#dom/sub dynamics

[gravid-transluna]

Same Boat

words: 1415

content: birth denial, fpreg

Danae would do anything for her partner. Their dates were always doting and private. With her menacing tattoos and biceps like knotted wood in her cuffed sleeves, she’d scared away any men looking to prey on her pretty little girlfriend. Even when she was pounding her with a thick strap, she always prioritized Leah’s preferences, made sure she was happy and drooling and sweetly stroked.

Their simultaneous pregnancies didn’t change anything. Danae was still Leah’s fiercest protector, even as her abs slackened and swelled, and her masculine body lost some of that refined muscle. Sure, it was a little hard to get around sometimes with that belly, but nothing Danae couldn’t handle.

When it came time for Leah’s labor, Danae did everything she could to make their home comfortable and relaxed. Candles, a hot bath.

“You didn’t have to go through the trouble,” Leah laughed, holding her own prominent swell.

She wore one of Danae’s old workout shirts and a slim pair of panties. The way the fabric stretched and slipped around her navel was an undeniable turn-on.

Danae smirked. “Anything for you, princess.”

She tried to avoid touching or stroking her own belly. For the past couple days it had been twinging with sympathetic contractions. She’d kept stoic through them, at pains to not stress Leah in any way before her birth.

The strongest contraction yet had Leah clinging to Danae, mousing her hands through her short locs. Their bellies were pressed together, both flexing, hard with contractions. Danae held Leah in her thick arms, bearing her own contraction soundlessly.

“Uhhhmf,” Leah groaned, sobbing. “There’s so much pressure, baby!”

“I know, baby,” Danae said, a little breathless. She massaged Leah’s overburdened back. “Breathe, now.”

“Ohhhh, oh, I CAN’T.”

Suddenly, fluid soaked both of their thighs. Leah’s legs trembled, weak and slender. Danae supported her, firmly grounded.

Danae left Leah squatting in the living room as she made her way to the kitchen, trying, failing to conceal her pronounced waddle. She returned with towels and dried the mess. On all fours, she suffered another contraction. What she hadn’t revealed to Leah was that not all the birthing fluid had come from her; Danae’s own water had broken. Her eyes widened slightly as her belly tensed beneath her—this contraction was accompanied by the strong urge to push.

Fortunately, Danae was stronger. She gritted her teeth and mopped up the rest of the puddle as the urge pounded through her. Every muscle in her body surged with effort and willpower.

Leah grunted. “I gotta push, baby! Oh, shit! I gotta push so bad!”

“Urgh. Hold it in,” Danae said through gritted teeth. She was speaking to herself just as much as she was speaking to her girlfriend. Sweat beaded at her temple. “Hold it in. Gotta check you first.”

Leah closed her eyes, managed through it with panty grunts. Her legs were permanently spread in a deep squat now. As though a switch had been flipped, she suddenly began to remove her shirt, hiking it up over her belly, then her head. Fully nude, her body glistened. She glimmered in a haze, heavy and feminine.

Danae was overcome with the same desire to strip, broiling in heat, her body sensing the closeness of the baby in her canal. She resisted, remaining in her tight undershorts and sports bra.

Danae positioned the towel under Leah, though her own knees were sore and could have used some relief. She painstakingly braced herself on one knee, dropped stomach resting heavily on her broad thigh.

“God,” Leah breathed, head thrown back. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Danae said, quickly checking her. “I’ve got you.”

Her pussy was familiar as ever, as was Danae’s fingers inside her. She felt Leah’s slick vaginal walls clamp down on them.

“Ooh, I gotta push!” Then, squeezing— “Gotta—I’m PUSHINGGGG! Mmmfgh!”

“You’re good, baby,” Danae said, removing her fingers. She was still kneeling as Leah squatted deeply before her, bottom thrust in her face. Danae’s belly went hard again, as though encouraged by Leah’s furious pushing. Her face snarled and twisted, piercings raising and she flared her gums. The urge to push washed over her again.

Not yet, she thought. Don’t push yet.

Despite her efforts, her body was beginning to bear down against her will, slowly inching the baby through her canal.

Somewhere, dimly in her mind, Danae was in wonder. We’re feeling the same urges, the same stretch, the same weight. It was as though their bodies were one.

Eventually, Leah’s perineum began to bulge, red and irritated, then the head slipped into her pussy.

“Ooh!” She cried. The head was spreading her cheeks.

“Ugh,” Danae grunted. “Good—hrgh—good girl.”

She cupped the head. Birthing fluids spurted and dripped around it as Leah squatted into another groaning push, forcing the head to a full crown.

The sound of relief as Leah pushed was too much. Under Leah’s din, Danae quietly succumbed to her own body. She pressed her lips together, straining, giving in. Her powerful push immediately thrust the baby down between her hips. God, the head was huge. Leah’s hips had widened over the course of her pregnancy, something Danae had delighted in, but her own pelvis remained somewhat narrow, barely wide enough now for the coming head. Danae couldn’t worry about hospitals or stuck heads now, though. Even as she bore down against her tightly wedged baby, she kept her hand on Leah’s crowning pussy as the baby slowly parted and bulged her lips, spreading her open. Leah moaned, bending her knees, scrabbling for any bit of leverage. The skin of her pussy grew taut, an enraged red, then almost white. She would tear if it ripped through any further.

“Baby, you gotta—shi-i-it—you gotta slow down,” Danae demanded between her own pushing.

“I CAN’T, I can’t!!” Leah howled, so Danae pressed back into the crown, gently holding it in place as Leah pushed uncontrollably.

At the same time, Danae heaved with a huge, forceful push. Her well-muscled body exerted like a machine. She finally let loose a deep groan as she bore down, and the baby creaked and opened her pelvis. A wet bulge grew in her undershorts. They tightly contained the crown. Held fast, Danae and Leah were in the same boat.

“Let it come, ohhhh, please let it come out,” Leah was moaning.

Her pussy was stretching properly now, the blood returning to its color, and only at the end of her push did Danae realize this. She cursed herself, guilty for forgetting Leah for even a moment. She eased the counterpressure from her hand, and Leah screamed the head out.

“Check—ing—cord,” Danae gasped.

“Hurry,” Leah panted, mouth open, lolling her head.

Danae held her own pussy as she checked with one hand. Her undershorts were working in her favor for the time being, preventing the trickling crown from growing any wider.

“You’re good, mama,” she grunted. “Push our baby out now.”

Leah shuddered as the shoulders rotated. She shouted, and with a douse of birthing fluids the baby slipped into Danae’s waiting hands.

“Holy—shit, mama!”

Leah sank to her knees and took the baby, cradling. She looked up at Danae tenderly, smiling tiredly as their baby began to suckle.

Her eyes widened.

Danae had raised herself from her knees to a solid squat, thighs tensing, shorts tented with a crowning head. Her belly thrust hard on her midsection, and milk stained her sports bra. Even as she bore down like a warrior, she’d never looked more proud.

Then her eyes met Leah’s. She managed a smirk. “Guess it’s my turn now, huh?”

#fpreg #giving birth #birth denial #labor kink #birth kink #pregnant kink #fxf romance #dom/sub dynamics

[dandy-boy]

sleepy sex where i can barely keep my eyes open and his hand is in my pants rubbing my clit and hes caressing my hair. yes please

#mlm ns/fw #ns/fw #dom/sub #ftm sub #gay ftm #t4t ns/fw #bd/sm dom #mlm thoughts #ftm nsft #mlm nsft #dom/sub dynamics #sleepy sex #somno

[kittenmi1k]

fuck i wanna feel ur cock throbbing inside of me

#—mine. #—txt. #wlw nsft #nsft #nsft post #nsft concept #wlw sext #nsftumblr #wlw smut #lesbian nsft #wlw sexting #nsft text #dom/sub dynamics #sapphic nsft #sapphic ns/fw #sapphic sexting #sub4dom #ns/fw breeding #breeding kitten #breeding toy

[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

Masterlist

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#m/m/f #m/f/m #trigger warning ed #trigger warning sa #trigger warning abuse #trigger warning sh #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fanfic #dom/sub #dom/sub au #dom/sub undertones #dom/sub dynamics #d/s au #d/s #d/s dynamic #d/s relationship #enemies to lovers #hate to love #hurt/comfort #stucky x ofc #stucky x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stucky smut

[bookworm-2000]

I don’t think a dom/sub relationship/situation works for Sterek.

Don’t get me wrong, sterek has to be one of my favourite ships of all time, the chemistry’s there, the saving each other is there, it just works.

But looking into both of their pasts? Neither role works for them.

Dom Derek? Absolutely not, he would be constantly worried he was acting too much like Kate, hurting Stiles, having too much power over him, etc, also might worry about the age gap and believe he’s preying on Stiles like Kate did to him.

Sub Derek? Nope as well, would remind him too much of Kate. He would most likely have this idea in his head that he’s allowing someone control over him again and look where that got him last time? With most of his family dead.

Dom Stiles? Yeah, no. The Nogitsune. Need I say more? He’s terrified of ever having power over people again. Last time he had the power to actually do something? Look at how many people he killed. (Of course we know it wasn’t actually him but have you seen his guilt complex?)

Sub Stiles? No. He was literally possessed, lost all control over his own body for months. I just don’t think he would be able to give up that control again willingly, even with someone he loves and trusts with everything he has.

This was just a bit of fun with a character study and rest assured I will still read all of these dynamics 🤭

Sterek is eternal!

#sterek #teen wolf #Dom/sub #Dom/sub dynamics #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek is eternal #adorable sterek #love those two emotionally stunted boys ❤️ #angst #nogitsune #season 3b

[maladaptiveobsession]

kinktober day 1

pegging - kylar

pegging: a sexual act in which one anally penetrates another with a strap-on

contains: reader with vagina, gn reader, male kylar, dom/sub dynamics, sadomascochism, slapping, spanking, degradation, pegging, painal

synopsis: kylar and you try out the new strap-on he picked out; aka kylar being a slut for painal and degredation

words: 457

Pounding into Kylar’s hips, you’re finding the strap-on to be well worth the eighty quid it cost. You had taken him to that adult shop down on Elk Street the day earlier, being so gracious to let him pick the toy you’d be ruining his hole with. The masochist chose the most intimidating figure out of them all; eight inches and nearly as thick as his arm. With his ass up and face buried into the bed, you wondered if he regretted it.

Kneading his dark hair between your fingers, you roughly pulled his head back. Drool, snot, and tears dripped down his face, his eyes glued to the back of his head and his tongue falling stupidly outside of his mouth.

“Look at you, all stupid for me. Disgusting slut.” He trembles at your words, only responding with whimpers and moans.

“You like being treated like this, don’t you? You like being treated like my personal toy to break and ruin? Answer me, slut.” You order him, harshly spanking his behind, eliciting a groan from Kylar. Slapping his face, you demand for him to use his words.

“Yes! Yes! I do! I do!” He obediently replies, voice raw from screaming underneath you for so long. His eyes flit up to yours for a brief moment, searching for approval.

“Did I give you permission to look at me?” You slap him again.

“Keep those disgusting eyes off me, you hear?” You force his face back into the sheets, leaning over him to abuse even deeper depths. His ass burns with each thrust, your pelvis crashing painfully against his rear. It hurts so bad, but he doesn’t want you to stop. He just wants your attention, even if that means you rearranging his insides and degrading him. He loves this side of you, so cruel and unforgiving; this side of you that only gets to see. He’ll take anything you have to give him, it’s his to have! Only you can treat him this way, only you can abuse him so. He’s yours! Only yours!

Pleasure crashes through his mind, his seed spilling onto the sheets below. You can feel him tremble and shake beneath you, slowing your pace as he rides out his high. Caressing his hair and body, you sing soft praises.

“Good boy, such a good boy. You did so well for me. I think you deserve a treat, hm?”

You slide out from his weeping hole, guide him onto his back and then remove the strap-on entirely. Teasingly slow, you position your glistening pussy just above his face. He gapes below you, panting in anticipation, hands hovering, waiting for permission to touch.

“You wanted a taste, didn’t you? Get to work.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #degrees of lewdity #dol #dol fanfic #degrees of lewdity kylar #kylar the loner #dol kylar #kylar x reader #tw: degradation #dom/sub dynamics #bd/sm dynamic #mal.mine #mdni #image description in alt #described

[tekstelart]

"And right now I don't think you're trying at all"

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #artys work #artemis valin #Kilian #dom/sub dynamics #Kilian never learned how to be nice #Admission fee for his dick are ur tears I dont make the rules

[karatekels]

Ahh jealous Terry Silver please! I'd love to see a angry, possessive Silver. Imagine at some gala or business meet, Terry's much younger woman gets the attention of younger business men and he doesn't like it. Ending in something steamy when they get home 😏 if you're comfortable!

Sorry for the wait, anon! I'm happy to write this for you - I'm assuming you wanted CK Terry since you mentioned the age difference. I definitely got carried away with this one, but I hope you enjoy!

---

TW: Rough sex; elements of Dom/sub

Terry does get quite rough here (far darker than anything else I’ve written to date), but it’s all consensual. Still, feel free not to read if it makes you uncomfortable!

---

Prized Possession

---

You give your reflection a once-over in the mirror for the hundredth time, waiting for a knock at the door. You were in the most expensive outfit you’d ever worn – a stunning, royal blue dress, matching heels, and gorgeous jewelry, your hair curled and in an updo like a princess – prepared to go join your boyfriend at an important charity gala. This would be the first time that you would be accompanying Terry to an event like this, and to say you were nervous was an understatement. This was a big step in your relationship, and you were worried that you would stick out from the crowd like a sore thumb. You’d never understood what he’d seen in you, and you were worried that after tonight he’d see that you didn’t belong in his world after all.

You’re interrupted from your unpleasant thoughts by a knock at your door. Taking a deep breath, you grab your clutch and move to open it, expecting to greet Terry’s chauffeur. Instead, you find Terry himself on the other side of the door, dressed in a spectacular navy blue suit, his silver hair slicked back in its signature ponytail. Damn, but you were a lucky woman.

“Well hello, my dear,” Terry purrs seductively, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “You look absolutely stunning. Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm. You find yourself speechless and just nod mutely as you take his arm, letting him guide you down your front steps and into the waiting limousine. It was times like this that you really felt the differences between you stood out; he was tall, rich, brilliant and classy, and he treated you with the chivalry of decades past, while you were just a young girl trying to get by, working three separate admin jobs, annoyed with most people your own age. You find yourself lost in your morose thoughts as the limo drives off, and Terry quickly takes notice.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” he asks, taking your hand, his thumb rubbing in reassuring circles. “You seem quiet this evening.”

You tilt your head towards him, considering how to respond. This was an important evening for Terry, and you didn’t want to distract him with your silly, trivial self-image problems. You decide to be honest, but brief with him, knowing he’d be able to detect a lie instantly.

“I’m fine, Terry, I’m just really nervous. I don’t want to embarrass you, but I have no idea what I’m in for tonight,” you explain, biting your lip nervously. He moves to soothe you, taking the side of your face in one of his hands and stroking your cheek comfortingly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he croons, “you have nothing to worry about, I promise you. Just be your wonderful self, and you will be just fine.” He leans in to kiss you deeply and you melt against him, but he can still see traces of doubt in your expression when you break apart. “I’ll be with you the whole time,” he whispers encouragingly, running his thumb along your bottom lip. You nod, wanting to believe him, and hope for the best. Terry would take care of you, of that you had no doubt.

---

Disappointingly, Terry had been wrong, you thought to yourself with a sigh. Over the last couple of hours, Terry had been forced to step away from you again and again, giving you an apologetic look every time he was dragged away to discuss various business dealings. You knew you couldn’t hold it against him; you were proud of how successful he was, and how hard he had worked his whole life. It was just hard, feeling like this was another way that you couldn’t relate to him. You feel him take a seat beside you and put on a smile; the least you could do tonight was to look like you were enjoying yourself to avoid embarrassing him.

“How long will I have you for this time?” you ask playfully, trying to keep your tone light.

“How long do you want me for?” replies a voice in your ear that was definitely not Terry’s. You jump, leaning away from the person, your face turning bright red. The man in Terry’s chair looked to be in his late twenties, with tanned skin and short brown curls. He gave you a wicked smile, his dark eyes glittering in amusement as you try to compose yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sir!”

“I can’t say that I am. What’s your name, beautiful?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he surveys you. You suppose he was handsome enough, and like Terry, clearly dressed like money, but you felt absolutely no attraction towards him whatsoever. Like everyone else, this man couldn’t hold a candle to your Terry.

“I’m… uh…” you stammer, trying to think of what to say. You were so unfamiliar with this type of setting, and you didn’t want to do anything to embarrass Terry, or spoil a business dealing. “My name is Y/N. Sorry again for what I said, I thought you were my boyfriend.”

Before he could get a word in edgewise, you get out of your chair, grabbing your clutch and walking quickly to the ladies’ room, trying to freshen yourself up while waiting for the colour to fade from your cheeks. Hoping that the man will have left your table by the time you returned, you left the bathroom, walking out into the ballroom once more.

“Hey there, gorgeous. Can I buy you a drink?” A different man asked, surveying you with his green eyes as he approached. You had been certain this man had been seated just behind you the next table over. Maybe he hadn’t seen you with Terry, or heard you reject the other man.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m actually here with someone,” you say, trying to be polite, scanning the room for Terry. The man pretends to look around with you, before leaning down to speak in your ear.

“Really? I don’t see him,” he says in a low voice, and you roll your eyes, stepping away to reclaim your personal space.

“Yes, well he just stepped away for a moment, I’m going to find him. Enjoy your evening,” you say forcefully, emphasizing that you will not be part of it, and walk away from him.

And so it went on, being interrupted over and over by men while you looked around for Terry. Where was he? You needed him here to get through this night, tired of being bothered by businessmen who looked at you like you were something to be bought.

“No, thank you,” you say, rejecting another man’s request for a dance, feeling yourself getting annoyed.

“There you are, Y/N” Terry says exasperatedly from behind you, and you whirl around in surprise and relief. He wraps you up in his arms, kissing you firmly, but it feels off. You turn your chin up against his chest and see him glaring daggers at the man behind you. Uh-oh, you think, whimpering into his shirt, and he snaps out of it, staring down at you.

Let’s get out of here,” Terry says curtly, blue eyes still cold as ice as they lock with yours, and he leads you away.

---

Terry had sulked the whole way home, seeming frustrated. You had watched him out of the corner of your eye the whole way home, biting your lip in concern.

“Terry, baby, what’s wrong?” you ask as you walk into his home. What were you supposed to have done back there?

“Nothing,” he says airily, but you see right through him. “Nothing yet,” he corrects himself. “Not until you go and run off with Mulligan, or Park, or any of the other half dozen men I saw throwing themselves at you all night!” You stare at him, mouth agape.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” you ask incredulously. You start to laugh, but stop immediately as Terry gives you a cold look. “Terry, that’s ridiculous!”

“Is it?” he asks harshly, discarding his jacket on the back of a chair and walking to the bar to pour himself a drink. “It didn’t seem like that to me,” he mutters angrily, downing the glass of whiskey in one big gulp.

“What are you talking about?” you ask heatedly. All you had done all night was wait for him!

“I’m talking about how you even entertained their conversations at all, Y/N,” he says, seething. “They didn’t deserve more than two words from you! You’re mine,” he says, stalking across the room towards you.

You meet him halfway, reaching up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck, knowing that he needs some reassurance from you. “Oh Terry,” you say softly, staring into his eyes. “I’ve known I’m yours probably longer than you have,” you say seriously, and his arms hesitantly come to wrap around you.

“Is that so?” he asks, one corner of his mouth lifting up into a smile, and you kiss the smile, giggling.

“Yes, that’s so! I was only trying to be nice to those men because I didn’t want to mess anything up for you, like a business relationship or something. I had no idea how to talk to those people, and I didn’t want to!”  

“Really? You weren’t hoping some younger billionaire would sweep you off your feet?” He says hopefully, and you find his uncertainty charming as he calms down, holding you tightly.

“Younger or not, none of those men come close to comparing with you, Terry, in any way” you say honestly, comforting him the best you can.

“Plus, have you seen you?” you ask, pointedly looking him up and down. “Any guy would kill to look like you, love, no matter the age. I mean, I’m not dating you just for your looks, Terry, but trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about in that regard.” He preens a bit at the compliment, and you see his confidence return in full, and you consider the matter settled, turning away to hide your smile from him. It was strangely adorable, seeing a man as impressive as Terry Silver feeling insecure about himself, and it made you feel like maybe you have more in common with him than you thought.

“Plus, men my age just want to fuck 24/7,” you joke, dismissing the whole bunch. “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that with you!” You’re still turned away from Terry as you say this, so you miss the way his eyes flash at your comment.

“And just what do you mean by that?” Terry asks, his voice dropping an octave. You look over your shoulder at him, confused by the tone that the conversation has suddenly taken. You shrug nonchalantly, trying to ease the tension, putting one hand on the back of the couch for support as you bend down to undo your strappy heels. Before you can, though, you’re yanked back up into a standing position.

“If you think,” Terry breathes into your ear, trapping you against him with an arm tight around your waist, squeezing you, “that I don’t yearn to be inside you from the moment that I lay eyes on you, my dear, you are sorely mistaken.”

“T-Terry?” you ask in a meek voice, trying to turn your head to look at him and read his face, but he’s holding you steady, and his other hand slides up under your chin, squeezing your neck and keeping you from moving. Your heartbeat quickens and you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat. You know that Terry would never really hurt you, but he was so strong, and could be so intense, that you feel your adrenaline spike anyway.

“And if that’s what you think, then maybe I’ve been remiss in my duties as your lover. Perhaps I should show you just what goes through my mind every time I look at you, hmm?” he muses to himself, knowing that you can’t answer from the way he’s gripping your neck. You shudder against him, feeling him getting hard against you. “Let’s see…”

He spins you around like a ragdoll, bringing you in front of a mirror hanging on the wall. Locking eyes with you in the mirror’s reflection, he takes his time, lifting the hand around your waist to your hair, gently taking out your hairpins one by one. You don’t move your eyes from his, fighting the urge to flinch every time a pin hits the marble floor. Plink. Plink. Plink.

You feel your curls falling down one by one, tickling your shoulder blades, but your eyes are so focused on Terry’s to the point that you can’t see anything else; it’s like you have tunnel vision. He’s been like this with you a few times in the past – incredibly dominant, that is – and you know that you’ll need to watch his expression closely if you want to anticipate his next move. You see it suddenly – a quick flashing of his blue eyes, like lightning – right before he grabs a fistful of your curls, pulling you up sharply, and you barely have enough time to straighten yourself back up, wobbling on your toes and trying to keep your balance. You tighten with need, whimpering, as he holds you there, licking your cheek possessively, his hot breath making your eyes flutter shut. You’re not sure it’s healthy, getting off on this, but at this moment you don’t care, needing Terry to take you and use you however he wants. You want to lose control tonight, and he needs control. A perfect match.

“Do you know what I think, when I see this pretty face?” he asks, tapping your cheek firmly with a finger. You shake your head, wincing as your hair pulls at the movement.

“Mine.” he growls, biting the spot where your neck and shoulder meet hard, and you let out a lusty cry, throwing your head back and he sucks hard on your skin.

“If I had my way, you wouldn’t leave my side without my mark on you, letting everyone know who you belong to.” As if to prove his point, he moves your hair over one shoulder and turns you, making sure that you see the dark hickey he’s left on your neck. You gasp, and try to cover it back up, but this only seems to urge him to go further.

“Men wouldn’t dare to look at you, let alone think about trying to take you from me!” He’s grinding his cock against you now, kneading your breasts roughly over your dress, and all you can do is hold on to him desperately. He suddenly whirls you around, pulling you into the middle of the room and into his arms, kissing you deeply, almost romantically.

Terry has always been mercurial, but when he needs you like this he becomes even more so, switching things up on you just to see your reactions, seeing how best to make you break from pleasure. Making you melt into a pool of lust was a fun challenge for him, you knew, and he was never one to admit defeat.

“You’re in for a long night, Y/N,” Terry says threateningly, tossing you onto the couch as he loosens his tie, his hair messy as it starts to come out of its slick ponytail. He has a wild look in his eyes, but you know that he is fully in control just from the way he’s rolling up the sleeves on his shirt: firmly, roughly even, but always with precision. You know he’s going to treat you the same way, and you draw in a shuddering breath, your mouth dry.

“You’ll count yourself lucky if I don’t end up taking you in every room of this house tonight,” He walks over to you slowly, and you meet him halfway, crawling up onto your knees, the top of your head only coming up to his chest.

His hand whips out – strike first – and grips your chin tightly, his thumb tracing your lips, staring at you on your knees before him like you were meant to be there.

“I am going to have you screaming my name like it’s the only word you know,” Terry promises, and then he’s on you, pinning you back against the couch, his hands everywhere, punishing your lips in a bruising kiss. You try to squirm up the couch to get into a better position, but you feel a tug from your dress, the fabric trapped under Terry’s knee.

“Terry, careful! The dress!” you caution him, not breaking the kiss. He growls in response, grabbing the hem of your skirt with both hands and ripping it straight up the middle to your waist, baring your legs for him, and you let out a yelp of surprise. He runs his hands up your legs hungrily, squeezing your hips.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says huskily, flipping you over onto your stomach to get at your zipper, pulling it down quickly so that he can fully tear the dress off of you. “I’ll buy you a hundred dresses, sweetheart, if it means I can get you like this even a second sooner.” He runs his hand down your bare back and you arch up against him, lifting your hips up and presenting your ass to him, clad in only a pair of skimpy lace underwear. He kneads your ass firmly, swearing under his breath at the sight you make before him.

“I’m going to break you, little one,” he threatens, delivering a sharp slap to your ass, close to your hip. You moan, feeling the area grow hot, and know that within the next minute his handprint will be glowing a warm pink, marking you as his in yet another way. “I’m going to make you mine; you’ll be ruined for anyone else.” He emphasizes his point by spanking you again, hard, and you whimper into the couch cushions, knowing he was right. No one else could give you what Terry could; no one else would even try.

Terry bends over you, his chest pressing against your back, one hand pushing your face further into the couch until you struggle to breathe. “Not that I plan on letting anyone else touch you, isn’t that right, Y/N?” he asks smugly, and you nod your agreement frantically until he lets you up to gasp for breath. “Good girl,” he praises, and you shudder in response. He chuckles, catching the movement, and yanks your strapless bra down to your waist.

“You like that, huh?” he asks, plucking at your nipples with rough fingers and feeling them stiffen, and you let out a wordless moan, unable to articulate a response. “You like being a good girl for me, don’t you?” he purrs, and you arch against him as he pinches a nipple.

“Fuuuck!” you scream out as he pushes you closer to the line between pain and pleasure. “Yes, Terry!” you cry, both because you want to tell him what he wants to hear and because it’s the truth. Something about the way those words sounded in his mouth sent a jolt of arousal through your whole body every time he said them; you would worship him at his feet if he asked it of you. He suddenly stops, sliding off the couch and taking a few steps back.

“Show me,” is all he says, his eyes bright as he sees what you’ll do. Trembling with need, you slip off the couch and onto the rug, crawling over to his feet and kneeling in front of him. Looking up at him from under your eyelashes, you reach up and grab his belt. “Please?” you ask, begging to free his cock. A satisfied rumbling sound emanates from his chest as he takes in the sight, and he nods, unbuttoning his shirt as you undo his belt, pulling down his dress pants and underwear. Your mouth waters as you look at his cock, hard and throbbing for you, and move to stroke it with your fingers.

“No,” the command comes from above you, and you freeze, looking up at him questioningly. “You’ll be on your knees for me plenty, tonight. I want you on the bed,” he says matter-of-factly, lifting you to your feet with ease and shrugging out of his shirt. You find yourself distracted by his body, so broad and strong, with the perfect amount of silvery chest hair.

“You’d better make it up there before I do,” he warns, pausing to take off his remaining clothing. Your eyes widen and you back out of the room before turning and taking off down the hall. You hear the sound of his pounding feet just as you reach the bottom of the stairs; he was going to catch you. Frantically, you take the stairs two at a time, trying your best to escape him, but then he’s on you, tugging you back into his arms and laughing darkly in your ear. You feel his hard cock against you, with only your lace panties as a barrier keeping him from fucking you right on the stairs, and you shudder against him at the thought. You loved when he had his way with you.

“Not fast enough,” he tsks. “You’ll have to make up for that.” He drags you up the stairs by the arm and tosses you into his bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him. As if you would try to escape this.

“Go to the bed and bend over,” he demands, and you rush to obey, throwing yourself face-first onto the blanket and trying not to wiggle around, your toes curling against the carpet in anticipation. He takes his time walking over to you, as if he’s contemplating how long you’d stay that way for, holding yourself in place and waiting for his pleasure.

He snatches up your hands, and you feel the softness of silk as he binds your wrists behind your back with his necktie. You flex your shoulders, testing your range of motion, and feel the weight on the mattress shift. Standing up straight, you take in the sight of Terry spread out naked on the soft sheets, cock erect, hair flowing loosely to his shoulders in those gorgeous silver curls, looking like a king as he lounges against the pillows. He beckons you, two fingers curling in towards him, and you climb onto the bed with difficulty, trying to maintain your balance as you settle between his legs.

“Such a good fucktoy,” he murmurs approvingly, and you shift your position, the words sending little electric shocks of pleasure to your clit, “you went right where you belong, didn’t you?” You nod fervently, pleading with him with your eyes to give you something to help get you off, and he smirks, holding the base of his cock towards you. “Go on then, my little slut,” he encourages, “get my cock ready to fuck you.”

You lean forward, licking him all over as you try to adjust yourself into a comfortable position without falling face-first into his lap, not that you think he’d mind. Terry tilts his head back as you get to work, and sighs at the ceiling. He’d had a mirror up there in the 80’s; maybe he should have it reinstalled? He glances back to you in time to see you take his cock between your beautiful painted lips, his gaze turning hungry at the sight. You really were made for him, he mused, watching you struggle to take his cock without losing your balance. Letting him be rough with you like this was only one of the many reasons he’d had an engagement ring custom-made for you months ago; you were the only person who could take all of him, the good and the bad, all the way down to the darkest parts of him, and you had. He’d waited a lifetime for you, and now that he had you he didn’t plan on wasting a single second. He pulls himself out of his thoughts and gives you his full attention once more. Hearing you let out a strained whimper, his hips buck slightly at the sound.

“Arms sore already?” he asks with fake sympathy, loving to watch you struggle as you pleasure him. You make a muffled noise of agreement as he thrusts into your mouth again, the tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat and making you gag. He moans eagerly as your throat tightens around him, and winds a hand into your hair tightly, moving you to take him as he pleases. His guidance on your head actually makes it easier to maintain your balance, and you take him deeper into your mouth, holding still until you start to choke, just the way he likes. You look up at him with tears blurring your vision, feeling so wholly devoted to this man who treated you the way you needed and didn’t judge you for it, nor treat you like you were made of glass. Mine, you think to yourself as you stare into his eyes, knowing you possessed him as much as he did you.

“Oh yes, Y/N. You were made to worship my cock,” Terry groans, and you hum in response, the vibrations nearly sending Terry over the edge. He lifts you off his cock, dragging you up his body until you’re straddling one of his thighs. He kisses you deeply, wrapping his arms around you, his fingers coming together just below your bound hands. He guides your hips back and forth, and you moan loudly as his leg stimulates your clit.

“That’s right, grind against my thigh like the desperate little thing you are, and beg for it.” You whimper, shamelessly humping his leg, leaning back and thrusting your chest out towards him.

“Please, fuck me Terry!” you moan bouncing on his lap frantically. He clucks his tongue, calm and collected right now as if he hadn’t just been on the verge of snapping completely and fucking you six ways from Sunday.

“Come on, you can do better than that, can’t you?” he teases, toying with one of your nipples casually. “Unless… you don’t need to come?” he suggests, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Terry!” you cry out desperately, struggling to not scream in frustration. “No, Terry, please! I need you, I need your cock inside me, please, I’ll do anything!” you babble incoherently. “Please, baby, take me, use me, whatever you want, just fuck me!”

Terry laughs mockingly as you struggle to maintain any sense of composure, quickly undoing the knotwork around your wrists and freeing your hands. Before you can stretch your arms, he’s already flipped you both around, pinning your face to the bed with a hand in your hair, lifting your hips up, pushing your soaked underwear to the side and making you whimper, your hands fisting the blankets as you brace yourself for a thorough fucking.

“Well, since you asked so nicely, sweetheart,” he says, thrusting into you in one smooth motion, holding your hips in a bruising grip as you shriek into the mattress.

“I’m going to give you just what you deserve, just what you need.”  He punctuates every word with a snap of his hips, fucking you harder and deeper with every thrust. “You were made to take my cock with that tight little pussy, weren’t you, Y/N?” he asks, pounding into you. “Weren’t you?!” he demands through gritted teeth, pulling you up by the hair when he gets no response.

“Yes, Terry! Made for you, just for you!” you cry out, sobbing from the intensity of the pleasure only Terry could bring you to.

“Damn right,” he growls, spanking you for good measure. “You’re going to take all of me, every day, whenever I want you, Y/N.” You feel his thrusts coming faster now, and you know he’s getting close.

“Yes, please!” you beg, right on the edge yourself. “Use me baby, please! I need you to pump me full, Terry, please come in me!” This sets him off, and he thrusts into you a few more times before holding his hips still and biting your shoulder as he comes deep inside you.

“My girl,” he pants into your ear, lowering you both to the mattress and collapsing on top of you. You find the weight comforting as you slowly come down from your own high, trying to get your breathing under control. The room is quiet except for both of your breathing, and you both feel incredibly satisfied.

Terry rolls off of you suddenly, flipping you over carefully, and runs his hands gently over your body, taking in your tear-stained face, seeming almost shy. “Are you alright, sweetheart? Was it too much? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks with concern, and your heart melts at the sight.

“Just in the good ways,” you respond cheekily, placing your hands over his as he finishes checking you over. He rolls his eyes playfully, kissing you on the forehead before laying down beside you in a huff. You roll to the side, bringing your arm up to his chest, toying with the soft hair there and kissing his bicep. He laughs softly at your actions, chest rumbling, and you melt into him further. While you loved the rough, dominant side of Terry this sweet, relaxed side of him was your favourite.

“Don’t get too comfortable, my dear,” he croons, hooking your leg around his hip as you nuzzle into him. “It’s your turn next.”

#terry silver #terry silver x reader #thomas ian griffith #cobra kai #karate kid #kk3 #smut #dom/sub #dom/sub dynamics #possessive!terry

[mhathotfic]

Before I take my nap, thinking about sub Todoroki who can’t cum unless you tell him what to do. It’s not that he’s not allowed to without permission, or even that he’s desperate to fallow orders. He just can’t get off without you bullying him. That’s all for now

#bnha todoroki #mha todoroki #dom/sub dynamics #subby men❤️

[gravid-transluna]

Two Birthdays: Part Two

words: 1148

content: lactation, milking, birth denial, fpreg

They exited the restroom together and for the next hour, Noemi mingled near the pool bar, a drink in hand, and endured the powerful, relentless contractions. Mari stood beside her, and the first time another contraction struck she saw Noemi double over, muscles banding her belly, legs widening instinctively.

“Oh,” she whispered. “OH. I’m pushinnng-hnnngh.”

“No, you’re not,” Mari hissed back. “You can do this.” She placed a covert hand on Noemi’s curved back, massaging it gently, already accustomed to touching Noemi’s exposed, laboring body.

Noemi straightened, and painstakingly closed her legs as much as she could, attempting to hold her baby firm in her canal. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her grunts diminished into effortful pants.

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I don’t think anybody noticed.”

“Good,” Noemi moaned under her breath. “Good. I’m feeling like pushing all the time now, even when the contraction’s gone. There’s so much pressure, right between my legs.”

Another contraction that hour had Noemi leaning heavily on Mari for support, her obtrusive belly pushing into Mari’s own flat tummy, making Mari wonder at the sensation of such a packed, heavy womb. She could feel the steely stretched muscles rippling against her. The skin contact moved heat from Mari’s stomach to between her legs, and again her pussy was beating, quick and warm like a pulse. She worried that she was leaking through her bikini bottom now, dizzied by arousal. Then Noemi moaned in her ear, arms wrapped around her shoulders, and Mari felt a wetness drip down her inner thigh.

“Aye, go get your mom!”

“Should she be drinking in that state?”

Luckily, everyone was too drunk at this point to think much about it.

Contractions were gripping Noemi mercilessly now, with barely any pause or respite, and she was barely holding on every time, fighting her body, her deep primal instinct to bear down against the baby in her canal. Every time Mari anchored her, caressing her hard belly, urging her gently, just hang on a little while longer. The last contraction left Noemi senseless with pain and need, foggy-headed. Her legs were permanently spread now, stance ridiculously wide.

“Oh, dear…” she breathed, and Mari followed her gaze to her front. Two wet spots had formed in her bikini top, nipples standing straight through the fabric.

“Ms. Noemi,” Mari said, summoning her courage. She looked Noemi in the eye. “Let me help you.”

Noemi let herself be led to the restrooms again, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, everything about her so full and aching.

“You don’t need to come in with me,” she said. “I can, ah, expel the milk on my own.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I promised I’d take care of you.”

Noemi was blushing hard now, appearing almost drunk in her labored state. She allowed Mari to sit her down on the toilet. Mari gently teased the white bikini top from her breasts, and Noemi shivered, curling her toes at just the light brush of fabric against her sensitive nipples. Her dark areolas spread over her breasts, and around them blue veins ran through soft, tan skin. Her nipples jutted stiffly, heavy and laden, beaded at the tips with milk.

Mari set the flat of her hand against one and marveled as more milk beaded at the surface and then began to drip down the swell of Noemi’s breast and onto the long shelf of her belly. Noemi hissed, a sharp intake of air.

“Okay?”

Noemi nodded, unable to speak. Keep going.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Mari said. She sat on Noemi’s lap and clamped her mouth around her nipple, cupping her other breast in her hand. Milk spurted from both breasts in tiny forceful streams. Noemi clapped a hand over her mouth to contain a sharp noise of pleasure and release, her back arching, other hand raised, opening and closing in the air. Mari suckled, feeling Noemi squirm under her, and lowered her free hand between her own legs, strumming her clit. Suddenly Noemi’s belly went hard again and she threw back her head to moan loudly, and Mari couldn’t tell whether from ecstasy or agony or a thrilling mixture of both.

“Oh, oh—Mari, please don’t—don’t stop. Fuck.”

Mari continued to suckle and the hand groping Noemi’s breast slid to her swell instead, tracing her linea nigra. There was no give to the surface, drum-tight, and Mari could feel Noemi’s belly seize violently, driving her baby down in a deep, involuntary push. Noemi’s moan lowered, guttural with sudden pushing, and Mari instantly took her lips away from Noemi’s breast. The milk stream diminished to dribble, her breasts not even close to being drained. Noemi squirmed at the sudden lapse.

“No pushing, remember?” Mari had settled well into a dominant role, playing out her ultimate fantasy, Noemi utterly receptive, responding to her every demand.

She breathed, slowly, and her hard belly relaxed somewhat.

“Good,” Mari said.

Noemi shuddered. “Yes, just—please. Continue.”

Mari smiled and said something she’d always wanted to say to Noemi: “Good girl.” The faint marks in the corners of her mouth, the maturity in her maternal hips, the refined elegance of her fingers—it was all subversive.

“I’ve never—never been called that by anyone,” Noemi panted. “Especially not someone nearly twenty years my junior.”

Mari bent her head again and Noemi’s lips tightened in preparation. She latched back onto her nipple, milk gushing into her mouth, and began to thumb Noemi’s stony pointed navel, her entire belly an erogenous zone at this point, her navel the sensory peak. Noemi nearly shrieked, delirious, and beneath her thighs Mari felt her hips bucking, building not only toward delivery now, but a climax. Mari continued to masturbate herself furiously, working her mouth at the same time, sinking her teeth lightly into Noemi’s breast, just enough to leave light, red marks. Noemi’s thighs began to quake with tremors and Mari’s pussy squeezed tight, clit bared—she gasped against Noemi’s soft chest at the same time that Noemi’s lips parted in a perfect O. Then they both trembled through watery orgasms.

Noemi looked at her with glassy eyes, hazy. She leaned in, lips soft and open and receptive for a kiss—then stopped, delicate features twisting into a grimace, and released a thunderous groan, lifting her bottom off the toilet seat with the force of her pushing. Her eyes went wide. Mari could tell something had changed. She was feeling something, deep inside of herself.

She tried to articulate the sensation. “Guh—the baby, it’s—mmmm, it’s right between—the baby’s in my vagina!”

Mari looked at her. She was desperate, out of control, her face flushed and beaded with sweat, moist short hair clinging to her forehead. Her contracting belly, lower than ever.

Mari leaned forward and rammed a kiss onto her lips, and made her taste her own milk.

#fpreg #giving birth #birth denial #breast milk #labor kink #birth kink #pregnant kink #fxf smut #dom/sub dynamics

[dandy-boy]

when hes so rough when grabbing your thighs he leaves bruises>>>>>

#bruises #marks #mlm ns/fw #ns/fw #dom/sub #ftm sub #gay ftm #t4t ns/fw #bd/sm dom #ftm nsft #mlm thoughts #mlm nsft #dom/sub dynamics #dom/sub relationship #trans mlm #gay mlm #mlm #ftm sex #ftm bottom #trans ftm #ftm #possessive #thigh g4p #gay nsft #gay

[hello-nichya-here]

In the early days of Zuko and Azula’s romance the servants played a little game where they tried to guess whether the pair were screwing each others brains out or were trying to kill each other over a petty fight.

Like they’d hear a loud crash and a shriek come from their private rooms and immediately start taking bets:

‘They’re just going at it again.’

‘I don’t- that sounds kind of violent’

Three more crashes followed by a yell of ‘you call that harder you coward?!’

‘Never mind. They’re fucking.’

What most people would call "unbelievably rough sex", Zuko and Azula call "a Tuesday"

#asks #zucest #not safe for what #dom/sub dynamics

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3627

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap (18/29), domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

12. A Headship's Rebuke

This Chapter: If Bucky ever wants to get out of this marriage and get his independence back, he’s going to have to really buckle down and remember his mission.

Bucky has a hangover the size of Long Island the next day.

Steve isn’t too sympathetic about it, which irks Bucky. He’s already feeling like shit, he doesn’t appreciate Steve’s continued scolding.

Only … he doesn’t exactly scold him. He’s crisp and curt, which in itself is very un-Steve-like. He barely says a word to Bucky when they wake, making himself scarce after they dress for the day. Sharon is the one who gives Bucky what he needs. He’s provided with a tonic to help relieve his headache, a mild breakfast and absolutely no words of comfort. It’s not Sharon’s job to do that. She’s just household help, and while she may have a relationship with Steve, to her Bucky’s nothing but a mandatory duty. He’s the man her employer married whom she now also has to wait on, so she does, but she extends him no courtesies or gestures of kindness. Bucky wonders if she’s always this cold, or if Steve told her what happened last night and she’s decided to stand in solidarity against Bucky. 

Either way, Bucky’s left on his own to figure out what to do all day. “Where did Steve go?” he asks Sharon, when he notices that the apartment is empty save for the two of them.

“Pietro took him to a meeting, I believe,” Sharon says. She’s carrying laundry in a basket, and she continues on down the hallway, leaving him alone. 

“Oh,” Bucky says to no one. He twists his lips and looks around the room with a sigh. “Okay.”

Steve returns around eleven o’clock, just before lunch. Bucky forces himself not to ask where he’s been. He doesn’t want Steve to think he cares. Steve appears in the living room and looks down at him where he’s sitting on the couch. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I received a telegram,” Steve says. “A motion was called and I had to send instructions on how I wanted my vote to go.”

Bucky wants to ask what the motion was, but he forces himself not to. “Kay,” he says.

Steve stares at him. “What’ve you been doing this morning?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to go out.” He says it with a modicum of sarcasm.

Steve frowns. “What? Of course you could’ve.”

“Well how would I know that?” Bucky snaps. “I don’t know what these new ‘boundaries’ are, Husband.” He uses the title in an obnoxious show of formality. If Steve wants to be all Headshippy on him, then Bucky will treat him like one. He gets a small measure of satisfaction as he watches Steve realize this.

“Oh. Well okay.” Steve seats himself in the room’s armchair. “I suppose you’re right. Would you like to discuss that now?”

“Not particularly, but I guess it’s whatever you want, right Husband?”

Steve huffs. “Is that how you’re addressing me now?”

“Unless you’d prefer ‘Alpha’.”

Steve’s jaw works in frustration. “I’d prefer my name, in private company.”

“Fine.”

“Oh stop it,” Steve snaps. “Just because I scolded you last night doesn’t mean I’m suddenly your jailor. Grow up.”

Bucky feels anger flood through him, though it’s followed quickly by embarrassment. “I’m eighteen, Steve!”

“I know that,” Steve growls. “Am I supposed to feel bad about that? I don’t. You think it's tough being married so young? Try being shoved into a Senate Seat at twenty-four. You’re eighteen, not eight. Act like it.”

Bucky huffs and crosses his arms, refusing to say anymore. Steve watches him for a moment before speaking. “Boundaries. Okay. Let’s talk about it. I won’t expect you to tell me your every move, but I will expect to know what your general plans are during the day.”

“Even on this trip?”

“Especially on this trip, our honeymoon.”

Bucky snorts. “For as splendidly as it’s going.”

“And you were raised as a gentleman and Senatorial heir, just like I was,” Steve says. “So I expect you to conduct yourself as such in public. No drunken escapades, rudeness or disrespecting our union.”

Bucky can’t manage any snide comments toward that. Steve’s right—he was raised as a gentleman. He feels a small bit of shame creep in at the reminder of his ridiculous behavior last night. That’s what it’s going to take though, he reminds himself. If he wants to make Steve want a divorce, then he’s got to continue doing things like that, and worse. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. Those are the rules. Now I know them.” Now he knows exactly which ones to break.

“Good.”

“Good.”

Steve seems to relax a bit. “Well … What would you like to do today?”

“With you?”

He sighs. “Yes, with me. We’ve got another two days in London before we head to the continent. Is there anything you’d like to do, see?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess.”

Steve nods curtly. “Well come on then. I’ll get Pietro to hail us a hackie.”

Despite his efforts to remain despondent, Bucky winds up having a good time while he and Steve visit some of the more popular tourist sites around the city. His hangover ebbs, and after Steve buys them lunch at a café, he feels back to normal. He finds himself slipping back into friendly territory with Steve, and he scolds himself each time he laughs at something the alpha has said, returns a smile, or gets drawn into enthusiastic conversation without realizing. Steve is a reasonably easy guy to get along with, so If Bucky ever wants to get out of this marriage and get his independence back, he’s going to have to really buckle down and remember his mission.

They see most of the places that Bucky had on his list of things to see. London bridge, Big Ben, Parliament and Buckingham palace take up most of the day, and Bucky finds himself growing antsy as he realizes that he’s been friendly with Steve the whole time and not managed to create any incidents that might add to their fighting.

This marital discord stuff is hard.

They get to Westminster Abbey and step out of the hackie together. “We’ll head home after this, yeah?” Steve suggests.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

Steve smiles and takes his hand. “Sharon told me she’s making a roast for supper. It should be good.” Bucky doesn’t comment. Instead he’s quiet as he looks at their joined hands. Steve guides him into the abbey. “Wow,” he says once they’re inside. “It’s huge.”

Bucky nods, looking up at the ceilings. “It doesn’t seem any bigger than the national cathedral though.”

“You’ve seen it?” There’s a modicum of surprise in Steve’s voice.

Bucky scoffs, yanking his hand back to himself. “My family did keep a residence in D.C., you know. I’ve been to the capitol tons of times.”

“Of course. … I wasn’t making a jab at your circumstances.” Steve looks away sadly, visibly putting on a cheerful face after that. “There are over three thousand people buried here,” he tells Bucky. “Tennyson, Dickens, Queen Elizabeth, Chaucer, Darwin …”

Bucky keeps examining all the fancy architecture, not looking at Steve. “I suppose we would’ve gotten married there, if it hadn’t been such a rushed affair.”

Steve pauses in his listing of famous names. “At the national cathedral? Yes. I suppose so …” Bucky can feel Steve peering at him, probably trying to figure out why he’d bring that up. “... Either there, or at St. Patrick’s in New York,” he says quietly. “It’s customary.”

Bucky nods. Privately, he’s grateful that they hadn’t had to have a grand State wedding. Even if he’d chosen the marriage, he wouldn’t have enjoyed saying his vows in front of a thousand people. He continues looking around the cathedral, eventually wandering away from Steve, who lingers in the section where the poets are buried.

A man in church robes approaches Bucky near the nave of the church and greets him with a smile, asking if Bucky has any questions about the history of Westminster. Bucky shrugs, stepping away from the plaque he’d been reading. “No, not really,” he says. “I was just looking around.”

“I see,” the man says.

“Are you a priest?”

The man smiles. “No. I’m a deacon here.” He holds out his hand. “Deacon Aemes.”

“James Bar— erm, Rogers, that is.”

“You’re American?”

“Yes. I’m here with my husband, Senator Steven Rogers.”

The man’s eyes seem to light up with recognition. His posture straightens. “I see! Is this your first visit to London?”

“Second. We’re honeymooning here.”

“Wonderful!” the man beams, which is annoying. Bucky has had more than his fair share of experience with being treated differently once people figure out who he is, and he can tell that’s what’s happening now. He tries to think of a way to get out of having to talk further with this man. “I think I’d better go find him, actually,” he starts to say. “We were just about to—”

“Are you interested in worship services during your visit?” the deacon asks. “We have seven services each Sunday. I’m sure with your husband’s Societal standing I could arrange for reserved seating.”

Bucky frowns. “No. Thank you. I—” His eyes catch on movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he glances over he sees Steve heading their way. He pauses, reconsidering his words. This is an opportunity, he thinks, nerves quickening his pulse. “I … actually don’t go to church.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. I’m an atheist,” he says, forcing back a sly grin and inserting disdain into his tone. “It’s silly to believe in God.”

Deacon Aemes’ face is turning pink. He looks mortified. “Well … that’s—”

Steve has come up to Bucky’s side, and Bucky continues his spiel, “Religion is the root of all evil, if you ask me.” It’s a wild exaggeration and just about the rudest, most-awkward thing Bucky can think up on the spot to say. Not to mention it’s a lie: He’s always held a general belief in God. But he continues his rude speech now that Steve is there to listen. “When was that last kiddie fiddler scandal, after all? Half a year ago?”

“Bucky!” Steve says in shock.

Bucky forces a scornful laugh. “What? It’s true. Religion is just the opiate of the masses: people too scared to use their own brains, so desperate for comfort that they'll believe anything, giving corrupt men power that they don’t deserve. Christianity spreads intolerance and hate, and it generally fucks up other people’s lives. It’s fucking awful.”

It’s a trifecta of obscene behavior for which Bucky is somewhat proud of himself. If the insults to religion and the shameless mention of lewd acts weren’t enough, he’s also made sure to top it off with a nice smattering of curse words. Bucky sneers at the deacon. “As far as I see it, ‘God’ is nothing but a rapist, murderer, thief and pedophile, himself.”

Unsurprisingly, deacon Aemes is starting to look enraged. “Sir! You are in a house of worship. Have some respect.”

“‘Respect’?” Bucky scoffs. “For what? The Church of England? It’s been responsible for more abuses than—” Steve’s hand closes around the back of his neck and scruffs him so fast that Bucky’s speech cuts off in a gasp. 

“Sir,” Steve practically growls at the deacon. “I am so sorry for this rudeness. Please, excuse us.”

“Well I never,” the deacon sputters. He looks utterly outraged, though Steve’s taking control of the situation seems to have kept him from outright yelling at Bucky himself. “I’d suggest you leave,” he says tightly. “Don’t come back, and take your disrespectful Spouse with you.”

Steve nods tightly. “We’re going.” On Bucky’s neck, his fingers tighten cruelly and he steers him away. “Come on.” He marches him down the length of the cathedral and shoves him into a narrow side hall near the front doors. He crowds Bucky in against the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he hisses.

Bucky fights back the victorious smirk that wants to come. “What?”

“How could you say those things to that man?!”

“Well it was all true,” he says. “You want me to lie?”

Steve’s face darkens. “Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you. You went out of your way to provoke him.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, putting no apology into the word. 

Steve seethes at him. He steps back. “Come on. We’re going home.”

“What if I don’t feel like—”

“Follow me, now,” he Voices, already walking away.

Bucky’s eyes widen at being commanded, though he knows he honestly shouldn’t be surprised at this point. Steve seems to have no problem coercing him with his Voice whenever he gets truly mad. Bucky’s feet start following, and even though it’s not pleasant seeing Steve so pissed off, he does thrill a little at having accomplished his goal.

This was just one small step, though, he thinks. He’s still got to do far worse to make Steve want a divorce.

Steve is silent and terse on the ride back to the apartment, but once they’re inside and the door is shut, he gets right to work in ordering Bucky about. “Sit,” he says, pointing at the writing desk in the living room. “There. Grab a pen and paper.” He stalks out of the room, leaving Bucky to do as told and worry what’s next. He returns after only a moment, a stack of envelopes and papers in hand. 

“What’s that?” Bucky asks.

“The post. Our mail was forwarded. These are the nuptial congratulations and well-wishes we’ve received.” He sets a large part of the stack in front of Bucky, then a single open sheaf of paper. “This is a list of the guests who were at our wedding, and their titles.” He sets down one last envelope. “And this is a letter from your mother.” 

“My mother?” Bucky starts to reach for it.

“No,” Steve says, making Bucky’s eyes snap back to him. “You’re going to answer the other letters first. Then you’ll write thank you responses to each and every person who attended the wedding.”

Bucky winces. “You can stop Voicing,” he says. 

“No, Bucky. I can’t.” Steve is looking down at him with icy eyes. “You obviously don’t know how to listen without it.”

“You should’ve told me I wasn’t allowed to speak my mind to strangers,” Bucky throws out. “How was I to know that was one of your ‘boundaries’?”

“Shut up,” Steve says. “You’re not going to say anything smart for the rest of the evening. Sit here and answer the letters. Do a good job. I’ll be reviewing them before they’re mailed.”

Bucky huffs. “Fine.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at his tone, but doesn’t command him any further. He makes to leave the room. “I’ll be in my office,” he says. “I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.” He stalks from the room.

Well.

Bucky twists his lips to keep himself from saying anything as Steve leaves. He supposes that as far as consequences go, this isn’t so bad. He sets in to opening the envelopes.

Most of them are from high Society: other Senatorial families or congressmen and women. A few letters from prominent common folk have made it into the mix, though. Bucky recognizes the name of a famous singer on one. Everybody writes nauseatingly cheerful messages, all in the general theme of: Congratulations! Blessings for your union and best wishes! Here’s hoping you find your Third and have butt-loads of children as soon as possible!

Bucky crafts three versions of the same reply, which he cycles through depending on the type of person he’s responding to.

The aforementioned list of names and titles also makes mention of all the wedding gifts that’ve been given, and it becomes clear that Bucky and Steve will have a front hall full of packages when they arrive back to Steve’s Brooklyn residence back in the States. The promise of a state-of-the-art gramophone, in particular, holds Bucky’s interest (he writes that individual a genuinely customized response).

Over an hour later, he’s still writing, having answered all of the well wishes and moved on to the list of wedding attendees that he needs to thank for simply showing up to his and Steve’s farce of a wedding. His hand is cramping and he’s just set the pen down to wince and rub at his palm, when Steve appears. 

He clears his throat at the door. His eyes are fixed on Bucky’s hand. “You’re hurt?”

“No.”

He stares at him for a few seconds, as if he’ll say something else, but he doesn’t. “Sharon says dinner’s ready.”

“I haven’t gotten to read the letter from my mother,” Bucky says. “Can I—”

“No. Come on. Dinner.”

Bucky tucks his lips in and follows meekly after Steve. At least he’s not using his Voice anymore.

Dinner is indeed a roast, and it’s just as delicious as Steve said it would be. Bucky moans a time or two during the meal, and though he isn’t trying to entice Steve, he does catch his husband pausing to consider him each time he moans. Bucky finishes chewing another bite and says, “Sharon’s a much better cook than Agatha”

“That’s your family’s cook?”

“Yes.” He frowns. “Though I’m not sure they’ve been able to keep her on staff since … you know.”

“I’m sure they have,” Steve says. “The marriage contract stipulated that they be well-provided for.”

“How much?” Bucky asks. It’s quite a gauche thing, for men of their breeding to talk about money, so Bucky masks his embarrassment by reaching for his wine glass and taking a sip. “How much per annum?”  

“That’s between your mother and I,” Steve says, though there is a degree of amusement in his tone. “Honestly, Bucky.”

“Come on Steve. Please tell me? I’d like to know. I’d like to not have to wonder what my mom and sisters are able to afford.” He looks down, abashed. “I’d like to not have to worry.”

Steve softens at that, and he begrudgingly admits, “Twenty thousand per annum, Buck.”

Bucky inhales harder than he intends to, choking on his mouthful of table wine. He coughs and carefully sets the glass down before he’s able to choke out, “Seriously?”

“I told you not to worry.”

He’s shocked, he can’t hide it. Steve’s paying Bucky’s family just as much as they ever earned on their own from taxpayer dollars. “You can … you can afford that?”

Steve shrugs. “I wouldn’t pay it if I couldn’t afford it. House Rogers is wealthier than most. Surely you must’ve realized that.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says. “I guess I just didn’t know how much you’d be willing to pay for my family.” Suddenly, he feels very, very embarrassed; very small, and very grateful to Steve for what he’s just admitted. “Um, thank you,” he murmurs.

Steve nods. “You’re welcome.”

That’s all the more they talk about it, both of them finishing their meal in silence. When his plate is cleared and his belly is full, Bucky sighs and stands. “Well I guess I’ll get back to it. I’ve still got a bunch of letters to do.”

“You can take a break, Buck,” Steve says. “You’ve done a lot. Finish tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Why don’t you go read the letter your mother wrote you, okay? I’m going to finish up a few things in my office, then I’ll get ready for bed.” He doesn’t say anything about Bucky doing the same, but it’s clear that he expects it.

Bucky nods. “Okay. I’ll uh, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See you in a bit.”

Bucky goes back to the living room and reads the letter from his mother. It’s a kind and heartfelt note, but nothing that Bucky hadn’t expected from her. He takes the time to write her back, then seals that envelope and sets it aside to be sent out with the next day’s post. Briefly, he wonders what she’ll think of it when he and Steve divorce.

When he goes to bed, Steve is already washing up in the en-suite, so Bucky has privacy as he changes into pajama pants and a shirt. He trades places with Steve in the bathroom and then they both tuck in. “I’m tired,” Bucky manages to say—half because he is, and half because he isn’t at all certain what Steve wants to be doing right now. Will Steve always be obvious when he wants sex? Or is Bucky supposed to ask for it?

“Okay, Buck. Me too.” Steve leans over and cups the back of his head, pulls him in and pecks a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight.” He lies down and adjusts his pillow, closing his eyes. Unlike the night previous, he’s lain down facing Bucky, this time.

Bucky bites his lip, staring at Steve’s face for a moment. God, is the man ever good looking. And what did that kiss just now mean? “… Steve?” he says after a moment.

“Mm?” Steve doesn’t open his eyes.

“Are you still mad at me?” Bucky isn’t sure if he wants the answer to be yes or no. Steve getting mad was the point, but it instinctively doesn’t feel good to know his husband is angry with him. It feels rotten. He angsts about it until Steve responds with his eyes closed, sounding tired.

“Just … go to sleep Buck. It’s over. We can start fresh in the morning.” 

Well.

Bucky huffs and lies down—also facing the center of the bed. He watches Steve’s face for a long time, deep in thought. Steve doesn’t open his eyes again, and Bucky eventually sighs and closes his eyes as well. Being married to Steve is … confusing. He needs to get this divorce thing going before he does something stupid, like develop feelings.

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#enemies to lovers #royalty au #arranged marriage au #marriage of convenience #hate to love #alpha steve rogers #alpha/beta/omega au #a/b/o #dom/sub dynamics #d/s dynamic #traditional marriage #head of household #historical au #edwardian era #bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #stucky #steve rogers #fanfiction #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fanfic

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Fanfic Review: Stitch Me Up

Dr. Aziraphale Fell is newly appointed as the Chief of the A&E (ER) at Celestial Harmonies Hospital in Lambeth, London. The crowd is a much different one than the patients that gathered at his previous place of work in the South Downs- and his coworkers are perhaps the oddest of all. Emergency physician Gabriel Winger seems to think Dr. Fell has robbed him of a position that was rightfully his. Beatrix Bealz, the trauma surgeon on call, doesn't look or act like a surgeon at all. And then there's that strange Head Nurse Crowley. So stand-offish with his coworkers. So sweet with the patients. A mystery, all together. Aziraphale can't help but want to solve that mystery- what physician can resist one?

Length: 246,250 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Angst, Human AU, Romance

Triggers: Mental Illness symptoms (depression, bipolar disorder, panic disorder), past suicide attempt, self harm

Read it here, fic by Get_Wrexed

*Minor Spoilers* So I broke the rules. This is an unfinished work. If that’s a hardline for you, then this is not the fic for you. However it ends in a good place!! It’s a little abrupt but most threads are wrapped up. No cliffhangers here! This hasn’t been updated since 2021, so that’s why I’m comfortable positing a review. I don't think this is going to get an update. I didn’t realize it was unfinished when I started, but the premise really got me! So I had to see it through.

Aziraphale has just been made Chief of A&E at a busy London hospital. Crowley is the chaotic, but hardworking Head Nurse. I love stories that have their attraction start with mutual respect for each other’s intellect and competency. They are both so passionate about what they do! The setting is so engaging. We stay there for the majority of the first half, but once the relationship gets underway we start to spend less time at the hospital.

A large portion of this story deals with mental illness, showing the parts of mental health that are not pretty. Crowley and Bealz act out in unhealthy destructive ways like real people do. This isn’t a sanitized version. If those topics are triggering for you, I would maybe skip this story. It’s not purposefully triggering content! But is a main plot point and will come up often. Aziraphale puts so much effort into navigating Crowley’s episodes, he really is doing everything he can to make a safe environment. I think reading Aziraphale’s way of treating Crowley could be a healing experience for someone with similar struggles. One very minor critique, I do feel like we had a lot of repeated conversations. A lot of lash out, apologies, reassurance scenes. They’re great, but after a couple repeats I found myself drifting a little. I wanted to get back to the hospital backdrop.

The last portion deals with power play. Aziraphale is very focused on safe consensual play, while Crowley is very eager to begin without fully understanding what it all entails. I love them finding their way, and I looove that this one talks about power play outside the bedroom. That’s the main way we engage with the arrangement. Of course there’s smut, but it’s usually not graphic. Interestingly we usually enter Crowley’s subspace and I really enjoyed that pov. I thought it was very unique and dreamlike. Aziraphale killed me with his dramatic sighs of disappointment when he wants Crowley to behave, lots of, 'Don’t you want to be good for me?' I ate it up every time.

Final story note, I want to mention that I thought the Bealz storyline was very unique and a strong point of this story. Crowley and Bealz have a deep history together and are platonic life partners. The author was not afraid to actually show that. They are not romantic, but they are integral to each other and physically affectionate. To be honest, I thought it was a little brave in a ship focused story to say, "no this person is also important to Crowley and actually does take priority in some cases". And I appreciate so much that Aziraphale is allowed to be jealous, but knows it's his problem. Crowley isn't doing anything wrong.

This was a very excellent read! I am holding on a little hope that we'll see a completion of this story but if not I'm very grateful for what we have!! It's still a satisfying and full story. Mostly safe in public until later chapters, but again the smut isn't that graphic. So you could get away with it if you want.

Read it here, fic by Get_Wrexed

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #Get_Wrexed #Stitch Me Up #extra long #heavy topics #angst #slow burn #romance #dom/sub dynamics #human au #medical au #past partner #four flames