#m/m/f

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

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

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

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

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

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

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

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 He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap.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

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

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

“If I was in there I could—”

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

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

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

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

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

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

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

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

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

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

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

“Mmhm. Aand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

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

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

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

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

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

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

“Options?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not an alcoholic!”

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

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

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

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

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

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

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

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

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

Mary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

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

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

“Stop right there, Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Asexual dynamic her ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[monstersandmaw]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Polgarrack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In a way, she supposed she was. 

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

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

___

Next chapter ->

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

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

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#selkie #bucca #polyamory #polyamorous romance #poly story #o #historical fantasy #shifter romance #poly shifter romance #18th century romance #shapeshifter romance #m/m/f

[for-a-longlongtime]

Masterlist

All fics are rated Explicit, 18+ only - MDNI. 🏳‍🌈 Please check the warnings! Follow @longlongtime-updates for fic updates.

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x f!reader x Santiago 'Pope' Garcia

Chapter 1: The Bar Chapter 2: The Restroom

Tim Rockford x Marcus Pike + Frankie Morales (NEW!) Marcus and Tim have rules to avoid trouble: don't hook up more than three times with others and don't hide anything. But things change when Marcus meets Frankie.

I: Maverick [Marcus x Frankie, observed by Tim] II: No Game At All (But I Can Do This) [Tim x Marcus] III: Danger Zone [Marcus x Frankie] IV: Wild Card [Frankie x Marcus] V: Sometime Around Midnight [Frankie x Marcus] (NEW 2/21!)

Ezra x f!reader x young!Benny Miller (NEW!) When Benny comes over to see you and Ezra, a lazy afternoon takes an interesting turn. Things are said, orders are being followed, two of you might be to blame for Benny's ruined jeans, and that lovely turquoise strap-on gets used. Let the good times slut roll.

"The brat tamer wants to be tamed". WIP snippet #1 | WIP snippet #2

Divider graphics by @saradika. If you want me to add you to the general taglist or for a specific series, drop me a comment or send me an ask!

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #tim rockford #javier peňa #santiago garcia #m/m #m/m/m #m/m/f #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character smut #masterlist #my writing #my fic #aquamarine #nothing that i didn't know #Maverick

[thetaleofsirpercival]

Oh, to be a lone traveler stumbling upon a chateau after days of nothing but the endless fields and the darkest woods

The lord and the lady take you in and make sure that you have everything you need. The old laws of hospitality are sacred in this house, they tell you as you eat your dinner, the most delicate of meats paired with the most flavorful of wines.

Soon, a pleasant buzz fills your head, making your eyelids heavy and your heart light, so much so that you hardly notice that your hosts have hardly taken a bite. You see them exchange glances. A proposition is extended. Consent is freely given.

Later, among the luxurious silks of the master bedroom, you’re so focused on pleasuring the lady that you hardly notice the sheets rustling and a vial being opened until you feel oiled fingers massaging your entrance, slowly finding their way inside. You moan against the lady’s clit and she gasps, her fingers entangling themselves in your hair to bring your face even closer. You resume your efforts as the lord slowly works you open, pliant under his touch. After what feels like an eternity, you feel his cock teasing your entrance, just enough to make you moan. The lord hums, amused at your neediness until finally, finally he pushes in. Eventually, you fall into a steady rhythm, his cock hitting something inside you that makes you whimper.

And just as the heat at the bottom of your stomach starts to unravel, he leans over you, enveloping your silhouette in his. You feel a flash of pain as his teeth break the skin at the crook of your neck but it’s then when your orgasm sweeps over you, turning the pain into the sweetest pleasure. You feel your body relax into it, mind sky high as your hosts both give and take in a well practiced dance.

They do not leave you unattended after. You feel satisfied, spent, too weak to stand on your own two feet. They offer you drink and allow you to doze off in their embrace until the sun climbs high in the sky. It is time for you to go.

The chateau will still be there on your way back home.

#queer nsft #nsft concept #vampire nsft #vampire kink #monster kink #monster nsft #m/m/f #but it can also be read as #m/f/f #mlm nsft #nsft writing #nsft #mlm ns/fw #gothic nsft #nblm ns/fw #nb nsft #nblw nsft

[honkygay]

what happens when u put an incredibly affectionate and open married couple with a repressed traumatised man who hasn’t felt romantic physical affection beyond sex in years? u get perfection. that’s what.

forgot to EVER mention that just cuz i ship robert hunter and carlos garcia it does NOT mean i am ‘killing the wife/gf/woman’ to force my yaoi ship. I THINK THEY ALL KISS AND SLEEP IN A FUCKING HUGE BED WITH AN ABUNDANCE OF BLANKETS AND PILLOWS AND MAKE COFFEE AND BUY FLOWERS AND WINE FOR EACHOTHER AND HAVE CUTE LITTLE DATE NIGHTS. I AM VERY PASSIONATE ABOUT THEM!!! so i finally got around to drawing anna <33 anna garcia my beloved u will ALWAYS be special to me

#honkygaydraws #detective robert hunter #robert hunter #anna garcia #carlos garcia #robert hunter books #robert hunter series #chris carter #chris carter books #what would their ship name be omg #roblona #LMFAO??? #ROBLONA!!! #polycule #poly ship #m/m/f

[negansbackdoorwhore]

Belong To Us

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh really?”

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

“Go on, be our good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You two play nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan #ike evans x reader #ike evans #magic city ike evans #leopard skin #ray lasalle #ray lasalle x reader #m/m/f

[prpfs]

Heyo! 🌶️ We’re two muns looking for someone who wants to write a poly OC x OC x OC ship/cule on discord. We’re both 25+ and ask you please be 21+. Looking for either M/F/M, M/F/F, or M/F/NBT pairing. All characters will be 18+. Kinks can be discussed, but also need to agree on a good plot to go with it. Reply length varies, but usually around 2 paragraphs per reply. We're both pretty fast repliers, but also understand real life. Real-People FCs. Like this post and we will reach out to you!

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

#oc roleplay #oc rp #oc x oc x oc #m/m/f #m/f/f #m/f/nb #21+ only

[luthien-under-bough]

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

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

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

Summary:

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

Chapter Links:

🤍chapter 1 🤍chapter 2 (mostly smut)

*banners by @anamazingangie! 🤍

#daemyra #rhaegon #daegon #m/m/f #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #my fics

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv, this is very specific so no worries if you don’t have any recs for me. I’m looking for a fic where H/D are not together (yet hehe) but end up somehow in a F/M/M threesome. They’re not gay , they think they are there for the girl you know, until they’re not.

I read a fic by marguerite_26 (I think the name was just a little faith) with this plot and now I’m craving for more.

Ohh what a juicy scenario, anon! Love it. That marguerite fic is delicious, I’m a big fan of their work. I don’t know any fics exactly like that but a few M/M/F came to mind. Some are actually triad fics, so I’ve marked the ones that have endgame Drarry if that’s your main focus:

Sharing by Alisanne (E, 3.5k) - Harry/Draco/Pansy, endgame Drarry

Harry is tense, and his houseguests help him to relax.

Something More Than Tin by tryslora (E, 3.6k) - Draco/Pansy + Harry

Pansy knows Draco better than he is willing to admit, and manages to obtain the perfect anniversary gift: one Harry Potter.

At the Edge of the Crossroads and Leaning by @lqtraintracks (E, 7k) - Harry/Hermione + Draco

When Harry sees something he shouldn't in the Pensieve, it changes his relationship with Hermione (and Draco Malfoy's life) forever.

Better Than by marguerite_26 (E, 11k) - Harry/Ginny + Draco

Ginny offers Harry something a little different for their anniversary.

Bespoke by DoubleApple (E, 12k) - Harry/Ginny + Draco

Bespoke: adjective meaning custom-made, one-of-a-kind, tailored perfectly. Something rare and precious, carefully crafted to precise specifications. Often used to describe clothing; in this case, used to describe a dynamic between three powerful people about to spend an ill-advised evening together.

Dancing on a Volcano by Lomonaaeren (M, 17k) - Draco/Astoria + Harry

Having Astoria Malfoy assigned as his Auror partner is certainly a surprise, but not an unpleasant one for Harry, it turns out. As he and Astoria learn to guard each other’s backs, save each other’s lives, and even spend ordinary days together, Harry discovers that he’s being invited into something fragile and rare…something that also involves Astoria’s husband, Draco.

The Waiting by @oknowkiss (E, 43k) - Harry/Draco/OFC, endgame Drarry

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #m/m/f

[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

9. Honey-mascarpone crêpes

A.N. : Disappeared by my staff troll without notice or reason other than that she abuses her privileges at the company. Complaint email sent, and it's back up now.

Bucky

Once Steve talks him off the cliff of domspace (not the good kind), Bucky's able to calm down and see things more rationally.

First off, he stops being mad at Mary. He has to remember that she's going through right now what he went through as a kid. She's dealing with the loss of her freedom, shifting self-perception, horribly unbalanced (probably) neurotransmitters, and the complete—if temporary—restructuring of her life. Sure, she's bratting, but subs brat as a coping mechanism, and Bucky knows he needs to be a good dom for her, not an overreacting hothead. He can do that. He can totally do that.

(Having Steve around certainly helps, though.)

Mary is clearly surprised when he gets home from work and doesn't immediately set in to scolding her. But Steve was right: they have to wait to get a discipline plan in place. Mary might have a good sense of what'll piss Bucky off, but they've never explicitly sat down and defined the rules, their roles, or the consequences for misbehavior.

So Bucky just acts neutrally that evening and they eat dinner together and relax in front of the tv until bedtime. Mary seems to expect him to do something, punish her somehow. The thing is, he should. It's what's good and healthy for her. Bucky knows submissives very well, is very attuned to them, so he's sure that Mary's actually aching for a little correction by the time he and Steve calmly bid her goodnight and head off to their own bedroom. Bucky wishes he could give her what she needs, but he consoles himself with the fact that soon he'll be able to.

The next morning, Steve and Mary are both quiet. Bucky doesn't think too much about it. When he gets out to the kitchen, Steve informs him that they have an appointment at the Center that evening, and Mary pushes a plate of crêpes at him without meeting his eyes and then turns away.

"What's this?" Bucky asks, picking up his fork and prodding at the—frankly, delicious-looking—pile of folded cakes. He takes a bite and his eyes slip closed momentarily as he forces himself not to moan. When he opens his eyes again, Mary's watching him from over by the sink, biting her lip.

"Stop biting your lip," he says.

She stops.

Bucky gets that nice, warmth-after-whiskey rush in his chest at the obedience. He gets to work in cutting off another bite of the crêpes. "Are these an apology?" he asks, eyebrow arched at her. "For your behavior yesterday?" He puts the bite of crêpe in his mouth and chews, smug about the fact that she's flushing in embarrassment.

"They're crêpes," she mumbles. "With mascarpone and honey."

"Hmm." Bucky nods along and chews, enjoying the flavors while he maintains solid eye contact with her. After he pauses to swallow, he says, "Apology crêpes, then. Good girl. Apology accepted."

She doesn't say anything back to that, just gets pink in the face at the 'good girl' and whirls around to face the sink and do dishes.

Bucky smirks in satisfaction, then meets Steve's eyes. His husband looks deep in thought, but when Bucky prompts him with a questioning look, Steve just shakes his head and smiles avoidantly. "I already ate mine," he says, then pushes off from the counter. "I'm gonna go grab a shower."

Shrugging, Bucky goes back to eating his apology crêpes. "These are really good, Mare," he says. Over by the sink, he sees her head bob in a little nod. "You okay, Honey?"

She nods again, using the sprayer to rinse a dish. "Do we really have to go?" she complains, almost shyly and in a way that makes Bucky think that maybe his apology crêpes are actually 'please don't take me to go get a blood test' crêpes. "I hate needles."

"Don't be a baby," Bucky chides. "It's one poke and you're done. It's for your own good."

"Ugh."

Steve

On the day after the blood test, Steve glances sideways at his husband to gauge his reaction to the news they’ve just been given. Bucky’s frowning lightly, almost looks like his feelings are hurt. “Babe ...” Steve says softly.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky says, addressing Linda, who’s sitting in the chair across from them, who’s got them alone in her office while Mary is off at some sort of class. This is Bucky and Steve’s time now, to discuss the care of their charge, and Linda’s just told them the results of Mary’s bloodwork. Bucky continues to frown as if insulted. “I’ve been bringing her down every night. Every night. How can that not have made a difference?”

Linda shakes her head. “It has made a difference, but her levels aren’t near what they should be at this point.”

“Levels?” Steve asks.

“Dopamine,”

“Serotonin,” 

Linda’s mouth quirks at her and Bucky having spoken over each other. “Both,” she says. “Along with oxytocin. They’re called the ‘happy hormones.’ When people like Bucky or Mary go without treatment, they have an imbalance of them. The further on the spectrum they are, the worse the imbalance tends to be.” She looks back down to her clipboard, which holds Mary’s test results. “She’s not in what I’d call the danger zone anymore, but we should definitely discuss options for how to help improve these levels.” Linda looks up, blinking expectantly at them through her glasses. “So? What all have you been doing during your scenes?”

Bucky tells her, laying out the general gist of what they do during the evenings in their apartment. But when he stops talking, Linda still looks expectant. “So ... there hasn’t been any sex play?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat at the term. He glances over at Bucky, who’s shaking his head. 

“She hasn’t initiated, and I haven't wanted to scare her off or make her feel like she has to. They’re always going on about subs’ sexual autonomy these days, you know?”

Linda sighs and uses a finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Bucky, that’s admirable, really. But you of all people should know it’s unrealistic.”

“Is it?” Steve asks. Bucky puts a hand on his knee in what feels like a patronizing, 'The adults are speaking, Honey,' and Linda says,

“Sexual domination or submission isn’t necessary for anyone on the spectrum, but it is the most efficient way to get the job done.” She looks at Bucky with a little bit of reproach in her gaze, if Steve is reading her right. “She’d probably have to be dropped three or more times a day, if sex play wasn’t involved.” She looks back and forth between the two of them. “Are you and Steve no longer comfortable with sex outside of your marriage? Because if that’s the case then I really do have to recommend that you allow Mary to attend our socials, so that she can find a partner. Either that or we can schedule her for visits with one of our ProDoms.”

“No,” Bucky says, wasp-quick. “I don’t want her with strangers.”

Steve nods, though he feels like a cad for agreeing.

Linda purses her lips. “Well obviously it’s not the best option, but if the two of you aren’t willing to—”

“We are!” Steve blurts, maybe a little too loudly. He winces and reigns himself in. “Sorry, I just mean …”

Bucky’s metal hand covers his on the couch cushion. “We’re willing to make it sexual,” he says. “But we just don’t know how to … approach it with her, I guess.” Then he adds, “I’ve kissed her. Once. And that went over well. She seems receptive to Steve too.”

Linda nods, writing something down on her clipboard. “That’s good, good. Okay. Well with that in mind, when Mary has her session with me this evening I’ll administer some tests to help her map out what might be most useful for her to go down during sex play.”

Steve fights back a wince. He really wishes Dr. Linda wouldn’t call it that. “Make sure she knows we’re not pressuring her, okay?” he says.

“Of course not,” Linda says. “We’re just presenting all the options.”

Mary

The Center for Designated People is housed in a building in Queens, and it’s made up of a lot of glazed brown brick from the 80’s. 

This is the first time Mary’s been anywhere other than Linda’s office or the waiting area immediately outside of it. Come to find, there’s a bit more to the CDP than just therapists’ offices. There are classrooms and conference rooms, and a big social area with game tables and couches and a carpeted amphitheater that reminds her of the student union building back in college.

She’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to be doing with herself. Everybody else seems to be mingling, comfortable in a way that she herself isn’t. Today’s the second day in a row that she’s had to show up at the CDP, and yesterday kind of left a bad taste in her mouth about it.

Yesterday, they drew her blood to test for neurochemicals. To make sure that she’s getting better, whatever that means. Mary hates needles and she’d resented the hell out of Bucky and Steve when they basically bossed her all the way down to the lab for the draw. 

“It’s for your own good.” 

God, she's tired of hearing that phrase. Everybody, especially Bucky, seems to think that they know what is for her “own good.” Personally, she thinks that Bucky just gets a thrill out saying the words. She thinks he gets off on it.

(… Never mind that something deep in her belly clenches whenever she hears him say it.)

The results of her tests are back, and they’re “not great” according to Linda—Linda, who’s holed herself up in the office with Bucky and Steve, whilst banishing Mary to a rec room full of other submissives.

They’re having some sort of low key party. Linda had called it a “social.” Bucky didn’t want her to go at first, until he heard that there would only be submissives at the party, no dominants. He’s so possessive, jeez.

There are maybe thirty other people in the room, talking in small groups, looking like they all know each other and are friends. There’s a tv and a foosball table and a bunch of little couches in squared off areas. A couple of people are sitting in the amphitheater playing boardgames, and there’s a table set up with snack foods and a punch bowl. It could almost be any normal social gathering, the only giveaway being that more than a few of the people present are wearing collars.

Like: openly and obviously, as if the collars are just another accessory to their outfits. Mary’s got a feeling that the collars are worn to make a statement, though she can’t for the life of her understand why someone would want to advertise that they’re like this.

She avoids the other people and goes over to the food, picking out a few things to nibble on. She tries to make herself seem busy by focusing on some pamphlets she’d picked up in the lobby outside Linda’s office. There’s one that has a serene picture of three river rocks stacked in a reflective pool of water, and the title reads, “Embracing Submission.” Mary rolls her eyes and tosses it aside.

She pulls out the pocket copy of the DSM V that Linda had reluctantly handed over (“It’s very clinical language. Don’t read too much into it.”), and searches out the section on Submissive Personality Disorder.

Personality disorders (PD) are a class of mental disorders characterized by enduring maladaptive patterns of behavior, cognition, and inner experience, exhibited across many contexts and deviating from those accepted by the individual's culture. These patterns develop early, are inflexible, and are associated with significant distress or disability. Cluster C (anxious or fearful disorders): Avoidant Personality Disorder, Obsessive-compulsive Personality Disorder, Dominant Personality Disorder, Submissive Personality Disorder. Submissive Personality Disorder (SPD) is a personality disorder that is characterized by a pervasive psychological dependence on and deference towards other people; especially to those who are oriented towards a dominant personality, or “Dominant Personality Disorder” (DPD). SPD is a long-term condition[1] in which people depend on others to meet their emotional and physical needs, with only a minority achieving normal levels of independence. SPD is a Cluster C personality disorder[2], characterized by excessive fear and anxiety. Typically beginning in early adolescence, it is present in a variety of contexts and is associated with inadequate functioning. Symptoms can include anything from extreme passivity, devastation, or helplessness when relationships end, to avoidance of responsibilities and severe submission. Manifestations may include: Cognitive: a perception of oneself as powerless and ineffectual, coupled with the belief that other people are comparatively powerful and potent. Motivational: a desire to obtain and maintain relationships with protectors and caregivers. Behavioral: a pattern of relationship-facilitating behavior designed to strengthen interpersonal ties and minimize the possibility of abandonment and rejection. Emotional: fear of abandonment, fear of rejection, and anxiety regarding evaluation by figures of authority.[8] Diagnostic Criteria: A diagnosis of Submissive Personality Disorder is indicated when five or more of the following criteria are met:

🟣Has difficulty making everyday decisions without an excessive amount of advice and reassurance from a Dom. 🟣Needs a Dom to assume responsibility for most major areas of their life. 🟣Has difficulty expressing disagreement with others because of fear of loss of support or approval. 🟣Has difficulty initiating projects or doing things on their own (because of a lack of self confidence in judgment or abilities rather than a lack of motivation or energy). 🟣Goes to excessive lengths to obtain nurturance and support from Doms, to the point of volunteering to do things that are unpleasant. 🟣Feels uncomfortable or helpless when alone because of exaggerated fears of being unable to care for themselves. 🟣Urgently seeks another relationship as a source of care and support when a close relationship ends. 🟣Is unrealistically preoccupied with fears of being left to take care of themselves.[11] *As of December, 1998, the additional criteria of neurochemical imbalance has been added by the American Psychiatric Association.

Christ. 

Mary’s not stupid, she can see where she fits into some (maybe most) of those categories. And nearly every line makes her want to throw the book across the room. She doesn’t like the picture it paints of someone like her, not at all. For lack of a better word, it's pathetic. So she pulls out her phone and looks up the Wikipedia page instead.

The World Health Organization (WHO) has isolated nine defining emotional and social attributes of those suffering from Submissive Personality Disorder (SPD):

🟣Tends to become attached quickly and/or intensely, developing feelings and expectations that are not warranted by the history or context of the relationship. 🟣Due to a tendency to be ingratiating and submissive, is likely to enter into relationships in which they are emotionally or physically abused, or “dominated.” 🟣Tends to feel ashamed, inadequate, and depressed. Is highly suggestible. 🟣Reacts to force or dominance from others with periods of mild derealization, or “submissive fugue.” 🟣Engages in passive-aggressive reactions to social interaction. 🟣Has difficulty acknowledging and expressing anger, struggles to get their own needs and goals met. 🟣Has an inability to soothe or comfort themself when distressed, they require involvement of a Dom to help regulate their emotions.[10] 🟣Displays a marked positive reaction to physical touch and affection, especially to the neck and head.

Well. That’s not exactly an easy pill to swallow. Mary fits almost every one of those qualities, if she’s really being honest with herself. But reading about it all clinical like that leaves a sour feeling in her stomach. Dr. Linda was right: she shouldn’t have read up on it. She shoves her phone back in her bag and returns to the refreshments table. She’s just finished ladling out a cup of punch for herself when a wry voice says,

“Careful. Last few socials, that’s gotten spiked.”

Mary turns. The voice belongs to a young woman. Maybe Mary’s own age, or a bit younger. She’s got that Seattle hipster look, with long dark hair crammed under a beanie, wide rimmed glasses, and an overlarge sweater with holes in the sleeves. She’s giving Mary a friendly look, though. “You’re new.�� She states it, doesn’t ask, then holds out her hand. “I’m Darcy.”

Mary shakes her hand, pulling back as soon as can be considered polite. “Hi. Mary.”

Darcy smiles. She looks over her shoulder at the room full of people, then turns back with an apologetic expression. “Don't worry. It can be weird when you’re new. But it’s pretty easy to make friends around here.”

Mary tries not to make a face at the way Darcy talks about it—like this is some sort of club that she’s expected to join. “This is, um … I’m just waiting here while my friends see a therapist.”

Darcy boldly takes the punch glass right out of Mary's hand and sips from it. She looks thoughtful for a second, then nods and hands the cup back. “Yep, it’s fine,” she says. “Usually Scott’s the culprit, I think. And he’s not here today, so.”

Mary blinks down at the cup, wondering who Scott is. “Um …”

“So what brought you in?” Darcy asks. “TDO, or just curious?”

“TD-what?”

“Oh, you know: cops, the psych ward, all that good stuff.” She waves her hand, like this is a common thing and not something to balk at, like half the room’s occupants have gone through cops and psych wards.

Mary’s eyes flick back around at a few of the people nearby. Maybe they have, she thinks. Hell, it’s not like Mary herself wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed less than a month ago. The only reason a visit to the psych ward didn’t happen to her was because Bucky and Steve stepped in to help. She frowns as she thinks about how differently it could’ve gone.

“Sorry,” Darcy says, looking sheepish. “That’s kinda heavy, I guess. I tend to just say things.”

“No, you’re okay.”

“I saw you over here making friends with the vegetables and thought I’d butt in,” she says. She leans over and grabs a celery stick, dips it liberally in what looks like ranch dressing, before stuffing it in her mouth.

Mary wonders if it’s her own way of shutting herself up. “Really, it’s fine. I didn’t have anybody to talk to. I don’t mind.” She tries to offer a smile that doesn’t come across as forced or strained, but isn’t sure she manages. Wasn’t there a time when she had friends? It feels like a lifetime ago. In a weak attempt to seem receptive, she lifts her punch glass and takes a big sip, smiling over the rim.

Darcy tips her head. “Come on. Let’s grab some of the good chairs before they’re all gone.” They settle into a pair of very worn but very comfortable chairs, and Mary resists the urge to tuck her legs up underneath herself. Darcy, however, leans back and props her feet on the coffee table like she’s right at home . “So I take it you’re a TDO, then,” she says.

“I don’t know what that stands for.”

“Temporary detainment order. When they haul you off and force treatment.”

“Oh.” Mary squirms, hating to remember that night and how embarrassing she’d been. In front of Bucky, Steve, even the cop. Ugh, it’s so cringe. “Erm, yeah,” she mutters. “Basically.”

Darcy nods along, unfazed. “Yeah I went through all that, too. Couple’a years ago. It was fucked. Trust me, I did not want to be here at first. The courts made me come. Sent me with a social worker to make sure I didn't skip out, the whole nine yards.” She makes a face that looks just like how Mary feels when thinking about her own night in the ER. “God, it was so cringe.”

Mary stiffens at hearing her own thoughts reflected almost word for word. “But now?” she asks, eyes flicking down to the collar Darcy’s got on. “You still come here?”

“Oh yeah! This place is the shit. I love it.” Darcy grins and thumbs over her shoulder at the area where the foosball table is. “Tall lanky guy, taking it way too seriously? That’s Ian. He’s my sister wife.”

Mary nearly chokes on her punch. “Your what?”

“He and I share the same Dom.”

Mary blinks, working that one out in her head. “So … you’re a throuple?” Is that a usual thing with these people? she wonders. (… Could she be in a throuple with Bucky and Steve?)

“No, Ian’s my boyfriend. But he’s a sub too, so we come here to get services from Thor.”

Mary’s eyebrows rise. “Thor?”

“Yeah I know. Weird name, right? He looks it, too. You should see him. He’s this huge blond guy, accent. I think he’s actually from Norway. Or something. Wherever the Vikings were from.”

“So you …” Mary tries to parse out what she wants to ask. “You pay to have sex with him?”

Darcy pauses and looks at her strangely. “No,” she says slowly. “Insurance covers it. He just Doms us. You know, like helps us with our weekly drops? There’s no sex.” She laughs. “Dude. Only, like, extreme cases need that.”

Mary knows she’s blushing now. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She bites her lip and tentatively asks, “But you said you see him weekly?”

“Yeah. Once a week. Usually Fridays.”

“... But like, at home? You don’t have other stuff?”

Darcy frowns. “What other stuff?”

“Like … like dropping,” Mary whispers, like it’s a bad word. “You’re saying you only do that once a week?”

“Yeah, usually. I mean unless we’ve got some really stressful shit going on. Like, when it was my finals week? I booked Thor three times that week.” She huffs like that’s a preposterous amount of times. “But other than that, yeah, once usually tides us over. That’s pretty standard.”

Mary squirms uncomfortably as she thinks about the nightly ritual she has with Bucky and Steve. “Oh.” She says quietly, because what else is she supposed to say? She wishes she could leave to go process this, maybe ask Linda about it. Because what Darcy’s just said does not match up with her own experiences, and it’s kind of jarring—no, scratch that, it’s definitely jarring. Sure, theoretically Mary already knew that she’d been labeled as a “high needs” submissive, but she hadn’t realized how different it was. Other subs only need to get dropped once a week? And according to Darcy, there’s not ever sex involved? Dr. Linda keeps insisting that Mary needs a sexual dynamic.

‘Only extreme cases need that’—Darcy’s words ring in her ears, making her super self-conscious. She’s extreme. She must be. How embarrassing.

“Hey, you okay?” Darcy tilts her head in concern. “What’d I say?”

“N-nothing,” Mary hurries to compose herself. “I was just thinking, that’s all. I’m still so new to all of this.” She tries to think of something to say to change the topic. “Ahm, so … Thor. He’s like a therapist, then? Here at the center?”

“He’s a ProDom,” Darcy corrects. “Which is kinda like a therapist I guess, but not like the actual shrinks they have here. The Pros get paid to help us with our drops. And highs,” she adds belatedly. “The ProSubs do that, I mean.”

Mary blinks at the idea that there are also professional submissive services for dominants. Has Bucky ever …?

“And they teach classes here too. Ohmygosh!” Darcy’s face lights up and Mary instinctively shrinks back at the enthusiasm. “You should totally sign up for some.”

“Classes?” Mary says, sure that her tone is showing how much she doesn’t want to do that.

“Yeah! Oh my gosh it is the best way to meet people, and the classes are actually pretty fun. It’s how I met Ian. And they definitely saved my ass back when I was new. Hey, I’ll help you pick some out!”

Mary flounders, not wanting to be insulting but also really, really not into the idea of coming back to the CDP any more than Bucky forces her to. “Um I’m kinda busy with …”

“Mare.”

She inhales sharply at the sound of Bucky’s voice. She turns around in her seat and she sees him and Steve coming over. Her shoulders sag with relief. Saved by the bell. “Hey guys,” she chirps, sitting up straighter. Is it time to go?” She starts to get up from her seat and shoot an apology Darcy’s way. “Hey, it’s been nice meeting you but I guess I have to—”

“Are these your Doms?” Darcy asks, looking wide eyed at Steve and Bucky. “Wow.” The look on her face might as well read: hubba hubba. “Um. Well done, girl.”

Mary huffs. “I didn’t pick them.”

Before Darcy can respond to that, Bucky’s coming closer (and Steve by extension because—living in each other’s skin, and whatnot). Bucky looks pleased. “Making friends?” he asks Mary.

What is she supposed to say? ‘Not if I can help it’? She shrugs in answer. Darcy, unfortunately, presses the issue of the classes to Bucky.

“I told her she should sign up for some.”

“Really, I don’t think—”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Bucky says, cutting Mary off. He glances to Steve, who shrugs like a big dummy. “I don’t know what they offer these days,” Bucky says. “It’s been a hot minute since I took a class here. What do they have for subs?” He’s asking Darcy, who unfortunately is very helpful and replies,

“I’m coteaching one this winter! It’s a four week course on recognizing Drop. Knowing the signs of deprivation to look for, self care, that kind of thing.”

“Really,” Mary tries again. “I don’t need to—”

“Mary,” Bucky says, and his voice has changed to that calm, firm register that he uses when he’s being really serious about controlling her. His “Dom” voice. That’s what Steve calls it. Mary swallows at the way he's looking at her now. He puts his hand on her shoulder, and it’s not the metal one but the simple presence of it there still feels like a hundred pounds. “I want you to go to the class with Darcy. You’ll learn a lot.”

“I don’t want to,” she snaps quietly. “I have work.”

“Your boss knows about your condition,” he says, infuriatingly calm.

“Yeah, because you told him!” Talk about mortifying.

Bucky’s fingers squeeze her shoulder lightly. “Hush. If the classes interfere with work, you can get your shift changed for that day.”

“They’re evening classes. On Wednesdays,” Darcy supplies.

“Perfect! She never works evenings.” Bucky releases Mary’s shoulder and nods like this makes it final. “My email’s in the database,” he tells Darcy. “Barnes. B-A-R-N-E-S. Can you email me the info?”

“Sure!” Darcy looks thrilled. She shoots Mary a saucy wink. “Thor’s the co-teacher, so you’ll get to meet him. We use him as our practice Dom.”

“Huh?” Mary says, just as Bucky says,

“Thor?” and tenses up by her side. “The Pro?”

Darcy grins, oblivious to Bucky’s stiffening posture. “Yeah! He’s who we practice with. Kind of like in a self-defense class how there’s the big guy you practice kicking in the nuts and whatnot? Thor’s our guy. Except we don't, you know, kick him in the nuts or anything. He drops us. For practice.”

Bucky’s entire attitude has changed since the mention of Thor being involved. Mary watches his expression darken and she delights a little bit in the opportunity to rile him up. “… Yeah,” she says slowly, as if the idea is now coming around on her. “Yeah I think I will go to the classes.” She peeks up at Bucky and sees him pressing his lips into a tight line. Mary grins. “Thanks Darcy. Email Bucky the info and I’ll be there. Should be fun! Can’t wait to meet Thor.”

Darcy nods and smiles brilliantly and bids them all goodbye, and then Mary walks out of the room with Steve and Bucky by her side. She feels smug, and is just waiting for Bucky to start complaining.

“Babe …” Steve says quietly, speaking to Bucky. He takes Bucky’s hand in his as they walk, and Mary watches the two of them have one of their freaky weird silent conversations. It ends when Bucky gives an unhappy grunt, but whatever matter they’d discussed (herself, Mary assumes), seems settled. 

“You can take the class,” Bucky says, sounding none too happy about it.

Mary smirks haughtily. “I thought you wanted me to in the first place?”

Bucky says nothing. Mary remains smug.

She stops being smug when it’s her turn in Linda’s office, and she’s just been told the results of her bloodwork.

“So … I have to?” she says, voice tiny. “With them?”

“Bucky and Steve? No, not necessarily,” Linda says, sitting up straighter. “Who you have sex with is your choice, Mary. You have options.”

Mary glances back at the door, as if Bucky’s on the other side with his ear pressed up against the crack. She wouldn’t put it past him. “Can’t we just keep doing it the way we have been?” she asks. She thinks about how Darcy had made a weird face and said that 'only the extreme cases' needed sexual domination.

Linda looks almost pained as she admits, “I’d have to recommend you be admitted to an inpatient program then, if sex play was absolutely off the table. Multiple drops per day would be required to—”

“What?!” Mary groans, grabbing her hair and yanking it a little as she runs her fingers back through it. Multiple drops per day? What a joke. She’d be a drooling, submissive zombie! “No way! I can't do that!” She wouldn't be able to keep her job if she had to do that. She wouldn’t be able to bake, or work out. She’d have no life!

“We hardly ever institutionalize people like that anymore,” Linda assures her. “And I promise I won’t recommend it if you can find a drop partner with whom you’re comfortable.”

“To fuck,” Mary grumps, being crass on purpose.

“Mary ...” Linda looks sorrowfully at her. “Really, this isn’t the norm. People like you usually test into the system early and grow up with much better care plans in place. Like Bucky did. This is really an unfortunate convergence of circumstances. We only want what’s best for—”

“I want drugs,” Mary says, blurting it out because she’s feeling icy panic at the way Linda had thrown out the word 'institutionalization'. Jesus Christ. “That’ll make me better, right?”

Linda downright cringes. “The medications we have available for this still come with a lot of side effects. I’m not going to prescribe those for you yet.”

"Well what are the side effects?”

Linda sighs as if Mary is the biggest pest. “Let’s at least have you take the assessment I told you about, okay?”

“Ugh. Fine.” A test can’t hurt, at least, Mary thinks. Linda looks pleased.

“Good. The SSITA is the first step. We’ll get you evaluated and go from there, okay?” She pushes the clipboard of papers on the coffee table over to her.

When Mary looks down, she reads the title page: Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment. “That’s … that’s personal,” she whispers, feeling her whole body heat. She shakes her head, already hating the idea.

“The results will be completely confidential. I won’t ever see your answers and neither will Bucky or Steve,” Linda promises, knowing by now that such a thing would humiliate Mary. “So there’s no reason not to answer honestly. A panel of staff who don’t know you and will never meet you evaluate the answers and send recommendations. That’s all.”

Mary picks the clipboard up with shaking hands. It holds a packet of papers with a pen tucked in at the clip. She bites her lip and nods. “Okay.” She takes the pen out and gets started.

It takes her about forty minutes to complete the assessment. It’s formatted into a bunch of statements with “strongly agree” all the way to “strongly disagree.” Checking the circles honestly has her blushing a bit some of the time, but Mary reassures herself with what Linda had said about the test’s anonymity. There are short answer questions at the end that have her gritting her teeth, but she’s honest, God help her. “Okay,” she says when she’s finished, handing the packet back over.

Linda briskly slips it into a manilla envelope and seals it. That’s reassuring, too. Mary takes a deep breath. “So, I don’t know who I’ll … ya know,” she makes a face, “do it with. Darcy said there are Professionals here? ProDoms?”

“Oh you met Darcy? She’s a wonderful girl. Very involved here. Yes we have our staff of ProDoms of course. But um,” Linda tilts her head. “What about Bucky?”

Mary looks down at her lap, thinking about the kiss they’d had. It’d been … Mary’s not sure she’s ever felt so unmoored by just a kiss. “He’s married,” she says quietly. “To Steve.” She thinks about her midnight conversation with Steve.

Linda is silent for a moment, and then she says carefully, “Mary ... Bucky and Steve have talked to me about this. During their sessions with me.”

“They have?”

“They’ve both expressed positive feelings about the possibility of a sexual relationship with you.”

Mary just about swallows her own tongue at that one. “Positive feelings?” What the hell does that mean? Has Bucky told Dr. Linda about the kiss? Has he told Steve?

Should she tell Steve? She’d hate to be the reason to break up a good marriage. ... But then again, Dr. Linda just said 'positive feelings'. Maybe that means that Steve and Bucky do want more.

Linda smiles encouragingly and puts the sealed assessment on her desk. “Yep. I suggest you talk with them about it.”

Mary sighs. Easier said than done.

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[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Three (sfw)

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

Thank you so much for the interest and sweet comments you left about the last chapter! Things are picking up speed just a touch, and we get to see a bit of Locryn this time while our girl makes a daring rescue!

Content: near-drowning in the sea, slight head injury, protectiveness and some rudeness, Blackthorn (my beloved) Wordcount: 3223

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw)

Nel leapt off Blackthorns’ back, having no choice but to leave the mare untethered up on the windy cliff, and she raced down the tiny, winding path towards the rocky shore below.

Countless times she slipped and skidded on the loose grit, landing hard on her backside every time, but eventually she hit the smooth sand at a run and ploughed down the beach into the rough surf where the young man floated on his back amid the foaming white horses. Those waves thundered hungrily up the beach with all the lingering strength of the storm. The water was icy cold too as she waded in, and the shock of it drew a choked yelp from her as a wave smashed into her thighs and hips.

As she’d suspected, she could see now that the unconscious man was Edmund Nancarrow, but before she could reach for him, another pounding wave hit her in the midsection and this time it swept her off her feet. She floundered beneath the rushing surf, acrid saltwater filling her mouth and terror wiping her mind blank before she was somehow able to get her feet underneath her and stagger upright once again, coughing and gasping. She was soaked through, and the weight of the water-drenched fabric was enough to suck her under again, but when she got herself upright a second time, she set her feet a little wider and struggled back out to where he was floating on his back.

Just before another breaker rolled in, she saw that he had a wound on his forehead, though it had long since stopped bleeding; washed clean by the saltwater. His silver-brown hair was loose and streamed like kelp around him as she fought her way between the oncoming waves to hook her arms under his and tow him towards the shore.

She fell twice, sitting down in the surf and clamping her mouth and eyes shut as another wave sloshed over her head before she was able to get upright again.

She had no idea whether the tide was coming or going, but once she was out of the jealous, reaching sea, she dragged him as far as she could up the length of the sandy beach until her arms were shaking from the strain of it. She hauled him just a little further onwards, past the line of seaweed that lay scattered like dark lace between the hard wet sand and the dry, powdery sand of the last stretches of the beach, and carefully lowered him down. Her lungs burned and her throat was raw from inhaling mouthfuls of sea water. She coughed and retched reflexively, spitting and heaving onto the shore before she could even try to catch her breath or see to Edmund Nancarrow.

Her chest constricted and spasmed, and her limbs felt like lead, and she crashed to her knees on the wet sand beside him. The swathes of wet fabric swamped her, and she felt as if her dress carried enough fabric to rig a whole schooner. It was ruined now, if not from the salt then from the myriad rips and tears from the brambles and sharp stone on her frantic journey down the narrow cliff path.

Terrified that he would be dead, she reached out a trembling hand and pressed her fingertips to his pulse. She almost collapsed when she felt a steady, if slow, beat beneath his skin. “He lives yet…” she whispered, eyes closing. Salt and sand prickled along her lashes and her hair had come loose, falling in messy, wet curls around her face. “How do I help you now?” she hissed.

Breathing quickly as a new kind of panic set in, Nel looked around her and then back up at the path. Despite his slenderness, there was no way she would ever get him back up there on her own, but as a tiny drift of smoke wafted across the blue sky along the nearby cliff edge, she recalled that stone cottage which sat there like an autumn mushroom, all alone in a sea of grasses and gorse. If memory served her, that was Locryn Trevethan’s home.

“Any port in a storm,” she mused with a wry, dark grimace to herself, and she staggered to her feet. Immediately, she tripped and fell over the wet expanse of cloth, and with another grimace, she grabbed sodden fistfuls of the fabric and hauled them out of the way to show a shocking amount of calf, had anyone been there or conscious to see it.

She lost count of the number of times she still tripped over the heavy skirts on the narrow, twisting path back up the cliff. She had to stop twice just to catch her breath but it was fear for Edmund Nancarrow’s fading life that drove her on again before she’d fully recovered. By the time she had finally scrabbled to the top of the path again she was dirty, sweaty, shaking, and covered in grit and leaves.

At long last, she staggered over the rough ground at the top of the cliff and floundered to a halt on the flagstone threshold of the quiet cottage.

Hammering on the door felt like sacrilege in the peace of that place but she hardly had any choice, and there was every chance that Edmund had little time, so she bashed her fists on the door and yelled for help until it opened.

“Calm down, calm down,” a deep, gravelly voice rumbled as Locryn Trevethan pulled open the door to his house and glared at her. “What in the —?”

“I need your help,” she interrupted before he could slam the door in her face. “It’s Edmund. He’s hurt.”

At that, Locryn’s rough face blanched and all trace of hostility evaporated. “Where, lass? Where is he?” he demanded, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her, as if that would make the answer tumble out of her faster.

“Down on the beach,” she croaked and pointed. “He was floating face-up in the surf. I dragged him up the sand but I can’t get him up the cliff. He’s suffered a blow to the head, but he’s alive. Just.”

Ashen-faced, Locryn charged out through the doorway like a passing winter storm, almost knocking her off her feet as he went, and in only a fraction of the time it had taken her to reach the bottom, he was sprinting out over the sand on his thick, powerful legs to where she’d left Edmund’s corpse-still body. She’d never seen anyone run that fast, and might have been impressed if she wasn’t starting to show signs of shock herself.

For a while, Nel watched from the distant clifftop, exhausted and shivering from cold and lingering fear. It felt like watching a play from the upper circle of a theatre, only this one had every chance of turning into a genuine tragedy, and the men below weren’t acting. Locryn pumped Edmund’s chest in a rhythmic motion, and when Edmund eventually jerked and half-rolled sideways, Nel relaxed just a fraction.

A few minutes later, Locryn had scooped Edmund up from the sand and was marching back up the path again with him lying cradled in his arms like a bride after church. Only, Edmund looked pale to the point of death, and he was soaked through. He wore simple brown trousers and a linen shirt that stuck to every sharp angle of his skinny torso and revealed the delicate arches of his collarbones where it flopped open at the neck, and his head lolled alarmingly in Locryn’s massive arms, hair dangling and dripping.

“Move,” Locryn growled as he reached the top of the path and found her half-blocking his way as she just stared at them and tried to stop shivering. The wind bit through her wet clothes as they clung horribly to her body. She skittered sideways to let him pass. He didn’t stop as he elbowed his front door open again and trudged in, heedless of the sand he tracked in from his boots.

Nel hung back awkwardly in the doorway, watching as Locryn laid Edmund down on top of his covers and inspected the wound in his hairline with surprisingly delicate hands, given their roughness and size. “Can you hear me?” she heard him rumble and watched as Edmund’s eyelids flickered.

“My mare should still be a little way off,” she bleated. “I can ride for a doctor if —”

“No,” Locryn barked, straightening from his stoop over the bed to glare at her. “No need.”

“You’re sure?”

He actually lifted his lip at her and she held up her palms.

“I’m only trying to help,” she shot in a tremulous voice, fighting off tears of shock more than anything else in the face of his gruff temper. She hugged her arms around her middle to stop herself falling apart in front of the huge stranger, and she sucked her cheeks to keep from crying.

At the sight of her, Locryn’s whole demeanour changed. His massive shoulders sagged and he let his head hang. “I know,” he sighed, the sound gusting out of him in a rush. “I’m sorry. Come here then. Draw up a chair and hold his head while I try and get him to drink something. He’ll be alright.”

“You’re sure?” she said. “He looks like he’s been bludgeoned half to death.”

“Probably was,” he said. “Probably one of those damned revenue men with a fucking cudgel.”

Her eyebrows rose and her gaze slid unbidden to his right leg. “He was out in the storm too?”

“Most of them were out in it last night,” he said, fetching a simple, wooden cup from a shelf and returning to the bed while Nel crossed to meet him and slid her hand under Edmund’s head.

At the moment her fingers touched him, his eyes fluttered open and he took a deeper breath. “That’s it,” she smiled shakily. “Welcome back.”

He blinked groggily up at her and it took him a long while to focus properly on her face. When he did though, his lips parted and he inhaled so suddenly he started coughing.

“Here, love,” Locryn purred as he leaned in, heedless of Nel being close enough to hear the endearment. “Drink this.”

Nel supported his wet, salty, sandy head while Locryn let small amounts of liquid dribble into Edmund’s mouth. When he was satisfied, Locryn nodded at her, and she let him lie back on the pillow. While Edmund caught his breath, she tried to afford them both what privacy she could, and looked around her at the small, stone cottage.

A shimmering, silver sealskin was the first thing that snagged her gaze, draped over the back of a chair like a lady’s stole, and when Locryn saw her looking at it, he growled openly at her. He actually lifted one side of his lips fully this time and exposed a thick canine at her, and his green eyes seemed to flash silver in the quiet stillness of the room. The sound that accompanied the gesture wasn’t human at all, more like the rumbling of a guard mastiff. “Don’t you go touching anything in here,” he said.

Again, she just held up her hands mutely and realised why Aggie had been so keen to warn her away from him. He was more like a wild man from a fairytale than a fisherman.

From the bed, Edmund croaked, “Lock?”

“I’m here, love,” he said, again using the endearment freely in front of Nel. Perhaps a man who was happy enough to growl like an animal at young ladies was less than concerned over what society would think of him calling another man ‘love’.

“Took a bit of a crack on the head, I think,” Edmund said. “One of those revenue men in their damned cutter. She’s quick, Lock.”

“I should have been there,” he growled fiercely.

“Storm was too strong last night, even for you, sweetheart,” Ned smiled, his consonants were softened and worn down by exhaustion, like a wave-worn pebble in his mouth. He smiled though, and Nel relaxed a little when she saw it.

Locryn catalogued the movement of her shoulders out of the corner of his eye. “You got this young lady to thank for finding you,” he said and Nel flushed despite the cold that soaked into her muscles and started to make them stiff and her hands clumsy.

Edmund turned his dark brown eyes on her and smiled so sweetly and so openly that she felt her stomach flip over. “Th…Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering as a riptide of tiredness threatened to take him under.

“I’m glad I found you in time. And it was lucky you were on your back, or you might have drowned,” she said.

Something passed over Edmund’s sharp, thin features at that, and he turned even paler, if that was possible. “Yes,” he whispered faintly. His eyes darted across the room, seeing past her towards something on the other side that drew her attention with it, but she saw only the sealskin on the chair.

Nel took a deep breath and stood. She was shivering violently now and it was an effort to speak. “If you don’t need me, I’ll get out of your way,” she said to Locryn. “I need to get back to Heath Top,” she added, but he said nothing at all as she made her way to the door, and didn't break the rhythm of stroking his hand over Edmund’s head.

When she glanced back over her shoulder, she found him pressing a kiss of pure relief to Edmund’s forehead and she felt again that sharp ache in her chest. Knowing she’d overstayed her welcome, she stumbled away from the homely cottage and out towards the heath, and prayed that Blackthorn would be grazing where she’d left her.

To her immense relief, the mare spotted her at some distance across the meadow on the clifftop and jerked her head into the air, whickering around a huge mouthful of dandelions, and came trotting over with her nostrils flared wide in indignation at being so abruptly abandoned.

“There you are,” Nel laughed, rubbing circles on the pretty whorl between the horse’s eyes. “Look at you,” she added, pulling stray stalks and stems out of the bit and bridle where the mare had clearly been gorging herself on the meadow’s summer bounty. “Well, thank you for not wandering off, but how the Hell am I going to get back on?”

“I’ll give you a boost,” came a deep voice from behind her and she fairly leapt out of her skin.

Blackthorn immediately nipped her shoulder in sharp rebuke for also startling her in the process, and Nel jerked around.

There, standing on the shorter grass of the coastal path was Locryn. “Sorry,” he added. To be fair, he did actually look genuinely contrite despite his beastly size and dark glower.

Nel bowed her head and rested her forehead against the mare’s sun-warmed neck for a moment and let out a whickering laugh of her own. “I didn't hear you there,” she said. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” he said again.

“Will… Will he be alright?” she asked, letting her gaze slide away from the ruggedly handsome man towards his stone house a way off down the grassy incline.

“Yes. He’s a whole lot tougher than he looks, I promise you. But he owes you his life, for sure.”

“I’m just glad I happened to come this way today,” she said. Again, she shivered as the wind gusted and tore through the sea-soaked fabric of her skirts as if they weren’t there at all.

In the strong sunlight, she could see that the colour of Locryn’s eyes perfectly matched that of the blue-green of the sea behind, and, set in his weathered, sun-bronzed face, they looked like the long-lost gems from a pirate hoard. She nearly scoffed at the comparison and chalked it up to hysteria brought on by the day’s ordeal.

The wind tugged insistently at his long, thick ponytail, and at six foot five or six, he absolutely towered over her. Yet, for all his gruff appearance and earlier rudeness, he smiled kindly at her for the first time. Then, his full, slightly scarred lips parted and he spoke falteringly.

“I… believe we might have got off on the wrong foot, miss,” he said in his harsh, gravelly bass. “I can be a mite short with people I don’t know — folk who aren’t from round here — and I’m damned protective of… of those I care for, but I apologise for making you feel unwelcome.”

His rough, heartfelt apology made her beam up at him, and she laughed in light-headed relief, pushing her brown, wind-tangled hair out of her eyes. What a state she was in. If anyone saw her now, she dreaded to think what their opinion of her would be. “It’s a small community, and you look out for your own,” she said. “I can’t blame you for that.”

“You’re kind, miss,” was all he said to that.

“Nel, please.”

“Nel?”

“Well, ‘Eleanor’, but only my family calls me that, and usually when I’ve been up to mischief.”

He laughed and jutted his chin at the mare beside her. “Best get you back aboard, Miss. Nel,” he said. “Wind’s picking up, and you need to get out of those wet clothes afore you get sick.”

Locryn dropped stiffly to one knee beside the mare and laced his fingers to give her a leg up. Tentatively, she set her sandy, wet boot in his palm and let him boost her upwards into the saddle in a single, smooth motion. Something in her core tightened at the thought of how strong he must be to lift her without so much as a grunt of effort. She wasn’t anywhere near as slim as Winnie, but her skirts had to weigh almost as much as she did with all the seawater still saturating every stitch and hem.

Once she was settled astride Blackthorn though, and those wet skirts were accommodated as comfortably out of the way as she could get them, she adjusted the reins and looked down at him. Blackthorn stamped her hoof into the grass and snorted, eager to be off.

“Tell Edmund I’ll be thinking of him as he recovers,” she blurted. “He’s… He’s lucky to have you to look after him.”

“I will,” Locryn said, settling her left boot in the stirrup with a firm grip that lingered on the joint of her ankle a moment too long and a touch too firmly. “He’ll be back to his old self in no time, you’ll see.”

Smiling faintly, she reined the mare around and trotted her a few paces up the path before urging her into an easy canter.

She felt the ghost of his strong fingers around her left ankle all day.

That night, Nel dreamed of thundering surf and scarred, weathered hands wandering in places she’d certainly never felt the hands of another; of low-frequency growls right in her ear and teeth nipping at skin; and of gentle, gasping moans escaping pale, slender, exposed throats and of running her fingertips along a sharp jawline, and she woke sweaty and tingling all over in the pre-dawn light.

___

Next chapter ->

Oh ho ho there, Nel... Next time we get to see a bit more of Edmund, and the harvest festival dance at Heath Top House is just around the corner. I wonder if all the local residents will come...?

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

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[pqt-tumble]

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

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

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

#kingdom hearts #akurokushi #xion #Roxas #kh axel #sea salt trio #ot3week #ot3 #ot3 week #ot3 week 2024 #ot3 week day 4 #m/m/f

[kind-hufflepuff]

KATNISS EVERDEEN AS A VAMPIRE WITH A TRACKING GIFT

#aesthetic #the hunger games katniss #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #twillight au #vampire #vampire aesthetic #m/m/f #polyamory #lgbt #polyamorus #katniss x finnick #katniss x peeta

[fanficshiddles]

A Blessed Curse, One Shot

Thanks for the prompt, madcaphat Hope you like it!

Loki gets hit with a 24 hour curse separating him into his kind self and his carnal self. You are unaware at first. One loki is the gentle smooth talking gentlemen that strokes your hair and utters sweet nothings of his devotion. The other is a confident Dom that tosses you over his shoulder to carry you to a more secluded area to have his rough and self satisfied way with you. It's a day to remember why you are deliriously happy with all the parts of loki.

-

When you got home from work, you were happy that you were on holiday now. You had two weeks off, and that meant two whole weeks of being in your lovers’ arms.

You still couldn’t believe how lucky you were that you had Loki. An actual God. Even though you hadn’t known that at first, but you soon found out not long after he began courting you. It was difficult for him not to use his magic around you naturally, so he had to tell you who he was.

But you accepted him for everything he was. His Jotun form too, that he had told you about and showed you. He’d told you about his darker side, the dark times he’d been through. You loved him no matter what, and he loved you no matter what, too.

‘Hello, my darling.’ Came his seductive voice as he greeted you at the door. You smiled widely as he took you in his arms and kissed you softly.

‘Hi, love. I missed you.’ You wrapped your arms back around him and pressed your face into his chest.

He kissed the top of your head and squeezed you tightly. ‘I missed you more. You know I can’t go five minutes without missing you.’ Loki whispered into your hair, making your heart melt.

‘Anything exciting happen while I was at work?’ You asked as you both headed through to the living room, he couldn’t take his hands off of you, and when you sat down on the sofa he pulled you down onto his lap, so he could stroke your hair.

He was being very affectionate tonight. Not that he wasn’t normally, but this was something else. You couldn’t put your finger on it though.

He shrugged and trailed his other hand up and down your thigh. ‘Not really…’

But you suddenly heard footsteps come into the room, and you felt a weird tingle down your spine.

‘Ah… apart from that.’ He hummed and tilted his head to the side.

You turned around to see what was going on, or more, who was there. And you blinked hard, unable to believe what you were seeing.

Another Loki.

‘What the…’ You trailed off. ‘An illusion?’

‘Not at all, pet.’ The other Loki growled low and stalked over towards you.

The Loki’s lap you were on tried to hold you tightly, but the second Loki easily grabbed hold of you and threw you over his shoulder. ‘Loki! What the heck are you doing?’ You asked, but couldn’t stop a giggle from bursting out as he carried you to your bedroom.

He tossed you onto the bed and crawled over the top of you, grabbing your wrists he pinned them down above you and leaned down to kiss and bite at your neck, making you moan.

‘You’re going to behave for me, pet. And take what I give you.’ His voice was so growly and full of dominance, making your knees weak.

‘Be careful with her.’ The first Loki said as he entered the room too and rushed to the bed, up by your head.

The Loki above you rolled his eyes and rudely shoved his way between your legs. He used his magic to keep your hands up in place, and he worked his way down your body until his face was buried between your thighs, feasting on you and biting your inner thighs, leaving marks.

‘Loki… What… what the, ohhhhhh…. What the hell is going on?’ You panted as the Loki between your legs was sucking hard on your clit, almost to the point of overstimulation, but it was SO good.

The first Loki was kneeling by your head, stroking your hair again and leaning down to kiss your forehead now and then.

‘I… I fell into a spot of bother, hit by a curse that seems to have split me into two… My more brutish side and, well, me.’ He said sheepishly, kissing your nose.

‘Brutish?’ The second Loki snarled and glared over at himself.

But the Soft Loki ignored him and continued comforting you, while the more Dominant Loki made you cum on his tongue, sending you into heaven. You were sure you had died, you had to have.

Soft Loki cupped your chin and kissed you, his tongue slowly danced with yours, distracting you while the dominant Loki moved back up between your legs, his magic had his clothes disappear so the weight of his cock was felt against your mound, pre cum dripping onto you already.

‘God, you’re so beautiful.’ Soft Loki hummed as he trailed his hands down to your breasts, gently playing with your nipples.

Dominant Loki smirked down at you, making you tremble. You thought he was going to take you in this position, but suddenly he smacked Soft Loki’s hands away and grabbed your hips, flipping you over onto your front.

You gasped as he gripped your hips and hauled you up onto your hands and knees, then he mounted you in a flash and his cock sank into you, not giving you much time at all to adjust to him. Though your body was well accustomed to Loki’s cock, when he was in a dominant mood or not, you were always ready for him.

It was weird seeing his personality split, but you certainly weren’t complaining having two Loki’s for however long the curse would last… If you could call it a curse, since it wasn’t for you anyway. It was more a blessing.

‘Don’t hurt her.’ Soft Loki said in annoyance.

‘She’s fine. She can take it. Can’t you, little slut.’ Dominant Loki snarled as he smacked your ass, making you gasp. He didn’t give you long to process the spank, as he then started fucking you roughly. His fingers were still digging into your hips, keeping you impaled on his cock.

The way you trembled and squeezed on his cock was enough of an answer to that.

You moaned over and over, your head started spinning. Soft Loki moved on front of you and cupped your face, looking at you with so much love and adoration in his eyes.

‘Tell me if he hurts you, I’ll make him stop. You’re so precious to me, my darling.’ He said softly and kissed your forehead.

The complete difference in them was crazy. You could barely wrap your head around it, and you didn’t have time to before Dominant Loki had slipped a hand under you to manipulate your clit, making you cum all over his cock.

‘Ohhh yes. That’s it, my good naughty girl.’ He praised and smoothed his hand up your back as he came too, filling you up.

You whimpered at the feeling, then whined in disappointment when he pulled out. But you didn’t get long for respite. Soft Loki pulled you onto your back and under him, he peppered kisses all over your face and slid his length into you, but he was gentle compared to the Dominant Loki.

He still felt just as amazing inside of you though. The angle he had, he made sure his cock stroked over your g spot with every single thrust, making you shudder underneath him.

Dominant Loki watched from the side, scoffing now and then and complaining how pathetic he was. Soft Loki and you just ignored his comments.

You loved both sides of him. As when he was one, he knew exactly how to be with you and when. He always seemed to know when you needed some gentle loving, or when you needed the rough fucking. Or sometimes just somewhere in-between.

When Soft Loki made you cum at the same time as him, making you flutter around his cock, you felt exhausted. Loki chuckled and kissed your shoulder.

‘How… how long exactly is this going to last for?’ You asked as both Loki’s lay down at either side of you.

‘Not sure.’ Dominant Loki hummed.

But the three of you made sure to make the most of it. Soft Loki took you on your side again, while Dominant Loki managed to wriggle his way behind you and took you up the ass at the same time after some preparation. It was something you’d never experienced before, but fell in love with very quickly, bringing you completely new heightened pleasure.

The following evening, you came out of the bathroom to find that one Loki had disappeared, as there was just one sitting on the sofa now. When there had been two a mere minute ago.

‘Are you one again?’ You asked as you plopped yourself down on his lap.

He smirked and stroked up your leg. ‘I think so… Unless I’m the dominant one and have scared off the soft one.’

‘Hmm… Well, I’ll need to take my chance and hope you don’t completely devour me.’ You giggled and put your arms around his neck.

‘That could happen either way.’ He growled in promise as he attacked your neck, making you giggle more.

#tom hiddleston #Loki #Loki x you #M/M/F #prompt #one shot

[prpfs]

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Hi I’m looking for anyone 18+ interested in a M/M/M or a M/M/F roleplay. Basically I have two guy oc’s who I absolutely love and want to write them against someone in a threesome kind of scenario. (Threesome? Love triangle? Orgy? Whatever u wanna call it) one guy is a top and the other guy is switch.

The first scenario that came to mind was a zombie apocalypse kind of vibe because that’s always my favourite. Perhaps some sort of survival camp where our characters meet and eventually begin to agree that some dodgy shit is going down in the camp.

Orrrr I have lots of random little plots that don’t really go anywhere atm but I would love to share them with you if zombies aren’t your thing, we can work on them together and make a great plot. Or if you’ve got any ideas please send them my way! I’m just desperate to play my two stupid boys lmao.

Kinks and whatnot are up for discussion. Leave a like and I’ll reach out as soon as I can! Thank you.

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

#oc roleplay #oc rp #oc x oc x oc #m/m/m #m/m/f #dead dove