#dom/sub undertone

[hairmetal666]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #baseball au #teammates to lovers #ficlet #fluff #first kiss #feelings confession #steve thinks he'll hate eddie but he just falls in love with him instead #pitcher eddie munson #catcher steve harrington #i had this idea a month ago and forgot about it #dom/sub undertones in the way that what if steve gently doms eddie into pitching better #what if steve modeled for SI's body issue and what if eddie is obsessed with him the whole time #really playing fast and loose with how major league baseball works

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 5461

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

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

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

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

8. Banana-Dulce Cheesecake

Bucky

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

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

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

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

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

“Nngh.”

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

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

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

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

Oh, his golden boy.

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

“Sorry, sorry.”

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

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

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

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

It’s just so fucking much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve groans again. "Tell me."

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

“Fuck, Bucky. Uhn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the plan?”

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

Bucky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, right?”

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

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

“Oh. Well I stand corrected, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay, Babe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?”

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you too.”

Steve

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

“Yeah, sure.”

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

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

“Course, Hon.”

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

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

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

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

“What isn’t working?” 

“The stuff with Bucky. The drops.”

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

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

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

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

“What stopped?” Steve asks, confused. 

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

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

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

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

“... Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From work.”

“Why would they have these at your work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah Honey?”

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

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

… Almost. 

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

“Night, Steve.”

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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

[amgeryporcupine]

Okay, but I've been obsessing over the idea of Madara in oversized sweaters. Or, more specifically, Tobirama's oversized clothes. (Just another way Tobirama stakes his claim)

HAPPY NEW YEAR WOOOOOO!

Starting 2023 with Madara’s thighs

#madara uchiha #tobirama senju #madatobi #tobimada #my fanart #dom/sub undertones????!??! #owo? #thighs #delicious-

[squirmifyoulike]

(Credit to this post for this idea!)

During Thanksgiving week, many avian species find themselves being extra careful. Most ordinary families will just buy themselves a frozen turkey from the store to prepare themselves... But many preds like to go out and catch their own thanksgiving turkey.

Even if it's not a turkey at all, and is in fact a griffon.

Many griffons go about their business ordinarily. Who would mess with a griffon, right? They're strong, can fly, have sharp talons and a sharp beak... Nothing would mess with them.

...Except they totally would. One unfortunate griffon learned this the hard way on Thanksgiving evening as he was headed home, stomach slightly bulging out and squirming from his own meal. Out of the blue, a pair of strong, large hands grab him tightly, with one wrapping around his beak and the other wrapped around his neck. Before the griffon knows it, he's knocked unconscious and is left at the mercy of his attacker.

When he wakes up, he's confused. Groggy. He looks around slowly, and then realizes in embarrassment that he's been tied up and bound... Like a thanksgiving turkey. His stomach is on full display, and he's been placed on a platter on a table. When he lifts his head up, he can see his attacker clearly; a dragon, nearly twice his size. The dragon is holding a large bowl of stuffing, and it's eyeing the griffon with a malevolent grin.

"Finally awake, I see," The dragon rumbles. "Good. We can move things along, then."

The griffon opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get any words out, he's met with a large spoonful of stuffing. He's forced to swallow it down. As he does, he finds himself pleased with the taste; it's slightly sweet and salty, and it's been seasoned to perfection. Perhaps a little more wouldn't hurt... And then he can escape.

"There you go," The dragon coos as the griffon readily opens his mouth for the next spoonful. "Good boy. You'll make a fine thanksgiving dinner~"

Spoonful after spoonful is shoveled into the griffon's mouth, even as his stomach begins to ache and groan in protest. After a while, he finds himself panting, and as he's met with another spoonful of stuffing, he turns his head away and lets out a whimper.

"You're not done yet." The dragon growls, grabbing the griffon's beak. "You still have the rest of the bowl to get through."

The dragon forces the griffon's head forward, and again, he's met with spoonful after spoonful of stuffing. The griffin keeps swallowing, and finally, when he thinks his middle is about to pop, the dragon finally relents.

"There. You got through the whole bowl, see? That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

The griffon can barely respond. His stomach is extremely overstuffed, letting out high-pitched, strained gurgles. The dragon chuckles in amusement, and then, they go around to the griffon's head. The griffon wants to struggle, but they can barely move, thanks to the food that was forced on them unceremoniously.

"Hold still... It will all be over soon."

Seconds after hearing that, the griffon is met with the wide, gaping maw of the dragon. It closes over the griffon's head, causing the griffon to stiffen up and wince. The dragon lets out a low, satisfied rumble... And then, they begin ravenously gulping the griffon down. The griffon barely has any time to react; all she can do is stay tensed up and whine as the dragon's throat squeezes and crushes his belly. Within seconds, though, the griffon is fully sealed away. The dragon's gut is cramped and tight, and almost immediately, it's active, churning around the griffon and kneading into them. The griffon begins squirming a little, but they're still tied up and overstuffed, so they can barely move.

Outside, the dragon lets out a satisfied belch and rubs their swollen gut. They'd been waiting for this moment all day, waiting for the perfect creature to stumble by... And as soon as they saw the griffon, they knew immediately not to let this opportunity pass them by. As their gut lets out a low gurgle, the dragon can't help but to chuckle.

"Happy Thanksgiving," They utter. The griffon, of course, won't be around to see any future thanksgivings... but the dragon certainly will be. As they sit, rubbing their swollen belly, they begin wondering what they'll have tucked away in their belly next, after their current meal is done.

#fatal vore #tw vore #vore tw #v.ore #digestion #unwilling prey #soft vore #tw fatal vore #implied digestion #griffon prey #dragon pred #stuffing #foodplay #maybe??? idk #slight dom/sub undertones too

[hairmetal666]

He snaps to awareness in that hazy dream space, has a second to regret that he wasn’t miraculously cured of his PTSD, before something smashes against him. It happens so fast he doesn’t have time to fight back, and he’s pinned to his bed by bruising hands. 

Steve catches a glimpse of brown curls, crimson lips, fangs that look so much longer than he remembers. 

A whimper escapes, heart thundering, and he can’t tell how much is fear and how much is the instantaneous desire that consumes him whenever this version of Eddie is near. 

Eddie’s hand clutches at his hair, use it to wrench Steve’s head back to reveal the long lines of his throat. Predictably, Steve is rock hard, terrified and elated to be handled so roughly. 

“Nothing’s going to save you this time,” Eddie growls in his ear. 

He’s serious, of that Steve is certain. Eddie will drink his blood—maybe drain him dry, maybe tear out his throat—and god help him if his hips aren’t arching off the bed, if a moan isn’t cracking out of his throat. 

He expects Eddie to immediately sink his teeth in, but he groans back, grinds himself into Steve, unquestionably hard. Steve expects him to pull away, to go back to the murder part of his agenda. Instead, he noses at Steve’s throat, sniffing, scenting. 

“How the hell do you smell so good? Thought I imagined it” Eddie mumbles. Their bodies rocking together. 

Steve is too lost in sensation to answer, just whimpers, angles himself to get a little more friction. 

The warmth of Eddie’s laugh ghosts against his throat, making him shiver and whine. “Still can’t get over it. Steeeeve Harrington likes boys? Getting his rocks off with lil ol’ me?” 

One of those fangs snags at Steve’s earlobe, tugging, sparking pain that has his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“You like it when it hurts, baby?” Eddie mocks.

“Yeah,” Steve doesn’t know what he’s saying, feels like something has control of his mouth, but he means every word, anyway. “Like it. Need it.” 

I forgot to post a teaser yesterday, so have a little bit of smut. Chapters 12-15 of You Will Still Haunt Me out Saturday!!!

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ao3fic #you will still haunt me #steddie big bang #smut #enemies to lovers #monster eddie munson #dom/sub undertones

[stevesbipanic]

If you have any interest in the vampire Eddie... maybe him having the hypnosis and putting Steve in a trance and it's super relaxing and he actually loves it? (I know this has been done before, but I wish there was more)

I definitely have seen this a couple times but I love the concept so much we deserve more.

"Ok so fangs? Check. Drinking blood? Check. Wings? No. Turn into a bat? Yes. Claws? No. Pale? Yes. Hmmm what else do vampires do?"

Eddie and Dustin had been trying to figure out the extent of Eddie's "condition" since he seemingly came back from the dead a few months ago. Eddie now had his bat transforming abilities down pat, Eddie really loves flying around or sitting in Steve's polo pocket.

"Well what else does the handbook say?"

"Vampires can use psychic abilities on their victims. Maybe you can read minds like El?"

Eddie shrugs and tries to read Dustin's mind looking deep into his eyes.

"Nope not getting any weird visions about Suzie, oh shit is it eight already Steve is gonna kill me, grab my keys would you," Eddie says tugging on his boots.

Dustin silently stands, picking Eddie's keys off the table and holding them out to Eddie with a blank stare.

"Ummm Dusty, bud? You ok?"

Dustin shakes his head seemingly coming out of whatever state he was in.

"Woahhhh dude I think you have mind control powers!"

"oh shit really, that's so cool! We shall experiment further tomorrow."

Eddie pulls up to Steve's apartment, tripping over himself getting up the stairs and unlocking the door.

"Sorry I'm late sweetheart."

Steve rolls his eyes before going over to hug him, "Missed you today, work was shit."

"Oh I'm sorry baby, want to talk about it?"

Steve shakes his head, "Nah, how was Dustin? Discover any weird new vampire things?"

"Oh I think we did actually, Dustin is pretty sure I can control minds, wanna help me test it" Eddie says wiggling his eyebrows.

Steve laughs, "sure" and leads them both to the couch.

"Ok, hmmm what to make you do? Ooo should make you kiss me," this makes Steve laugh again kissing Eddie's cheek. "I do that very willingly already, Eds."

"You're right."

"Just surprise me, I trust you." And doesn't that warm Eddie's heart, he kisses Steve's cheek nodding.

"Ok here it goes," Eddie looks deep into Steve's eyes like he did with Dustin, "Come sit on my lap sweetheart," Steve seems to get a relaxed expression over his face and crawls into Eddie's lap. Eddie could see the stress of the day wrinkled into his boyfriend's face, Steve looked so tired and hadn't been sleeping much lately. "Close your eyes and sleep, darling." Steve dutifully closes his eyes and relaxes into Eddie's chest, his breathe evening out as he falls asleep.

Steve wakes up a couple hours later, with Eddie running his fingers through his hair, reading a book. "Hey there Stevie, how you feeling?"

"Like I just had the best nap ever, did it work or did I just fall asleep instead?"

"It worked, I just also told you to fall asleep you looked like you really needed it. How did it feel?"

"Like I didn't have to worry about anything anymore, I just had to listen to you and what you wanted. It was really nice actually, to let go so easily, maybe we could do this more often, and not just for sleeping."

"We'll see baby, but that's a conversation for tomorrow, I think it's time we head to bed."

"You don't even sleep!"

"Yeah but you do, plus you're cute when you sleep."

"You're lucky I love you, weirdo"

"Yeah, I am."

#loved this prompt #all for vampire eddie and slight dom/sub undertones of these two #later eddie teaches steve bout subspace etc #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #vampire eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie #ficlet

[geraskierficrecs]

Anarchy Update!

New chapter to read here.

Teaser:

Jaskier left Novigrad with a small backpack full of his belongings, an empty bank account and a tiny, three-legged kitten tucked into the pocket of his jacket.  He hadn’t bothered to carry anything else out of his dorm room or even let his professors know why he wouldn’t be back in their class room again.  Whatever naivety he might have once possessed about justice or proving there was evil in this city had died with Renfri.

He bought a ticket out of town with the cash he’d accumulated from his last gig and pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head to hide his features from nearby cameras.  If the Witchers were hunting Renfri for what she’d discovered about Stregobor, it was only a matter of time before they began looking at the people closest to her for more information.  There was no hope that he’d be able to hide his fury or heartbreak from a Witcher and so he chose to do the unthinkable:

He would leave this city and find his own justice.

By the time the news began to cycle through the story of a dead extremist killed by the White Wolf, Jaskier was already out of the city limits and heading deeper into the Continent.  In Posada, he watched the white-haired Witcher grunt his way through a press conference while Stregobor and the older Witcher, Vesemir, watched with obvious approval.  At the outskirts of Redania, Jaskier found himself at the end of his cash and forced to walk into the country of his birth on foot.

He walked into Redania with his rage and heartbreak compressed into diamond-like hardness. The silence that followed him through the bus ride and long hike toward the city in the distance ensured that he’d already thought how he’d return to Novigrad one day soon with the skills he needed to bring the Witchers and their fucked up, corrupt system to its knees.  Hours after leaving the bus stop, Jaskier reached the outskirts of Tretogor and began his hunt for the information he would need to topple an empire.

Instead, he found Phillipa.

#geraskier #angst #geraltxjaskier #my stuff #geralt x jaskier #angst with a happy ending #geralt/jaskier #modern au #badass jaskier #superhero au #villainous universe #villain jaskier #geralt goes feral #top jaskier #dom/sub undertones

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt 8

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control, humiliation, omorashi

Summary: Bucky Barnes is young, confused, and conflicted - a real "rebel without a cause" type. His parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Wait! I haven't read an earlier part of this fic! Story Masterlist

I've gotten a couple of asks about the worldbuilding behind this fic. If you'd like to read a little more context about how things are in this world, my answers to the asks can be found here and here

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Part 8

"Extended Suppressant Use in the Omega Patient: a literature review" (Mueller et al. 2019)

The bathroom incident does not give Steve high hopes of an easy first week with Barnes. Many new students wind up requiring extra attention in their early days at the school, so Steve is honestly surprised when he isn’t paged that Tuesday with a similar fiasco. He’s outright impressed when Wednesday and then most of Thursday passes by with no incidents, either. Whatever Sharon’s doing, it must be working well. 

Steve can’t say he doesn’t think about the boy regardless. He can’t help but remember their encounter in the bathroom; holding him down and dominating him into submission, pressing on his belly until he finally lost control. The sounds of the boy’s sweet whimpers are burned into Steve’s memory, the earthy and lightly floral hints of his scent still so easy to draw up in his mind. It’s a good thing that this is a busy week for Steve, otherwise he’d hate to think of how much more preoccupied he’d be by thoughts of his new omega charge. 

As it is, his schedule is chock full, his time eaten up with all of his normal headmaster duties (which are considerable), seeing through the end stages of the Academy’s formal division between the girls’ and boys’ sides, and a renovation that they’ve got going on in the south wing corridor. All of that, coupled with the small squabbles that Peggy manages to come up with on an almost daily basis, helps to keep Steve’s mind occupied. And on top of everything, there’s still a lot to be done for the upcoming parents’ weekend. 

He spends most of that Thursday morning dealing with matters directly related to the event that is, in essence, their biggest fundraiser of the year. All day, he's coordinating with his faculty; making sure that everything’s been ordered, scheduled, and arranged just how it needs to be to give the right impression to their guests, provide the right experience.

It’s crucial that all of the right people be well taken care of over the three day weekend, in order to ensure that their endowments to the school keep flowing in. Steve liaises with his staff over the details of the family picnic, the various assemblies and presentations that will be made, the planned activities for each afternoon and dinners that’ll be hosted each evening, and—perhaps most important of all—the formal presentation ball that caps off the weekend of festivities. This year they’re having a few ice sculptures flown in from Edinburgh. Silly in Steve's view, but a classic touch of extravagance that the guests will appreciate.

European nobility, old-money aristocrats, and even some high profile celebrities have been known to show up to the school’s annual matchmaking ball, always seeking amenable, traditional omega mates for themselves. And when your guest lists regularly include names like Vanderbilt, Kennedy, and Stark, good first impressions become very expensive and very necessary. Last term, a Greek shipping heir worth billions had scooped up one of the graduating class’ students, and once news of that had gotten around, enrollment for the next semester skyrocketed.

Steve takes great pride in the academic education provided by his school, but he’s also a realist: He knows that parents place high value on the promise of even a chance for their offspring to be so suitably matched. That, along with the behavioral outcomes the school is known for achieving, is a big reason why many families elect to send their sons to Carter Academy over other, similar schools on the continent. 

With so much to get done, Steve doesn’t get around to eating his lunch that day until well into the afternoon. He eats alone at his desk—a decision that has very little to do with the fact that he can monitor the school’s video surveillance system from his desktop computer. It’s not because he wants to check up on Bucky and hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kid since Monday. Nope, not at all. Steve always uses the camera system to check in on the happenings around campus, it’s nothing new. And it’s good practice, anyway. A headmaster needs to be involved in his school for it to run smoothly. 

If Bucky’s seventh period class is gym, and the gymnasium is the first area Steve decides to check, well that’s just happenstance. 

He logs into the system and scrolls through the long list of camera views. He has the most heavily trafficked areas bookmarked, but there are hundreds to choose from, every inch of the Academy’s buildings and grounds monitored by the StarkTec cameras.

Carter Academy has its own dedicated security team to keep an eye on things, of course. Rumlow and his men do a very good job of making sure the close to three hundred hormonal teenage boys that the school houses stay in line. Every year there are inevitably fights, students caught in each other’s bedrooms at the wrong hours for the wrong reasons, or a few runaways who gravely underestimate the distance and terrain between Carter Academy and the nearest town. Nothing that isn’t always quickly remedied, but parents appreciate the close eye that Steve and the rest of his administration are able to keep on their children at all hours of the day. 

He navigates to the camera views of the gymnasium and sports complex. The majority of students get scheduled for some sort of physical activity at the end of each school day. Exercise is important for omega bodies, and the gym period is thus positioned after all academic lessons have concluded, to allow for the running off of excess energy. It’s a time when their Handlers can take their well-deserved breaks. With only Mr. Odinson and the other Phys-ed staff looking after so many boys, gym period can get quite chaotic, and it predictably takes Steve a few moments to locate Bucky in the throng. 

Eventually he sees him: loitering off to one side of the indoor soccer field, half heartedly kicking a ball back and forth with the Parker boy. He’s changed into his gym uniform, though he hardly seems to be exerting himself. Rather, he’s in deep conversation with Parker, which Steve is happy to see. Every first year student coming into Carter Academy usually struggles at first, but it’s always a good sign when they make friends quickly. Parker, who can normally be found bouncing off the complex’s obstacle courses, seems to have dialed it down a notch to hang out with Bucky, the two of them talking animatedly between themselves. Steve even catches Bucky smiling a time or two, which lifts his hopes that the kid will assimilate well into his new routine. Perhaps this won’t be as hard as he’d imagined.

“Sir?” 

He flicks off the monitor when his secretary knocks at the door. “Yes?”

“Ms. Carter here to see you, Sir.”

Sharon comes in, and the two of them hold their pre-planned meeting about Barnes’ first days on campus and how Sharon has assessed his needs so far. Barnes is attitudinal, but Sharon seems to be amused by him, more than anything else. She hands over her recommendations for protocol, telling Steve that she’s not sure a male handler wouldn’t be in the boy’s best interest. 

“Oh?” Steve raises an eyebrow as he’s perusing her checkmarks along the list. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve seen what a handful he can be,” Sharon drawls. “Not that I don’t think I can handle him, but he responds more submissively to the male staff, and I think he’s primarily same-sex oriented.”

“You think?” Bucky’s transcripts from his old school had noted that he was equally as promiscuous with boys as he was with girls.

“Yes. And after Monday’s bathroom incident, I think he might do better with a man.” At the mention of ‘the bathroom incident’, Sharon fixes him with a meaningful look. “He responded well with you.”

Steve nods, flipping through the assessment packet. “Yes, well I am the headmaster. They tend to kowtow faster to me.” He tries to think of which male Handlers he has available at the moment. Typically, he doesn't over-prioritize students’ attractions when placing them with a Handler, as romantic attachment is something to be avoided at all costs, but if it’s a behavioral issue that can be corrected with something as simple as the gender of an assigned Handler, then Steve will consider it. “Thank you Sharon,” he tells her, once they’ve wrapped up the meeting. “It sounds like he’s doing alright, so I’ll keep him with you for now.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Alas, yes.” Steve sighs and so does Sharon, mocking him in a friendly sort of way. When she heaves a genuinely heavy inhale and declares that she has to 'get back to the grind', Barnes’ seventh period is almost over, Steve steps in. “Why don't I take him off your hands for the evening?” he suggests. Sharon looks pleased, but not overly surprised, her knowing smirk making Steve feel the need to defend himself, “It’s been a few days now, I should check in with him.”

“Sure.”

Steve frowns at her continued smug expression. “He’s got an appointment with the doc I need to escort him to, anyways.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Sharon is still smirking when she bids him farewell, leaving the office to take the rest of her day off. 

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. Whatever. He’s not giving Bucky any more attention than he’d give any other troubled new student. He grabs the boy’s folder and rolls out from his desk, planning to head for the gymnasium complex and intercept him there.

… If he checks his reflection in the little mirror by the door on his way out, it’s only because he always does that and it's habit at this point. It’s the professional thing to do, to make sure one looks put together before heading back out in public. Certainly it doesn’t have anything to do with how he’s heading out to deal with Barnes. That’s just happenstance.

Seeing Bucky again after several days is refreshing, and seeing him being friendly with another student brings a literal smile to Steve’s face. This is a good sign. It bodes well for how Bucky will do adapting to his new life.

Peter Parker can be hyperactive and spirited, but he’s a sweet boy at heart with a solid head on his shoulders and a brain between his ears that he actually chooses to use more often than not. He’s done well in the Academy’s program, and he’ll be an excellent person for Bucky to attach himself to during his time here. Steve stands by the gymnasium door with a delighted smirk on his face, because he really couldn’t have chosen better himself. 

The boys still have a few minutes left to their gym period when Steve gets there, so he leaves them to their uninspired soccer ball kicking and goes to touch base with Odinson in the athletic director’s office. Thor is all smiles and has nothing negative to say about any of the boys, as per usual, and Steve thanks him and tells him to make a note that perhaps Barnes could be encouraged to put a little more effort in and try out the parkour courses or the rock walls with Parker, moving forward.

He intercepts Bucky just as he’s coming out of the locker rooms. His hair is curling at the edges after having showered (amusing—the boy was barely exerting himself) and changed back into his regular uniform. The relaxed expression falls right off of his face when he sees Steve standing there. “Oh,” he says, coming up short. “You.”

Steve smiles indulgently. “Yes, I’m afraid. Me.”

“Hey Bucky I’ll see you at dinner maybe?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says distractedly, eyes still on Steve. “Sounds good.”

Parker heads off with his handler—Natasha, Steve notes, one of the very best and most dominant females he keeps on staff. "Making friends?" Steve asks.

Bucky ignores the question. “Why’re you here?” he asks mulishly, as Steve begins escorting him in the direction of the medical office. “Where’s Sharon?”

“Sharon’s taking a well-deserved break,” Steve drawls. "She and I had a progress meeting about you in my office, just now.” 

Bucky gets tightlipped then and doesn’t say anything, but Steve can see the wheels and cogs turning in his head as he wonders what was said about him. “She had mostly good or neutral things to report,” Steve offers, figuring the boy could use some reassurance. “But of course, I already knew from our interaction on Monday that you're having some difficulties adapting to school protocol.”

Bucky scowls at the floor as they walk. “Just because I don’t like pissing in front of people every day,” he grumbles. “At least we get some privacy to shit around here. Go figure.”

Steve laughs, then decides to strike the fear of God into the boy by remarking, “Oh, that’s a privilege that can be stripped away, too, if needed,” as they approach the end of the hall where the medical offices are. Bucky’s eyes shoot up to him, wide as saucers, and Steve snickers. “Yeah, I know. A true case of a ‘this is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you’ punishment, that’s for certain.”

Bucky all but ‘meeps!’ and Steve snickers and puts a hand on his back to guide him into the office. “Appointment for James Barnes,” he tells the receptionist, who immediately starts checking the computer screen.

Bucky turns on Steve, leery, as he gets a look at their surroundings. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

Steve ignores him until he’s gotten the go ahead from the receptionist and is guiding Bucky back towards one of the exam areas. “Just a check up. Standard practice for incoming students.” He pushes Bucky into the curtained off area and draws the curtain around to Bucky’s squawks of protest.

“What?! I don’t need to see anybody. I’m totally healthy.”

“That’s the goal. But we need to get you checked out, make sure there’s nothing that needs addressed.” Bucky opens his mouth to complain again, but Steve beats him to the chase, bending to pick him up by the waist and depositing his protesting butt onto the exam table. “Sit.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s scowling, but Steve doesn’t miss the light flush in his face at having been manhandled and reminded of his size and comparative weakness in the face of an alpha like Steve. He doesn’t try to get off the table at least, only shifting in annoyance and making the paper cover crinkle under his butt. “Could’a done it myself,” he grumbles.

Steve shakes his head fondly. “We need to get you examined. Behave, or I’ll have no problem with disciplining you while you’re under my care." Bucky goes tight-lipped at that. Steve nods in satisfaction. "Good."

“When’s Sharon coming back?”

“I told you: she’s been given a well-deserved night off. You’re with me until bedtime, young lady.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. What might’ve been considered affectionate a generation ago, now elicits only indignation and pushback. It’s sad. “Just behave for the doctor, will you?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but when the nurse arrives and introduces herself, he’s generally obedient as she runs through his medical history with him. He speaks more quietly when answering the questions about his sexual health, but Steve doesn't get the sense that he's lying—only that he doesn't want Steve to overhear. (Steve still hears everything, including the boy's very reluctant answer of having had "thirty something" past sexual partners).

Far from evoking displeasure, it mostly just makes Steve sad for the boy. Omegas may have very high sex drives, but they don't fare well in promiscuous situations. Bucky's lack of a reliable partner is probably one of the major contributors to his present mental health issues.

Steve remains quiet and allows Bucky his illusion of privacy on the other side of the curtained off area. The nurse listens to Bucky's heart and lungs, charts his blood pressure and other vitals, and takes a blood draw. It isn’t until she hands him a privacy sheet and tells him to undress below the waist that he kicks up a fuss. “What?"

“The doctor will be right in to do the pelvic exam.” 

“What? No. Why?!”

Used to tantrums, the nurse completely disregards him and looks to Steve. “Headmaster?”

“I’ve got him.” The nurse nods and leaves, and Bucky starts to move to try and get off the exam table. Steve rolls his eyes and goes over and pushes him back into place. “Not so fast, son. Now if you can’t behave we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“What’s the hard way?”

“Strapped face down on a bench,” he tells him, no-nonsense (though really, that's the easier way for omegas. He just knows Bucky will fight it more). “And that'll earn you a guaranteed spanking in my office, after.”

Bucky growls an angry little omega growl at him, “Why do I have to do this? What’s the friggin’ point?!” 

With his hands clamped on Bucky’s shoulders, Steve bends down and gets in his face. “Because you were popping suppressants for two years, Honey. That stuff can cause all sorts of problems.”

“No it can’t!” 

Steve ignores him and gives him a warning look to keep him in place. He reaches down and pulls one of the exam table’s metal stirrups out, which makes the kid even more visibly upset.

When Steve reaches under the skirt of his uniform to get his underwear down, Bucky growls and tries to kick him, nearly kneeing him right in the nose. Oh. That does it. Steve gives up on playing nice, standing up and grabbing him, using one hand to scruff him while he wraps the other around his waist. “Okay, bud. That was your one chance. If you’re gonna be difficult, we’ll do it your way. Let’s go.” 

“Nngh! Lemme go!”

“Calm down, Honey. Stop fighting, it’s not going to work.” 

The kid whimpers and goes limp for a few seconds from the endorphins of the scruff, but still wiggles in Steve’s arms once he’s manhandled him into the next exam room over—where there’s an exam bench quite similar in function to a traditional spanking bench. Bucky balks when he sees it. “No! Wait!” It takes laughably little effort to get the boy face down on the bench. Steve gets him strapped to it, and by the time he’s removing his underwear and securing his ankles, all the fight has left Bucky and he’s begging instead. “Please, Mr. Rogers. I’m really sorry.”

Steve grabs the room’s extra chair and pulls it over to sit by his head. “I know Buck. This won’t take long. Just try to relax.”

“Please lemme up. I’m sorry. I’ll go back. I’ll do it the other way, I will!”

“Can’t do that, Sweetheart. We need to check that everything’s alright and you’ve proven to me that you can’t be trusted to hold still.” He might’ve considered the request to go back and ‘do it the other way’, if he didn’t already know full well that the prone position is much more soothing for omegas to be in. “This’ll be better,” he promises. “It’ll help you stay relaxed. It feels nice to be strapped in like this, yeah?”

“But I don’t want tooo,” Bucky whines, not refuting Steve’s statement, and with less fight in him as he realizes that he’s been stripped of all control. “It’s embarrassing.”

Steve smiles sadly and pets his face. “It’s for your own good, Sweetheart. Something every omega has to do. The doctor’s just going to come in and use a tool to examine you and make sure everything’s alright. It’ll hardly take a minute.”

Bucky sniffles and turns his face into Steve’s hand, nuzzling his inner wrist and subconsciously seeking out the alpha’s scent for comfort. “Will it hurt?” he whispers.

Steve’s heart constricts—both at the question and the scenting behavior. “No, Honey. Of course not. Haven’t you ever had a reproductive health exam?” It’s supposed to be a standard part of healthcare after an omega’s first heat, but with only two beta parents in the home, Steve doesn’t know why he’s surprised. “It won’t hurt,” he reassures him. “Just relax down against the bench and be good from now on, and we won’t do a punishment spanking after, okay?”

“Really?” Bucky is clearly motivated by this promise, as he stops sniveling as much and nods when the doctor comes in. “Okay,” he says quietly, and Steve smiles and praises him,

“Good girl.”

The school’s doctor is a calm and friendly beta male, and though he doesn’t make any attempt to ascertain Bucky’s consent or opinion on what they’re doing there today, he does speak calmly to Bucky and talk him through each and every step of what happens, before it happens. Steve stays sitting right in front of Bucky the whole time, holding his hand and keeping his own wrist up by Bucky’s face so that the boy can continue to use his scent to self-soothe. 

Bucky goes red in the face as soon as the doctor flips his uniform up and starts palpating and examining his genitals. Even though Bucky's almost certainly trying his absolute best not to get aroused, the faint scent of slick still hits the air after only a moment or two, and he cringes and whines in embarrassment. "Hngh ..."

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs, trying to placate him with the words and a gentle rumble in his chest. “It’s completely normal to have a reaction. The doc's used to it. No big deal.” Frankly, for an omega to be touched between their legs and not become aroused would be cause for concern. They’re so sensitive down there that it’s to be virtually expected. But Steve can tell that this is little comfort to Bucky, who goes even redder in the face when the doctor hums in agreement and makes an additional comment about Bucky's arousal responses being healthy. 

“I’m going to prep the speculum now,” he tells Bucky. “It’ll be cool and hard, but it won’t hurt you.”

Bucky whines in mortification, his eyes clenching shut. Steve shushes him and pets his hair, which he seems to like because he pushes into it and untenses somewhat. Steve knows the precise second that the speculum goes in though, because Bucky's eyes pop right back open and he makes a small, shocked sound of, “Oh!"

Steve cups his face and tries to keep his attention. “Hey, you’re doing so good,” he praises, swiping his thumb at the corner of the omega’s eye, right where an overwhelmed tear has broken out. “Doesn’t hurt, right?” 

Bucky trembles and shakes his head. “N-no.” He whimpers when the doctor does something from behind, and then his eyes go a little unfocused. “Oh …” The next time he whines, it’s verging a little closer to a moan of pleasure than one of sheer worry. “Ohnn… nngh, just … mmm, s’weird.”

Steve tuts sympathetically, slightly aroused himself at seeing Bucky react this way. He clears his throat and tries to remain professional. “I know, Sweetheart, I know it’s a lot. Just hang in there for me.” He meets the doctor’s eyes from over Bucky’s back, shooting him an anxious look. 

The doctor nods. “Everything seems fine, Headmaster Rogers. He’s just a little swollen.”

“Swollen?” Steve straightens, concerned. “Is it bad? He was on oral suppressants for about two years.”

The doctor smirks and shakes his head. “No, not that kind of swollen, Sir.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s shoulders untense. "I see." He's maybe read a few too many medical journal articles since Bucky told him on Monday that he'd been on suppressants. "Good. That's ... good."

The doctor hums and looks back down, examining Bucky for another long moment before humming in approval and removing the speculum. Bucky’s back slumps and he makes another tiny noise—this time one of relief. “Is it over?”

The doctor pats his hip with an approving nod. “He’s a healthy boy. Nothing to indicate any lasting effects from the medication.” Over Bucky’s back, he meets Steve’s eyes again. “The risk for complications doesn’t go up very high until after the five year mark. We’ll wait on his bloodwork, but I expect it’ll all come back normal.”

“Oh, good.” Steve can’t help but be relieved. He’s definitely read too many articles, seen too many students come through the school's infirmary with much more serious side effects. “So no chance of infertility?”

“Very low,” the doctor reassures, even as Bucky makes a hurt little sound of concern over hearing that possibility. The doctor rolls his stool out from behind Bucky, pulling off his exam gloves and tossing them in the waste bin. “Nope. He looks perfectly normal, Headmaster, both inside and out. From the state of things I’d say he’s about midway through his cycle. So you can expect a heat within the next two weeks.”

Steve nods. “Yes, he reported as much. He's used an app for tracking on his phone.”

“Oh. Would you email that data?” The doctor is already standing and heading for the curtain that divides their little area from the rest of the room. “It’ll be good to have in his records.” 

“Sure thing. Thanks, doc.”

“Of course.” At the edge of the exam area, he looks back at Steve. “Ahm … he’s fairly aroused right now.”

Steve smirks. “I know.”

“Right.” The doctor glances back at Bucky, then to Steve. “I can send one of the nurses in, if you have anywhere to be.”

Steve shakes his head and dismisses the man. “That’s alright. He’s mine for the evening. I’ll handle it.”

Reassured, the doctor nods and ducks out around the curtain. He’s barely gone for a second before Bucky’s shifting in place on the table. “Um, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve looks back down. Bucky is blinking at him, flustered and uncertain. Steve pats his shoulder. “You did really well, Bucky.” He stands up and goes behind him, over to the room’s glove dispenser. He pulls out one of the large sized nitrile gloves and pulls it on. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uhm. Okay.” Bucky can’t see him from his position, so he wiggles impatiently. “Can you help me to, erm, get off of here?”

“Hmm.” Steve walks over and sits on the doctor’s abandoned rolling stool. He rolls to Bucky’s side, popping into his field of vision and giving him a knowing look. “You sure you don’t want help with this first?” At ‘this’, he lets his gloved hand touch Bucky’s flank, edging closer to his exposed backside. He watches as the boy's eyes widen and his cheeks colors anew. “It’s okay to ask for help,” he reassures. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Bucky lies. 

Steve arches an eyebrow. “You sure? Masturbation isn’t allowed. Did you remember that rule? You need to ask the staff if you need release.”

Bucky huffs angrily. “Why not? Why do we have to ask you guys? Why can’t we just—”

Steve taps his ass lightly, more to get his attention than anything else. “Submission, Honey. We’ve been over this already. That’s what everything here comes back to: learning to depend on somebody who can take care of you and give you what you need. You have strong sexual urges, and that’s okay. It’s completely natural. But you need to learn to turn to your alpha to get your needs met., otherwise they never fully will be.”

Bucky pouts. “You’re not my alpha.”

“That collar around your neck says different. And so does the paperwork your parents signed.” Bucky's face twists into a frustrated moue, stubborn little thing. Steve sighs. “Hey, I know you didn't choose this. I’m your official alpha right now, but one day you’ll find someone you actually want to be with, someone you want to marry and have a family with. All these rules you're learning are just to help you adopt healthy habits. So you can model correct relationship patterns.”

"I already do."

Steve snorts. "Honey, casually sleeping with 'thirty-something' people by your age is not a healthy relationship pattern."

"You just want us all to be lily white virgins."

Steve rolls his eyes as he rolls the stool farther back towards Bucky’s backside. "Certainly not. But hookup culture only serves irresponsible alphas and betas. It doesn't do anything to help you guys with your needs for bonding hormones."

"Another scientific study?" Bucky sneers.

"You got it." Steve looks down, a quick glance showing him what he already knew he’d find: a wet and swollen, little pink rim, clenching hard on nothing. He tuts sympathetically. "Oof. That looks painful."

“Hey, don’t … don’t look,” Bucky complains.

“Oh, hush.” Steve pats his butt—he really does have the sweetest little ass. “You’re very beautiful, Bucky. Every part of you is.”

That, right there, is Steve stepping over the line. Oh, he’s got no qualms about personally appreciating the form of an attractive young omega student, it’s only natural for him to find Bucky beautiful. What’s less appropriate is him commenting on it. Because, to be blunt, not every student in Steve’s care is traditionally attractive. Steve’s still responsible for helping them all equally, and thus it’s always been his policy to avoid complimenting students on their looks when possible. It avoids hurt feelings, subverts any competition between the students who are more naturally prone to jealousy over their shared Alpha headmaster.

But the words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it, and Bucky reacts obviously in the way that he flushes and squirms, instinctively pleased at being approved of in such a way. Steve decides that, since it’s just the two of them alone, he might as well let his guard down a little bit. Bucky’s shown a propensity for skewed thinking, after all, and he needs to be helped to form a positive self image. “You’ve got a lovely body, Buck. Even here.” At ‘here’, he lets his thumb dip a little further into his crack, not touching his hole, but pulling his cheek out enough to get a really good look at the sweet little clench of his rim. Steve hums appreciatively. “Just like the doc said: very healthy.”

Bucky whines and squirms. “Let me up.”

“I can do that. But you’re very wet, Honey.” Steve reaches down between Bucky's legs to glance fingers over his stiff little prick. “And hard.”

“Nnn.”

“You’re not going to have a very pleasant evening if I leave you like this. Are you sure you don’t want some relief?”

Bucky’s body stays tensed, his asshole blurting out more slick from Steve’s hand touching him even just that little bit. He seems to consider it as a real option for a moment, waffling over his decision, but eventually gets out a terse little, “No,” forcing himself to ignore what his body needs. “I don’t.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want you to do it,” he grits.

Steve sighs, not too surprised by that. Bucky’s still resentful of the one person who has complete authority over him. Steve'll probably be the last person he yields to. That’s the way it often goes with the bullheaded kids: they come around to their teachers first, Handlers second, and submit to Steve as their alpha last of all. It’s to be expected, but Steve can’t say he isn’t more disappointed than usual, in this case.

Because he isn't lying to the kid just to improve his self esteem: Bucky really is uncommonly beautiful. A handsome, small but strong boy who is exactly Steve’s preferred type when it comes to omegas. And his scent is … Well, all omegas smell lovely, but Bucky's scent is unusually fascinating.

Ever since that first day in Steve's office, when he'd submitted with such an easily provoked release, Steve’s wanted to get a better sense of him. This would have been the perfect chance to do that. Steve would’ve relished the chance to coax an orgasm out of him today, but if Bucky needs more time to truly relax into it, then he's willing to wait. Not like there won’t be plenty of opportunities in the future, once the boy's sexual urges have built up enough to have him eagerly submitting. 

Steve closes his eyes and takes one last, indulgent inhale of that spiced, floral scent that’s only made stronger by the arousal. Viburnum, he realizes. That’s what it reminds him of. It clings to the edges of the earthy undertones of Bucky's scent, enhancing it to something truly alluring. Regretfully, Steve pats his hip and rolls away on the stool. “Okay,” he says, trying not to let the disappointment come through in his voice. “That’s alright, Sweetheart. I’ll have the nurse sent in to help you.”

“What? No.” Bucky twists his head in the restraints once again to look back at Steve where he’s removing the medical glove and standing up. His eyes widen when he sees the blue glove going into the waste bin, not having realized that Steve had donned it, having literally been prepared to finger him to orgasm. His mouth works helplessly for a moment, open and shut in a loss for words. “I don’t want anybody to do it.”

Steve walks back around in front of him and crouches down to his level, fixing him with a doubtful look. “Well that’s your choice, Honey. But you still won’t be allowed to touch yourself, you do realize that? If you change your mind after lights out tonight, then you’ll have to wait all the way until tomorrow morning to get a staff member to give you any relief.”

Bucky pretends to be unaffected, but Steve can see the brief flash of panic in the boy’s eyes at the prospect of going that much longer without an orgasm. “Fine,” he says, putting on a brave face. “I don’t care.”

Steve isn’t a fool. He knows that Bucky is almost certainly planning to break the rules and touch himself at the first available opportunity. Still, some lessons can’t be taught until mistakes are made and bad behavior corrected, so Steve nods and stands up to start unbuckling the bench’s restraints. “Okay, your choice, bud." 

Bucky climbs off the bench once he’s able to, and Steve hands him his underwear to put on. His little prick is completely erect as he hurriedly pushes the uniform’s skirt back down, and he winces in discomfort as he pulls up the two layers of his underwear and gets them into place on his oversensitive body. “Ugh,” he huffs quietly. “Stupid.”

Steve chuckles, though he honestly feels more pity for the kid than anything. Bucky’s regret over having turned down an orgasm is so obvious it’s near palpable, his scent still rich with arousal. And just like Steve knows without a doubt that the back of the boy's underwear is already getting a wet spot, he also knows that he'll be checking the dormitory’s security feed later that night. With the level of certainty he has over Bucky’s plans to break the rules and touch himself, Steve figures he might as well start planning out what corrective measures they’ll inevitably be instituting as punishment.

“Come on,” he says, putting an arm around the kid’s shoulders and guiding him out of the room. “It’s dinner time. You must be getting hungry.”

Bucky says that he isn’t, but his stomach betrays him by growling loudly not two seconds after.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup. Fic commissions reach out via Tumblr messenger or Kofi.

Event: @sebastianstanbingo Card: sarahowritesostucky Square O4: Floral Scents

@scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers #fanfiction #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fanfic #a/b/o #alpha steve rogers #omega bucky barnes #alpha/omega #omegaverse #hate to love #enemies to lovers #boarding school au #dark fanfiction #dark!fic #teacher x student #age difference #d/s dynamic #dom/sub undertones #discipline #bingo fills #sebastian stan bingo

[noneimmortal]

ah yes, my third most favorite ship: the most despicable woman that ever walked current day westeros and the most goodie two-shoes guy i can think of. He won't fix her, oh no, she'll make him worse, like a lot worse. (Think of the babies peopleeeeee! the lannister arrogance and stark wolf blood would make menaces, i tell you)

feel free to check out my playlist!

#nedsei #cersei lannister #ned stark #god i love these two #hate sex #dom/sub undertones #hehe :3 #Spotify #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

[buttsneaks]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order Series (Video Games), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bode Akuna/Cal Kestis Characters: Bode Akuna, Cal Kestis, Merrin (Star Wars), Cere Junda, Greez Dritus Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Uniform Kink, Fluff and Smut, bode akuna is dummy thicc, Dom/sub Undertones, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings Summary:

It isn't until they're planning a mission to spring a Path informant from custody aboard a star cruiser that Bode remembers he still has an old Imperial uniform stashed away with his things.

It's not much - just a set of dress whites and matching kit - but along with the fresh set of code cylinders courtesy of their contact at the ISB, it might be enough to get him in and out of the cruiser undetected.

"Hey, just wanted to check and see if you're rea-" Cal's voice cuts off abruptly, and Bode turns to him standing there with a strained expression on his face, his cheeks burning bright red.

Or: Cal finds out he has an uniform kink, and Bode obliges... but not without teasing him about it first.

#spyscrapper #bode akuna #cal kestis #bode/cal #fluff and smut #dom/sub undertones #everybody lives/nobody dies

[sunnysideprincess]

“Whiskey & Red”

You meet him one Saturday by sheer luck. He's wedged in deep between two cars, his suit damaged and head bleeding from a terrible cut. He gives you a little wave and a smile, asks you your name like he's chatting up the press. Then oh so casually, he asks you if you could maybe drive one of the cars away and make him some space.

You try to tell him it might be a bad idea to aggravate his injuries further without professional help. But he just waves off your concern, tells you he's had worse.

When the car backs up, you see him cry out, yet instead of stopping you he just yells at you to keep going. You worry. Worry a lot when even with the sufficient space he's squeezed up against the other car.

Then with a quick thank you and a promise for a coffee, Iron Man flies away—almost slamming into a building on his way up to the sky.

•••

Somehow, you're not really surprised to find Tony Stark at your doorstep, holding a bag of goodies in one hand while the other taps away on a phone.

•••

A month later, you are surrounded by a group of heroes, well on their way towards drunk.

And it's Barton who snorts and starts the game. Lights the match. Strokes the embers.

"Seriously though, that guy?" He waves towards where Tony is making more drinks. Drink. For you. Just you.

He shifts swiftly from one foot to other, dancing around to the sleazy tune Jarvis played for the ambience. You get a little distracted watching the three piece Tom Ford hugging him at all the right places and almost miss the next part. "Don't know why you'd go for him."

"What?"

Your mind is a little fuzzy, the last drink has done its job. You keep getting sidetracked thinking about that red tie wrapped around his wrists, tethering him to the bed until you've had your way.

"I just mean—Sure he's okay looking. But we've got a literal God and the legendary human perfection here. Nothing compares to that! And yeah, maybe I'd say Stark's got the money... What else though?"

You blink, trying to think of a decent word. Or two. Barton's smug face is rubbing you the wrong way. Worse, Captain America keeps throwing these forlorn looks towards your man. All of it making your brain a jumbled, hyped up mess.

"Tony," you end up calling out sweetly. "Honey!"

He turns and smiles, comes to you with a refill of your favorite which you take a sip of from his hand.

"Sit," you order then, feeling the low thrum of alcohol, music and rage in your veins.

His eyes grow wide and confused, but then you smile, vanilla sweet but edged with poison and he sinks into the couch next to you.

"Barton asked me what I see in you. I wanna show him."

"You're not having sex here," you hear someone yell. Yet ignore them in favor of swinging your hips over Tony's.

"I wanna show him," you whisper, your breath ghosting against his lips as your fingers tug on that cherry red tie. "What I like."

You brush your fingers up his jaw, smiling when he whines a little, grows heavy lidded and pliant under you.

The kiss is molten magma, slow moving yet hot to touch. It drowns away all the sounds around you. Lets you focus on the taste of your lover, the linger of whiskey and the lure of a beautiful man.

You pull away with a soft gasp, then grin when Tony whimpers and chases after you.

"Patience."

He stills and leans away, a pretty blush tinting his cheeks.

"There you go, Barton," you say without looking anywhere else. "That's your answer."

#tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #reader x tony stark #reader insert #tony stark #dom/sub undertones #ficlet #mcu fic #tony appreciation #mcu #marvel #Iron Man

[soliloqueeer]

Preview:

Every thought that plagued his mind disappeared the moment his back met the wood-panelled wall.

Ed's heart raced, its wild rhythm pulsing in his throat, while his wide eyes locked onto Stede's searching gaze. Stede regarded him with the same intensity he had while dragging Ed inside the room by the lapels of his jacket. His eyes were dark with desire like the sea during a storm and something else he couldn’t quite place. Yet he tilted his head ever so slightly as if posing a question. Ed knew instantly what he was offering and, without hesitation, responded with a single, timid nod.

A second later, their mouths crashed together.

Like a whirlpool, Stede was a swirling maelstrom of emotion and momentum, all converging to a singular point in space and time. Ed didn’t stand a chance. He was instantly caught in the pull, like a leaf in a drain, spiralling helplessly toward him.

While pressing him into the wall, Stede tangled his fingers in his hair. In turn, Ed grasped the nape of his neck and snaked an arm around his back, pulling him closer. When Stede made a sound in the back of his throat, Ed opened his mouth to capture it on his tongue.

Stede was commanding and confident in the way that he kissed. It was thrilling, but Ed refused to give in just yet. He was taller and more robust and found it easy to assert himself. Ed slid his tongue languidly against Stede’s and clawed at the back of his shirt, enjoying the friction. A wave of satisfaction spread through him when he heard his quiet whine, but the moment was short-lived. Shifting his weight, Stede deepened the kiss, catching Ed’s bottom lip between his teeth hard enough for it to hurt. Then, as if to affirm something, he untangled his fingers from Ed’s hair to firmly clasp the front of his neck.

The touch provoked a sudden, visceral response, sweeping through Ed like an electric shock. He pulled away in surprise, just enough to break the kiss.

Stede’s mouth was glistening as he searched urgently for his approval. “Okay?” he whispered hoarsely.

Yes, fuck yes, he wanted to say. Instead, Ed swallowed and nodded, trying to keep his cool.

When Stede leaned in to kiss him again, Ed yielded to it completely, trapped in the current. He worshiped the feeling of his fingers pressed into the pulse points of his throat and the heat rising to his cheeks.

Soon Ed was almost wanton, body pliant and responsive to Stede’s every move. While slotting a leg between Ed’s thighs, Stede’s cotton trousers slid sinfully against his leather pants, drawing simultaneous groans from their lips. Ed clutched desperately at the small of his back until his hands found the searing hot flesh beneath his shirt. He grabbed handfuls of Stede’s arse, grinding against him until he felt his hard length rubbing against his thigh.

Suddenly, Stede broke away, bracing Ed by the shoulders. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were alight with arousal and adrenaline.

“Bed,” he commanded breathlessly.

Ed’s eyes widened imperceptibly, enticed by Stede’s assertiveness like a moth was drawn to a flame. Then, the corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk.

“Yes, captain,” he uttered low, registering the flicker in Stede’s gaze before obediently slithering past him.

His heart thundered in his ears as he approached the other man’s bed, the distance between them accentuating the stark reality of the situation.

The sounds of the party above them grew increasingly pronounced, reminding Ed of the world they had left beyond the door and the thing he came here to discuss.

As he lowered himself onto the mattress, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a canon. Through the window, the night sky burst into a vivid kaleidoscope of colours, momentarily mesmerizing him.

He turned when he felt Stede drawing closer. With hurried movements, Stede removed his shirt and discarded it haphazardly on the back of a nearby chair. Ed watched him approach, admiring his naked torso and the multicoloured lights dancing off his pale skin. The broadness of his shoulders juxtaposed so perfectly with his narrow hips. Ed trailed his eyes down to the bulge protruding from the front of his trousers, and his stomach churned with desperate yearning.

The cannon sounded again, drawing his attention to the fireworks as the lights danced off the water. It was the final, fleeting reminder, gone the instant Stede shut the gossamer curtain with a loud swish.

Read the rest on AO3.

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Our Flag Means Death (TV) Rating: Mature Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet Characters: Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet Additional Tags: First Time, Bottom Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Top Stede Bonnet, Dom/sub Undertones, Canon Compliant, Resolved Sexual Tension, Episode: s02e06 Calypso's Birthday, no beta we die like men

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd fic #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ed x stede #stede bonnet #ed teach #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #canon compliant #first time #top stede bonnet #bottom ed teach #dom/sub #dom/sub undertones #Episode: s02e06 Calypso's Birthday #baby girl ed #ao3 #ofmd fanfic #ofmd fandom #oneshot #ofmd oneshot #my first ofmd fic

[yardofblondegirls]

when i post the fic im writing to ao3. thus posting to my ao3 for the first time since 2021. its gonna go crazy

#180ing from oklahoma 2019 introspective pieces to rated E x files five billion words munch mulder with sub dom undertones #take that biden!

[nightmareonpeachstreet]

When one of Dehya’s girlfriends makes an appearance in her demo and u start screaming and cheering

#the Candace Domming Dehya undertones are back yall #absolutely love that Dehya could kill a person with one hand tied behind her back #but she’s also the biggest sub to her girlfriends u’ve ever seen #adore her with every fiber of my being #Dehya #Candace #Candehya #Genshin Impact //

[geraskierficrecs]

Anarchy Update!

Enjoy a new chapter here.

Teaser:

Jaskier had never been a religious man.  He had no time for distant deities or shadowed leaders seated upon some gilt throne.  They had no interest in the cruelties of the world nor of writing any wrongs.

But here, here in their bed, he thought he saw the divine in the warm glow of Geralt’s bare skin in the moonlight.  A brightness purer than any stained glass window in the long strands of his hair. There was sacrilege in the bruises left in the shapes of teeth and touch, healing even now for Jaskier to repaint once more. It left Jaskier’s knees aching for the opportunity to bow before the god in human flesh.

Geralt shifted, looking over his shoulder as though he had no idea the effect he had on a mere mortal.  His eyes flashes inhumanly bright, reflecting the firelight in the corner and Jaskier’s heart gave a painful lurch.

He wanted to reach out, to touch, but something kept him pinned in place.  Words tangled in his throat and he fought to free them.

“You’re dreaming,” his Witcher murmured, voice soft and raspy with sleep.

I’m not, Jaskier tried to say, but nothing escaped.  I’m here with you.  I’m—

#geraskier #angst #geraltxjaskier #my stuff #geralt x jaskier #angst with a happy ending #geralt/jaskier #badass jaskier #modern au #badass geralt #feral geralt #villainous universe #villain jaskier #superhero au #dom/sub undertones #top jaskier #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5652

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

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

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

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

14. A Tour of the Continent

This Chapter: “Don’t have’ta fight me anymore, Buck. I’m not gonna leave you. I’m your Headship and I’m gonna take care’a you. Just gotta trust me to do that for you, Baby.” TW: [dub-con sex at the end of this one.]

They leave for the continent the next day.

Sharon and Pietro spend the morning packing up, and when they drive to the channel harbor, Bucky seizes the first opportunity he sees to misbehave. Steve has gone off to purchase ferry tickets and left him in the first-class lounge, when Bucky spots his chance in the form of three reporters. 

Society page writers are easily distinguishable from the general public. They tend to congregate in small groups in places like this, always seeming to have a low, eager chatter about them as they wait. They dress common but sharp, wear press badges on their lapels, and almost always have notepads and pens in hand, an assistant one step behind with a camera box tucked under their arm. Bucky could spot them a mile away.

They haven’t taken notice of him yet, but he quickly walks up and makes himself obvious. In the States, they would’ve jumped at the sight of him, but now it takes the senior most reporter giving Bucky a double take before anything happens. “Your … Your Lordship?” the man hedges, eyeing Bucky carefully. “Oh! Young Lord Barnes, is that you?”

Bucky acts marginally bothered at being noticed. “Yes,” he confirms. “Good day.” The other reporters perk up and act more enthused at the confirmation of who Bucky is. Eager to have discovered someone of importance, they crowd closer and start asking him about his marriage to Steve and his trip to Europe. Bucky answers their questions politely, if somewhat haughtily. He’s waiting for just the right chance to say something utterly outrageous, when the senior reporter surprises him by asking,

“And what about your father’s expulsion from the Senate? Have you spoken with your family since the ruling came down?”

Bucky freezes. “What?” he says. “His … his what?” He feels his heart thud faster in his chest. He hadn’t known the news had broken yet, hadn’t thought the inditement was supposed be made public until—

“The Senate voted to impeach days ago.” The reporter looks at him expectantly. “Don’t you have anything to say about your husband’s vote? Were you surprised?”

“Are you angry with him?” another of the reporters asks.

Bucky gapes. “His … his vote?” He knows he sounds like a stammering idiot, but he was completely unprepared for this. “My husband?” A feeling of dread is overtaking him as he begins to make sense of the reporters’ questions. Oh no, he thinks. It can’t be. Steve couldn’t … he wouldn’t have …

“What was your reaction when you heard that your husband voted ‘Yea’ for the motion to impeach?”

Bucky feels sick. “What?!”

The reporters all pause, looking taken aback at Bucky’s response. They seem to realize that this is news to him, and that just gets them more excited. They jump into another round of hasty questions: How could he not know? Hasn’t he been paying attention to the news? Has his new Alpha been isolating him?

Bucky gapes at them stupidly for another moment, before finally shouting at them to “Shut up! Be quiet!” He’s breathing heavily, face flushed with embarrassment and nerves. His mind is reeling, and all he can think about is that Steve voted ‘Yea’ for his father’s impeachment. Bucky can’t believe it! When would he even have had the time to … 

Oh. He thinks of that morning several days ago, when he’d woken and Steve hadn’t been in the apartment. How Sharon had said Steve was called away to a meeting, how Steve had come home and said himself that there’d been a motion called, that he’d had to go send a telegram instructing ‘how he wanted his vote to go’.

The sick feeling in Bucky’s gut turns sour and acidic, churning itself from horror to fury in an instant. He grits his teeth and fumes over it: Steve had been out sending his vote to ruin Bucky’s family, strip them of their title and their place in Society! And all the while Bucky's been touring London with the bastard! Sleeping with him! Bucky swears he sees red.

He whirls back to face the reporters. “My husband voted the way he was expected to,” he snaps. “He followed along after his peers in the Senate, toed the party line, because that’s all he’s capable of doing. I know for a fact that he didn’t even read the indictment. I’ve seen the way he works. He inherited his family’s Seat before he was ready for the position. His aides basically do his job for him. It’s pathetic.”

The reporters’ eyes have gone huge at Bucky’s scathing remarks. They’re scribbling down his words as fast as their hands can manage, squawking out more intrusive questions like, “Some are saying that your marriage was hastily arranged in anticipation of your House’s scandal. Is this true??”

Bucky sees Steve coming over. He’s looking at the reporters and Bucky, eyes narrowed as he notices that Bucky’s giving an interview. He’ll be in earshot within seconds, and Bucky hurries to say, “Of course it’s true. I only married him for the money he promised my family. I had no idea he’d be so weak as to vote against my father, but I really shouldn’t be surprised. His character is wanting, to say the very least.”

“So it’s not a happy marriage?”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t stand him.”

“Bucky!” Steve has arrived. He looks utterly alarmed. “What are you doing?” Bucky just glares at him. The reporters start asking Steve questions about all of the things Bucky has just said, but Steve throws up a hand and silences them, snapping, “This is over. I didn’t give permission for my Spouse to be interviewed.”

“But Senator! He—”

“Enough,” Steve growls. He takes Bucky by the arm and begins moving him away. “I’m his Headship, I didn’t authorize this. You know the law. If any of you print a word of what he just said, I’ll have you prosecuted and your publications run into the mud.”

The reporters all start complaining at that, and then when the complaining doesn’t work, they switch to begging Steve to reconsider and grant his permission after all, but it’s too late: He’s already dragging Bucky away from the lounge.

“Turn around and put your hands on the wall,” Steve commands. He doesn’t shout, but it’s still his Voice and it’s absolutely no-nonsense. He’s dragged Bucky into their passenger cabin on the ferry, affording them enough privacy for discipline—and for Bucky to pitch a fit. Bucky snarls at him and jerks away, but Steve recaptures his wrists and shakes him. “Don’t make me hold you.”

“You voted against my father!” Bucky yells. He’s so mad he can practically taste it. “How could you do that, Steve?!”

“I had no choice in the matter and you know it,” Steve says lowly. “The evidence was overwhelming. Weapons smuggling, Bucky. He put our national security at risk just to pad his own purse.”

“It’s my family!”

Steve glares at him. “Put. your hands. on the wall.” When Bucky hesitates, he threatens, “If you don’t do it on your own, I’m tripling the punishment.”

Bucky swallows heavily, some of his anger replaced by trepidation. He’s never seen Steve look so mad. Doubt flashes through him and he worries that maybe he went too far with what he said to the reporters. But no, he thinks, squashing that down. Steve deserves it and more. “I hate you,” he hisses. Slowly, he turns to face the cabin’s wall. He raises both hands up to the level of his shoulders and places his palms flat against the wood paneling.

Steve steps up against his side, close enough that he can murmur in his ear, “You are never to give unauthorized comments to the Society pages, do you understand me?”

Bucky clenches his teeth together. “Whatever,” he grits out. He’s startled into a yelp when Steve’s hand comes down unexpectedly, spanking him over the fabric of his trousers. “Ow!”

“You are never to give unauthorized comments to the Society pages,” he repeats. “Do you understand me?” He hits him again, making Bucky gasp,

“Yes!”

Steve's hand comes down once more, which is almost more than Bucky can take—not physically but mentally. He’s so mad at Steve he can hardly stand it, and now he’s burning with the humiliation of being disciplined as well. When Steve steps away and tells him he can bring his hands down, Bucky whirls around with a glare. “Get away from me,” he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Steve seals his lips tight together and says nothing. He just shakes his head in frustration at Bucky and goes to sit down on one of the cabin’s couches. “I can’t believe you,” he huffs. “Utterly disgraceful.”

Bucky feels humiliated tears prick at the edges of his eyes. He swipes at them hastily, hoping that Steve doesn’t notice. “You can say that again," he mumbles. They sit in obstinate silence for a long time. Neither one of them willing to break the stalemate as the horns blare and the ferry's engines shudders into motion.

Eventually, Steve sighs and says somberly, “Come on, Buck. You’re not stupid. You knew what they had on your father. You know how politics work.”

“Still doesn’t mean you couldn’tve—”

“He was wrong, Bucky. What he did was wrong. He deserved to be ousted.”

Bucky clenches his mouth shut, unwilling to admit that Steve’s right. It hurts too much. “My family—”

“Will be fine,” Steve finishes for him. “I’ve seen to it.” Bucky continues to fume and Steve shakes his head. “Just stop it,” he chides. “Sit down and relax.”

“Relax? You just spanked me!”

“A grand total of three times. You deserved it, and you’re fine,” Steve says. “I went easy on you.”

Bucky can’t argue that, because really? he knows that Steve did. It still infuriates him that he had to take it, though. “I hate you,” he mutters again, sitting down on the couch opposite of Steve’s. “And I hope they print every word I said.”

“It was all lies.”

“I don’t care.”

Steve inhales deeply and lets it out slowly, like he’s trying to keep his patience with Bucky. When he speaks next, his voice is surprisingly soft. “Bucky?” he says.

“What?”

“Look at me.”

Bucky glances up, meeting Steve’s eyes a little nervously at his eerily quiet tone. “What?”

“I don’t want to hit you, ever.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“But it’s becoming very clear to me that I’ll have to. You’re out of line.” Bucky’s eyes widen, and before he can formulate a response Steve adds, “So let me make this perfectly clear to you: The next time you act up like this, you won’t be getting off with three smacks over your clothes. Disrespecting me in public? Slandering our House?” He shakes his head. “Not happening anymore.”

“Says you.”

“Hey. I’ve never been anything but nice to you,” Steve snaps, losing his composure. “There’s no good reason for you to behave like this!”

(There’s one, Bucky thinks sorely. Though Steve doesn’t know it, yet.)

“From now on, if you insist on stepping out of your place, I’ll put you back in it.” Bucky’s nostrils flare, ready to throw out a nasty retort, but Steve beats him to the chase, Voicing, “Say: ‘yes, Husband’.”

“You do know I’m not omega, right? I don’t actually have to—”

“Bucky.”

“Fine!” Bucky snaps. “Fine, Steve. You win. I won’t talk to the press.” He already knows he shouldn’t have done it, knows he’s being outrageously disobedient and disrespectful and immature. He also knows that he’ll have to soldier on with doing just that, if he ever wants this marriage to end. After today, though, that prospect seems much more daunting than it originally had. He isn’t looking forward to it.

After the episode with the reporters, Bucky is careful to choose slightly less extreme ways to act up. He needs to drive Steve away, but figures that slow and steady disobedience will win the race. No need to push Steve so hard that the alpha takes it out on his hide. So, Bucky refrains from the whole public disrespect tactic and takes a more subtle approach.

“Subtle” translates to the following:

1. Leaning too far over the edge of the Eiffel tower restaurant’s deck, even after Steve repeatedly tells him not to. Then spitting escargot into his napkin in plain sight of their waiter with an immature “Ew! Snails, seriously? French people are nuts.”

2. Touching artifacts in Venice that he very well knows he’s not supposed to be touching, in full view of their displeased tour guide. (“Sir! Please, control your Spouse!”)

3. Removing his swim trunks at the beach in Mykonos before Steve can stop him. (“It’s a nude beach, Steve. They’re used to it here. It’s no big deal!”)

That last one results in a rather flustered Steve dragging him back into their whitewashed villa and shoving him down on the bed. Bucky gasps, bouncing once on the mattress and watching with wide eyes as Steve shucks off his own swim trunks, grabs something from the bedside table and tosses it to the blankets. He climbs up over Bucky.

“What’re you—”

“Shut up.” He pushes him down by the shoulders and kisses him hotly. 

Bucky moans despite himself, Steve’s sun-warmed skin feeling so good up against his own. His hands fly to Steve’s body without thought, running over the hard muscles of his back. Bucky feels his cock taking interest and he makes a questioning noise when Steve pulls back from the kiss. “I thought you were mad?” he breathes.

“I am,” Steve says, but he just goes back to kissing him hotly, running his hands all over him and rubbing their bodies together. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he tells him, flipping him over and reaching into the bedcovers for the jar of— 

Oh. Bucky inhales sharply when he feels the wet swipe of fingers over his entrance. They haven’t been intimate since the night of his nightmare, back in London. “Steve,” he breathes.

“Tell me no,” Steve says quietly, voice right by his ear. “Or else spread your legs.”

Heat pools low in Bucky's gut at hearing that, and he instinctively parts his legs, wanting to please his Alpha, wanting more of that quiet, domineering tone directed at him. Steve makes a rumbling sound of approval and slots a thigh between his legs, keeping them apart. He rubs the slick around his hole, presses and works the muscle without pushing inside. He waits until Bucky starts to react, then works him open on one, two, three; fingering him until he’s gasping and humping against the bed and pleading for more. “Steve,” he whines. “Come on.”

“Come on what?” he goads. “What do you want, hm? Want me inside you?”

“Yes!” Bucky hisses, frustrated. After stripping on the beach, he thought Steve was dragging him back here to discipline him. Now that he knows he’s getting fucked, he can hardly stand waiting for it. It suddenly occurs to Bucky that he’s terribly horny, and has been for days. “Come on,” he grunts, impatient.

Steve grips him by the hair to bend his neck, weighing him down with his body and scraping his teeth over the faint mark of where he’d bitten him that night.

Bucky shivers at the possessive gesture. He so does not regret having shed his swim trunks now. “You don’t like other people seeing me naked,” he says breathily, delighting at the idea of it.

“No, I don’t.” Steve nips him again. “Your body’s for me, not anybody else.” He plants his knees outside of Bucky’s and shoves his legs together, holding him still that way. He fits his cock against his entrance, the head of it blunt and intimidating. “Say it,” he commands.

Against the covers, Bucky's mouth curls and his cock throbs. “No.”

“Say it.”

He groans, both at Steve’s Voice and at the way he’s rubbing the head of his dick against his rim—pressing but not penetrating, not quite. “Fine,” Bucky huffs, giving in because he just wants it so bad. “'My body’s not for anybody else'.” His cheeks burn hot as he admits it, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t aroused by the way Steve's pushing him around and demanding things of him. "Happy?" he snarks.

Steve's fingers tighten warningly in his hair, but he rewards him for the submission by pressing in, firm and slow, and they both groan in tandem as he's filled. Steve doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated, hips flush to Bucky's ass, his heavy body weighing him into the sheets.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes. Steve is just holding still, his cock big and throbbing inside of him. “Ugh, move,” Bucky urges, trying to wiggle under his weight. “Steve, fuck, you gotta—Ah!” Steve snaps his hips back and fucks into him sharply, punching the breath right out of Bucky's lungs.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Fuck, yeah okay, whatever,” Bucky says, not really caring if Steve wants to say bossy shit right now. Just so long as he keeps moving, keeps fucking into him real firm and good. He’s so heavy behind Bucky, keeping him flat to the bed as he ruts into him. Bucky’s cock is absolutely trapped, rubbing deliciously against the sheets in a way that feels amazing, and pretty soon he feels himself ramping up towards orgasm from the stimulation. “C-close,” he gasps, wanting Steve to know how goddamn good he’s fucking him. “Oh, God.”

Steve growls and pulls them both back, pulls Bucky’s hips up off the bed and loops his forearm under his waist, holding him close. He fucks him harder and faster, his chest sealed to Bucky's back, their balls knocking together with every thrust. His hand closes around Bucky’s cock and Bucky shouts. “Yes,” Steve growls, jerking him off roughly. “Come on.” 

It only takes a good few pulls until Bucky starts to come, moaning and shooting his load all over the sheets. Steve really lets himself go to town after that, dropping Bucky’s spent dick and grabbing his hips instead, pistoning his hips at a brutal pace. His hot, panting breaths collect against Bucky’s sweaty neck and their skin slaps together as he fucks into him hard. Finally, he stutters, moans turning guttural as he reaches down. Bucky feels his hand back there: the ever-familiar motion of Steve desperately squeezing his knot, milking the orgasm out of himself and into Bucky’s ass. 

The mental image of it makes Bucky's balls throb and his cock twitch in a delicious aftershock. He groans against the bed, hardly caring as he collapses into his own sticky mess. “Ugh.”

4. He wanders off and gets lost in the biggest city in Turkey.

In all fairness, he doesn’t really mean to. He sneaks off from Steve, intending to remain close by and only make the other man think that he’s lost him. But he winds up losing track of Steve and then, well … then he gets all turned around.

He tries to remember the places he and Steve said that they would see in the city that day, thinking that maybe if he can make his way to one of those places, he might meet up with him. But going anywhere on his own proves to be quite the mistake. The roads and shop signs are all in Turkish, after all, and nobody speaks English.

Bucky gets increasingly embarrassed as he realizes that he has no clue how he’s going to find his way back to Steve or to their hotel. He’s been trying to figure out a solution by himself for over two hours and is just starting to contemplate taking himself to the nearest police station for help, when Steve shows up.

“Bucky! Thank God!”

Bucky whirls around, heart leaping at the sound of Steve’s voice, then at the sight of him. He heaves a sigh, full body, so relieved that he could laugh. He feels like he almost does. “Oh, God,” he says. “Steve!” He rushes forward, prepared to … he doesn’t know, maybe hug him out of sheer relief, but comes up short when he sees the look on Steve’s face. “Steve?” he asks. The alpha looks like he’s halfway ready to be sick, or scream. “Steve, I—”

“Did you do it on purpose?” Steve asks, tone unnaturally stiff. It’s like he’s trying with all his might to keep his voice neutral, waiting on Bucky’s answer.

Bucky gulps, wanting to lie but knowing he needs to tell the truth. That’s what’ll piss Steve off, after all. This feels dangerous though, like maybe he’s reaching a tipping point with Steve. He has to tread carefully. “I … yes,” he admits. “But I was just going to pretend! Then tail you. I didn’t mean to actually get—”

“Goddammit Bucky!” Steve hisses, hands flying up to rake through his hair. “Why do you keep doing this?! Why?!” When Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times, too nervous to answer, Steve says, “I don’t get you. It wasn’t like this in the beginning. You weren’t like this. What changed?”

Bucky stares at him, guts twisting in guilt at Steve’s words. “I … I just …”

“What?” Steve throws up his hands. “Ever since England it’s like you’re a different person. What are you trying to do, make me hate you?”

Bucky inhales, tensing up. His eyes flick nervously around and he instantly knows his face gives him away. He curses himself for not being able to school his expression faster. Steve’s eyes widen in understanding, and Bucky’s insides twist harder. “I didn’t—”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Steve stares at him, slack-jawed. “That’s what you’ve been doing. Trying to get me mad enough to what? Divorce you?” Again, Bucky knows he gives himself away just by the way he stands there frozen in place, mortification coloring his cheeks. Steve’s face collapses into a scowl. “Fuck, are you serious?”

Bucky finally manages to scrounge up some sort of answer. He juts his chin out. “I never wanted this marriage and neither did you. If you just divorced me, I could have the life I wanted, my family would still have the money and you … you could marry somebody else.”

“Somebody else? Who?”

Bucky shrugs, thinking of Peggy Carter and her pretty face. “I dunno. Someone who wants this life. Someone you love.”

Steve squints at him. “Bucky … That’s so stupid.”

“It is not!”

“I want to be married to you!” Steve snaps, and the veracity with which he says it takes Bucky by surprise.

“You … you do?”

“Yes!” Steve stalks over and grabs him by the back of the neck and scruffs him, bearing his teeth at Bucky when he gasps. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when I couldn’t find you? In a city like this?!”

Bucky cringes. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think.” Steve scruffs him again. “Look around you! We’re in freaking Istanbul, Bucky! Do you know how many Western betas and omegas are kidnapped out here? Sold into slavery?” He glares at him. “You could’ve been taken. With a pedigree like yours you’re practically a walking target!”

“Okay!” Bucky yells, jerking angrily in Steve’s hold. “Jesus. I’m sorry!”

Steve stares at him, and his face goes from angry to stony in only a few short seconds. It’s like he’s drawing into himself, gearing up for battle. It’s awful. “No,” he growls. “Not yet you’re not.” He tugs Bucky by the grip on his neck. “Come on.”

“W-where are we going?”

“Back to the hotel.”

In their room, Steve points at the bed. “Sit down.”

Bucky obeys, dread curling in his gut because this is different from the time he spoke to the press, or mouthed off at that priest. Steve isn’t livid now like he was then. Oh, he’s angry all right, but this time it’s a different sort of anger. It feels quieter, more dangerous, like a storm that’s about to break. “Steve,” he tries, worried. “I’m—”

“Be quiet,” Steve says. He stands in front of him, arms crossed, face pinched. “You put yourself in real danger today, do you understand that?”

Bucky flushes and looks down. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you remember what I told you I’d do, if you ever put yourself in danger?”

Bucky’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. He remembers. In front of him, Steve nods like he’s made up his mind. Bucky has a bad feeling about this. “Steve, please—”

“Get up,” he says quietly. “I want you to stand up and take off your clothes. All of them.” His tone is calm, but it leaves no room for argument. Bucky’s either going to have to fight, or else obey.

He swallows heavily, not sure his pride can handle a struggle where he winds up losing to Steve anyway. Inhaling shakily, he stands up. “I didn’t mean to get lost,” he mumbles, hands already moving to take off his clothes.

“I know,” Steve says. “You’re not being disciplined for getting lost. You’re being disciplined for making stupid and selfish choices that wound up putting you in unnecessary danger.”

Bucky has to grind his teeth together to keep himself from talking back. If Steve’s about to spank him, he doesn’t want to make it any worse for himself. He strips down to his underwear, and with one last questioning glance at Steve, pulls those off as well. Steve looks him over dispassionately, which only makes it more humiliating.

“I want you to bend over the edge of the mattress,” he says quietly. “Grab one of the pillows and put it beneath your hips.”

Bucky flushes and glares at Steve, but he does as told, positioning himself with slow, awkward movements. Once he’s bent over and just about as embarrassed as he’s ever been in his life, Steve’s hand appears on his back. Bucky inhales in surprise, and Steve shushes him.

“I’m going to give you a choice,” he says.

“… What?”

He rubs up and down the center of Bucky’s back, eliciting goosebumps. “You can take thirty with my hand, or ten with my belt. It’s up to you.”

Bucky’s guts clench in trepidation. Both options sound horrible. “Th-thirty?” he stammers.

“Mmhm, or ten with the belt.”

Bucky’s eyes fall shut in defeat. Thirty sounds unbearable. He’s never been hit with a belt, but if it’s only ten times … He licks his lips and somehow manages to croak out, “Ten.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just removes his hand and stands back. It’s quiet except for the light ‘clink’ of metal and ‘whiff’ of a belt being pulled from its loops. Something strange and confusing swirls low Bucky’s belly at those sounds, at the feeling of Steve touching the folded-over length of leather against his bare ass. “I want you to count them,” he says, voice still so terribly quiet.

Bucky shivers. “Okay.” 

One is such a shock that the pain isn’t even fully appreciated. He gasps and jerks where he lies, all the breath knocked out of him. “Oh!”

Steve doesn’t hit him again right away. He puts his hand on him again, large and warm in the middle of his back. “Count it,” he says.

Bucky swallows past his dry mouth and whispers, “One.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Now hold still.”

Each lash after that first one is terrible. It hurts so much that it makes Bucky feel panicked, convinced that he can’t bear it. He yells out each time, and each time Steve waits for him to calm down, strokes his back or his hair, murmuring soft reassurances. It’s intimate, awful, and mortifying—but Bucky thinks silent and distant would almost be worse. By the time the ninth strike lands, Steve is petting the backs of his fingers against Bucky’s cheek and telling him he’s good, that he can do this. And after the tenth, Bucky is crying. 

“Count it, Honey,” Steve reminds him, when Bucky’s last shout has dissolved into soft sobs. “Come on.”

Bucky gulps in air and gasps, “Ten!” He’s never felt more unmoored in his life. He feels devastated. “Ten, ten, ten.”

Distantly, he registers the sound of Steve’s belt dropping to the floor, feels him moving. Steve takes the jar of lubricant from the bedside table, and Bucky’s breath catches in a tiny whimper when he sees it. He’s horrified as he feels blood pulse low in his groin, his cock awakening as if he could possibly have any interest in Steve touching him right now. “What?” he starts to ask, sniffling and wiping his messy face against the bedsheets. He tries to move, to get up, but Steve’s hand pushes down between his shoulder blades. The other slides down between his cheeks. Bucky cries out at the first touch of slick fingers at his entrance, but the sound morphs into a moan as his cock meets the soft pressure of the pillow that’s still trapped beneath his hips. “S-steve …”

“Shhh,” Steve soothes, holding him down as he wets him up and eases the tip of a finger inside. Bucky gasps and whimpers, embarrassment searing through him in a way it never has before. He shakes his head in denial, but between his legs, his cock is hardening rapidly. “Just let me do this,” Steve says. And it’s not bossy, is the thing: The way he says it is tender, almost hopeful in its assuredness. The hand that’s been holding Bucky down lets up and starts rubbing his back, up and down his spine, like he’s some skittish animal that needs to be calmed. Bucky exhales a long, shuddery breath and hears Steve’s pleased hum. “Good.” He works his finger for a long time before easing in another. “You did good, Bucky. Took your punishment just fine. It’s all over.” He works him open, curling on each drag out, humming when he hears Bucky’s gasps of pleasure. “There you go. Just relax now.”

Bucky keens miserably and scrubs his burning face against the bedcovers. He can’t stand it, hearing Steve talk to him like this, praising him and being sweet to him after he’s just humiliated him so badly. He feels like an open wound, oversensitive and raw and vulnerable. Even the pleasure that Steve’s giving him is overwhelming, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. When Steve removes his fingers and starts pressing in with his cock, Bucky lets out a tortured sob. “Oh! Steve.” The ache from the belt flares to life in his ass and his cock pulses against the pillow. He thrashes, upset. “Nngh …”

Steve folds over him, heavy and warm, pressing them together full-body as he bottoms out. “Shhh,” he soothes, holding still inside, letting Bucky feel where they’re connected. “You’re good, Buck. It’s all gonna be okay.”

Bucky shakes his head, so confused by everything that he’s feeling. He’s so embarrassed, so humiliated and ashamed, angry at Steve for hurting him like this. But he’s desperate for comfort and now Steve’s providing it and he can’t stop himself from liking it. His ass may ache, but inside it feels good: Being covered by Steve’s heavy body and held by his arms feels good, knowing that his Alpha isn't mad at him anymore feels good. “Nnuh,” he grunts again, fighting it. “Mnn, no.”

Steve starts to roll his hips, smooth, easy movements that drag his cock over Bucky’s inner walls in just the right way. Bucky moans, unable to stop the jagged little pants that escape him with every thrust in. He turns his face the other way, trying to escape Steve’s attention, but the alpha follows him, planting his forearm on the bed and dipping in close. He kisses the edge of his mouth and whispers, “Open your eyes, Sweetheart.” 

Bucky whines but obeys. He blinks at Steve through tear-clogged lashes and whimpers confusedly. Steve somehow understands, and kisses him again. “S’okay, Buck,” he says, hips moving smooth and easy, keeping their bodies close, like he knows it’s what Bucky needs to keep from shattering apart. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’m not mad. You’re good. You did so good.” 

Bucky’s face burns and his cock jerks each time he fails to contain a moan or whimper at what Steve’s doing to him and how good it feels to submit, the humiliation and pleasure warring in his gut only driving him closer to orgasm. Steve just keeps whispering gentle things to him as he fucks him softly: “Don’t have’ta fight me anymore, Buck. I’m not gonna leave you. I’m your Headship and I’m gonna take care’a you. Just gotta trust me to do that for you, Baby.”

Mortifyingly, he can feel himself getting close the more Steve says, the coil of pleasure in his belly tightening with every humiliating promise, and his hips rutting with increasing desperation against the pillow beneath them. He moans and jerks miserably, tears still pricking at his eyes because he’s been scraped raw by this, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He just holds him down and kisses the tears away. 

When one of his hands slides overtop of Bucky’s on the bed and laces their fingers together, Bucky cries out and goes tense, right on the edge. “Oh!” … And then Steve’s other hand slips under, wedging between Bucky and the pillow, finding his cock and wrapping around it and stroking. Bucky’s breath punches out of him in a warbled, broken sob as he starts to come.

It’s the most confusing orgasm he’s ever had.

After that night in Istanbul, things are different between them. There’s a fragile peace between them as they travel back across the continent by train, as though they’ve drawn a tentative truce without speaking a word. Bucky is uncharacteristically meek, as the memory of the things Steve did to him lingers in his mind, making him blush and draw into himself whenever he thinks about it. He doesn’t know exactly how to feel. He’s baffled that he’s feeling anything other than anger and indignity, but it’s like Steve fucked those emotions right out of him, and Bucky hasn’t yet figured out what they’ve been replaced with. 

The welts from Steve’s belt take two days to fade, and by the time they board the ship that’ll take them back to America, the soreness is completely gone as well.

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