his jacket and a tiny gasp against his mouth. Bucky moves his lips against hers, urging her to respond. He’s kind of expecting her to push away, so he’s pleasantly surprised when she makes a sweet little noise in her throat and starts kissing back.

The shiny stuff, it turns out, is strawberry, and he’s not sure if he knows that more through taste or smell. Mary’s lips are so soft and so goddamned plush, her mouth incredibly yielding under his. It’s been years since Bucky’s kissed a woman, and he thrills with how small she is in his arms, how smooth the skin of her face is where it touches his. Everything about the way she opens up to him makes him think about how easy it’d be to take her apart in other ways. She whimpers against his mouth again, and that’s what it is about women that he misses, Bucky thinks. They’re such easy prey. The predator in Bucky likes that. He tries to remember to tell Steve that later. When he dares to swipe out with his tongue, she looses the tiniest little sigh and lets him in.

Dominant satisfaction at the small victory zips through him, and he moves his hands on her, down to her waist and around to the small of her back. He pulls her against him, just a firm tug into where they’re already pretty much pressed together. She whimpers and pants into his mouth and rubs against him needily, and Bucky has to pull back at the way that reaction makes blood rush from his head to other places.

He doesn’t want to be a creep, after all, but a submissive woman whimpering into his mouth and rubbing up on him like that can really only make one thing happen.

They’re left standing only inches apart, panting into each other’s faces. Bucky’s still holding her steady but she manages to find her footing. He pulls his hands back to himself.

Mary’s flushed and her lips are still parted. The way she’s looking up at him makes it very hard for Bucky not to just grab her again. He manages not to, offering her a crooked smile. “Well. That was … unexpected.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. Absently, she licks her lips, almost as if she’s trying to taste what just happened. “Yeah it was.”

They lock eyes, and Bucky knows from that look that he doesn’t have to bother asking if it was okay that he kissed her. She liked it.

They wind up walking home holding hands, Bucky pushing back a grin the entire time like a goddamn virgin.

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[negansbackdoorwhore]

Belong To Us

A/N: So I wrote this a while back but never posted it with the combination of JDM characters, Ray Lasalle and Ike Evans. Along with the fact this has bisexual men and it’s a threesome piece. But please enjoy this

Warnings: M/M/F threesome, bisexual men, smut, teasing, daddy kink

The daytime was full of busy bodies and responsibilities. The sun was bright in rhe sky and beaming down with the heat. Very dull and repetitive but at night was when the fun really happened. You awaited the touch of both your Daddies, Ray and Ike. The men whom formed a polyamorous relationship with you. At first the thought was strange but having those two all over you and each other made you enjoy it immensely. With them being busy throughout their days, you were left alone at either Ike’s or Ray’s. Tonight it was Ray’s penthouse.

You smiled at your phone and slipped on the leopard print robe Ray gifted you. Not to mention the emerald colored lingerie set that Ike picked out. You sat in the king sized bed as the sound of the door opening made your ears perk up.

“Y/N? You here Babygirl?” Ike was here first and you rushed out to hug him. Your arms went into his suit jacket and felt the warmth of his body. He was quick to plant a kiss on top of your head.

“Someone’s happy to see me.” Ike teased and brought you to kiss his lips.

“You look beautiful in this, I wonder what’s hiding underneath this.” His fingers teased the tied bow and you pulled away before he could undo it.

“Nope. Let’s be fair and wait for Ray. Remember how mad he was last we didn’t wait?”

Ike shook his head and went into the bathroom to undress. You followed behind him and brung the robe that matched your own. Ray decided to get a matching set for each person, cute. As Ike stripped away his clothes you heard the door again.

“Fuck, today was hetic. I really need my lovers to get me out of this funk.” You both giggle and Ike brought the robe over his shoulders. You see Ray tossed off his jacket on the kitchen counter.

“There’s lover number one. Now where is number two little lady?”

He commented as a hand put on your waist to pull you into his body. Ike was going to leave the bedroom but saw Ray leading you back in.

“Why am I number two mister? Am I just a piece of meat?”

“C’mon now, you know I love you both the same.” Ray kissed Ike and leaned to kiss you too. Your fingers began unbuttoning his white dress shirt and he smirked down at you. His hands stopped your own and you pouted.

“Ike, baby. I recall our girl was texting me about having us on her mind all day.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Y/N, why don’t you show us how much you want us.”

“Go on, be our good girl.”

Ike winked and you knew exactly what to do. You undid your robe and allowed to fall to your feet. Their eyes were predatory as they focused on your body moving on the bed. The lingerie that was on your body went well enough to compliment your skin and how the lace lined your curves. It had Ray rushing his motions to get off his clothes. You display yourself by standing your weight on your knees. Ray approached the edge of the bed and you get closer by wrapping your arms on his neck. His lips were already on yours and he groaned with how Ike was reaching to caress his crotch. You gently moved his shirt off his shoulders and touched over his tattooed body.

“You need Daddy’s help with this?” Ike purred into Ray’s ear. His fingers undoing the confines of his pants and running his palm down his shaft.

“Fuck.” Ray mumbled against your lips and you started kissing his neck. He groaned as you were both pampering his body. You felt his hands on your hips and urging you to lay down. His body laid over you and your hands touched his skin. He gave a firm tug on your thighs so your legs wrapped onto his waist. As you both got distracted by one another Ike had his hands on Ray’s ass.

“I’m feeling a little neglected back here.”

“Should’ve acted faster.” Ike reached forward and tugged Ray’s hair causing him growl.

“You two play nice.”

You beckoned as you pull Ray back into a kiss. Ike took control by pulling down Ray’s pants and underwear in one pull. His fingers touching his bare bum and giving a nice smack. He let out a whimper and leaned up from growing impatient. You giggled as he was trying to get off your panties. They were tossed on the ground and you took it further by taking off the bra. Ray couldn’t help himself when him wanting a taste of your body. You moan as his lips were all over your chest. Your hips koved up to try and feel his cock. He moaned against your skin along with feeling Ike leaning down to kiss his back.

Ike’s hands rested on his hips and let his tongue run along the back of his neck.

“I think we should really get this started.” Ike said while leaning up and reached into the nightstand for some lubricant. Ray felt him nudge his legs apart while you were guiding Ray’s cock to your entrance. He groaned when feeling your sweet juices on his tip. Ray took back control by pinning your wrists above your head and thrusting into you.

“Fuck! I really needed this.” He bit his lip and felt Ike’s lubed cock teasing him ass. He whimpered at his touch while the grip of Ike’s fingers on his hip. You held on his torso and moaned as he stroked into you. The sight of him enjoying Ike’s attention was so hot. Ike finally pushed into Ray and suddenly he had to stop. Ray’s fingers squeezed your skin and the other hand gripped the comforter.

“Shit! Fuck!” Ray cursed and Ike leaned over while pulling his hair. Ike bit his earlobe and whispered into his whisper.

“Quit tensing up baby. It won’t feel as good, try and relax.”

Your hands held Ray’s face and caressed his beard. He let out a shaky breath and continued by slowly thrust into you.

“Good boy.” Ike praised while speeding up his hip movements. It encouraged Ray to go faster inside you, you felt your body arch up into his thrusts that made him go crazy.

“Ray! Just like that, it feels so good.”

You cry out and tighten the grip of your thighs on his waist. His eyes squeezed shut while Ike held a hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip to pull him back into his hips. Ike licked his lips watching you experience Ray and feeling him on his dick was making him grow closer to his release. Ray couldn’t help the way his movements grew sloppy along with Ike going harder inside him. You were already coming once Ray groaned out your name and how his cock was buried inside you. You quivered at the feeling of his cum was loading into you.

But Ike wasn’t done as he was still thrusting in Ray and he whimpered. You helped Ray by guiding him out of your pussy but he had an idea. You pushed further on the bed and Ray put your legs on his shoulders. You whined as he started to lick your opening. His moans vibrated against that made your thighs squeeze his head.

Ike moaned loudly as he got closer and gave Ray a few smacks on his ass. It made him pull away from you to wince and you sat up to pull him into sloppy kiss. Ray rested his head in the crook of your neck and held your body as he came around Ike.

“Fuck, baby!” Ike rasped out as he pulled out of Ray to release onto his lower back. The heavy sound of your breathing filled the room and you watched Ike step away to light a cigarette. Ray was still on top of you and nuzzling his head into your neck.

“I needed that shit. You both felt amazing.” Ray said with a smirk and stood from your body. You sat up and watched your men indulge in simple pleasure of a smoke and some liquor. While you slid underneath the covers of the bed and patiently waited for them to join. Ray went on one side to spoon you while Ike went on the other to pull you into his arms.

For a few minutes it was nice and cuddly until Ray was sucking on your skin. Ike pulled you to slowly makeout with him. Both of them groping at your body and you had you pull away from them.

“We just finished. Haven’t you had enough?”

“You know we can’t get enough.” They both reply and kept going, this was going to be a long night.