Hey, lovelies. I hope I am being overly cautious, but I made a backup blog at @stargazingwriter18 just in case all this nonsense with Dumblr escalates and my beloved blog gets terminated. You may want to follow me over there, just to be safe.
I'm going to try to appeal the shadowban and see if I can work with them to get my blog back to normal, but I worry that may actually escalate things, since trying to go back and label my stories as mature content is triggering a bunch of flags and removal, even on posts that aren't explicit.
As you can imagine, all of this has been super upsetting and stressful. This blog has been my much loved fun place and reprieve for almost seven years. I've put countless hours and so much love, energy, and creativity into cultivating this space and sharing it with all of you. Not to mention the thousands upon thousands of words I've written across all of my stories over the years. I'm really sad this is happening, and even more so a couple of weeks before my birthday event, because now not everyone who may want to participate can, and honestly, I have had zero writing inspiration or motivation at all as a result of this.
I'm not sure what will come of any of this, but what I do know is that I am going to fight to save my blog, because it's so much more than that to me. It's a community I truly cherish, my absolute favorite creative outlet that I've ever had, and--as silly as it may sound--a part of who I am.
And I'm really grateful you're here with me. Thank you ❤️
No pressure tags to help spread the word. Thanks again.
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
summary: You take a last-minute princess job at Morgan Stark’s birthday party expecting easy money and screaming children. You do not expect a grumpy Beast ruining your life with soft looks.
word count: 6.4k
warnings: fluff, mutual pining, awkward flirting, fairy tale references, mild language, bucky barnes being reluctantly soft.
a/n: not me showing up after months away from this website with the most random idea i’ve ever had. i hope you guys like it :)
“You know,” Sam Wilson says casually from the passenger seat, “most people hear the words free food and say thank you.”
From the backseat, Bucky Barnes stares out the window with the expression of a man being transported directly to his execution.
“I did say thank you,” he mutters.
“No, you grunted.”
“That was a polite grunt.”
Sam snorts.
Beside him, Steve Rogers keeps both hands on the wheel, suspiciously calm for someone participating in what is very clearly an ambush.
The city lights streak across the windows while traffic crawls forward.
Bucky should’ve stayed home.
He had a system at home.
A good system.
Coffee. Silence. Alpine curled beside him on the couch like a tiny judgmental loaf of bread. Maybe a movie he wouldn’t pay attention to. Minimal human interaction.
Peace.
Instead, Sam showed up at his apartment an hour ago carrying cupcakes and bad intentions.
“You can’t stay inside that apartment forever with Alpine,” Sam says now, like he’s continuing an old argument. “That cat is starting to absorb your personality.”
“She likes me.”
“She bites everyone else.”
“That sounds like a them problem.”
Steve hides a smile.
Bucky leans his head back against the seat with a groan. “Why am I even needed at this thing?”
“It’s Morgan’s birthday,” Steve says.
Sam grins. “Family event. It will be good for you.”
Bucky flips him off without looking.
The car goes quiet for a minute.
Not awkward quiet. Just familiar.
The kind built over years of near-death experiences and too many shared memories.
Outside, the city slowly shifts into larger houses, quieter streets, cleaner sidewalks.
Rich people territory.
Bucky already hates it.
“You could try having fun,” Steve says eventually.
Bucky stares at him like he personally insulted his ancestors.
“Why are you saying that like it’s easy?”
Steve glances at him briefly. “Because staying miserable on purpose gets exhausting after a while.”
That lands harder than Bucky wants it to. He crosses his arms, glaring out the window again while they pull through the massive Stark gates.
Lights glow across the property ahead, warm against the dark evening sky.
Music drifts faintly through the air.
Too many people.
Too much noise.
He already wants to leave.
Sam unbuckles first and points at him before he can move. “And no disappearing after ten minutes.”
“I never do that.”
“You vanished through a bathroom window last time.”
“It was efficient.”
“You’re impossible.”
Bucky pushes the car door open. “Yet here you are. Voluntarily spending time with me.”
Sam throws an arm around his shoulders immediately, dragging him toward the house despite his complaints.
“That’s because underneath all the grumpy murder grandpa stuff,” Sam says, “you secretly love us.”
“I could bench press you into traffic.”
“But you won’t.”
Bucky doesn’t answer.
Mostly because Steve opens the front doors right then—
And somewhere inside the house, faint and warm and distant, he hears someone singing.
— 15 minutes earlier —
The dressing room is chaos.
Cheap rhinestones scattered across the counter. Someone in the hallway yelling about balloons. Someone else asking where the cake table went.
And Dylan is pacing.
“No, no, no,” he mutters, tugging at the ridiculous blue Beast jacket stretched across his shoulders. “I can’t do this.”
You pause halfway through putting on your gloves. “Dylan—”
“I’m serious.” He points toward the door like the answer is waiting outside. “Do you know whose house this is?”
“Yes,” you say carefully.
“It’s the Starks.”
You stare at him through the mirror. “Tony Stark is literally paying us to sing to children, not dismantle a bomb.”
“That’s worse.”
You snort despite yourself, adjusting the off-the-shoulder yellow gown. It’s prettier than you expected when the agency shoved the costume bag into your arms this morning. Layers of gold satin spill around your feet, catching the light every time you move.
For one stupid second, you almost feel like Belle.
Dylan doesn’t.
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“You’re not gonna throw up.”
“What if the Avengers are there?”
You stop.
Okay. Fair point.
The knot in your stomach tightens instantly.
You need this job. Rent is due in four days, your audition last week went nowhere, and the commercial you filmed still hasn’t paid you. Which means you absolutely cannot afford to panic now.
So you grab Dylan by the shoulders.
“Listen to me,” you say firmly. “You need to calm down. Do you know how much we’re getting paid for this?”
“Yes, but—”
“And if you ruin this for me, I will personally feed you to the Hulk.”
That earns a weak laugh.
“Pretty sure he’s off-world,” Dylan mutters.
“Then I’ll wait.”
Another laugh. Better this time.
You smooth nonexistent wrinkles from his jacket. “We go in there, smile, sing, wave at rich children, and leave with enough money to survive another month. That’s it.”
A knock hits the door before he can answer.
“Princess Belle? They’re ready for you.”
Your stomach flips.
Dylan immediately pales again.
You squeeze his arm once before stepping away. “Breathe.”
Then you lift your chin, paste on a princess smile, and walk out.
The Stark house looks less like a house and more like a museum designed by someone with unlimited money and zero restraint.
Everything gleams.
Soft golden lights wrap around the enormous backyard. Staff members move through the crowd carrying trays of tiny desserts that probably cost more than your electric bill. Children run across the lawn wearing paper crowns and superhero masks.
And near the center of it all—
“Mama! Belle’s here!”
Morgan Stark barrels toward you at full speed.
You barely have time to crouch before she crashes into your arms, giggling wildly.
“Oh my gosh,” you say in your best princess voice, warm and bright. “Princess Morgan! I’ve heard so much about you.”
Her gasp is immediate. “Really?”
“Of course. The castle talks about little else.”
She beams.
And just like that, the nerves disappear.
Because this part—you know this part.
You know how to soften your voice until children lean closer to hear you. You know how to make wonder feel real. You know how to turn exhaustion into magic for two hours at a time.
Morgan takes your hand immediately and drags you toward the other kids.
“Belle, can you sing?”
“Can you dance?”
“Where’s Beast?”
“Oh, he’ll join us later,” you say smoothly, praying Dylan survives the next ten minutes. “But for now…” You straighten dramatically. “Who would like to hear a story?”
A chorus of screams answers you.
Then you start singing.
And the entire party quiets.
Not because you’re loud.
Because you’re good.
Your voice carries softly through the backyard while the kids sit cross-legged around you, completely enchanted. You smile at each of them like they matter individually. Like this isn’t just another exhausting gig at the end of a long week.
Across the lawn, Bucky looks up almost by accident.
And immediately regrets it.
Because now he’s looking at you.
Fairy lights glow softly above your head while children crowd around your skirts, completely enchanted by every word that leaves your mouth. You laugh at something one of them says, bright and easy and real enough that it reaches him even from across the yard.
And for one strange second—
You don’t look like someone pretending to be a princess.
You look like one.
Then your eyes lift suddenly.
Find his across the crowd.
Bucky expects the usual reaction instantly.
The hesitation.
The recognition.
That brief flicker people always get when they realize who he is.
Instead, your expression softens.
Just slightly.
Like seeing him standing there alone somehow matters to you more than it should.
And the smile you give him—
God.
It’s small.
Almost shy.
But warm enough that he actually feels it.
Like sunlight slipping through something cracked open.
You hold his gaze for one tiny, suspended second longer than necessary before turning back to the children beside you.
But now your heartbeat feels different too.
Because there was something unexpectedly gentle in the way he looked at you.
Bucky watches Morgan stare at you like you hung the damn moon.
Watches you stay perfectly in character when another kid spills juice on the hem of your dress.
You don’t even flinch.
“Accidents happen,” you tell the horrified child gently. “Even in castles.”
Something in his chest shifts unpleasantly.
Or pleasantly.
He hasn’t decided yet.
Because normally, people trying too hard to be sweet annoys him.
But you kneel to talk to the children at eye level. You remember every single name they tell you. When Morgan grabs your hand during the story, you squeeze back automatically without breaking character once.
None of it feels fake.
Which is exactly the problem.
Bucky exhales slowly through his nose, already irritated with himself.
You’re midway through teaching Morgan and three other children how to properly curtsy when your phone starts vibrating inside the hidden pocket sewn into your dress.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Your stomach drops instantly.
Because only one person would call you repeatedly during a job.
“Princess Belle,” Morgan says seriously, tugging your glove, “Amelia says princesses aren’t allowed to eat chicken nuggets.”
You crouch slightly. “Amelia has clearly never met a princess after a long day.”
Morgan gasps. “You eat nuggets?”
“In alarming quantities.”
The children dissolve into laughter.
Your phone buzzes again.
Definitely Dylan.
“Excuse me one moment,” you say gently. “The castle may be under attack.”
Morgan grabs your skirt dramatically. “By who?”
You glance at the phone screen.
Dylan: I THINK IM DYING
“…the French.”
You slip away before the kids can ask further questions.
The second you push through the side doors into the hallway, you answer.
“What happened?”
“I threw up.”
You stop walking. “What?”
“I told you I was gonna throw up.”
“Oh my God.”
“Also,” he says weakly, “I think I have a fever.”
You press your fingers to your forehead.
Of course he does.
Of course this happens at Tony Stark’s house.
“Can you still come out for the photos at least?”
A miserable pause.
“…if I move too fast I think I’ll see God.”
“Great.”
“I’m so sorry.”
And the worst part?
He genuinely sounds devastated.
You sigh, leaning against the wall. “It’s okay. Stay in the dressing room. Drink water. Don’t die before I get paid.”
“That’s fair.”
You hang up.
Then immediately turn and nearly collide with Pepper Potts.
“Oh!” she says. “There you are. Morgan’s asking for—” She stops instantly. “What’s wrong?”
You try to smile professionally.
It must fail horribly.
“The Beast actor is sick.”
Pepper blinks once.
“Oh no.”
“Yeah.”
“He can’t come out at all?”
“He’s currently fighting for his life in the dressing room bathroom.”
Pepper’s face cycles rapidly through concern, stress, and the specific exhaustion only rich parents hosting children’s parties can achieve.
Because unfortunately, the timing is terrible.
Kids are already gathering near the photo backdrop.
Morgan keeps asking when Beast is coming.
And somewhere nearby, you hear Tony Stark loudly saying, “I can absolutely do it.”
Pepper turns sharply. “No.”
From the other room: “Why not? I have range.”
“You have an ego.”
“I can roar.”
“You have to greet people.”
“I can greet people as Beast.”
Pepper pinches the bridge of her nose.
You almost laugh despite yourself.
Then another voice joins in.
“…Tony’s right, though.”
You glance toward the doorway and nearly choke on your own heartbeat.
Because standing there casually like this is a completely normal Tuesday are two actual Avengers.
Captain America himself stands beside a man you recognize from the News. Sam Wilson.
You suddenly become intensely aware that you’re dressed as a Disney princess while holding a phone that still has Dylan: I THINK IM DYING on the screen.
This cannot be your life.
Sam leans against the doorway easily, looking far too entertained by the situation already.
But it’s the man beside him that catches your attention.
The same man from earlier.
The one who looked at you across the backyard like he’d forgotten, for a second, where he was.
Dark hair. Tall. Broad shoulders filling out a black Henley. Arms crossed tightly over his chest like he already wants no part in whatever conversation this is.
And yet somehow, standing this close to him now, you still feel that strange little pull from earlier.
Unlike the others, he isn’t smiling. If anything, he looks like he’d rather walk directly back out the door.
Sam’s eyes flick briefly toward you before landing on Pepper.
“All due respect,” he says, “I think we found a better option.”
Bucky narrows his eyes immediately, like he already knows where this is going.
Steve nods slowly, already betraying him. “Actually…”
Pepper looks between them hopefully. “Wait.”
Sam grins.
“Oh, this is perfect.”
Bucky straightens immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re tall,” Sam says helpfully.
“So is Steve.”
Almost on cue, Morgan’s voice suddenly rings through the backyard.
“UNCLE AMERICA!”
Steve barely has time to react before a tiny blur in pink slams into his legs.
“There he is,” Bucky mutters.
Morgan grabs Steve’s hand immediately. “Come see my castle!”
And Steve actually lets himself get dragged away.
“You’re abandoning me?” Bucky calls after him.
Steve only throws him an apologetic smile over his shoulder before disappearing outside with Morgan.
Bucky looks deeply betrayed.
Sam looks delighted.
“You were saying?” Sam asks.
Bucky glares at him. “I hope your wings fall off.”
Pepper is visibly trying not to laugh now.
Meanwhile, you’re standing there clutching your phone like your entire career is collapsing in front of you.
“I really don’t want to cause trouble,” you say quickly. “I can just explain to Morgan that Beast got delayed—”
“Morgan’s seven,” Pepper says softly. “She’s been talking about this dance all week.”
Guilt hits instantly.
Bucky notices.
And unfortunately for him, Sam notices Bucky noticing.
Which means it’s over.
“Buck,” Sam says, suddenly far too smug, “you wouldn’t even have to talk much.”
“No.”
“You’d just stand there looking grumpy.”
“No.”
“You already do that recreationally.”
“Why don’t you do it?” Bucky shoots back immediately.
Sam places a hand dramatically over his chest. “Because I’m beautiful in a completely different genre.”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
“See? Beast energy.”
Bucky looks at you then.
Really looks at you for the first time up close.
The gold dress.
The nervous expression you’re trying to hide.
The way your hands twist together for half a second before you force yourself still again.
You look exhausted.
But somehow you’re still worried about disappointing a little girl.
And that annoying feeling in his chest returns.
Stronger this time.
Pepper steps closer carefully. “Bucky,” she says softly, “could you help us out? Just for a little while.”
He exhales slowly.
Looks toward the backyard where Morgan’s laughter drifts through the open doors.
Then back at you.
“…I hate all of you,” he mutters.
Sam lights up instantly. “That’s not a no.”
“It should be.”
Pepper smiles hopefully. “Bucky?”
He closes his eyes briefly like a man accepting his fate.
“…fine.”
The room goes silent.
You blink. “Wait. Really?”
Bucky points at you immediately. “This doesn’t leave this house.”
Sam nearly folds in half laughing.
And ten minutes later, you’re backstage beside a very grumpy Beast while trying to adjust the dark blue coat around his shoulders.
The costume department clearly did not account for super soldiers.
The fabric pulls tight across his chest every time he moves.
Bucky notices you staring immediately.
You step closer carefully, adjusting the fur near the collar.
“I’m sorry if the costume’s too tight,” you murmur. “The actor who usually plays Beast is… significantly less built.”
Bucky huffs quietly.
“That’s one way to say it.”
Up close, he’s unfairly intimidating.
Dark blue fabric stretched over muscle. Gloves hiding the metal hand completely.
Even the ridiculous Beast mask somehow makes him look dangerous.
Which feels deeply unfair for a Disney prince.
“You know,” you say gently while fixing one of the gold buttons, “you really don’t have to do this.”
Bucky looks down at you.
Then toward the backyard where Morgan’s excited voice carries faintly through the doors.
“…yeah,” he says quietly.
A pause.
“I kinda do.”
Before either of you can say anything else, the dressing room door swings open and Morgan storms in dramatically.
“BEAST!”
The little girl launches herself directly at Bucky.
Every muscle in his body visibly locks.
You almost panic for him.
But then, carefully, awkwardly, he catches her before she can crash face-first into the costume.
Morgan gasps, completely enchanted. “You’re so tall.”
Bucky looks at you, and somehow you know that beneath the mask, he looks completely helpless.
You grin. “That’s Beast.”
Morgan grabs his gloved hand immediately. “Belle said you were late because of a curse.”
Bucky looks down at her.
“…yeah,” he says after a second. “Traffic curse.”
You snort so suddenly you choke on air.
Morgan is already dragging him toward the doors with alarming strength for a seven-year-old.
You smooth your dress quickly before following after them, trying to slip back into character.
But it’s harder now for some reason.
Because this doesn’t feel like part of the performance anymore.
You barely know him.
You know he looks permanently annoyed at the world. You know children somehow trust him instantly despite the terrifying resting expression.
And you know he agreed to wear a giant Beast costume for a little girl he clearly adores.
Which is doing unfortunate things to your brain.
The backyard erupts the second Morgan reappears with him.
“BEAST!”
Children swarm immediately.
Bucky freezes.
Again.
You quickly step beside him before the poor man fully short-circuits.
“Oh dear,” you say brightly in Belle’s voice, slipping naturally into the scene. “The Beast seems overwhelmed.”
“I wonder why,” he mutters under his breath.
You hide another smile.
The next twenty minutes become complete chaos.
Children asking Bucky impossible questions.
“Do you live in the castle?”
“Can you roar?”
“Why are your hands so big?”
One tiny girl stares at him suspiciously before asking, “Are you hairy everywhere?”
You nearly inhale your own tongue trying not to laugh.
Bucky looks ready to walk directly into the ocean.
But somehow he stays.
He does the photos.
Lets kids hold his hands.
Even growls once after Morgan begs him to.
The children lose their minds.
Across the yard, Sam is recording the whole thing while Steve laughs so hard he has to sit down.
You catch Pepper wiping tears from her eyes at one point.
Probably from laughing.
Probably.
Then the music changes.
Soft piano drifting through the speakers.
Your stomach drops instantly.
The dance scene.
Morgan gasps dramatically. “NOW!”
Bucky goes still beside you.
“No.”
“Oh yes,” you say, smiling at him through clenched teeth.
“I don’t dance.”
“You’re literally a prince.”
“I’m literally not.”
Morgan grabs both your hands and shoves them together before either of you can react.
And suddenly—
Oh.
Your gloved hand lands against his.
His hand settles carefully at your waist.
The other wraps around your fingers.
You feel him hesitate.
Not because he doesn’t know how to dance.
Because he’s trying not to hurt you.
The realization hits instantly.
“It’s okay,” you say softly before thinking better of it.
His gaze flicks down to yours through the mask.
The world around you keeps moving, kids laughing, phones taking pictures, Sam yelling something obnoxious in the background, but for one strange second, it narrows into just this.
The warmth of his hand.
The carefulness in the way he’s holding you.
The fact that he smells faintly like coffee under all the costume fabric.
“You trust people too easy,” he says quietly.
You blink.
“That’s a weird thing to say during a Disney dance.”
“You didn’t answer.”
You should probably make a joke.
Instead, your eyes catch briefly on his gloved fingers resting against your waist.
Gentle despite the strength behind them.
Then Morgan yells, “KISS HER!”
Both of you jump apart instantly.
“Nope,” Bucky says immediately.
“Absolutely not,” you add at the exact same time.
The music softens around you, warm piano drifting through the backyard while fairy lights glow overhead.
Bucky Barnes keeps one hand at your waist, the other holding yours carefully as he guides you through the slow steps.
Too carefully.
Like he’s afraid to press too hard.
Like he’s constantly aware of himself.
His hand tightens at your waist without warning, pulling you just a little closer each time. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the heavy costume layers. And whenever he leans down to hear you over the music, a shiver runs all the way down your spine.
The music softens around you, warm piano drifting through the backyard while fairy lights glow overhead.
You glance up at him just as he looks down at your feet.
“…am I doin’ this right?” he asks quietly.
His voice comes out rough and muffled beneath the Beast mask, low enough that you almost don’t hear it over the music.
The question catches you completely off guard.
Because he sounds genuinely unsure.
You blink once. “You know how to dance.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Something warm twists painfully in your chest.
His grip tightens slightly at your waist.
“Don’t wanna mess this up.”
You smile softly. “You know, most princes are a little more confident during the ballroom scene.”
“Yeah, well.” He exhales quietly. “Pretty sure this prince skipped rehearsal.”
That pulls a laugh out of you.
Bucky’s gaze lifts at the sound immediately.
Not to the children.
Not to the crowd.
Just you.
And for one strange second, the dance stops feeling like part of the performance at all.
Then, quieter this time:
“…seriously, though,” he murmurs, thumb shifting faintly against your waist, “I’m not crushin’ your feet, am I?”
Your heartbeat stumbles embarrassingly hard.
“No,” you whisper. “You’re perfect.”
This is getting dangerous. Because somewhere between the dancing and the quiet way he keeps looking at you, this stopped feeling like part of the job.
You clear your throat quickly and pull back just enough to look over his shoulder.
“Morgan!” you call brightly.
Across the dance floor, Morgan gasps dramatically like she’s been summoned by destiny itself.
“Princess Morgan,” you say sweetly, already stepping away from Bucky before your brain completely melts, “I believe the Beast owes you a dance.”
Morgan screams.
Actually screams.
Bucky looks at you immediately.
You give him your most innocent Belle smile.
His eyes narrow under the mask. “You’re ditching me.”
“I would never.”
“You literally are right now.”
Morgan crashes into him before he can argue further, grabbing both his hands excitedly.
“C’MON BEAST!”
Bucky looks at you one last time over her head.
“You’re trouble,” he says flatly.
Your pulse jumps embarrassingly hard.
Before you can answer, Morgan drags him away into the crowd of children demanding another dance.
The second he’s gone, you exhale.
Hard.
Then across the dance floor, Morgan spins dramatically beneath Bucky’s arm while he awkwardly tries to keep up without stepping on tiny children.
And despite the giant Beast costume and permanent grumpy expression he’s laughing.
You watch him crouch slightly when she talks so he can hear her better through the music. Watch him steady her automatically every time she nearly trips over her dress. Watch one huge gloved hand settle carefully at her back while she spins herself dizzy.
The Beast mask should make him look ridiculous.
Instead, somehow, it only makes the contrast worse.
Big and intimidating and visibly dangerous even under layers of fake fur—
Yet impossibly gentle with her.
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
“Well,” a voice says beside you, “you’re lookin’ at him exactly the same way the kids are.”
You nearly jump.
Sam Wilson grins knowingly as he reaches for a cupcake from the dessert table.
“I am not.”
“Hm.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“That’s never stopped anybody before.”
You glare at him.
He grins wider.
Somehow, hours later, Morgan Stark still has enough energy to power a small country.
“Belle,” she says for what must be the twentieth time that night, “are you gonna stay forever?”
You smile tiredly, smoothing a hand over her hair. “I don’t think your dad has enough snacks for that.”
Tony points from across the yard. “I absolutely do.”
Pepper immediately says, “No, we don’t.”
Morgan giggles.
And beside her, the Beast exhales dramatically before lowering himself onto one knee with the exhaustion of a war veteran returning from battle.
“I’m old,” he mutters.
You laugh softly. “You danced with children for two hours.”
“I fought in actual wars that were easier than this.”
“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Sam calls from somewhere behind him.
The Beast lifts a gloved hand without looking and flips him off.
Morgan gasps.
You gasp louder. “Beast!”
Sam nearly collapses laughing.
“Sorry,” the Beast says flatly. “The curse slipped.”
Morgan thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life.
Honestly?
You do too.
A little later, Pepper gently steals Morgan away, leaving you alone beside the Beast for the first time all evening.
And suddenly the silence feels… different.
Not awkward exactly.
Just noticeable.
You become very aware of the night air against your skin. Of the weight of the wig pinned to your head. Of him sitting beside you with the Beast mask pushed up, revealing his face.
Which turns out to be a mistake.
Because he’s unfairly handsome.
You look away immediately.
“So,” you say, mostly to stop your brain from malfunctioning, “thanks again for saving my job tonight.”
He huffs quietly beside you. “Wasn’t for your job.”
Your eyes flick back to him.
“Morgan?”
“Morgan,” he confirms.
A beat passes.
Then, quieter:
“…you too, I guess.”
Your heart does something deeply irritating.
The corners of his mouth twitch slightly like he regrets admitting it already.
You smile before you can stop yourself.
“Careful,” you murmur. “You’re almost being nice to me.”
“That’s the mask.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“The fur changes a man.”
That earns another laugh out of you.
And again, that look crosses his face.
That brief pause like he wasn’t expecting the sound but likes it anyway.
You notice it this time.
From across the yard, Steve walks by carrying three children at once somehow.
“You surviving?” he asks.
The Beast sighs. “Barely.”
Steve grins, eyes flicking briefly between the two of you.
You suddenly get the horrible feeling everyone here knows each other too well.
Including whatever this weird thing currently happening between you and the grumpy fake prince is.
“So,” you say carefully after Steve leaves, “do you always volunteer for emergency Disney prince duty?”
He snorts softly.
“First time.”
“You seemed pretty experienced.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You handled the kids well.”
For a second, he doesn’t answer.
His gaze drifts toward Morgan laughing beside Pepper near the cake table.
Then he shrugs slightly.
“They’re easier than adults.”
You blink.
“…that’s actually the most concerning thing anyone’s said to me tonight.”
That finally gets a real smile out of him. Small. Crooked. Gone almost instantly.
But you saw it.
And unfortunately for your sanity, now you want to see it again.
“Cake!” Morgan announces like a war cry.
The children erupt instantly.
You barely have time to laugh before Morgan grabs both your hand and the Beast’s clawed one at the same time.
“C’mon!”
Bucky visibly braces himself.
Morgan leads you directly toward a tiny plastic table surrounded by miniature pink chairs.
Bucky stops walking immediately.
“No.”
Morgan gasps. “What?”
“I can’t fit in that.”
“You have to sit with Belle!”
Children nearby immediately begin chanting:
“BEAST! BEAST! BEAST!”
Bucky looks personally betrayed by every child present.
You press your lips together hard, trying not to laugh while lowering yourself carefully into one of the tiny chairs.
The skirt of your dress spills around you in soft yellow satin.
Across from you, Bucky stares at the chair like it insulted his family.
“You’re doing great,” you tell him helpfully.
“I hate you.”
“That’s not very princely.”
“That’s because I’m not a prince.”
Morgan points dramatically at the seat.
Bucky sighs like a man moments from death.
Then lowers himself carefully into the tiny chair.
The plastic creaks ominously.
Every child at the table gasps.
You fully choke on a laugh.
Bucky turns toward you slowly through the Beast mask.
Morgan shoves paper plates toward both of you proudly while Pepper begins passing out cake.
And honestly?
It’s cute.
Ridiculously cute.
Children talking over each other excitedly. Frosting everywhere. Morgan sitting between you and Bucky like she personally arranged a royal wedding.
Then Morgan accidentally gets blue frosting across her own cheek.
“Oh no!” she gasps.
You laugh softly, grabbing a napkin. “Hold still, princess.”
While you wipe frosting from Morgan’s face, you completely miss the tiny streak of blue icing that ended up on your own cheek.
Bucky notices immediately.
And unfortunately—
Now he can’t stop looking at it.
You’re talking to Morgan about castles or books or something, but he’s not listening anymore.
Because there’s frosting on your face, near the corner of your mouth.
And somehow that feels more distracting than the dress.
Than the dancing.
Than literally anything else tonight.
“You got somethin’ there,” he says suddenly.
You blink. “What?”
He gestures vaguely toward his own cheek with one giant clawed glove.
“…there.”
You try wiping it away blindly.
“Did I get it?”
“No.”
“Great.”
Bucky stares at the stupid oversized Beast gloves for a second like he’s reconsidering every decision that led him here tonight.
Then, carefully, he reaches across the tiny table.
His claw brushes softly against your cheek.
Warm despite the gloves.
You stop breathing entirely.
He tries wiping the frosting away—
Except the giant fake claw only smears it worse across your skin.
You stare at him.
He stares at the disaster he just created.
Then, very flatly:
“…I made it worse.”
From somewhere behind him, you hear Sam make a noise suspiciously close to choking.
Your laugh slips out before you can stop it.
Soft at first.
Then brighter.
“It’s okay,” you manage between laughs. “You tried.”
And before you can think better of it, you lean forward slightly.
“There,” you murmur.
Your fingers brush gently against the corner of his mouth, wiping away a streak of blue frosting Morgan must’ve gotten on him earlier.
The second you touch him—
He freezes.
Completely.
Your smile falters just slightly.
Because suddenly you’re very aware of how quiet he got.
How still.
How carefully he’s looking at you now.
Like your hand against his face means something bigger than it should.
Morgan looks between both of you while happily shoving cake into her mouth.
“…you guys are weird.”
Sam immediately loses his mind laughing somewhere behind the table.
And Bucky?
Bucky can’t even argue with her.
The party finally begins to quiet down sometime after cake.
Children are asleep on couches inside the house. Half-deflated balloons drift lazily across the backyard. Someone turned the music low enough that it blends into the warm night air instead of filling it.
And Morgan Stark is fully asleep in Bucky Barnes’s arms.
It happens slowly.
One minute she’s still talking sleepily about whether Belle and Beast would survive a zombie apocalypse and the next, her head slips against his shoulder mid-sentence.
Out cold.
You smile before you can stop yourself.
Bucky looks down at her carefully, adjusting his hold automatically so she settles more comfortably against his chest.
The Beast gloves are gone now.
The mask too.
And without them, he somehow looks softer and more dangerous at the same time.
Dark hair messy from wearing the costume all night. Sleeves pushed up slightly. Tired eyes watching Morgan with this quiet kind of patience that makes something ache in your chest.
Pepper appears beside you with the expression of a woman who’s one minor inconvenience away from sleeping for three days.
“Oh no,” she whispers fondly. “She’s done.”
Bucky huffs quietly. “Yeah.”
Pepper reaches for Morgan carefully. “I’ll take her upstairs.”
For a second, Morgan stirs slightly against him.
Then tiny fingers grab weakly at the front of his shirt.
“No,” she mumbles sleepily. “Beast stays.”
Your heart actually hurts.
Bucky goes very still.
Pepper looks dangerously close to emotional already.
And after a tiny pause, Bucky murmurs:
“Alright. I’m stayin’.”
Morgan settles instantly.
You swear Pepper might love him a little for that.
Eventually, between the three of you, Morgan is successfully transferred upstairs without waking again.
And then—
The silence.
Just you and him standing alone beneath strings of warm lights while the last few party guests drift out through the gates.
The yellow skirts of your dress brush softly against your legs every time the wind moves.
Bucky looks at you for a second too long.
Then looks away.
Then back again.
“You know,” he says quietly, voice rougher now without the mask muffling it, “that dress is kinda unfair.”
Your breath catches embarrassingly fast.
Because he says it like it slipped out accidentally.
Like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.
Heat crawls up your neck immediately.
So naturally, you deflect.
“Good thing the costume covered your face then.”
A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
Then his gaze shifts briefly past you.
Toward the tables scattered across the backyard.
Most of the candles have burned low by now. Half-empty glasses abandoned beside crumpled napkins. Flower centerpieces beginning to droop after hours in the heat.
And right in the middle of one arrangement there is a single rose.
Bucky tilts his head slightly. “Thought Belle was supposed to have a rose.”
You blink, caught off guard by the comment.
Then laugh softly. “You know the story?”
He gives you a look.
“Steve made me watch animated movies for cultural rehabilitation.”
A laugh slips out of you instantly. “That cannot be a real sentence.”
“It absolutely is.”
“You poor thing.”
“I survived.”
“Barely.”
You laugh again.
One large hand closes around the stem of a red rose tucked between candles and gold ribbon.
And without ceremony he pulls it free.
You stare as he turns back toward you, holding it out casually like this isn’t doing very dangerous things to your heartbeat. You shake your head, smiling as you take the rose carefully from his hand.
His fingers brush yours for half a second.
Warm.
Gentle.
And somehow that tiny touch feels worse than the dancing did.
“You just stole from Tony Stark,” you murmur.
“He’ll survive.”
“You’re a criminal.”
“I’ve been told.”
And for one soft, dangerous second the fairy tale feels a little too real.
And suddenly the air feels too warm.
The fairy lights above you blur softly while your heartbeat pounds hard enough to be embarrassing.
Because there’s something very unfair about the way he looks at you now.
Not like Belle.
Not like part of the performance.
Like you.
And the worst part?
You think maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
A nervous laugh escapes you quietly. “You flirt a lot for someone who looked physically offended to be here earlier.”
“I was physically offended.”
“You’re doing better now.”
“That’s debatable.”
You smile.
His eyes drop briefly to your mouth.
And there it is.
That terrible, dangerous pause.
The kind that changes things.
Your heartbeat stumbles.
One more inch and—
Bucky steps back first.
Like the thought alone startled him. He glances toward the house, jaw tightening once when he realizes he doesn’t know how to do this anymore.
Doesn’t know how to stand in soft light with a beautiful girl dressed like a princess smiling at him like he’s someone safe to be around.
Not after everything.
Not when she still looks at him with warmth instead of caution.
Someone like you should probably meet someone normal.
Someone uncomplicated.
Not a man who spent half the evening hiding behind a Beast mask because it somehow felt easier than being himself.
And maybe that’s why, after a long pause, he just says quietly:
“You should get home. It’s late.”
The words hit harder than they should.
But you still smile softly. “Yeah. Probably.”
Neither of you move right away.
Then finally, you step back.
“Goodnight,” you say gently.
Bucky nods once.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
The nickname lands directly in your chest.
And then you leave.
Just like that.
No number exchanged.
No big moment.
Bucky watches until your taillights disappear through the gates.
And something in his chest feels suddenly, violently empty.
“…you are the dumbest man alive.”
Bucky closes his eyes immediately.
Of course Sam Wilson is still here.
“I don’t wanna hear it.”
“You didn’t even ask for her number!”
Bucky drags a hand down his face tiredly. “Sam.”
“No, seriously,” Sam says, horrified. “What was your plan here? Just suffer forever?”
Bucky glares at him. “I’m serious.”
“And I’m devastated for you.”
“I don’t—” He exhales sharply. “She’s sweet.”
Sam blinks once.
“…that’s your argument?”
“She deserves someone normal.”
“None of us are normal.”
“That’s different.”
Sam opens his mouth—
Then pauses suddenly.
His eyes drop toward the patio floor near Bucky’s boots.
“…hold on.”
Bucky frowns. “What.”
Sam points dramatically.
And there, half-hidden beneath one of the chairs, sits a pair of gold heels.
Tiny.
Definitely not his.
Bucky stares at them for a second.
Then something in his expression shifts almost immediately.
Because he remembers you wincing every few steps near the end of the party. Remembers you carrying the shoes in one hand while walking barefoot through the grass. Remembers the yellow dress brushing around your ankles while fairy lights reflected softly against your skin.
A quiet laugh escapes him before he can stop it.
Sam looks deeply offended by the existence of this emotion.
“Oh my God,” he says. “I thought she was Belle, not Cinderella.”
Bucky shoots him a look while bending to pick up the heels carefully.
They’re ridiculously delicate in his hands.
Sam watches the whole thing with growing horror.
“You are gone,” he says.
Bucky ignores him, thumb brushing absently over the gold strap.
Then, before he can think too hard about why he’s doing it, he glances toward the gates one last time.
Like maybe you’ll magically come running back for them.
Sam stares at him for a long moment.
Then slowly reaches into his pocket.
Bucky narrows his eyes immediately. “What’s that.”
Without answering, Sam holds out a small business card.
The princess company logo printed across the front.
⭐︎ warnings: smut, rough sex, reader talks him through it, bucky doesn't dirty talk, he snarls instead, size difference, dumbification (bucky talks like a caveman? idk), talks about consent, period typical misogyny, creampie, praise, breeding kink, spitting in mouth, mating press, overstimulation, bucky loves eye contact
⭐︎ word count: 6k
⭐︎ a/n: what started out as a 'hahahehe' food for thought turned into a smutty porn without plot fic. ty to @epiphanyrogers for giving me the motivation to write this by feeding me with her own gladiator steve !! reader literally teaches what consent is to bucky, but ultimately the sex is consensual. either way, please tread carefully.
synopsis:
Bucky becomes the reigning champion and naturally, he seeks a prize—a pretty maiden to bed. You fall victim to his rough hands—to a brute who doesn't even know the meaning of the word "no." Yet to your surprise, despite being a man who takes whatever he wants, he is willing to let you teach him what consent really means.
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The Colosseum is a home for bloodbaths.
There is a symphony of cheers and screams that rings throughout the entire dome. Swords clash against swords, sweat and blood dance together, dirt kicks into the air, and alcohol and spit shoot out of patrons’ mouths.
It is meaningless—all of it just a cruel form of entertainment for the emperor and his family.
You are thankful that you hadn’t been born a male to be pushed into these silly games, but instead, you are a woman—and that might be worse. But for now, despite all the screaming happening outdoors, you find solitude and a somewhat sense of peace near the barracks, sweeping debris and scrubbing the blood and grime off the floors from the defeated champions who walked away, already on the verge of death.
“Look at them,” you breathe. You pause your sweeping, wiping a strand of sweaty hair out of your face as your eyes peer through the wide holes of the wooden gates. “Animals. The whole lot of them.”
Livia does not need to look up to know what them you are referring to. There is only one kind of ruthless animal in the world—and that is men.
“Do not stare,” she warns you quietly. “If they catch you looking, they’ll punish you.”
“Please,” you scoff. “Their heads are too far up their own egos to notice us.”
“Big egos, yes.” Livia’s golden eyes glance over her shoulder from where she kneels on the floor, scrubbing grime. “And bodies. They are also quite handsome.”
Your eyes snap to her in revulsion. “Handsome? How can you say such a thing!” You glance back at the two men battling in the center of the dome. “Look at them. They are monsters.”
In the center is a man that you recognize—Bucky Barnes, the reigning champion for years. The White Wolf, is what the Emperor likes to call him. He is fighting another man, not much bigger than him, and certainly a man you do not recognize, meaning a man who will soon be falling to his doom beneath Bucky’s swords.
You have to admit, however, the man was giving The White Wolf a run for his money.
Finally, the man kneels before Bucky in defeat. Bucky raises his sword and delivers the final blow that sends the man to his grave.
Cheers erupt inside the dome. People jump out of their seats to shout and stomp. More debris and dust fall from above, landing on your and Livia’s faces—making you both cough.
The gates of the dome rattle as the herald’s voice shouts over the roaring crowd.
“Victory belongs to the undefeated! Behold your champion—The White Wolf!”
Thousands of voices chant his name as the dome thumps in a cadence that shakes the stone foundations around you. Through the wooden slats of the gate, you watch Bucky raise his blood-slicked sword to the sky. Unlike the other victors, he doesn’t smile. He never smiles.
Livia wipes the dust off her brow. “Another one to his name. He truly is unstoppable.”
You pull your gaze away. “He is a butcher,” you mutter.
Livia pushes herself off the floor with a light groan. She lifts the empty wooden basin to her chest. “I am going to refill this,” she says. “We’re going to need a lot of water to wash the victor up. I will be back.”
The wooden gate in front of you begins to groan as it slowly lifts. You grip your broom tight, moving to the side to make space for the blood-soaked victor to return back inside.
When Bucky steps in, the cool shade of the barracks is pure bliss against his hot body. Behind him steps the herald, adjusting his fine robes and wiping a pristine handkerchief over his sweaty brow, while the champion in front of him bleeds everywhere.
Bucky drops onto a wooden bench, and it creaks beneath his large body. His chest heaves as he catches his breath. With eyes still fueled by the adrenaline of battle, he watches as you approach him with a damp cloth and drop to your knees, wiping the splattered blood from his shins and boots.
“A magnificent display, White Wolf,” the herald boasts, pacing the floor and waving a hand dismissively in your direction as if you were just another piece of furniture. “The Emperor was thoroughly pleased. The coin will be transferred to your keeper, of course, but the Emperor insists on a personal reward for his favorite fighter tonight. A token of appreciation. Wine? A feast? Or perhaps a woman from the upper courts?”
Bucky does not answer the herald.
You try to keep your eyes down, working on scrubbing the crimson off his leather armor, but you can feel his cold stare watching your every movement, tracing the line of your shoulders and the curve of your vulnerable and exposed neck.
“We have the finest women prepared,” the herald continues, oblivious. “You have earned the right to take whatever, or whomever, you please.”
A massive and calloused hand suddenly shoots out. His fingers lock around your fragile wrist, making you wince and drop the rag.
“This one.”
You meet the champion’s eyes, and the spirit behind them terrifies you.
Bucky looks at you, not the way he stares at his opponents, but with something far more lethal. He looks at you as if you are roasted meat served on a silver platter by the Emperor himself. It sends shivers down your spine, and you avert your gaze.
The herald stands confused beside him.
“Her?” the herald sputters, looking down at you in disbelief. “White Wolf, she is a mere servant. A floor scrubber. The Emperor offered you a lady of the court. Someone fit for a powerful champion, such as yourself!”
The way the herald utters the word lady sounds like an insult to you—as if insinuating you’re not woman enough for a man like Barnes.
Bucky’s grip on your wrist tightens again as he gives your arm a rough shake, forcing your attention back to him with a gasp.
“Want her,” Bucky grunts, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The herald blinks, his eyes flickering down to you where you kneel before the champion. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “You must be mistaken, champion. She is nothing but a dirty servant—”
Bucky’s leather gloves creak as he tightens his hand on the hilt of his sword, and the herald falls silent, taking that slight movement from the gladiator as a threat to shut up.
“Fine, fine,” the herald mutters with a defeated sigh. “If that is what pleases you, then she is at your disposal.”
Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You hadn’t expected the herald to give you up so easily. You had hoped he would insist Bucky find a better woman—someone of higher value, and nowhere near your station.
“Wait, sir—you can’t possibly—!”
“I will let the Emperor know of your decision.” The herald turns on his heel, continuing to talk as if you aren’t even present. “He will be very amused. Though… it does make my job easier, finding another prize… I shall consider this a win for the both of us!”
The herald scratches his beard and shrugs as he continues to walk away. You feel like your life is already flashing before your eyes. There are horror stories of men like Bucky—men who just take and take without remorse. You are no exception. You don’t even want to imagine the kind of things he would do to a woman like you once the herald leaves you two alone. Ignoring Bucky entirely, you try to pry your weak arm away from the fighter’s grip and get to your feet.
“Sir, wait! Don’t leave me here with him!”
But Bucky’s grip remains tight. He hauls you against his broad, bare chest as he stands up. You collide into him with a yelp as he pins you still.
“Mine now,” he rumbles deeply.
You try to pull back, your heels digging into the grime stained floor, but it’s like trying to move a stone pillar. “Let me go! I have to finish cleaning, I have to—”
Without a word, he crouches before you and wraps both strong arms over your legs, hauling you like nothing and propping you over his shoulder like a prize he rightfully deserves.
“Come,” Bucky barks without a single opportunity for defiance. “Take you home.”
Your voice is dry from all the shouting and begging for him to release you. Your fists are weak from pounding his back in an attempt to make him let you go. Now, as you sit at the edge of his worn bed in his small home—which feels like it’s being held up by nothing but sticks and tapestry—you realize all of it was futile.
Tears streak your dirty cheeks as you wipe at them pathetically. You couldn’t even say goodbye to your dear friend, Livia. She must be worrying herself sick about you.
Bucky stands large and imposing in the center of the already tiny home. He wastes no time as he strips himself of his clothes, eyes locked onto your trembling frame. This man in front of you has no sense of shame as he leaves himself completely bare, his cock already hard and springing to his muscular lower belly.
You glance up, your breath catching in your throat at his size.
He is huge, his tip already gorging into an angry red while pre-cum dribbles out from the slit. Your eyes follow the veins that decorate his shaft up until you reach the base of his cock, where dark curls sit unruly and trail thinner up to his belly button.
“Good,” he grunts in approval. “Look at me. Only me.”
Bucky’s strong legs stalk forward to meet you at the edge of the bed. All you can do is stare at him with wide eyes. The campfire flickering behind him casts a warm light, highlighting his muscles and the sharpness of his features.
As he gets closer, you scramble backward. His knees dip and creak the bed as he crawls after you. To him, this is a game of cat and mouse—and he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re terrified, but he sees this as foreplay. The two of you continue this until your back hits the stone wall, leaving you nowhere else to run.
“Please,” you whimper. “Don’t do this.”
Then, without warning, his hand shoots out to grab the neckline of your dress. With a simple tug, his mere strength tears right through it.
“No!” you shriek, your hands coming up to cover your breasts before he even catches a glimpse. “Stop!”
Bucky furrows his brows. Your cries and actions only confuse him. His hands grab your arms, trying to pry them away from your chest. He is so much stronger than you; he could easily break you if he wanted to.
“No! Stop! I’m not ready!” you cry again, shaking your head as you gather all your strength to fight back. “I said, I’m not ready—!”
With your hand acting on a mind of its own, it reaches out and delivers a hard slap across the gladiator’s face.
Bucky’s head whips to the side, his dark, matted hair covering the features of his face—you can’t make out his expression at all.
Your eyes go wide, and your hand weakly retreats back to your chest. If you hadn’t thought Bucky was going to kill you before, you are certain he is going to skip the sexual act and kill you right now instead.
But, being as stubborn as you are, you hold onto the shovel that digs your very grave.
“I told you to stop,” your voice is shaky, but you try to find your footing. “I said no. Countless times. I did not give you my consent. Don’t you know what that word means?”
This is foolish, you think to yourself. Talking to a gladiator like Bucky is like talking to a brick wall. Your words will just go in one ear and out the other.
Bucky slowly turns his head back to you, his gaze locking onto yours with eyes so sharp you could swallow the blade. This is it. You’re certain this is where you die.
He makes an expression—not a pained one, but confused. His jaw is tight where your hand just struck him. He doesn’t move to strike back like you think he will, and he doesn’t wrap his hands around your throat to kill you.
He tilts his head, his face scrunched now in a way that makes him look almost like a kicked puppy.
“No?” he repeats, treating it like a question.
The syllable sounds clunky, foreign, and deeply awkward rolling off his tongue.
He looks down at your hands, still clamped tightly over your torn dress, and then back up to your glassy eyes.
“Consent?” he tries the next word, his brows furrowing from how unusual it sounds.
You nod, holding your breath. “Yes. Consent. I did not give it to you.”
Bucky blinks as the cogs work—or try to—in his head.
The reigning champion of the Colosseum, the brute of a man who knows exactly how to sever someone’s limb or take a prize by force, looks completely lost. For his entire life, the rules were simple: fight, win, take. No one had ever told him ‘no.’ No one had ever given him a choice, and he had never given anyone else one either.
“Consent,” he tastes the word again, as if trying to see if he likes it or not. Then, he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Now, you are just as confused as he is.
You stare at the gladiator who kneels before you on the bed. He is probably the most feared man in the empire, yet he sits there naked and baffled by such a basic concept.
“You don’t know?” you whisper. “You don’t know what the word consent means?”
Bucky shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a fraction. He looks down at his own massive hands, then back at you, looking almost defeated and unsure of what to do from here.
You let out a trembling breath, slowly adjusting your grip on your torn dress to keep yourself covered as you try to find the words to explain it to a man raised only for slaughter.
“It means... permission,” you explain softly. “It means that my body belongs to me, just like yours belongs to you. To take a woman to bed, she has to want it too. She has to say yes.” You gesture weakly between the two of you. “If I say no, or if I say stop, you have to stop. Otherwise, you are just hurting me. You are just forcing me.”
Bucky listens intently, his dark eyes watching your lips as you speak.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” he answers, his voice rough and strained.
That catches you by surprise. You didn’t expect that kind of softness out of him. Then, he meets your eyes again and continues. “Not yet, at least.”
You pull the torn dress tighter against your chest with a slight frown, and Bucky notices. He shifts awkwardly on the back of his heels—his cock still hard but his mind just as confused.
“How do I get you to want it?” He rests his hand on your bare ankle, tugging you gently. “Like how I want you?”
You swallow hard as you stare at his large hand wrapped around your ankle. He could grab you and break you—mold you and bend you so easily to his will—but he doesn’t.
“You have to… court me,” you try to explain. “You have to make me feel safe, and you have to make me want it.”
Bucky tilts his head. Everything you have just said—even the word safe—feels alien to him.
Your teeth worry your bottom lip as you continue. “It means you don’t just take what you want. You touch softly. You talk to me, and you kiss me.” You point a trembling finger to your mouth, then to his. “With your lips. To show me that you care about how I feel, not just what you want.”
“Touch softly,” Bucky repeats, drilling the instruction into his mind.
You shudder as his hand, once wrapped around your ankle, turns into a gentle caress with his fingertips.
Up and down, his calloused fingertips trace your foot up to your bare calf. He leans over your body, forcing you to lie down beneath him as he hikes up the hem of your skirt. He flattens his palm so it rests heavy against your bare thigh.
“Kiss,” he murmurs, his blue eyes tracing the curve of your lip. “Make you safe.”
He lowers his head, his dark, unruly hair brushing against your cheeks as he brings his face inches from yours.
He hesitates for a second, his nostrils flaring like an animal as he breathes you in. Then, with an awkward, slow movement that he isn’t at all used to, Bucky presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is clumsy and far too hard at first, but as much as he wants to, he doesn’t force his way inside. He doesn’t push his tongue into your mouth, demanding dominance. He keeps his mouth pressed against yours, his lips slightly parted, mimicking the action as best as his instincts allow. It is gentle, surprisingly soft, and very wet—he might’ve even been drooling, aching to kiss you.
He pulls away just a fraction and searches your face for any sign of fear.
“Like this?” he murmurs, his breath hot against your mouth. “Safe?”
Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, except this time it has nothing to do with fear. You stare up at the man before you with wide eyes and wet lips. Bucky studies your face, trying to make out if what he did was right or wrong.
“Y—yes,” you breathe out. “That was good.”
Satisfied with your answer, he leans back down and kisses you again. One hand rises up—slowly, to avoid startling you—and cups your cheek gently. His thumb grazes over the curve of your cheek while his lips explore yours.
A soft, needy sound leaves your lips before you can stop it, and Bucky answers with a deep groan. While one hand cradles your cheek, his other hand slowly rises beneath your dress to grip your smooth hip.
You find yourself unexpectedly leaning into the kiss, matching him until his tongue pokes past your lips and swirls around yours. The two of you breathe heavily, moaning softly against each other as Bucky positions himself between your legs. His cock grows even harder, poking against your warm inner thigh.
He can’t take it anymore. Each moan that leaves your lips sounds like yes, yes, yes to his ears. His desperate hands find the waistband of your panties, threatening to tear them.
You suddenly pull away from the kiss with a gasp, catching your breath. Your hand presses against his bare chest, stopping him.
“No,” you pant as you stare up at him. “Stop. Not yet. You have to be patient.”
At the word stop, Bucky freezes. A snarl rips from the back of his throat, and his face twists in frustration. His jaw clenches so hard, his muscles twitch. You wince back into the pillows in fear, thinking you are in over your head and have pushed him too far.
You brace yourself, closing your eyes tightly.
“I’m trying,” he growls, the words tearing past his teeth. “What do I have to do? Tell me.”
You open your eyes and see him hovering over you. His large body acts as a blanket of warmth while one strong arm props him up, the muscles straining under his own weight and restraint.
“You have to touch me,” you explain gently, pulling his hand away from your underwear and bringing it up to your chest. “Like this.”
Bucky’s eyes follow your movement. Your smaller hand rests over his as you guide him to squeeze your breasts. His breathing grows heavier as his fingers tug and start to play with your budded nipple, relishing the way you moan and arch your back into his touch.
“Like that,” you moan softly. “Good—good boy.”
He groans loudly at your praise. His dark, unruly hair brushes your skin before his mouth closes over your budded nipple. He begins to lick and suck hungrily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his teeth graze the edge.
“Mm…” Your eyes flutter shut at the pleasure, your head tossing back against the pillow while he makes love to your tits.
Encouraged by your sounds, he grinds his thick hard cock firmly against the smooth skin of your bare thigh, seeking any kind of friction to relieve the ache between his legs.
One hand leaves your breast to grip your hip, digging his fingers into your skin to hold you still while he ruts against you like an animal. He whimpers against your chest, drunk on your scent and the high of your soft moans.
“Please,” he begs, his stubble tickling your bare chest. “Say yes. Let me have you. Now.”
The way he pleads sends a warm rush through your lower belly, a feeling that leaves you craving him just as badly. The man who is used to taking whatever he wants without remorse is reduced to being entirely at your mercy between your legs. A sensation settles inside you that you never thought you would harbor.
Control.
Just one word—one breathless little “yes”—would send Bucky over the edge. His pleasure and his craving are both held in your hands.
“Okay,” you say, giving him a small nod, satisfied with how well he has done. “You can have me.”
A growl rips from his chest. Driven by instinct, his large hands grip the waistband of your panties once more, his knuckles pulling taut as he prepares to shred the flimsy fabric to pieces.
“No,” you interject quickly, slapping his hands away. “Don’t rip them! That’s rude!”
He scowls as he draws his hand back, a whine of frustration catching in his throat like a disappointed hound. It’s clear he is unhappy about facing another rule when he is so close to the edge, yet he listens.
“Pull them down slowly,” you instruct.
Using every ounce of restraint in his veins, he resists the urge to tear the cloth. He hooks his thick fingers into the sides and slowly pulls the fabric down past your hips and thighs until you are completely bare beneath him.
“There you go,” you sigh softly, pleased with his gentle movements. “Good boy.”
Bucky’s eyes drop to the slick heat waiting for him. He hovers over your body, his heavy breathing filling the space between you as he positions the thick head of his cock right at your entrance. He rubs himself up and down against you, soaking his length in your arousal and sucking in a breath at the heat of your touch.
He is too big—impossibly so—and you aren’t sure if he will fit.
“Need to fuck you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Hard.”
Holding himself at the base, he works at your entrance. His tip slowly slides in, stretching the opening and pushing deep enough to make you arch your back off the bed with a painful hiss.
He pauses at the sound.
“No,” you whimper, blinking tears away as you peer down at him. “If you’re going to have sex with me, you have to be gentle.”
His face twists into a strained expression, but he reluctantly abides.
One hand steadies your hip while the other holds his heavy cock, sliding into your warm, tight walls. Your body is so tight, not used to accommodating such a size, but he relents and continues pushing in.
You cry out, eyes squeezing shut as your arms rest on his shoulders for support.
“Look at me,” Bucky commands in a rough, deep voice. When you don’t listen, he tilts his head down so he is in your line of sight and tries again. “I said look at me.”
You finally do, and his eyes search yours intently. The ring of blue demands that you look at him, and him only.
“Keep them open,” he instructs. “Look at me. It will feel better.”
So, you do.
You both stare into each other’s eyes while he slides himself even deeper. As his cock stretches you wide, his brows furrow and his face twists into a snarl, baring his teeth at the tightness of your body until he finally sheathes himself fully inside with a groan.
“Gentle,” he rasps brokenly. “Gentle. Gotta be gentle.” He repeats the words as if he’s trying to remind himself.
Your legs shake around him, your body trying to get used to his size.
He hasn’t moved yet, but you already feel impossibly full. Your walls embrace him, and you feel your body slowly opening up to let him in. As his cock settles deep inside you, pleasure slowly overwhelms your senses.
For Bucky, it feels like pure torture. Your body is snug and warm—like a wet, tight fist wrapped around his cock, so much better than what he’s used to with his own calloused hands.
“Need to move,” he curses. “Need to fuck. Say yes.”
His voice comes out rough and crude, but he refuses to move without your consent.
“Hold on,” you whimper, still adjusting to his size. You shift your hips slightly, trying to get comfortable, but the movement only makes him groan in pleasure.
“Fine,” he grunts, squeezing your hip.
After what feels like forever, you finally nod your head.
“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m ready.”
And just like that, you open the pearly white gates to heaven for him.
With a hungry growl, he draws his hips back until only half of him remains, and then he slides himself back in. Your lips part in a gasp as he fills you again—his cock sinking even deeper, kissing your cervix.
“Tight,” Bucky clicks his tongue, growing frustrated. “Too tight.”
He pulls out halfway before slamming into you again, and again, and again. Each thrust grows harder and more unrelenting, forcing your body to yield to his cock.
“A—ah! It’s… s’too much—”
“Want me to stop?” he groans out painfully and reluctantly, like he doesn’t want you to answer with a ‘yes’.
“No,” you manage to breathe out. “Don’t stop.”
Moans and gasps spill from your lips every time he fills you. His girth splits you open with every savage thrust, his strong thighs forcing your legs wider for him.
His eyes never tear away from yours. Every time you try to squeeze your eyes shut from the force of his thrusts, he grabs your chin roughly and shakes you, forcing you to look back at him.
“Eyes. On. Me,” he hisses angrily.
Squeezing your cheeks to force your lips apart, he drags his thumb down your lower lip to pry them wider. He leans down, his hot breath tickling your skin while his damp strands of dark hair dance over your face.
He spits into your mouth, the traces of it dripping from his lips down to his chin, slicking your open mouth. It’s wild and savage, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Without giving you the opportunity to pull away, his lips cover yours as he forces his saliva to swallow down your throat.
His tongue dances around yours again while he fucks you deeply, each move threatening to break both you and the bed.
Your eyes roll back so far in your skull while your legs dangle helplessly around his hips. Every thrust feels like a punishment for making him wait. Your nerves are crying out for release—and eventually, you give in. Your cunt spasms violently around Bucky’s length as bliss overwhelms every single sense.
“Oh my god,” you cry. “I’m gonna cum—!”
Your cries fill the small house as your back arches off the damp bed. Bucky insists on making eye contact with you, holding your jaw and forcing you to look at him while he fucks you through your climax.
You clench him tightly, your pussy pulsing in loving beats and squeezing him for every last drop.
“Fuck. Yes. Good, feels so good,” he rasps angrily, his thrusts becoming harder and more desperate.
His balls slap vulgarly against your wet pussy, traces of your slick clinging to him every time he bottoms out. His balls churn with pent-up seed, aching to fill you deep. Your cries grow louder, your hips shifting around to accommodate the overstimulation—but it’s no use.
Bucky’s close, so close. While his eyes bore into yours, his pupils dilate with desire. He just needs to get deeper, to fuck you at an impossible angle to pump you full…
“Wait,” you dig your nails deep into his back, making him gasp in pain. “Slow down—it’s too much…”
He snarls angrily, his hips slowing down just a fraction, but not entirely.
The sound that leaves your lips is a cocktail of pain and bliss. It’s a sultry sound that encourages him to continue, to take what he wants, but the words leaving your mouth say otherwise.
“No,” you shake your head. “Stop, please. It’s too much for me. You’re going to break me—”
His hands release your cheeks roughly as his head drops to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Another animalistic sound tears through him as he forces his hips to come to a stop. His cock stills inside you—pulsing for any form of friction. Just a few more thrusts, and he’ll cum. He’ll cum hard. But he stops, because you asked him to.
“Need to cum,” he pants against your face, taking in the way your eyes have gone teary. “So close.”
“I know,” you say with a soft sigh, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “I know. I just… just need a minute.”
You let your fingers trail up and down his back, and he shudders at the feeling.
The two of you lie there, tangled in each other’s limbs while you catch your breath. Bucky waits impatiently—his heart beating so fast in his chest as he uses every ounce of restraint in his blood to refrain from fucking you right through the bed.
Your pussy is already swollen and puffy from his size, and the longer he remains stuffed inside you, the tighter your body squeezes around him.
With his forehead pressed against yours, he shifts his knees and hips slightly to get comfortable, but even those tiny, forced movements are agonizing. Breathy moans and grunts escape both your lips, shared in the tight space between you. It’s sex without the vulgar movements, and it feels far too intimate for a ruthless man like Bucky.
Finally, you grant him permission.
Staring into his eyes, you give him a small nod to let him continue. And the moment you do, the last thread holding Bucky’s control snaps.
He grabs your legs and shoves them high over your shoulders, splitting you wide and pinning you down into a deep mating press. “Need to go deeper. Hold still.”
You had just gotten used to his size, and the sudden change in position makes your eyes fly open. Your mouth falls open in a gasp as he draws his hips back before bottoming out completely inside you.
His heavy, sweaty body crushes down on yours as he begins to fuck you hard and fast. Every draw of his hips fills you impossibly deep, your stretched cunt molding helplessly around his thick length. He works his hips in a wild, frantic rhythm, chasing his release at full speed before you can say another word to stop him.
“Mine,” he rasps through gritted teeth, his chest heaving as his sweat drips onto your skin. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine—”
The force of his hips slamming against yours knocks the breath right out of you, your moans coming out as breathless gasps while he pounds into you. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for you to finally give in.
“Tell me you’re mine. Say it.”
You blink through tears of bliss. “I—I’m yours—” you manage to stammer out.
His face twists in pleasure, baring his teeth as he pins your legs against your chest while the tip of his cock works deep against your cervix. “Good. A perfect sleeve for my cock. Look at me while I cum inside you.”
The sight of your face scrunched in pleasure and vulnerability sends a wave of heat coursing from his lower gut to the very tips of his toes. His cock pulses and throbs inside, slicking your walls with his pre-cum—a warning before giving you the real thing.
“Pump my cum,” his large palm settles over your lower belly. “All in here.”
The thought of you walking around the house barefoot and round with his children—growing up to be champions just like their father—makes his head spin and his balls grow heavy.
“Close. So close,” he curses and groans over and over, speaking more than he ever has. “Hold still. Take it all for me, wife.”
Bucky buries himself as deep as his length will go, pinning you down as his entire body locks tight. His cock pulses, pumping wave after thick wave of his hot seed deep inside your womb.
His head drops into the crook of your neck, his large, sweaty chest heaving against yours as he rides out his pleasure.
He releases your legs for a moment until both your rapid hearts finally slow to a steady beat. Slowly, agonizingly so, he draws his thick length back, pulling out of your slick, overstimulated cunt with a wet suction sound.
You let out a soft, breathless gasp at the sudden empty feeling. A ring of creamy white circles the base of his cock, and his seed dribbles between your folds—physical proof of what he just did to you.
Without a word, he grips both your ankles with one large hand, pinning your thighs together and pressing your legs straight up into the air to hold them suspended above you.
You blink at him—dazed, exhausted, and thoroughly used. His cock rests half-limp between his strong legs, so he clearly isn’t going for another round.
“What are you doing…?” you whisper softly, confused.
He holds your legs firmly in place as his dark eyes scan your bare, trembling body.
“Make sure it takes,” he grunts out, his voice rough from satisfaction. He uses his free hand to trace a warm, possessive line down to your lower belly, pressing down gently right over your womb. “Keep your belly round with my sons.”
You stare up at him in disbelief while your legs are held helplessly aloft by his massive hand. You’re too exhausted to argue, your brain still foggy from your orgasm. Still, you manage an incredulous laugh.
Does he seriously think propping your legs up like a pair of stilts is going to magically guarantee a pregnancy?
He looks so proud of himself that you don’t even have the heart to argue. He squeezes your ankles slightly, letting out a satisfied hum from his chest once he’s convinced his little trick did the job. The smile on his face is almost boyish in a way that does not belong to a rough man like him.
“Good wife,” he praises you. “Birth me healthy champions.”
You let out a soft sigh, fluttering your eyelids shut as fatigue finally crawls its way into your bones.
As you drift into slumber, you make a mental note to teach this brute a lesson on how gravity works. And right after that, you’ll teach him what aftercare is—especially if he plans on keeping you forever and making you his wife.
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
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Pairing: Fem!Reader x Steve Rogers; Curtis Everett; Jake Jensen; Lloyd Hansen; Robert "Mr. Freezy" Pronge
Word Count: 4,415
Summary: Jake is the absolute sweetest, and he makes your confidence soar.
Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Mercenary!babes. Reader is enjoying a sex rotation with the babes, so far. Fluff and silliness. Brief cum eating. Titty fucking. Unprotected sex. Being bathed by another.
A/N: I am embarrassed by how long it’s been since I updated this story 🫣 I was feeling really stuck on it for some reason, but here we go, some progress! And Jakey finally gets his day in the sun hehe.
Mercy Masterlist
You’d been lingering in the kitchen of the safe house because you knew it would be the best place to catch Steve once he returned from his morning run.
And once he finally did, his white t-shirt transparent with sweat and plastered to his torso, your brain actually glitched as you gaped at him, and you forgot why you were waiting around for him in the first place.
“Good morning,” Steve smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passed by to move toward the fridge and gather ingredients to make his morning protein shake.
“Mmm hmm,” you responded distractedly as you stared after Steve, your gaze dropping to the way his jogging pants clung to the firm curve of his ass.
“Better watch it, sweetheart," you could hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he shifted to work at the counter preparing his shake. “It’s Jensen’s night tonight, but you keep watching me like that, I’m gonna need to bend you over this counter and do something about it.”
“Sorry!” you squeaked, slapping your hands over your eyes to give your brain a moment to reboot. And your heart a moment to return to its normal rhythm.
“Don’t be, I’m not,” Steve teased, sending you a wink once you were done hiding and trying not to outright stare at him. “Were you waiting around for me?”
“Yes, actually,” your gaze turned shy now as you fiddled with your fingers, feeling Steve’s eyes on you as he patiently waited for you to broach whatever topic was on your mind. “You know how Jake set aside that money for me?”
“Yeah, you need to access it?”
You nodded, peeking over at Steve. “I’d really like to get some new clothes and essentials. With how quickly everything happened, and just, the craziness of that night, I didn’t do a very good job at packing, and there’s just stuff I need, and want.”
“Hey,” Steve moved across the kitchen, until he was looming over you. His hands felt so big and warm as they cupped your upper arms and gave you a gentle squeeze. “It’s your money, and you don’t need to justify using it. I’ll make sure Jensen sets you up so you have direct access to everything. "I'm sorry I didn’t think of that until now.”
“No, it’s okay! You all have been so generous.” You hesitated, biting your lower lip as your next ask teetered on the tip of your tongue.
“Go on,” Steve encouraged with a soft smile. “I like when you ask for what you want, when you put yourself first.”
Your belly fluttered before you asked, “Do you think maybe you could take me into town to go shopping for everything I need?”
“Of course. We’ll go today–”
“Well, we don’t have to! I’m sure you’re very busy and–” your words turned into a startled squeak as Steve pressed close and kissed you quiet.
“I’m never too busy for you,” he murmured, stealing another kiss before pulling away with a grin. “Plus, I think it will be fun–watching you try on a bunch of clothes.”
Your face warmed as he winked at you, but before you could respond, Lloyd appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by the talk of fashion.
“Did someone say shopping spree? Count me in,” he declared, dropping his hands to his hips and giving a thrust.
Steve rolled his eyes as you giggled, and Lloyd shot his superior a glare.
“You know I have an eye for fashion,” he sniffed. Lloyd’s annoyed gaze shifted to you, and softened. “Come on, pumpkin, you want me to tag along, right? I’m the only one in this house who actually likes to shop. And we’ll get you all dolled up real fast.”
You peeked over at Steve to see if he truly looked put out at the idea of Lloyd joining in on your outing, but he just seemed amused as he met your gaze and gave a small nod. If anything, he liked that you were getting on so well with the team.
“Okay,” you smiled at Lloyd. “It will be fun.”
“You bet your sweet ass it will be fun.”
You were still buzzing from your outing earlier with Steve and Lloyd, your smile so big as you glanced at yourself in the mirror and gave a little spin. Your cute new dress flared out around your thighs, and you laughed, feeling pretty–and much more like yourself than you had in a long time.
You’d been under your father’s thumb for so long, in every possible way, even when it came to what you wore, that you forgot how freeing–and soothing–it could be to just… be yourself, wear what made you happy and comfortable.
It seemed such a small, meaningless thing, but you felt so happy in a way you hadn’t in years.
So you had a little bounce in your step as you made your way to Jake’s bedroom. You were excited to spend some time with him, because out of all of the mercenaries, he seemed the most normal.
Down to earth, sweet, funny.
Truly, Jake was just the icing on the cake of your already great day.
You knocked on his door, and barely a second later, it swung open to reveal Jake grinning big and warm, and wearing a t-shirt that looked like a tuxedo.
“Your shirt is so cute!” you giggled.
“Thanks!” Jake’s grin widened as he glanced down at himself. “It’s kind of the only way I could get dressed up for you, so much of my stuff is just tac gear or novelty shirts, so…”
“I love it,” you assured him.
“And you! Wow, you look…wow,” Jake stuttered, his eyes taking their time inching over you as you stood before him, nervously wringing your hands.
“Thank you,” you whispered, biting back a stupid smile as your eyes flickered down to your feet.
“So, um, come in!” Jake encouraged you as he stepped back and waved you inside his room eagerly. Once you were inside and glancing around curiously, he closed the door behind you both before stepping up beside you, his gaze following to where yours was fixed.
Jake’s room as a whole was tidy, with everything in its place, but it was the small two-seater table across the room that had your eyes lighting up.
It had been set like at a fancy restaurant; there were lit candles in the center of it, lending ambiance to the room. You weren’t sure what was in the takeout food containers set between the plates and glasses, but whatever it was smelled heavenly and had your stomach growling loud enough to make you cringe in embarrassment.
“It’s okay,” Jake chuckled, shifting his weight beside you. “I’m starving too. You wanna eat now?”
You glanced over at him, your eyes soft as you nodded, because Jake looked just as nervous–and slightly awkward–as you. As he went to step away, you reached for him, your fingers touching his wrist, and then finding his hand so you could give it a squeeze.
“Thank you for doing this, Jake, it’s so sweet.”
He blushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, shrugging those big, round shoulders of his as he gave you a small smile. “It’s no big deal.”
“To me, it is. You’ve made me feel special.”
“You are special,” Jake returned, his brows furrowed a little, like he thought this truth was the most obvious thing in the world.
Belly swooping, you followed Jake over to the dinner setup, giggling as he acted the gentleman and pushed in your chair for you before darting over to take his own seat across from you.
“I hope you like Thai food? There’s this awesome restaurant a few towns over, so that’s what I got for tonight.”
You nodded eagerly, your tummy rumbling again and making Jake laugh. He was quick to serve the food, until both your plates were full and you both dove into your meals,
chatting in between bites and learning more about each other.
Jake told you about his sister and nieces that he missed so much, and how he always used to attend all of their soccer games. In return, you told him about your mother, and how helping her in her garden had always been your favorite way to spend time together.
“I’m sorry you had to leave it behind,” Jake frowned, pushing his now empty plate away. “I bet that was really hard.”
You swallowed against the lump in your throat, mustering a smile and shrug so you didn’t totally kill the fun vibe that had been brewing between you.
“Hey, I bet one day, you’ll have a new garden–your own garden–and it will be amazing!” Jake smiled, his eyes bright in a way that made you believe that he really did wish that for you.
“Yeah, I bet you’re right,” you smiled back at him.
You took a moment to just really take him in. His fluffy hair and bright blue eyes, his handsome features and ridiculously built body. Jake really was so handsome, but it was the kindness in his eyes that kept drawing you gaze again and again.
It was so strange, that you had spent so much of your life despised for merely existing, and now, you were becoming surrounded by people who seemed to genuinely care for you, who looked at you like you mattered, like they wanted what was best for you.
It was Jake’s resulting smile that made you realize you were smiling at him like a dope, and you gave an embarrassed, nervous giggle as you plucked your napkin from your lap and set it down beside your finished meal.
“You know uh…” Jake hesitated, rubbing his hands along his thighs as he sat back in his seat. He was blushing again–rosier than before–as he continued, “We don’t have to, yanno, if you don’t want to.”
“Oh.” You blinked, straightening in your seat as your fingers fell to twist the hem of your dress. “Do you… not want to?”
“No!!” Jake said it so loudly, you both winced. “Sorry. I uh want to. Like, wow do I want to,” he emphasized, making you giggle. “But also, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything."
Feeling yourself melt at his thoughtfulness, you reached across the table, setting your hand on top of his as you met his gaze and gave him a warm smile.
“How about we just see where the night takes us? No pressure for either of us.”
“Okay! I’d really like that.”
The two of you moved over to the small loveseat against the far wall, chatting some more. Jake told you how he had joined the team, how he felt like he was making a difference even if most people didn’t know about it, but that he also really missed his family.
And something about how sad he looked as he muttered that confession had you leaning over and kissing his cheek.
Jake stilled, turning to look at you with wide eyes, and you found yourself smiling as your gaze flickered to his parted lips, the plumpness of which drew you in closer and closer.
You heard Jake’s breath hitch a second before your lips met his, and then your eyes closed and your pussy fluttered at the guttural groan that rose up at the back of Jake’s throat.
Something about how careful Jake was with touching you–his hands hesitant to frame your face–and then his thumbs gently gliding back and forth along your cheeks, it made you feel so special, so desirable and wanted.
It had you clambering into his lap until you were straddling him, and you both pulled away from each other’s mouths long enough to exchange wide-eyed wanting looks before you were sinking into another round of sweet, frantic kisses.
When you started to rock in his lap, seeking friction, Jake moaned, pulling back and panting as he met your floaty gaze and asked, “You wanna move over to the bed?”
He grinned as you nodded enthusiastically, the two of you nearly tripping over each other in your rush to relocate. You both fell atop the bed together, giggling and breathing heavy as Jake leaned up over you and took a moment to just look at you.
“God, you’re so pretty,” he murmured, his fingers reaching out to caress along your face. “And so soft. And smell so good.” He ducked lower, tucking his face against the side of your neck and breathing in deep before exhaling a “Hnnngh,” against your skin and making you laugh.
You continued to giggle as Jake snuffled along your neck, your fingers sinking into his hair, gently stroking the blonde locks as you told him, “You’re very sweet.”
Jake pressed a kiss against the top of your chest before pulling away, his gaze meeting yours–both eager and tentative–as he asked, “Can we take this off?” he tugged at your dress.
“Of course,” you nodded, the two of you quickly working together to rid you of your new dress.
“Oh god, boobs,” Jake breathed as his gaze fell to your chest, which was encased by one of your pretty new bras.
He reached for your chest without thinking–his gaze going glassy–and just a beat before he touched you, he remembered himself. Pulling up short, he gave you a sheepish grin as he asked if he could touch you.
Feeling all fluttery that he was seeking consent, you nodded again, shyness creeping up on you as things got steamier.
You gasped as Jake groped your tits, his hands so big against your softness, the weight of him settling over you now too as he shifted closer.
His thumbs caught in the edge of lace cupping you, and he tugged it lower, until your nipples popped free and he could pluck at them, making you gasp and arch up into his touch.
“This okay?” Jake asked, his voice deeper than before, huskier, as his lust-darkened gaze flickered up to yours.
“Y-yeah,” you trembled, licking your dry lips as you told him, “You can take it off if you want, my bra.”
“Hell yeah I want,” Jake nodded, his hands already moving to slip off the pretty, lacy piece. “Fucccck me, you’re so hot,” he groaned once you were bare save for your cute panties.
His touch was firmer now as he cupped both your breasts and squeezed until you were gasping and writhing beneath him. When he dropped his head to catch one of your nipples in his mouth, you moaned, spreading your legs and rutting up against Jake’s hips, desperately seeking friction.
Groaning, he pulled away from your tit with a wet pop before showing the other just as much attention.
“Jake, please,” you begged, your body nearly vibrating with need now as you pawed at him.
“Wait, I… there’s something I wanna do first, before we, yanno,” he confessed.
Pressing your thighs together, you tried not to pout as you asked, “What?”
He blushed so hard, he resembled a tomato, as he asked, “Can I please uh fuck your tits? I just… I’ve always wanted to do that, but always felt weird asking, but you… you make me feel brave.”
“How are you being this sweet right now?” you marveled before reaching for the back of Jake’s neck and yanking him in for a very ardent kiss. “And yes, you can do that,” you whispered, too shy to say it out loud, but your pussy was leaking a small river at the idea of fulfilling one of Jake’s naughty fantasies.
“You’re the best,” Jake grinned, nearly falling off the bed in his excitement to undress.
You giggled, reaching out to help steady him, and then your eyes were going wide as dinner plates once Jake was completely naked and you realized just how built he was. You swore every single one of his muscles was either bulging or defined, his body looking like that of a Greek god as he hovered over you.
“Wow,” you breathed, reaching out to trail your fingers down Jake’s stomach. “You’re so beautiful, Jake.”
“I am?”
“Yeah,” you laughed, meeting his gaze and giving him a soft smile. “Really, really, really beautiful. Like a work of art.”
He puffed out his chest, looking very pleased–and genuinely surprised–by your admiration. “Thanks.”
Your fingers kept trailing lower, and you bit your bottom lip as you caressed along the head of his cock, your fingers coming away sticky and covered in his pre-cum. You met Jake’s gaze as you sucked your fingers into your mouth, making a delighted sound at the briny taste of his cream.
“Ohhhh fuck,” Jake grunted, his cock twitching as he dropped a hand to grip himself. “You keep doing stuff like that, and I’m not gonna last long at all.”
“Well then you better hurry up and get to the good stuff, huh?” you grinned at him.
In the back of your mind, you were surprised at yourself–at how playful you were being, how teasing–but something about Jake made you feel confident. Maybe it was the way he had this genuine air of awe for you–to be with you–but it made you feel sexy.
And it made you want to make him feel good, too. Really good.
So you didn’t even cringe or shy away at all as you cupped your breasts and held them together in offering.
“Ohhh my god, it’s happening,” Jake whispered, his gaze glossing over and his lips parted and he moved to straddle your torso.
His gasp when he pressed his hard, warm cock between the softness of your tits was so wrecked already that it had you gushing into your panties, squirming beneath him as you stared up and watched–mesmeraized–as Jake began to gently rut against your chest.
“Oh my god,” he groaned as you pressed your curves around him more firmly, increasing the pressure around his cock, until his head was dropping back in ecstasy, and he lost himself to his pleasure.
When his tempo increased, his rhythm starting to falter, you found yourself sticking out your tongue, trying your best to catch the flushed, leaking crown of Jake’s cock on his next thrust.
At the first feel of your tongue lapping at his head, Jake’s eyes shot open, his head darting up, his gaze big and shocked and so turned on as you did it again, then again.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he panted, curling over you and gripping the headboard as he stilled.
“You can,” you told him, “I don’t mind, I want you to.”
“Wanna cum inside you,” Jake whispered, staring down at you in awe. “And I wanna make you cum, too.”
“So do it.”
Laughing at your cheeky grin, Jake scrambled away from you, then on top of you properly, not even asking–not that you minded–as he yanked off your underwear and carelessly tossed them behind him.
“Oh, thank god,” he breathed once his fingers dragged along your slit and found you soaked and messy for him. “God, you’re so wet.”
“Well, you put on quite the show, Jakey,” you grinned shyly at him.
“Yeah?” he looked very chuffed that you found all of this–found him–as sexy as he found you.
“Mmmhmm, now please, I’m so worked up,” you whined, spreading your legs wider. “I think I’ll cum without any real effort at all.”
“Thank god two point oh, because I’m ready to blow,” Jake laughed, sinking down between your thighs and lining himself up.
You both moaned as he drove into you slowly. The sharp gasp was spilling past your lips before you even realized it, because Jake was so thick. Like, yes, you had seen he had a very impressive cock, but to feel it inside of you, stretching your inner walls to their limits...
It had your head falling back on a ragged, “Oh my god!” as Jake finally bottomed out with a primal grunt and a sharp rut for good measure.
“You feel incredible,” he panted, dropping his forehead to yours.
You fluttered wildly at his praise, making him moan and rock against you in response.
“Oh god, I’m really not gonna last, please don’t judge me,” Jake laughed nervously, but he looked a little panicked as his chest heaved and he tried to remain very very still.
Concentrating less on how desperate you were to cum, and more on Jake–on his momentary insecurity–you opened your eyes and met his gaze without wavering. Cradling his cheek with your palm, you gave him a soft smile.
“Jake, I never would. You’ve been amazing, in so many ways,” you assured him. “And I’m pretty sure I’ll be right there with you, so, let’s just… do this thing.”
Snickering, Jake dropped the rest of his weight on top of you, making you murmur in approval as he curled one of his arms over the top of your head and began to fuck you.
You moaned on his very first thrust, arching up against him as you begged him to go, “Harder, faster, please!”
“Fuck,” Jake groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he started to pound into you.
You keened as he hit a spot that had your body lighting up in a brand new way, making a choked squeal of a sound as you cried, “Right there, oh my god, please don’t stop!”
Hnnnghing against your sweaty neck, Jake doubled down, fucking you like you wanted and having enough functioning brain cells left to dig his free hand between your bodies so he could rub your clit to hopefully push you to the edge before he himself fell over it.
You gasped at the added stimulation, your eyes slamming shut as you felt that delightful build up start deep in your core.
“Yes, yes, yes!” you chanted, your hips rocking and rising to meet the thrust of Jake’s cock, your words dying away into unintelligible gasps and cries as you got closer and closer to your climax.
“Oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck, Jesus Christ,” Jake’s string of curses and nonsense, along with the way he was relentlessly plowing into you now, rocking the whole bed as he desperately sought his own orgasm–found so much pleasure in your very willing body–it tipped you right over that glorious ledge.
You came with a sharp, ragged cry, each and every muscle in your body locking up tight as your pussy went wild–fluttering and clenching so hard it sent Jake rocketing over the edge right after you.
You were still riding the wave of your pleasure as you felt Jake cum inside you, his spend a thick, warm gush that made you moan and flutter all over again as you squirmed beneath him.
“Fuccccck,” Jake groaned against your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to have you whimpering and clenching around him until he was babbling as you milked his cock of every last drop of cum.
The two of you clung to each other tightly, both breathing hard–like you had just run a marathon together–as Jake sank against you, feeling just as boneless as you yourself felt.
There was a long, pleasant stretch of silence as the two of you took your time coming down from your highs. You were nearly dozing with your lips tilted into an almost smile as Jake nuzzled against your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin like he was wordlessly thanking you for making him feel so good.
“I have one more surprise for you,” he eventually murmured, his head popping up as he looked as mussed and wrecked as you were sure you yourself looked right about now.
“You do?” you smiled like a dope. “I hope it’s close by so we don’t have to move because I don’t think my legs will work after that.”
Laughing, Jake shook his head, pouting a little as he broke the bad news that, “We have to walk just a little, but not far, I promise. And I’ll shoulder your weight so you barely need to walk at all.”
“My hero,” you giggled tiredly, groaning as Jake finally pulled away from you before helping you out of bed.
You didn’t even feel self-conscious to be naked and leaking his cum, still feeling nothing but giddy and satisfied as you curled close to Jake’s side and allowed him to lead you just a few feet away to the closed bathroom door.
And when he opened it, he stole your breath away yet again, because awaiting you in the small space was a gorgeous bouquet of flowers on the sink counter, and a bath tub rim decorated with candles and rose petals, setting the mood for what you knew would be a relaxing, luxurious bath.
“Oh my god, Jake! You’re so sweet! I can’t believe you did this for me!”
His smile was shy as he led you over to sit on the edge of the tub before kneeling beside it and cranking on the water. You watched as he doctored the steamy rush with a bubble bath that smelled incredible, and once the tub was perfect for soaking, Jake took your hand and helped you settle in.
“Join me?” you asked hopefully.
“Actually,” Jake looked the shyest you had seen yet. “If it’s okay, I’d really like to bathe you.”
You blinked at him, your shyness creeping up again at that, but you couldn’t help the small smile that curled your lips as you sank back against the porcelain with a quiet, “Okay.”
“Yeah?” Jake perked up, looking more hopeful and less shy as you met his gaze.
“Yeah.”
Smiling, he settled on his knees, reaching for a colorful loofah and pouring some body wash onto it. “I know I’m not as suave or experienced as the others,” he confessed. “But I just… I want you to feel appreciated. And beautiful, because you are.”
Feeling your belly flutter, you caught Jake’s free hand, twining your fingers together as you replied, “I feel both of those things, Jake, thanks to you.”
And it was the truth.
You felt beautiful, appreciated, and so very, very cared for as Jake gently began to wash you, looking so focused and intent as he drew the loofah over your skin, and lulled you into a state of utter, boneless bliss.
AHHHH! Jakey! The sinful sweetheart sunshine boi we all deserve!!!! I so hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please take a moment to let me know your thoughts! Also, maybe buckle up for what’s coming up next ::nervous laughter::
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1) do this even if you're under 40. seriously. I definitely should have been doing something like this for years and I only turned 40 a month and a half ago
2) if you're like me just now trying this going "oh god i've only done 15 and i think my hands are cramping" start lower than 30 and increase by 5 once whatever number you're doing no longer makes your hand cramp up. I can manage about 15 per exercise at the moment.
I only hate certain types of fic the same way I hate mosquitos and ticks. Like get these nasty little buggers away from me but also I respect their place in the ecosystem.
Listen and sometimes? To enjoy running through a beautiful field of grass and flowers (ao3) you have to tolerate the fact that bugs (fics you don’t like) are there and maybe you will even encounter one, but you can use bugspray (filtered tags) to reduce the likelihood of that. Because the alternative is not getting to experience the beautiful field of grass and flowers.
Raymond Smith x female reader; Dom!Raymond Smith x submissive female reader
summary: Raymond runs a an exclusive BDSM club, aside from certain other business. He cares deeply and firmly about the proper treatment of club's members and the rules. When you don't get what you need, he takes it into his hands to provide.
warnings: None in this chapter. BDSM. Risk aware consensual kink. Power exchange. D/s dynamics. Stern type of Dom. Each part of the story will get its own warnings.
word count: 1.2k
Author's Note: This is merely an intro to an expanded universe of the Ruby Garden. Raymond runs Black Diamond in England. He first co-owned it with Ari. For a change, the intro is all Raymond's pov, but future parts will be the typical Reader focused.
There's also guest appearance of another staple Dom at the Black Diamond - Simon "Ghost" Riley 🤭
Though Raymond valued the peace of his actual home, stepping through the ornate gates of the Black Diamond estate brought a similar sense of coming home.
The faint scent of leather, warm resins and cardamom that was a fragrance customized for the club and used in small amounts to entice rather than overwhelm. Surfaces were polished to perfection, allowing a near mirror reflection in the black marble and black glass. The same luxurious, dark aesthetic sprawled further into the club, with only the shades of members’ clothes bringing a splash of colour.
Raymond’s office was also dark, but less glamorous and more old fashioned with the oak wood, deep green suede of the armchairs, and rusty gold ornaments.
He didn’t expect Simon to change anything while he was gone, but it surprised him how not a single note of his trusted stand-in and friend’s persona could be felt in the office.
Simon was sitting behind the desk when Raymond entered. As usual, in all black: black t-shirt with sleeves stretched around his bulging biceps (which gave many submissives wet dreams), black cargo pants, heavy boots. And the skull-printed balaclava mask.
Simon might have been officially out of the military, but Raymond knew his team worked black ops still. It gave him much needed secrecy, while also adding to his brutal aura in the club.
“The place wasn’t blown up and Dicky Ricky’s body isn’t crucified at the gates,” Raymond gave a short round of slow claps. “Seems you weren’t as bad at minding the club as you threatened when I asked you to do it.”
“It was no fun. Everyone was scared and behaved themselves.” Simon shrugged, standing up.
Though Raymond didn’t ask him to, he moved out of the boss’ chair and took a seat in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk.
“Which is also ridiculous-” he stretched his legs out, hooking one ankle over the other- “You’re more dangerous than I am.”
“Our appearances serve the both of us, just in different capacities.” Raymond said, taking his place. It felt almost as good as sinking into his favorite wing chair at home.
Spending the last four months abroad, dealing with sensitive business and securing particular alliances, wasn’t all that bad. Food in some places was divine; Americans really knew how to properly make a steak. The thrill of balancing threats and diplomacy rejuvenated his bones. And some conversations were truly pleasant to have.
Like meeting with an old friend and former co-owner of the Black Diamond, Ari Levinson.
“Not that you ever needed additional oil to your fuckin’ Greek god glow, but what creamy subby sucked you this mornin’ that you’re relaxed like a trooper post a first fuck after years in the trenches?” Raymond snorted, glancing at Ari over the rim of his glass.
Ari laughed, that easy, booming laughter of his that dropped panties and somehow made other men feel like grinning for no damn reason.
“My sub.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, very pleased with himself for that revelation.
Raymond paused before taking another sip of whiskey. He studied Levinson for a second then shook his head.
“Levinson settled down with some good girl, huh?” Raymond smiled knowingly.
Ari wasn’t against relationships. He was far from a cynic who didn’t believe in love. But his charming, playful demeanor veiled a deep intensity of a merciless Dominant. Not many submissives could handle that beyond two consecutive scenes.
“Who said she’s a good girl?” Ari grinned, his eyes twinkling with delight.
Raymond burst out laughing at that.
“You got yourself a brat!”
“The brattiest of them all,” Ari’s smile didn’t cease, instead turning into unveiled smugness.
Figures that the submissive, who not only could survive Ari’s type of fun and punishments, but also provoked him to go hard on her, would be the one to catch his interest permanently.
Raymond himself didn’t allow bratting in scenes with him. He dealt with brats in the club, if it was needed, catering to their need of being tamed. However, he himself held harsh discipline. Without violence, too. There were elegant methods to teach a submissive to follow rules and scrape their throat from begging for mercy.
“Any issues?” Raymond’s gaze slid from Simon’s covered face to the single file on the desk, then back to the man again.
“No issues. No problems. A riddle.” Simon put his hands behind his head and lounged.
“A riddle?” Raymond arched a single brow, not impressed by his friend’s apparently happy mood now that he could push whatever dire situation on him.
Simon recited a name. Your name.
“A newbie submissive. You approved of her membership right before leaving.” He explained. “A good girl. Quite shy and not much confident at first, but bravely participated in anything I directed her to do. It’s clear she approaches every game at the club with fear, but she doesn’t back out. She’s determined.”
“What’s the riddle then?” Raymond opened the file and flipped through the first few pages with basic data and contracts you signed.
“Lack of response from the Doms.”
At Simon’s words, Raymond’s gaze flew up in surprise.
Usually, anyone fresh caused ripples through the club. Like a new, shiny toy the others could play with. Of course, it all depended on the person and their energy. Not every dominant had to be interested in a new submissive. Just like a submissive wouldn’t be interested in all the Doms.
“She doesn’t draw interest. When she approaches a Dom herself, which we’ve been practicing a few times, she gets politely declined. Or, on occasions, politely welcomed, but the scene lacks what she needs.”
“And she’s fucking smart.” Simon continued, his tone sharpening with offence on your behalf.” Smart enough to know that when I order her into a scene with someone, it’s because I organized it, not because someone asked for her. Her pride hurts, but she agrees anyway.”
“She’s not a brat.” Raymond tapped a page with the list of your kinks. “Why don’t they want her?”
Simon sighed and changed his position. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and leveling Raymond with a look.
“One, I think quite a few of our Doms need to be put in BDSM summer school to be reminded that a scene works for both parties, not just to get their own kicks. Two, she’s physically responsive, but her emotional walls need scaling. None of the fuckers put any effort in that. Not even to break her shell with a proper spanking, so she could get some emotional release.”
“So she’s a little icy and instead of melting her, they crush her to refill their own glass.” Raymond’s jaw tightened, the blue of his eyes turning colder.
His gaze scanned your lists - kinks, soft limits, hard limits. Without taking his eyes off the files, he grunted at Simon:
“Be a good lad and share with the class what’s been bouncing in that skull of yours when it comes to solving this riddle.”
“Well-” Simon’s face was mostly covered, but even without seeing it, Raymond knew the fucker was smirking.
“-since she hasn’t met you, with you being gone and all, you paying her some attention would be genuine. Besides, those lazy plonkers would definitely start noticing her then.”
Being delivered to mafia Steve as a birthday present - with a pretty bow (and nothing else)
Oh yesssss 🥴😮💨🫠
I’m imagining you kneeling on the floor in the middle of his study, trembling and silently crying as you hug yourself and try to cover as much of your nudity as possible.
You can’t help but recoil when Steve’s fingers tickle along your bare shoulder as he slowly circles you—the penultimate predator.
He tuts at your attempted retreat from his touch as he comes to a stop in front of you. His fingers catch beneath your chin, not only to tilt your tear-stained face up, forcing you to meet his gaze, but to reel you in closer, too, so you’re only inches away from his pelvis.
“You’ll learn very quickly not to try to run away from me, sweetheart… I don’t take kindly to defiance, no matter how small the act.” His touch was surprisingly gentle as he drew his knuckles down your cheek. “And something tells me that a delicate thing like you wouldn’t be very good at enduring my brand of punishment.”
You shudder at the steel in Steve’s voice, the hard glint in his eyes.
His outright threat.
Your breath hitches on an aborted sob as he drags you even closer to him, until your face is pressed against the growing bulge at the front of his slacks.
But this time, you don’t try to pull away. Swallowing down your tears, you force yourself to go pliant and sink against him even more.
Steve huffs a quiet, delighted laugh, his voice much warmer now as he coos, “Good girl.”
This Steve has been eating away at my whore brain 🥴 So, naturally, I had this thot…
You’re perched on Steve’s lap at one of his clubs so he can steal moments of enjoying you in between business—how good you look in the dress he picked out, how soft the skin of your bare thighs are beneath his fingers, how you’re trying so hard not to curl in on yourself and risk his displeasure even though he can tell you’re extremely uncomfortable.
God, you’re just so fucking sweet.
Needless to say, Steve is enjoying himself. Until the business associate across the table from the two of you makes the mistake of looking at you. Of commenting on Steve’s pretty new toy. Of reaching out and brazenly touching your cheek.
Which is the last thing he ever does with that hand.
Or at all.
It happens so quickly, Steve shifting you off his lap, pulling the largest knife you’ve ever seen from behind his back, and stabbing it through the asshole’s hand, pinning it to the table top.
But that isn’t enough retribution for Steve. Before you can blink, he’s on his feet, reaching across the table, and snapping the man’s neck with his bare hands.
You watch in horror as his former business associate slumps across the table.
Dead.
Right out in the open, surrounded by a club full of people, very few of whom seem even a tiny bit surprised or disturbed by this display.
You’re not quick enough—or in your right mind enough—to suppress the terrified whimper that bubbles up as Steve retakes his seat and sweeps you back onto his lap.
“Shhh,” he shushes you with a gentle caress up your side. Until his big hand—one of which he just used to kill someone—is softly cradling the side of your neck and reeling you close.
Steve nuzzles your cheek with a quiet hum, breathing you in on deep breath before letting it out on a sigh.
His fingers tickle beneath your chin, turning your wide, disbelieving gaze his way, and he grins at your complete and utter shock.
“No one touches what’s mine,” he winks before running his thumb along your lower lip then reaching for his drink.
Pairing: Andy Barber x Female!Reader
Word Count: 4,683
Summary: It was hard to believe that once upon a time, Andy Barber was a stranger to you. Because now? Now he was your everything, just like you were his.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Established relationship. Flashback. Mob boss!Andy. Reader is a delicate thing with a rough history. Boss/employee relations. Reference to non-con touching. Touch avoidant. Allusions to past abuse and forced sex work. But also a good amount of fluff and affection tbh.
A/N: I am beyond tickled that this Andy won my recent poll. He’s the one I’ve been most eager to write, but there are so many other stories and babes that I know deserve my attention, so it was hard to commit to him. Thank you for giving me an excuse to indulge and also expand this verse. I hope you enjoy this ❤️
P.S. Andy made his debut in mob enforcer!Ari’s story, but you don’t need to read that to read this.
It was getting to be that time of day when you were starting to flag.
As hard as you worked, as supportive and helpful as you wanted to be–especially to Andy–your brain could only handle so much.
Especially when you were running on barely a few hours of sleep last night.
So you finished the final must do on your list for the day, closing your laptop with a small swell of relief as you rose from your seat at the small table in the corner of Andy’s home office.
It was one of your favorite rooms in the manor, and not just because you spent so much time here with Andy. The decor was traditional–and expensive–a myriad of dark woods and butter-smooth leather. The walls were lined with built-in shelves, stacked with books and dotted with expensive pieces of decor, and even some antiques that probably cost more money than your brain could comprehend.
But your favorite personal touch were the two pieces of framed artwork hanging behind Andy’s desk. They were abstract and colorful, and each time you got swept away staring at them, you swore your eyes gleaned a completely new shape or scene or meaning behind them.
Andy once told you the story of how he had won them in a bidding war at an antique auction after months of tracking down any artwork he could find by his late mother’s favorite artist.
It seemed like such a small thing about himself that he had shared with you–but it showed the kind of man that Andy Barber was.
Devoted. Determined. Strategic. Patient when it counted most.
And never willing to give up.
You smiled as you slowly made your way to where he sat hunched over his executive desk, still deep in his own work despite the approach of early evening.
It was traits like his devotion and patience that had finally won you over completely–despite how gun-shy you had been at the mere idea of anything more with Andy.
With anyone, really, given your history.
But even you couldn’t deny that the more you got to know Andy, the more time you had spent with him, the more the thought of something more had taken root in your brain and began to flourish.
And now here you were.
Clocking your proximity, Andy finally pulled his eyes from his computer screen, straightening in his leather-back chair. His gaze softened as it landed on you, his lips tilting up at the corners into your favorite smile.
“All done for the day?” he asked, pushing his seat back and making room for you, because he knew you well.
So Andy didn’t bat an eye when you nodded in response to his question before slowly sinking to the floor, until you were sat between his feet and resting your cheek against his knee with a soft sound of contentment.
“I rescheduled your meetings for tomorrow to next week, like you asked,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering as Andy reached out and began to gently pet your head. “And I ordered flowers for Ari’s mother for her birthday next week, too.”
“Thank you, honey,” Andy murmured, his fingers teasing along the shell of your ear and making you shiver. “You take such good care of me, of all of us. I bet you even reminded Ari of his mother’s birthday, just to be safe.”
Your cheeks warmed, because Andy was right, and his tone was so fond colored with the kind of tenderness–just for you–that made your insides swoop and flutter. You hid your face against his leg, your insides fluttering some more at the sound of Andy’s quiet, husky laugh.
But speaking of Ari, something tickled your brain, something that made you frown as you tilted your face up and opened your eyes, your gaze shining with worry.
“How are things with the art gallery?” you asked. “Is the business owner next door still causing you trouble?”
Andy’s eyes danced at the mention of the woman who owned the tea and bookshop next door to his new business. “She’s nothing to fret over, honey. Ari’s taking care of her.”
At that, you nervously gnawed on your lower lip. As much as you had come to accept the fact that Andy was a mob boss–and sometimes had to do ruthless, unsavory things–he treated you so well, and was so loving, that it wasn’t an issue for you.
In fact, it provided a sense of security that you had never known until Andy–the fact that you now had such a powerful and competent protector.
But still… you didn’t like the idea of Ari hurting anyone, of the things you were sure he had done and was capable of doing. No matter how respectful and protective he was of you.
You didn’t wish his dark intentions on anyone, even someone who had proven to be a thorn in Andy’s side from day one.
But then again, given the rivals and competition he usually dealt with, this woman’s antics were almost… charming.
“Don’t look so worried,” Andy hummed, gently caressing your cheek. “He’s dealing with her in a way I’m quite certain she enjoys.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Oh.” Your eyes widened enough to make Andy laugh. “Well… good. I know the gallery is your pet project and the first business that you’re genuinely excited for.”
“And it’s the perfect front for arms dealing, which drives the most revenue, so really it’s a win win.”
You hummed in agreement, once again sinking against Andy as he continued his light touches and caresses. His fingers danced along the tension in your shoulders, moving slower and pressing firmly, until you were making a quiet sound of relief as the knots of tension seemed to melt away into nothing.
“You slept fitfully last night,” Andy said.
You nodded, leaning into the cradle of Andy’s palm that now rested against your cheek. He tilted your face up so he could get a better look at you, observing the shadows beneath your eyes with a small frown and furrowed brow.
“More nightmares?” he asked.
This time you hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding again.
You didn’t hesitate because you wanted to hide your struggles from Andy, or because you were embarrassed he had of course noticed the state of you, but more so just because you hated to think about your nightmares, and the things from your past that caused them.
At your admission, and the way your shoulders hunched and curled just a little, Andy’s touch instantly became more intentional. His hand moved to grip the back of your neck, squeezing in that way he knew melted your brain and made all of your anxiety dissipate.
Of their own accord, your hands lifted so you could cling to Andy’s thighs, pressing your forehead against his knee and nearly curling around his leg like a koala–greedy for his touch.
Even after all this time, you still couldn’t believe it, the way Andy’s touch affected you–in a good way. That you loved it and often needed it now.
Because there had been a time when you thought that you would never enjoy the touch of another again…
18 Months Ago
“Another month in the green,” Andy said, sounding pleased as he scrolled through the financial slides on the tablet he held.
“Bet you’re fucking tickled that you went all in on the club with me,” Lloyd Hansen preened, sinking back in his desk chair and giving Andy a shit-eating grin. “I told you this would be a money maker. There’s nothing like it for miles and miles.”
Andy hummed, setting the tablet on Lloyd’s desk, his face serious as he eyed the other man. “And I bet you’re fucking tickled that I gave you permission to set up shop in my territory.”
Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you made me work for it and go in halfsies with you, so.”
“You’re welcome,” Andy smirked.
Lloyd scoffed, opening his mouth to likely fire back something Andy would make him regret, but before he could speak a word, his office door flung open and you were forcefully shoved inside.
You squealed as Lloyd’s head of club security–the brute–gave you another shove that had you nearly face planting into the thick, expensive carpet.
“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t to be interrupted?” Lloyd snarled at said brute.
“Sorry, boss,” he grunted, giving you a lethal glare, “but she caused a scene out on the floor.”
Lloyd’s eyes snapped to you so quickly that you flinched.
“Did she?” The chill in his voice had you cowering in dread as the security guy quickly ducked out of the office, pulling the door closed as he went and shutting you away with your prickly boss.
You were too terrified of Lloyd, and too distressed after what had happened out on the night club floor, to notice the stranger sitting across from Lloyd’s desk.
“This is the thanks I get for hiring your cry baby ass?” Lloyd hissed as he rose from his seat.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you quavered as he rounded his desk and stalked closer. “But… I, I told you, I don’t like to be touched and one of the men out there, he grabbed me and–”
Lloyd didn’t stop his approach until he stood toe-to-toe with you, causing you to visibly tremble as you hugged yourself tightly and kept your head ducked low, your eyes fixed on your feet.
“You’re in a fucking night club, toots, dressed like that, might I add–“ Lloyd scoffed.
“You made me–“ you countered weakly.
“It’s called a work uniform.”
You thought that was a stretch as you eyed your outfit which wasn’t much more than a pair of metallic booty shorts and a sorry excuse for a shirt that nearly had your breasts spilling out the top.
And you weren’t even one of the cage dancers, you were just a server.
“You told me you needed this job, that you were desperate for work,” Lloyd growled.
At that, your head lifted, your gaze frantic as it met Lloyd’s. “I am, I do! Please, I’m sorry–“
Lloyd shook his head. “I can’t have you out there causing a scene anytime the clientele gets a little handsy. That’s part of the job. I mean, what the fuck did you think you were getting into working here?”
“Please, sir, I need this job. I don’t have anything else or anyone or–”
“Oh boo fucking hoo,” Lloyd sneered, dipping his head close and making you recoil. “I gave you a chance. I was more than generous. You get paid well. You get benefits. And this is how you thank me?”
Your chest hitched, a sob working its way up to your throat, because he was right. You had been so obviously out of your depth when you had shown up here for your interview, but you had also been beyond desperate for the gig, for a steady income, to survive.
And now you had gone and fucked it all up because you couldn’t just do what all the other servers did and acclimate to your environment.
“Get out,” Lloyd enunciated slowly before straightening. “And don’t come back.”
“No! Please!” Your voice was pitched with hysteria as panic flared within you.
Because you couldn’t lose this job.
“I can… I can do something else! Anything else!” you cried, trailing behind Lloyd as he turned his back on you and sauntered toward his desk. “I can tend bar or or do inventory or–”
He whirled on you suddenly, making you squeak as you walked right into him and then sharply drew back as if you’d been burnt.
There was a mean glint in Lloyd’s eyes as they slowly trailed over you, in a familiar way that had your belly sinking and your skin crawling.
“The only other use I have for you wouldn’t be ideal since you don’t like being touched, cupcake.” Lloyd made a lewd gesture with his fingers and tongue to get his point across, giving a mean laugh as you hugged yourself tightly and stumbled away from him. “That’s what I thought. I have no use for you. You’re useless. So get fucking gone.”
He turned away, clearly dismissing you, his words reverberating in your head loud enough to drown out all of your panicked thoughts.
Because you were useless.
Your tears finally fell as your devastation consumed you. You would be out of your shitty apartment within weeks if you couldn’t make rent. You’d be back on the streets, needing to do whatever it took just to get by.
You shuddered with dread just thinking about it. Especially in this city.
But you had nowhere else to go. No one to turn to.
You had nothing.
You were nothing.
“GET OUT!” Lloyd’s holler made you snap back to the present moment.
You physically jumped at his raised voice, whimpering before turning on your heel to scurry out of his office, but a quiet, unfamiliar baritone made you freeze in place.
“Wait.”
Lloyd huffed. “Really, Barber? You’re undermining me in my own club?”
“Our club. And I’m not undermining you. Just because you don’t have a use for her, Hansen, doesn’t mean I don’t.”
The tiniest, weakest flare of hope flickered within you as you turned and looked at the man who spoke, not nearly as bold in your gaze as he was.
Even though he was seated, you could tell that he was tall, his posture straight and confident, his shoulders broad beneath the dark suit jacket he wore. His skin was fair and flawless, his face shadowed with a dark, meticulously kept beard that matched the floofy swoop of his brown hair.
But it was his dark blue eyes that made your own gaze linger, and widen.
Because you realized that the stranger wasn’t watching you with a lecherous look like most men you’d come into contact with. His gaze was shining with something new and unfamiliar–sympathy, and calculation.
“Take her out to the car,” he nodded, and another man you didn’t even notice until now materialized from the dark corner of the office.
He was the biggest, broadest man in the room. His hair dark and long enough to curl around his blue, denim shirt collar. He was so big, in fact, that when he stepped toward you, you whimpered again, cowering at the sheer size of him.
“He won’t hurt you,” the stranger with the pretty blue eyes promised. “Go on. We’ll speak once I’m done here.”
You swallowed hard–nervously–but you were nodding before you even realized it, your body picking up on the softness in his tone and gaze before your brain did.
It made zero sense, especially given your history, but you trusted him, instinctively.
So you turned, grateful when the man you assumed was his bodyguard didn’t touch you as he corralled you out of the office and down the back hallway of the club.
Once you were tucked away in the dark, luxurious SUV parked out back, your mind started to spiral again, all the frantic noise inside your head blaring on a loop.
What were you doing?
You didn’t even know this man.
If he was in business with Lloyd, you couldn’t imagine he was much better.
But then you remembered the softness in his voice when he spoke to you. In his gaze when he looked at you.
He saw your fear and desperation and it seemed like maybe he actually wanted to help you.
Lord knew you could use that right about now.
You were startled from your thoughts as the back door opened and the stranger appeared, climbing in beside you. You noticed how he seemed intentional in keeping some distance between you–in respecting your personal space.
It was such a far cry from Lloyd and pretty much every other man you had ever met, that you felt a lump swell in your throat, and you had to look away from his intent gaze to blink the tears from your own.
“What’s your name?” he asked gently.
You took a breath, peeking over at him as you murmured your name.
He gave you a small smile, introducing himself in return. “I’m Andy Barber, it’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”
Your lips trembled into an almost hopeful smile.
“You need work?”
You nodded fervently, so much so that you made yourself dizzy as you breathed, “Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any skills or notable experience?” Andy asked.
And just like that–you wilted.
Because you didn’t. You barely had an education, and your resume was laughable–just a string of odd jobs that never lasted long, and the kind of years-long gap that would make any eyebrow raise.
The only thing you had to offer was what Lloyd alluded to back in his office.
Yourself. Your body.
But you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t. Not again. Not even if it was your choice this time.
You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t.
Andy’s quiet voice broke through your internal spiral–your mindless mental chant–as he told you, “You know, I didn’t start out at the top. I came from nothing. But someone with means saw potential in me. They gave me a chance. So I’m willing to do the same for you.”
And there it was again, that tiny flicker of hope sparking to life in the deep recesses of your tarnished soul.
“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’m very good at reading people, and I think you’re someone capable of loyalty, and that I prize most above all. Skills can be taught, knowledge can be gleaned, but loyalty? Trust? Those are innate and of the utmost value, especially in my world.”
You looked at Andy again and couldn't help but shiver. His poise, his confidence, his direct gaze.
You weren’t quite sure who he was, but you knew that you had somehow stumbled your way into the path of someone important. Someone powerful.
Someone who maybe, if you earned his trust, if you made him proud, he would keep you safe.
And that, to you, was of the utmost value.
So you took a deep, shaky breath before whispering, “I can be loyal.” You swallowed before continuing, “And I can work real hard, no matter what you ask of me,” your voice faltered. “Except… I don’t… please, I’m not–“
Despite your fumbling, Andy seemed to understand where your mind had gone. What fear overtook you now.
You saw him reach for you–perhaps his intention was a comforting touch–but he must have remembered you didn’t like to be touched, because he pulled up short and his hand retreated, resting on his thigh instead.
“That isn’t what this is,” he said gently.
“Okay,” you squeaked, sinking beneath the weight of your relief. “Good. T-thank you.”
You peeked over at him again, feeling unsure but also a little mesmerized. Because Andy Barber was beyond handsome. In fact, he was beautiful, but his eyes… your gaze couldn’t stop returning to his and the softness that resided there.
No one had ever looked at you that way before.
Without vile or cruel intentions aimed your way. Without malice or greed. Without the promise of pain, or worse. So much worse.
“Well, this seems pretty cut and dry to me, and genuinely the most pleasant interview process I’ve ever experienced,” Andy said. “So, you’re hired.” He winked, looking delighted when that got a quiet giggle out of you.
But the sound of your amusement cut off abruptly as the car began to move, and you jolted upright, panicked.
“Relax,” Andy soothed, his fingers twitching against his thigh like he was once again resisting the urge to reach out with a comforting touch. “We’re just driving you home, and then you can come to my place tomorrow and we can discuss how you can best support me,” Andy explained. “Where do you live?”
You didn’t respond for a moment, not so much because you didn’t trust him–didn’t know him–but because you were embarrassed by the answer. But after a beat, you gave it to him anyway.
Andy didn’t wrinkle his nose in disgust or make a judgmental remark like Lloyd had when he read your address on your new hire paperwork. He just relayed the address to his bodyguard, who was driving, before sitting back in his seat.
“Would you be open to relocating?” Andy asked, clearly taking you by surprise. “If I have you assisting me daily, it makes the most sense for you to live on my property.”
“I…” you hesitated, not wanting to spoil this gift so soon after receiving it.
Especially since you had no other prospects.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you said carefully.
Andy’s eyes sparkled at your diplomatic answer. “You wouldn’t be. Most of my staff have quarters at my manor. Like Ari,” he nodded toward the beefy man in the driver’s seat. “Same with my personal chef and butler.”
“Oh,” you murmured, nervously wringing your hands together in your lap.
Because it seemed like Andy had a whole staff under his employ. Not to mention a manor.
Again, you couldn’t help but wonder who he was, whose orbit you had been drawn into.
“Can I think about it, please?” You asked, not wanting to give up all of your minimal autonomy at once.
Not wanting to make what could be a very life-changing decision before you knew Andy better.
“Of course,” he replied easily. “I can show you around tomorrow to help inform your decision. How does that sound?”
“Very generous.”
Andy shot you a small smile, and your belly swooped at the sight before you quickly looked away, your leg jiggling with nerves as Ari steered the SUV onto your street.
The vehicle eased to a stop at the curb just outside of your dingy apartment building, and you found yourself unable to look at Andy–to risk seeing the pity in his eyes.
“Here, why don’t we exchange numbers?” Andy suggested, fishing his cell phone from his inner jacket pocket.
You pulled your own dated device from your back pocket, quickly fulfilling his request before clutching your phone between your sweaty palms.
“I’ll send a driver to pick you up tomorrow at eight thirty, does that work for you?” Andy asked.
“Yes, but you don’t need to,“ you objected. “I can take the bus, or–”
“It’s a safety precaution on my end,” Andy assured you. “I don’t give out my home address to many. Not in my line of work.”
He winked to make light of something serious, and you once again found yourself wondering what–exactly–was Andy’s line of work?
What were you getting yourself into?
But you just as quickly shook that thought away, because this opportunity–Andy’s kindness–it was all you had, and it was truly a gift.
No one had ever done something like this for you before, had given you a chance, a helping hand in a moment when you needed it most.
And you wouldn’t waste it.
So you nodded, mustering a smile despite your anxiety as you told Andy, “I’ll be ready tomorrow at eight thirty.”
“Perfect,” he smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He watched as you opened the car door and slipped outside, hesitating before you turned back to him. Because a new feeling was overriding your nerves now.
Gratitude.
You felt so very thankful for this unexpected opportunity. For Andy’s empathy and belief in you.
You weren’t used to getting help or lucky breaks.
You weren’t used to anyone caring about you in any way at all.
It must have been written all over your face too, all these thoughts swirling inside of you, because Andy’s features softened as he watched you, another one of those small smiles cursing his lips.
“Go get some rest, honey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Your belly swooped at the term of endearment, and you lingered for a moment, wishing you were good with words, that you could articulate how grateful you were, how much this meant to you. But you finally settled on a very earnest, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”
“No need to thank me. And call me ‘Andy.’”
Your insides fluttered at his request, and you nodded. “Goodnight, Andy.”
“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching your retreat.
Despite the way you hurried up the front steps and into the entryway, the SUV seemed in no rush to depart, instead idling at the curb until you were safely inside.
You scurried up the four flights of stairs to your unit in a daze, your brain trying to process everything that happened tonight. You were out of your new job at the club, but it seemed like something better could be awaiting you.
Thanks to Andy.
You were terrified to really get your hopes up, because so rarely did things go your way, but this time, weirdly, the excitement–and anticipation to see Andy again–was something you just couldn’t shake…
“Come here, honey.”
The sound of Andy’s voice brought you back to the present moment, your hazy mind surfacing from one of the few pleasant memories you had.
Blinking owlishly, you glanced up to find Andy watching you in soft amusement, his big hand held out toward you.
You slipped your hand into his, allowing Andy to pull you first to your feet, then into his lap.
His arms circled you in an instant, tugging you close as his lips pressed a kiss to your forehead. As you went pliant against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder, he murmured, “We’re going away for a long weekend.”
Your head snapped up in surprise. “We are?”
Andy smiled as he caressed your cheek. “Well, as long as you want to, but it’s why I had you clear my calendar tomorrow. I think some peace, quiet, and nature will do you good.”
You couldn’t suppress your giddy smile if you tried. “We’re going to the lake house then?”
Andy’s smile was more of a grin as he nodded, “I know it’s your favorite.”
“Thank you, Andy!” you squealed, nearly bouncing in his lap as you hugged him and pressed a kiss to his beardy cheek.
Andy’s eyes twinkled at your sweet excitement. As you went to pull away, his fingers caught your chin, staying your retreat as his eyes ignited in a way that had a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly.
Slowly, his gaze meeting yours and not shying away, Andy pulled you in for a real kiss. The kind of kiss that made it impossible to catch your breath because you could feel with each and every press of Andy’s lips against yours how much he loved you, cherished you, wanted you.
You were nearly panting once he pulled away, your eyes dazed enough to make him smile.
“You never need to thank me for taking care of you,” Andy hummed, touching his lips to your forehead. “For treating you the way you deserve.” His next kiss warmed your cheek, then he placed a final kiss on the other before pulling away at last. “Why don’t you go pack?”
“I will, in a little while, but first, can we just…” You sank against him, loosely clinging to him as you nuzzled your cheek against his chest. “Stay like this for a little while?”
“We can stay this way for as long as you want,” Andy promised, his big hand touching your back before settling into a slow, soothing rhythm–up and down, up and down–making you go even more pliant against him.
Humming your content, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, truly feeling your exhaustion for the first time all day.
But you felt something else alongside it, something that–once upon a time, but not so long ago–you never would have thought you would ever feel…
As Andy’s soft, musky scent filled your nose, as his warm, reassuring touch smoothed up and down your back, as you tucked your face against the crook of his neck and breathed in as deep, you felt truly and unequivocally safe.
🥹 You guysss. I love them SO hard. I would be so beyond grateful and delighted if you took a moment to drop me a comment or reblog with your thoughts. Pretty please! With a naked Andy and Ari on top?! 😘
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Hi I have a question about Pacific Rim. Given that the sparring is just A way to test for drift compatibility and any activity that requires people to collaborate and anticipate each others moves works, including stuff like multi player video games
Can you test for drift compatibility via improv comedy
#hate this. im in the shatterdome trying to coordinate my jaegers in the field fighting for the fate of humanity #and these two chuckleheads over here won’t stop doing bits on the open channel #they keep defeating kaiju with slapstick routines and its INFURIATING
yeah the worst part is it's actually working for them
