Nini

Notes: The first of my WIPs that I'm publishing. I wanted to publish something before getting busy with my university exams this week. I thought about giving Stevie a different name, but I like the headcanon that Steve and Bucky promised to name one of their children after each other.

Masterlist.

You shifted as you usually did in the middle of the night, moving closer to the side of the bed that belonged to Bucky, searching for his warmth and intending to tease him a little by pressing your cold feet against his legs. Instead, you found only the faint, almost nonexistent trace of the heat his body had left behind in the sheets.

Sleepily, you opened your eyes, fighting your way out of your drowsiness, only to confirm that Bucky wasn’t beside you. You slowly turned toward the nightstand and glanced at the clock: 3:24 a.m.

It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up and found him gone at that hour. You’d always assumed he was simply in the bathroom or reviewing data on upcoming missions the team was preparing for. After all, because of his paternity leave—and its extensions—he only helped from a distance, designing strategies and analyzing information.

Closing your eyes again sounded far too tempting… until, in the absolute silence of the early morning, you heard a barely perceptible murmur coming from the baby’s room.

You frowned slightly, confused. Was Bucky with Stevie? They only went into her room at night when she cried—because of a dirty diaper, being too cold or too warm, or the simple—and powerful—need to be held. And, strangely enough, she never cried from hunger.

During the first two days of your daughter’s life, you had been terrified, imagining every catastrophic reason why Stevie didn’t cry from hunger in the middle of the night. It was Bucky who, with an almost absurd calm, convinced you that maybe his DNA had influenced something as basic as the baby’s nighttime appetite.

As silly as it sounded, you ended up believing him… especially since Stevie was growing a little more than other babies her age.

Curiosity began to gnaw at you, even more so because you hadn’t heard your daughter cry at all. Without hesitation, you swung your legs out of bed and walked barefoot, with deliberate slowness, toward her room. With each silent step, the murmur became clearer, until it was undeniable: your husband was talking to Stevie.

“You’re a baby with a big appetite, aren’t you, princess?” Bucky murmured, his voice laced with affection.

You heard a soft sound from your baby—more of a sigh than a cry—followed by the gentle rhythm of sucking.

“Shh, princess. Let’s not wake mommy. She already does so much during the day.”

When you reached the doorway, you saw him from behind. His flesh arm held Stevie carefully, while his vibranium arm seemed occupied with something else.

The black and gold metal gleamed softly under the warm light of the small lamp, while confusion flickered across your face.

“James,” you murmured, a hint of severity in your voice.

You noticed his shoulders tense immediately, and the soothing murmurs stopped for a few seconds. Bucky had been so absorbed in feeding Stevie—so focused on her tiny face and quietly adoring the small, unmistakable similarities to yours—that he hadn’t heard you get out of bed or walk down the hall.

Slowly, he turned around, caught red-handed. In his vibranium hand, he held a baby bottle, while Stevie remained blissfully unaware of everything, calmly sucking on the formula.

Bucky opened his mouth as if he were about to say something right away, but no words came out. His blue eyes moved from Stevie to you, and then to the bottle, still held with a natural ease that betrayed him.

His ears had warmed slightly with embarrassment at being caught, even though outwardly he still radiated that calm that had always undone you.

“I…” He fell silent for a few seconds, searching for the right words. “I just wanted to make things easier for you… You already did so much for nine months.”

You crossed your arms without realizing it, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe, watching Stevie continue to eat with solemn concentration, as if the entire world had narrowed down to finishing the contents of the bottle.

“You told me she wasn’t hungry at night,” you said slowly, without raising your voice. “You told me it was… genetic.”

Bucky lowered his gaze for a second. Just one. It was enough.

“I didn’t completely lie,” he murmured, not fully convinced by his own words. “I just… left some parts out.”

He rested his hip lightly against the crib and adjusted Stevie against his chest with almost reverent care. The bottle dipped slightly when she made a small sound of protest, and he reacted immediately, repositioning it with a precision learned quietly, in secret from you.

“She does get hungry,” he continued. “But not always. And when it happens… I wake up as soon as she starts fussing, right before she cries.”

You pushed away from the doorframe and took a few steps closer, finally entering the room. The warm light softened the dark circles beneath his eyes—ones he’d always had, but which now made it clear this hadn’t happened for just one night. There was routine in his movements. Practice.

Now those nights of complete calm in your bed began to make sense, as did Stevie’s occasional nighttime cries. He only let her cry after her stomach was full, just enough not to raise suspicion about your daughter’s midnight snacks—or her lack of hunger cries at night.

“Have you been extending your paternity leave so you can keep an eye on Stevie?” you asked.

Bucky hesitated for a few seconds before finally nodding softly and taking a step toward you.

The air caught in your chest. Not from anger—not entirely. It was a strange mix: tenderness, confusion, a soft sting from having been left out… and a deeper one when you realized how much he had been carrying on his own.

Your husband wasn’t a man of many words; at times, expressing his feelings and worries didn’t come easily to him. But his actions always made his love for you unmistakably clear.

“James…” you said again, but now your voice held no severity. “You could have told me.”

“I know,” he replied immediately. “But I know how demanding babies are. I remember when Rebecca was one. And Stevie…” He looked at the baby, who was now blinking slowly, satisfied. “She’s a calm baby, but even so, I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.”

Stevie released the bottle on her own with a tiny sigh, and Bucky smiled without realizing it. That private smile he showed no one but the two of you.

You took the last few steps closer and reached out, gently brushing your hand over your daughter’s head, feeling her warmth. Then you looked at your husband.

“Next time,” you said softly, “don’t decide on your own.”

Bucky let out a low breath as he looked at Stevie and nodded slowly. Then he stayed still for a moment, as if afraid to break something fragile with one movement too many. Carefully, he removed the now-empty bottle and set it down on one of the white pieces of furniture near the crib. Then he shifted the baby’s position, resting her against his chest and patting her back gently—patient, attentive, focused on helping her burp.

And then you understood with a soft, overwhelming clarity: he hadn’t lied out of indifference, nor from a lack of trust… but because he was learning, in his own clumsy and silent way, how to be a father.

“You forgot to put a… towel.”

You didn’t finish the sentence. Stevie beat you to it, letting out a small spit-up that landed directly on Bucky’s gray shirt, staining his shoulder and part of his back.

Bucky released a long exhale as he squeezed his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose slightly. For a second, he seemed torn between the instinct to pull away and the need to stay put, as if this were just another mission he had to get through.

You couldn’t help letting out a soft laugh.

You opened one of the drawers and took out a small baby towel, stepping closer behind Bucky to carefully wipe the corner of Stevie’s mouth. Far from being bothered, the baby let out a sweet little giggle as the fabric brushed her lips, her tiny hands moving slightly as if celebrating the attention.

Bucky opened his eyes, and his expression shifted slowly—from resignation to something like awe.

He loved hearing the two of you laugh.

“That’s Stevie’s way of marking her territory,” you joked lightly.

You were unaware of the sideways glance Bucky kept giving you as you tried to help, running the towel over the white stain on his shirt. When you finally lifted your gaze, you caught that faint hint of a smile as he looked at you with complete focus.

“I hear her laugh, and I hear you,” he said slowly. “I look at her, and I look at you.” He let out a brief nasal chuckle and shook his head.

Bucky adjusted the baby in his arms, changing her position so he could rock her gently. It didn’t take long before he turned fully, until the two of you were face to face.

You looked at him with tenderness, a silly smile on your face as you listened to your husband express himself like that—so sweet, so vulnerable.

“My genes barely even tried,” he joked, drawing a soft laugh from you. “But I’m glad they didn’t…”

He lowered his gaze to Stevie, then lifted it back to you, more serious now, more honest.

“I’m the father of a little girl who looks like you. Like the woman I love most.”

The weight of his words settled slowly in your chest, warm and deep. Stevie sighed, already half asleep, as if the rocking and the closeness of her parents wrapped around her completely.

“Then,” you murmured, “we’re raising someone dangerous.”

Bucky let out a low laugh and carefully wrapped his free arm around both of you, forming a small, improvised shelter in the middle of the night.

“Definitely,” he replied. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Bucky adjusted his hold, cradling Stevie with the care of someone holding something irreplaceable. The baby nestled against his chest, calm and completely trusting, and that simple gesture tightened your heart.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he added afterward, not looking at you. “I just… wanted to carry everything myself first. I don’t really get tired—I can go days without sleeping—and this wouldn’t affect me the way it would you. I thought that was how I was protecting you.”

“Protecting doesn’t always mean carrying everything alone,” you replied softly. “Sometimes it means letting yourself be accompanied.”

Bucky nodded slowly. There were no defenses in him, no extra explanations—only acceptance.

The milk stain was still there, forgotten, like a silent proof of a night they didn’t plan to remember clearly, but that would stay with them all the same.

Stevie made a small sound, almost a sigh, and finally fell completely asleep.

“Look at that,” Bucky whispered. “She trusts us without knowing anything about the world.”

You smiled, caught between vertigo and peace.

Carefully, he released you and leaned down to settle Stevie into the crib. The baby stirred slightly, frowned as if protesting in her sleep, and then went still, breathing softly. Bucky stayed bent over her a moment longer, watching the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest.

“Sweetheart, go get some sleep, okay?” he said quietly. “I need to clean the kitchen… I made a bit of a mess while preparing the bottle.”

You raised an eyebrow slightly, a soft smile forming on your lips as you imagined the “small mess” by his standards.

“You broke another bottle, didn’t you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. That silence was more than enough to confirm your suspicions.

“Don’t tell me it was the pink bottle with the little bears… that one is really cute.”

“Bed,” he ordered gently, leaning in to place a light kiss on your temple and giving your hip a reassuring pat.

It had been far too many long months.

Months in which exhaustion had settled deep into your bones, your muscles, even behind your eyes. You were worn out, stressed, and constantly sore. Bucky, on the other hand, could only claim two of those things. The serum ran through his veins and didn’t allow him to truly experience exhaustion; sleeping little or spending days on missions didn’t knock him down the way it did everyone else. But pain and stress… those still knew how to find him.

The past few months had been filled with too many team meetings, too many group missions, too many solo operations, and too many nights trying to rest on the stiff mattresses of safe houses that never truly felt safe.

Moments for just the two of you had become rare.

And when they did appear, they were simple. Small.

Ordering Chinese food at midnight.

Turning on some random movie on the TV.

Curling up together on the couch.

Movies you almost never finished.

It always happened the same way: one of you would fall asleep first, the other soon after… and the screen would end up illuminating an empty room until some emergency alarm tore you both out of your rest.

But finally—miraculously—a small break appeared.

Four full days.

Four days without missions, without reports, without strategy meetings.

Bucky didn’t give you a chance to argue. He simply appeared in front of you with that calm expression that always came right before a decision he had already made.

He took you straight to the hangar, the two of you climbed into one of the quinjets, and you were airborne before you could ask too many questions.

The destination turned out to be a quiet beach somewhere in the world that you never bothered to identify. You didn’t ask about the country, the city, or the island.

You simply decided to enjoy it.

Now, two days later, you could say with certainty that you were still tired and sore… but in a completely different way.

You had spent the last forty-eight hours swimming in the ocean, riding in a small rented boat, walking barefoot along the shoreline, trying—with little success—to learn how to surf, and diving around the nearby reefs while Bucky watched you with that constant mix of patience and amusement.

The stress had disappeared.

All that remained was the pleasant exhaustion of an improvised vacation, the warmth of the sun on your skin, and the simple happiness of spending time with your boyfriend.

That afternoon, when you returned to the small hotel by the sea—decorated with local crafts and light wooden furniture—you barely made it through the door of the room before collapsing face-down onto the queen-size bed.

A long, exaggerated groan slipped from your throat as your body finally sank into the comfort of the mattress.

The door closed behind Bucky with a soft thud. You stopped paying attention until you heard the familiar sound of something dropping onto the floor: the woven bag you had bought from one of the artisans at the market.

Then his footsteps approached.

You groaned again, softer this time, when you felt two light swats on your backside.

“Darling, you’re going to fill the bed with sand.” His voice carried that amused tone he always used when he knew perfectly well you weren’t going to listen.

You whined softly, forming a small pout while Bucky’s large hand gently moved a few strands of your messy hair aside so he could see your face.

“I’m going to die, Bucky. I can’t feel my legs,” you murmured dramatically.

You heard his quiet laugh as his fingers began to gently massage your scalp.

"Hm, five minutes ago you told me you were going to die of hunger."

"I will."

You opened your eyes lazily and narrowed them accusingly when you noticed the teasing smile on Bucky’s lips.

"What kind of boyfriend lets his girlfriend die twice in a single day?"

You heard his short laugh as he stood up and pulled off the shirt that had grown damp from sweat and the salty sea breeze, reaching into his bag to grab a dry one.

You only shifted slightly on the bed so you could watch the small show he was unintentionally putting on.

You couldn’t help biting your lower lip as a stupid smile spread across your face while you looked at his sun-tanned skin, the color highlighting the shape of his muscles. Your eyes drifted lower when his pants slipped down an extra inch, revealing that sharp contrast in skin tone along his hips and lower abdomen.

You were just about ready to start drooling and ask him to join you on the bed when the fabric of his shirt covered his skin again.

"I won’t be the terrible boyfriend who lets his girlfriend die twice in one day. I’ll go get us something to eat."

Before you could say anything, Bucky leaned down over the bed and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You sighed quietly and closed your eyes as you heard him pick up the room keys and slip his sandals back on.

You were already preparing to take a small nap when your boyfriend’s voice rang out again, making you open your eyes.

"Don’t forget to shower." He teased when he saw you about to fall asleep.

You only groaned dramatically once more, burying your face in the pillow as you heard the door close behind him.

☆

"I'm back, baby. It took them a while to get the ord—"

The sentence died on Bucky’s lips the moment he looked up.

You were fast asleep.

Face down on the bed, your body barely covered by a white towel that wrapped lazily around your figure, as if it might slip off at any moment. Your hair was still damp from the shower and fell messily across your back and the pillow, slightly darkening the fabric beneath it.

Bucky quietly closed the door behind him.

He slipped off his shoes in silence so he wouldn’t wake you and walked over to the small table in the room, placing the takeout bag on top of it. The warm aroma barely escaped through the paper, but even that wasn’t enough to pull you from the deep sleep you had fallen into.

When he looked back at you, a soft smile settled on his face.

He approached slowly, almost reverently.

The warm light of the afternoon filtered through the curtains, drawing golden lines across your skin. Your breathing was slow and peaceful, your back rising and falling gently. Your eyelashes fluttered faintly, a sign of some dream he wasn’t part of.

For a moment, he considered letting you sleep.

Maybe stepping out onto the balcony for a while. Calling Yelena or John to see how things were going at the tower. Making sure the world was still running without the two of you for a few days.

But instead of moving, he stayed there.

Watching you.

It had been far too long since the last time he had truly allowed himself to look at you like this.

Far too long since he had admired your body slowly, without hurry, without alarms sounding in the background, without the constant urgency of the next mission.

Far too long since the last time he had truly worshipped it the way it deserved.

Bucky let out a quiet sigh, almost imperceptible, as he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed.

The mattress barely dipped under his weight.

His hand brushed softly against the back of your thigh, barely a touch at first, as if testing whether that small gesture would be enough to wake you.

It wasn’t.

His fingertips began to move slowly, tracing light strokes across your warm skin. Little by little, the gesture grew more confident, more familiar.

His metal hand joined the other—cold at first, but surprisingly gentle as it began to press carefully into the sore muscles of your legs.

The massage was slow. Patient.

His thumbs pressed softly, easing the tension left behind by hours of swimming, walking, and clumsily falling off a surfboard.

Bucky swallowed when a small sound slipped from your lips.

A soft, barely audible moan.

Your legs shifted in your sleep, parting slightly as your body unconsciously responded to the relief of his hands.

His gaze darkened just a little.

Not with urgency.

But with that dangerous mix of tenderness, desire, and something deeper that always surfaced whenever he saw you like this… vulnerable, relaxed, trusting him completely even while you slept.

And yet, his hands didn’t stop.

His hands moved higher, until his fingertips brushed the top of your buttocks. He hesitated for just a second before withdrawing his hands and slowly, gently removing the white towel.

He let out a soft, nasal chuckle as he looked at the thin lines of your bikini hugging your hips and that fine line disappearing between your buttocks.

His hands returned to gently massaging your legs, occasionally moving up to your buttocks to squeeze the soft skin between his fingers, just to hear soft sighs and moans escape your lips.

Bucky’s mouth was starting to water at the sight before him: you, so desirable and exposed for him.

He swallowed hard before leaning toward you, pressing his lips slowly and reverently against your rounded skin. His breath caught as he took in the fresh, clean scent of soap lingering on your skin.

His kisses grew wild, filled with tongue and teeth that left shiny trails of saliva and the soft scratches of his teeth against your tanned skin. It was only a matter of minutes before he found himself panting and breathing heavily against your skin, while an unbearable pressure built up inside his pants thanks to your soft moans and murmurs against the bedsheets.

“James…” you murmured.

Hearing you call his name in that sweet tone, and knowing that you thought of him even in your dreams, was enough to take things a step further.

His metal hand spread your legs a little wider, then both hands moved to your hips, lifting them off the mattress so he could see your folds in all their glory.

His hot breath brushed against your skin, and then he caressed your slit with the tip of his nose, filling his lungs with your warm, sweet scent that invited him to take you.

That hot, wet muscle was the next to caress the center of your folds as his eyes closed and he stifled a moan in his throat. His slow, delicate, adoring licks gradually took on a confident rhythm as your hole began to tighten around nothing and drip with your arousal.

You moaned a little louder now, and your legs barely moved. You weren’t aware of what was happening, but it would undoubtedly be a pleasant surprise to wake up with your beloved boyfriend devouring your pussy just as he loved to do.

His lips closed around your clitoris, sucking hard enough to make your hands grip the sheets and your lips part just enough to let out a lewd moan.

Bucky knew you wouldn’t be long in waking up, judging by the way your breathing quickened and your eyelashes fluttered more than before, so he didn’t want to waste any more time. The tip of his tongue traced your entrance a couple of times before eagerly penetrating that wet, hot hole.

He could only moan against your folds as he savored you fully with his tongue, and his hands gripped your hips lightly while he enjoyed your heat and arousal for a few seconds before beginning to lick your inner walls, which pulsed around him. He felt you squeezing him, wanting and needing more of him.

Your eyelids began to open slowly and heavily, as if you’d just woken from a restful sleep, but your eyes soon closed again as you let out a long moan of pleasure, feeling Bucky’s hard work between your legs.

You could hear the wet, obscene sound of licking and sucking, along with Bucky’s ragged breathing and muffled moans against your wet center.

“Bucky… Baby…” you murmured, barely catching your breath.

You heard him hum against your flesh, then pull his tongue out of you and suck on your sensitive mound, the tip of his nose pressing lightly against your opening.

“You’re awake, baby,” he said in a hoarse voice, then licked his lips, which were coated with your taste. “You were sleeping so beautifully, and I needed to taste you.”

It didn’t take him long to get back to the job of eating your pussy.

His tongue circled your clit with rough, wet licks while you barely regained control of your legs, propping yourself up clumsily on your knees. The scratch of his stubble against your folds was enough to make your legs tremble.

“I need you. I need you so much, baby.” He moaned desperately as he rose up behind you.

His hand slapped your butt—a signal you were used to, one he used to order you to lift your ass and press your chest and face against the mattress. And you did it without hesitation while he hurriedly stripped off his clothes.

Your toes curled, and you pushed your hips back as you felt the thick tip of his cock rubbing between your folds, teasing you and soaking up your wetness. Your breath caught in your throat when the tip began pressing against your clit.

“Fuck me, Bucky…” you murmured into the sheets.

“Fuck, fuck, baby…” He bit his lip as he positioned himself against your entrance. “You’re so wet for me.”

Your lips parted to let out a trembling moan as you felt your entrance slowly stretching under his thrust. You’d missed and needed that calmness during sex, that exquisite, gentle heat of his large member slowly entering you, letting you savor every inch of him and hear Bucky’s shameless moans.

His hips gently slapped your butt as he sank completely into you, and his hands went to your buttocks, spreading them just to see your entrance stretched and filled with his cock, glistening with your fluids.

“Oh, God,” he moaned as he slowly slid out and then thrust back in. “This… This little pussy loves me… It was made for me.”

The thrusts started out slow and deep, enough to build the heat inside your bellies and the need. Every movement let you feel every ridge and every vein. Your hips began to rock toward him, taking him even deeper into your wet, throbbing heat.

The moment the head of his cock touched that spot, you let out a lustful moan—enough to encourage Bucky to pick up the pace and ravage that tender spot inside you. You were so lost in the pleasurable sensations that his name began to escape your lips in the form of moans. Trembling, pleading moans.

Bucky’s hands left your hips to wrap his right arm around your neck while his left arm hugged your waist, pinning you against the mattress with his weight as his cock withdrew until only the tip remained inside, then plunged back in all the way, letting his testicles slap against your folds, causing that slapping of skin.

Your vision was blurred, and thousands of sensations assaulted your body as you neared orgasm. One of your hands clung to the disheveled sheets while the other gripped Bucky’s muscular arm, digging your nails into it slightly as you moaned, completely overwhelmed by his cock.

“O-Oh, baby. I’m close, I’m close,” Bucky said with effort between moans as he continued to thrust mercilessly inside you. “D-Do you want it inside? Do you want my babies inside?”

Your pussy tightened with desire around his length, drawing an obscene moan from your boyfriend, who pressed his sweaty forehead against your shoulder.

“Bucky! P-Please, please. Give it to me.” You begged breathlessly as your legs trembled.

“I love your greedy pussy, always craving my cum. I can’t wait to see it dripping.”

The intense heat and tingling in your belly had you on the verge of delirium. The pleasure of having your boyfriend fucking you desperately was too much; his cock relentlessly pounded the right spot while he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your tanned skin.

Finally, you screamed your orgasm as your pussy fluttered and tightened around him. Your hips went through a few spasms as your squirt left a wet stain on the sheets.

Bucky, consumed by desire and feeling his limit, held your trembling, limp body tightly as he continued to thrust hard and without mercy until his own cock began to throb violently, releasing his hot, thick essence between your sensitive, tight walls.

You were breathless, moaning with delight as you felt that exquisite heat inside you spreading and seeping out of you, and above all, exhausted.

Bucky’s legs gave way little by little, letting you lie back on the bed while his arms loosened their grip on you until you were finally lying down, your bodies still pressed together. The sound of your heavy breathing was the only thing to be heard in the room until your stomach growled, and then you moaned in embarrassment while he let out a soft, exhausted laugh.

He found it amusing to see you just as you were when you returned from the beach: completely exhausted and hungry.

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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Masterlist.

The moving boxes were scattered throughout every room of your apartment, like small cardboard islands labeled in black marker: books, winter clothes, miscellaneous. You could barely see the floor between them. Your playlist echoed through almost the entire place thanks to the small speaker you had set on the kitchen counter, filling the air with songs you knew by heart.

After months of conversations, doubts, jokes, and shared silences, it was finally happening. You were moving in with him. With Bucky. And with Alpine.

You couldn’t hide the excitement in your face or your voice every time you debated what could fit into his apartment and what would inevitably be left behind. Every decision felt big, definitive… and at the same time, strangely simple.

"What if… what if we take the couches?" You asked for the fourth time, trying to convince him to bring the pieces to his place.

"No, sweetheart. We’ll run out of space if we take them." He said, his tone worn down by your persistence, though amusement still slipped into his voice along with that small smile of his.

You let out a dramatic whine, your shoulders dropping in surrender. Your hands kept packing books into two cardboard boxes—one meant for Bucky’s apartment, the other destined for donation.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was one of those full, easy silences that only exist when words are no longer needed to feel accompanied. Suddenly, you realized that the apartment no longer felt entirely yours. Not in a sad way, but in the way you know when something is closing a chapter.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked suddenly, watching you closely.

You nodded, even though your fingers had stilled over the spine of a book.

"Yeah… I’m just thinking this is the last time I’m packing here."

Bucky didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved closer and sat down on the floor beside you, resting his shoulder against yours.

"It’s not an ending." He said softly. "It’s just… a change of scenery."

You looked at him, searching his expression for something, and you found it: calm. That steady calm of his that always seemed to promise that, no matter how chaotic the world might be, with you he would try to make it a home.

"Besides," He added. "Alpine has already decided you’re moving in. She slept on your sweater last night. That’s basically a signed contract."

You laughed, the knot in your chest loosening.

Bucky’s cat had never exactly been your biggest fan. Every time you walked into his apartment, Alpine vanished like a shadow; if you got too close, she hissed at you in clear warning. And whenever you curled up next to Bucky on the couch, she wouldn’t take long to appear, just to hiss again and give you a sharp swat with her front paw, as if reminding you that the territory already had an owner.

You always joked about it with Bucky, saying Alpine acted like a jealous girlfriend—a silent guardian of her space and of him.

"Great. Signed with fur included?"

"Definitely."

☆

Bucky had put music on the speaker; the sound drifted through the apartment and reached your bedroom, where you were packing your summer clothes into boxes. The melody floated like a constant murmur, wrapping the space in an unexpected calm.

He didn’t take long to appear in the doorway. He lingered there for a second, watching you with a half-smile before stepping closer. Without giving you many options, he took your hand and gently—though decisively—led you to the small open space between the bed and the window. The Way You Look Tonight, in Frank Sinatra’s voice, filled the air, slow and enveloping, as if the room itself were breathing in time with the music.

"I don’t know how to dance to this." You protested softly, even as you were already letting him guide you.

"It doesn’t matter." He replied with a calm smile. "Just follow me."

Even though decades had passed since the last time Bucky had danced, his body seemed to remember everything. He moved with a natural, almost automatic grace, as if the 1940s had never truly let go of him. His steps were steady, smooth, measured; one hand firm at your back, the other holding yours with a delicacy surprising for someone so strong.

You, on the other hand, were learning as you went. Your steps were clumsy at first, hesitant, but he never rushed you. He adjusted his rhythm to yours—not the other way around—guiding you with small, almost imperceptible pressures, murmuring gentle cues that made you laugh every time you misstepped.

"That’s it." He whispered. "You’re doing great."

Little by little, you stopped thinking about the steps. The slow jazz became a natural sway, and your body began to respond to his without effort. Your forehead came to rest carefully against his chest, his chin settling near your temple, as the world narrowed to that small space you shared.

Among boxes, books, small decisions, and music, you realized something simple and immense at the same time: you weren’t packing things.

The supermarket was quiet. Just a few people were strolling calmly through the aisles, looking at the well-stocked shelves as they decided what else, besides the items already on their lists, they would end up taking home that day.

Bucky was one of those people.

The cart was already full with everything you had written down on the shopping list, but he kept wandering through the aisles more out of distraction than necessity. It was a way to keep Grant entertained while you were in the toy section looking for a birthday present for your son.

He pushed the cart slowly, staying close behind the little boy as he walked around staring at everything within sight. Grant grabbed anything within his reach just to inspect it curiously before putting it back—or at least trying to.

“Put that back where it belongs, buddy.” Bucky said calmly.

And every single time Grant obeyed, a small smile appeared on Bucky’s lips almost immediately.

The moment he noticed the boy was about to turn toward the toy aisle, Bucky reacted quickly.

“Grant, let’s go this way.” Bucky said as he steered the cart into another aisle.

The child turned around with a small pout painted across his lips, clearly unhappy about it, though he still ended up following his father anyway.

“I wanna see the toys...” he mumbled, dragging out the words a little before adding more quietly, “And I miss Mom...”

Bucky’s expression softened instantly.

He missed you too. The need to take care of you had only grown stronger since your new pregnancy.

“When she comes back, the three of us can go look at the toys together, okay?”

Grant gave a tiny nod and quickened his pace with small hurried steps to catch up to him. He reached out to grab onto the sleeve of his father’s jacket.

Bucky didn’t hesitate to let go of the cart with one hand so he could intertwine his fingers with his son’s as they entered the frozen food aisle.

They walked together for a few seconds before Grant suddenly let go and ran toward one of the glass freezer doors. He pressed both hands against the glass while staring with completely lit-up eyes at a box of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

“Dad! Dad!” Grant exclaimed excitedly, bouncing on his feet. “My nuggets! We have to get them!”

Bucky pulled the folded shopping list from his jacket pocket and looked over it quickly.

You hadn’t written down nuggets.

“Mom didn’t put nuggets on the list.” he replied to his son.

The pout returned to Grant’s face, this time much deeper. His blue eyes began to fill with that watery shine of crocodile tears that rarely worked on you, but your husband was weak.

Bucky let out a barely audible sigh as he quickly stuffed the list back into his pocket before giving his son a conspiratorial smile.

“Maybe your mom forgot to write them down. Go ahead, grab one.”

“Yaaay!” Grant squealed immediately, unable to contain his excitement.

His small hands hurried toward the handle of the glass door, though he only managed to move it a few inches before Bucky stepped in to help him.

The second the door opened completely, Grant grabbed one of the nugget boxes and hugged it tightly against his chest as if he had just discovered treasure. Barely a second later, he let out a high-pitched giggle when the cold seeped through the fabric of his hoodie.

“It’s so cold!” he exclaimed between laughs while holding the box out to his father.

Bucky chuckled softly under his breath before taking the nuggets and placing them into the cart.

“That’s what happens when they live in the freezer."

Grant laughed again and continued walking beside him, though the peace only lasted a few seconds.

“Dad! We should get ice cream!”

This time, Bucky didn’t even need to pull out the list. He already knew ice cream wasn’t on it, especially since there was still half a tub left at home thanks to your constant pregnancy cravings.

“There’s still ice cream at home, buddy.”

The pout instantly returned to Grant’s face with impressive speed.

“But I want chocolate ice cream...”

Bucky held firm for exactly five seconds.

Five.

Because Grant crossed his arms and, with all the dramatics a small child could possibly gather, dropped himself onto the cold supermarket floor.

“I miss my mom...” he said in a shaky, high-pitched voice while the first tears started rolling down his cheeks.

Bucky looked up just in time to notice a woman passing through the aisle watching him with a slight frown, as if silently judging what kind of terrible father he was.

He let out a resigned sigh.

Setting the cart aside, he walked over to Grant and easily lifted him up by the underarms before settling him against his hip.

“Okay, okay... we’ll get a small tub of ice cream for everyone to share.”

The crying stopped so fast it was almost offensive.

Grant immediately burst into laughter again, completely recovered, while Bucky grabbed a small tub of chocolate ice cream and placed it into the cart, shaking his head faintly even as a small smile tugged at his lips.

After that, things got a little out of control.

Aisle after aisle, Grant took full advantage of his father’s far-too-soft heart to convince him to add more things to the cart. First, it was a strawberry yogurt “because it looked yummy.” Then a small box of crayons he apparently “urgently needed.” After that came grape juice.

And finally, a pine tree-shaped car freshener that Grant found so funny he spent nearly an entire minute laughing at it by himself.

By the time Bucky finally lifted his gaze and spotted you in the distance, he let out a sigh of absolute relief.

Because honestly, if Grant continued having unlimited access to his guilt and emotional weakness, they were probably going to leave with half the supermarket.

The moment Grant saw you at the end of the aisle, his eyes lit up even more.

“Mommy!” he shouted excitedly while already waving his arms from where he sat in his father’s hold.

Bucky barely had time to set him down before the boy took off running toward you as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, wrapping himself around your legs the second he reached you.

“Oh, God! Careful, sweetheart.” you said, startled but smiling.

One of your hands instinctively went to your swollen belly while the other rested on Grant’s head, gently stroking his hair.

You only managed to take a few steps before Bucky approached with the shopping cart.

“Look at everything we got!” Grant announced proudly, as if he had been the one doing all the hard work.

Bucky tried to look completely normal.

He failed.

Because the cart no longer resembled the original shopping list in the slightest.

The bags of vegetables and the things you had actually needed were buried beneath dinosaur nuggets, yogurts, juice boxes, chocolate ice cream, crayons, and the pine-scented car freshener still hanging ridiculously from the side of the cart.

“James...” you murmured while looking at him.

Bucky felt that look the same way a soldier felt the sight of a rifle aimed at the back of his neck.

“Before you say anything...” he started, raising one hand slightly, “I just want to clarify that technically all of this was emotional manipulation.”

Your hand left your son’s hair to rest on your hip while the other continued rubbing your belly.

“This kid is dangerous.” Bucky defended himself quickly.

“Dad let me get nuggets!” Grant interrupted with a huge grin.

“Grant also cried on the floor." Bucky added immediately, pointing at him in an attempt to shift the blame. “There was an audience. People were judging me.”

You raised an eyebrow while letting go of your stomach to pick up the air freshener between two fingers.

“And this?”

Grant burst into laughter as he finally let go of your leg.

“It’s a tree! And it smells good!”

Bucky looked away, completely incapable of defending himself this time.

“I have no explanation for that one.”

Grant wrapped himself around your leg again while continuing to ramble nonstop.

“And we also got chocolate ice cream because I missed you and Dad said we could all share it and there’s juice and crayons and-”

Bucky closed his eyes for a brief second.

“He psychologically manipulated me for forty straight minutes. I wasn’t prepared for this.”

And even though he tried to sound exhausted, the small tired smile on his face completely ruined any real attempt at complaining.

Because seeing you there, with Grant clinging to your leg, a baby on the way, and a shopping cart full of unnecessary things, still felt dangerously close to a perfect life.

One he had never believed he deserved, but somehow had now.

“What am I going to do with you, Barnes?” You murmured in amusement while looking over the contents of the cart. “You become weak when it comes to Grant. I don’t even want to imagine how you’ll be once this little girl is born.”

Bucky’s smile widened instantly, turning into something shamelessly flirtatious.

He slowly stepped closer and cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. The cold vibranium of his metal hand made you shiver and laugh softly.

“Maybe you should just love me anyway...” He murmured close to your lips before pressing a soft kiss against them. “...Even with my weak heart.”

And then another.

And another one after that, barely brushing against your lips with that absentminded tenderness that always managed to undo you far faster than you were willing to admit.

For a moment, you completely forgot that you were still standing in the middle of a supermarket.

Until a small indignant voice interrupted the moment.

“You’re squishing me!”

You and Bucky burst into laughter as you quickly pulled apart.

Grant was still wrapped around your leg, accidentally trapped between the two of you. The little boy finally let go only to cross his arms over his chest, a small offended pout appearing on his face.

“You’ll survive, champ.” Bucky said, still laughing.

Grant didn’t seem convinced.

Before he could start protesting again, Bucky spoke first, suspiciously quick to regain control of the situation.

“Didn’t you want to go look at the toys, Grant?”

That was enough.

All indignation disappeared instantly.

“Yes!”

Grant immediately took off running toward the toy aisle without wasting a second, forcing both of you to follow before he decided to take home half the store.

You ended up holding onto Bucky’s arm as you walked behind your son, watching him excitedly dart through the aisles.

Bucky lowered his voice slightly so Grant wouldn’t overhear him.

“Did you get the presents?”

You nodded with a proud smile.

“They’re hidden in the trunk.”

Bucky let out a small sigh of relief.

“Perfect. Because if that kid saw the toys, he’d probably try to convince us to buy them right now.”

“Probably?”

Bucky barely turned his head to look at you with amusement.

“Okay. Definitely.” He admitted.

A laugh escaped your lips as the two of you kept walking together, watching Grant stop in front of a massive shelf filled with action figures.

The boy immediately turned toward you both, his eyes shining with excitement.

Your hips jolted as his fingertips brushed against your clit and your hole.

"Please, please, Buck." You screamed desperately as your arm wrapped around his neck.

"Oh, baby..." he murmured adoringly upon hearing your plea.

He kissed you deeply, pushing his tongue between your lips and swallowing your moans, while his vibranium hand gripped the base of his cock to guide it toward your pussy.

He pressed the swollen head of his cock against your entrance, rubbing it up and down your slit to coat it with your lubrication and making you moan. Then, with a gentle thrust of his hips, he pushed forward.

The thick tip forced your tight entrance to stretch around it and let him in slowly as he listened to your muffled cry against his lips.

“Shhh, relax, baby. You’re doing so well, you’re taking me so well,” Bucky murmured against your lips.

His metal hand moved up to gently stroke your hair.

He paused when he felt your walls flutter around the head of his cock, and his hips almost jerked forward with pleasure, but he had to fight with all his might not to as he let out a low moan.

"I’m going to fill this tight little pussy so good, baby. I’m going to claim this pussy as mine." His voice trembled with the desperation to fuck you the way he wanted. "But I’ll only be able to do it if you let me give you my love."

You were frowning and squeezing your eyes shut tightly as your legs trembled at the sides of his hips, overwhelmed by those few inches that had entered you. And you managed to nod gently after a few seconds.

His lips were back on yours, kissing you slowly and devotedly to keep you distracted before he thrust forward.

He moaned as he felt your silky walls rippling around him while he slowly sank inch by inch into your heat.

His meaty hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he pushed slowly and steadily all the way in.

Feeling your nails dig into his back and shoulders, he thrust the last of his cock in until his heavy balls rested against your ass.

“Damn, baby, you feel incredible.” He praised you in a tense voice.

He began to thrust in earnest then, sinking slowly into your depths, giving you time to adjust to his size with every thrust.

“So tight and hot around me. I knew this pussy would be perfect the moment I saw you.”

Her breathless, lust-filled voice filled the few empty spaces in your mind, which was overwhelmed by pleasure as you felt her tip constantly touching that sensitive spot inside you.

Bucky was driven wild by the way you moaned, utterly enchanted and breathless, by how you rolled your eyes back when his hips thrust harder than before, and by the sight of your pussy stretched as wide as it could go around him.

He couldn’t help it; his thrusts became frantic.

The sound of skin against skin echoed off the walls of the room, as did the creaking of the mattress. Every movement of his hips was sharper, more desperate now, chasing that red-hot edge.

You moaned loudly at the change in rhythm, and your back arched off the mattress, shamelessly showing him how your tits bounced with every impact.

"Bucky!..."

He leaned over you, kissing the side of your forehead and your cheekbone with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the way he was brutally fucking you, his hand gripping your hip tightly while the metal one kept your leg locked against his hip.

"Don't cry, love," he whispered against your cheek between gasps. "I'm just making love to you."

His voice came out broken and possessive as hell.

And then, the sweet Bucky cracked.

“Is this what you wanted when you begged, baby?” he gasped, watching your tits bounce with every movement of his hips. “Me fucking you until you’re stupid? Making you forget everything but this cock?”

Your walls contracted around him, enchanted by that desperate, rough side of his that came out whenever his climax was near.

You nodded, unable to speak properly because you couldn’t stop moaning and sobbing with pleasure.

“Please…” you moaned shakily, unable to finish the sentence as you felt that tingling sensation in your belly.

“I’ll give it to you,” he promised in a raspy voice.

Bucky knew what you meant. You didn’t need to finish the sentence for him to know you wanted to beg for his cum.

“Your pussy will be raw and stretched out by the time we’re done.”

Sweat dripped down his temple as the muscles in his back tensed under the sting of your nails.

Your body trembled beneath his with every thrust inside you, feeling him mercilessly pound that soft spot inside you to intensify the tingling in your belly.

Finally, you reached your orgasm.

Your nails dug mercilessly into his back, and you screamed his name as if it were a prayer while your pussy clamped down on him like a vice.

"Fuck!" His roar was raw, animalistic.

Bucky’s hips stuttered, thrusting into you one last time before his release tore through him violently.

Hot spurts flooded your tight pussy. His cock contracted deep inside you as he emptied every drop, claiming you, breeding you, just as you wanted.

The appendicitis had been such a sudden emergency that he still remembered the moment he woke up in the middle of the night, feeling you move over and over again and hearing soft moans. You were doubled over in pain, your hands pressed against your abdomen as you squeezed your eyes shut tightly to try to keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks.

You insisted that dinner must have just sat heavy in your stomach and that a pill should be enough, but Bucky wouldn’t accept that it could be enough, since his mind was racing through various scenarios that wouldn’t let him rest.

Without your permission, he picked you up in his arms to take you to the hospital.

The hours he spent sitting in the waiting room, with his hands clasped and his gaze fixed on the operating room doors, had seemed endless to him. No matter how many dangerous moments he’d lived through, none had caused him such anxiety, since all he could do was wait for the experts to treat you.

That’s why, once the doctors confirmed that the surgery had been a success and allowed you to return to the apartment, Bucky decided that during your recovery, you wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing.

“Don’t get up.”

That was the phrase he repeated most often.

It didn’t matter if you just wanted to reach for a glass of water or the remote control on the nightstand. Before you even stretched out your arm, he was already on his feet to grab whatever you wanted.

“Buck, I can do it myself…” you said with a playful smile.

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied with that calmness that masked immense concern. “But you need to get better.”

Bucky had prepared the couch with almost obsessive care so you could rest when you got tired of staying in bed. He’d arranged several pillows to support your back and sides, a soft blanket folded over the backrest, the remote control, the book you’d started reading the week before, and—inexplicably—even the little bell Alpine rang every time she wanted someone to fill her food bowl.

With one hand around your waist and the other holding yours, he helped you walk the few steps to the living room.

“Slowly…” he murmured.

His movements were so slow and careful that you barely noticed the moment he let you settle onto the sofa. He placed a pillow behind your back, another under your arm, and yet another beneath your legs, watching your face the whole time, alert to the slightest sign of pain or discomfort.

Only when he saw that you were breathing normally did he allow the tension to ease slightly from his shoulders.

You let out a sigh as you settled back, and then your eyes drifted toward the coffee table.

You frowned slightly.

“Seriously, honey? … The bell?”

You picked it up between your fingers and rang the little bell.

The tinkling had barely faded when Bucky replied with complete nonchalance.

“If you need anything, I’ll be able to hear you from the kitchen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

The vibration sent a slight twinge of discomfort through your abdomen, forcing you to place a hand over the area where you’d had surgery as you tried to catch your breath.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you said in a slightly plaintive tone.

He took a step toward you immediately.

“Did you hurt yourself? Let me check the wound.”

You shook your head with a smile on your lips and then raised the bell again.

“Do you think I’m a queen?”

As if she had perfectly understood the conversation, Alpine appeared from some corner of the apartment.

The white cat walked into the living room with her tail held high, swishing it with the elegance of someone convinced she ruled the place. Upon hearing the word “queen,” she pricked up her ears and let out a soft meow, accustomed to you calling her “Queen Alpine” every time she demanded attention… Although, honestly, she was more of a tyrant.

With a nimble leap, she landed on the coffee table.

Bucky let out a little snort of laughter as he scratched the back of his neck, aware of how ridiculous the whole thing must look.

“I just want to make sure you don’t exert yourself, darling."

Alpine, completely oblivious to the conversation, stretched one of her paws toward the bell.

Ding… Ding… Ding…

She rang it several times in a row while meowing and looking at Bucky.

You pointed at the cat with a smile.

“I think Queen Alpine is starving.”

Bucky let out a short sigh that was half worry and half amusement.

“Ring the bell if you need anything,” he said before kissing your forehead and heading to the kitchen.

☆

While he was making lunch, you’d put on a movie to take your mind off things.

From the living room, you could hear the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board as he chopped vegetables with the precision that only Bucky seemed to possess. Then came the gentle bubbling of the pots and, every now and then, the murmur of his voice as he quietly went over the instructions the doctor had given them. It was as if he were studying for an exam on which the entire world depended.

Bucky had always enjoyed cooking for you, surprising you with elaborate dinners after long days at work, but since the operation he seemed to have become an even more meticulous chef. He double-checked every ingredient, verified the portions, and followed the doctor’s recommendations almost to the letter, afraid of making even the slightest mistake.

You had barely started a new movie when Bucky returned with a tray in his hands.

“Time to eat,” he announced as he set the tray on the table.

He had prepared chicken broth with rice, vegetables cut into small cubes, and shredded chicken. Beside it sat a glass of water, your medications, and a couple of perfectly folded napkins.

You tried to sit up on your own, but you couldn’t quite manage it. Bucky’s hands gently wrapped your arms around his neck to help you up, guiding you slowly until you were sitting upright without straining your abdomen at all.

“Buck…” you whispered with a mix of tenderness and resignation. “I’m pretty sure I could’ve done that on my own.”

You slowly untangled the arms he’d placed around you.

“I just hope you’re not planning on feeding me by hand,” you murmured once he turned his back to you to pick up the plate of food.

Bucky remained silent as he turned on his heels and slowly looked down at the spoon he was already holding in one hand, filled with broth and a little rice.

You’d discovered it by accident.

You would have laughed if only your abdomen weren’t so tender from the surgery, so you let a broad smile spread across your face.

“Come on, Bucky,” you said as you held out your arms toward him. “I can feed myself.”

For a few seconds, he looked at you with a furrowed brow and that slight pout he made whenever something didn’t sit right with him, but finally he let out a small sigh of defeat as he carefully handed you the plate.

“Thanks,” you hummed happily.

You picked up the spoon, but before taking a sip of the soup, you looked up at him.

“Eat with me, okay?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate to nod.

And like the obedient boyfriend he was when it came to you, he went back to the kitchen to serve himself a bowl of soup. He returned a few moments later carrying a dining room chair under his arm and sat down next to you.

He refused to sit on the couch, since it had to be all yours for your rest.

Not even five minutes had passed when Alpine appeared, sitting on the floor next to your legs.

Alpine remained completely still, her tail carefully curled around her front paws. Her huge blue eyes darted from Bucky’s bowl to yours with almost admirable patience, as if she were convinced that, sooner or later, one of you would make the mistake of dropping a piece of chicken.

You lowered your spoon slowly.

“Don’t look at me like that…”

The cat responded with a soft meow.

“She’s putting on an act,” Bucky remarked before taking another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “She ate less than an hour ago.”

Alpine meowed again, this time in a slightly more plaintive tone.

“Did you hear that?” you smiled. “She says that’s slander.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“What she’s saying is that she wants chicken.”

The cat, as if to prove him right, lifted a paw and gently rested it on your knee.

“No, miss. The sergeant says you’ve already eaten.”

Alpine withdrew her paw with obvious disappointment and slowly turned her head toward Bucky, but he remained impassive.

“Don’t even look at me.”

Another meow.

“No.”

One more.

“Alpine…”

The cat narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not going to negotiate with you.”

You watched the scene with a smile that hadn’t come so naturally in days. It was strange how an argument with a cat could make the apartment feel light again after the scare you’d both just been through.

Bucky finally got up from his chair and set his plate on the tray.

“I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into the kitchen for a few seconds and returned with a small bag of cat treats.

Alpine sprang to her feet immediately, meowing even louder around him.

“Oh, right…” you murmured, amused. “Soup without salt for me, and treats for her.”

“She didn’t just come out of surgery,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“I’m recovering; I should get treats too,” you complained, feigning sadness.

Bucky let out a quiet laugh as he placed a couple of treats on the floor for the cat to eat. Then he pretended to think about it for a few seconds.

He walked over to where you were sitting and, without warning, leaned in to plant a slow kiss on your forehead, then another on your nose, and one more at the corner of your lips.

“There’s your treat,” he murmured, giving your chin an affectionate stroke.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks and gently bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the silly smile forming on your lips.

“Is that all? No more prizes?” you said with feigned innocence.

“Just that, sweetheart. You’re greedy—you’re going to want more,” he replied with a teasing smile.

Your lips parted dramatically as you took a breath, and then your cheeks flushed a little more. You gave him a gentle, playful punch in the stomach that made him laugh.

“You’d better take my plate before you force a convalescing girl to give you what you deserve,” you joked as you handed him your plate.

He took the plate right away and noticed you’d barely eaten half the soup. That pang of concern and overprotectiveness surfaced again.

“Are you feeling sick? Do you want to go to the hospital?” he asked hurriedly.

You slowly shook your head and raised a hand to give his forearm an affectionate squeeze.

“I’m fine, honey. I feel full,” you replied, trying to reassure him.

He didn’t press the issue. He knew your appetite wasn’t what it used to be and that it might take a few days for it to fully return.

He cleared away the plate, took the dose of pills you needed from the bottle, and handed them to you along with a glass of water.

You took your pills while he rearranged the pillows.

“Are you comfortable?”

“I am, Buck.”

“Don’t you need another pillow?”

You looked around, unable to believe he was offering you another pillow when you were practically surrounded by every pillow in the apartment.

“If you keep piling on pillows, I’m going to disappear among them.”

He looked at the little fort of cushions he’d built around you and let out a soft chuckle.

“...I might have gone a little overboard,” he murmured, embarrassed.

Alpine had already claimed his chair, so he ended up sitting on the floor, right next to your legs.

He let his head rest on your thighs, being just as careful as he had been ever since they returned from the hospital. You ran your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

Bucky finally allowed himself to let his guard down as he sighed and let you show him affection.

“Sorry if I’m being too… intense,” he said, his voice sincere and a little embarrassed. “All of this happened so suddenly, and it was awful not being able to do anything while you were in the operating room.”

Your fingers froze on his hair as you listened to him.

“Bucky…” you whispered.

Before you could say anything, his hand gently squeezed your calf as he pressed his lips against your knee.

“I still can’t believe you wouldn’t let me feed you. Maybe that means you’re getting better.”

You let out a little amused snort before lightly ruffling his dark hair.

“I have to admit that once I’m recovered, I’m going to miss being taken care of so devotedly by you.”

A crooked smile appeared on his face as he settled onto his knees to be at the level of your face.

“Then I’ll find excuses to spoil you,” she murmured as she cradled your face in her hands. “Like this…” she murmured once more before giving you a soft kiss on your cheek. “And like this…” She gave you a soft, chaste kiss on your lips.

Ding… Ding…

They both had to break that sweet kiss to look toward the bell, which Alpine had rung again.

Bucky let out a weary laugh.

“She’s definitely a very untimely cat.”

“Don’t blame her,” you said, stroking his cheek. “She’s just taking advantage of the fact that the handsome nurse of the house doesn’t know how to say no.”

“It takes very little for either of you to manipulate me…”

just friends - @herejustforbuckybarnes

pairing: Nerd Bucky Barnes x Roommate!Reader summary: After finding your roommate in a compromising situation, you volunteer to give him a hand… and a mouth, kickstarting the most tumultuous semester in your friendship with a sexual benefits deal; wisely, some rules were established. But would those rules be enough to keep you just friends?

Not so sudden - @buckysdecaflove

pairing: Prof!Bucky Barnes x Student F!Reader summary: You learn you're pregnant after having something not that casual with your professor, and he then shows you how ready he is to take care of you and your baby.

Academic Probation - @/w1nter-fairy

pairing: Dean Bucky Barnes x grad student!Reader summary: James Buchanan Barnes has spent his entire career believing discipline solves everything. Then a brilliant, chronically late graduate student walks into his office, challenges every opinion he has and somehow turns his carefully ordered life upside down.

salt and pepper - @/herejustforbuckybarnes

pairing: Dean Bucky Barnes x Professor!Reader summary: Dean Barnes had gone into hiding mode weeks after magical weeks together. Curiosity and resentment led you to confront him — nonetheless, you weren't expecting that he was hiding his salt-and-pepper hair. Time to show him you love him no matter what.

The one who calls you baby - @/buckysdecaflove

pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader summary: After a fling before summer’s vacation, Bucky decides you’re the one to settle down with, but your doubts grow bigger until he makes it clear you’re the only one he wants.

Tipsy Truth - @w1nter-fairy

pairing: Tutor!Bucky Barnes x Reader summary: Your phone is at eleven percent, your roommate isn't answering, and going back to your dorm isn't an option. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Unfortunately for you, these desperate measures involve waking Bucky Barnes in the middle of the night.

────────── MORE FICS TO BE ADDED SOON. ──────────

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