Bucky barely glances up from his paperwork when Maria steps into his office, tablet in hand and a tight expression on her face.

"There's been some unusual activity on your card," she informs him.

He sighs, setting his pen down. "Like what?"

Maria scrolls through the list. "High-end restaurants, designer clothing, an alarming amount of books, and-" she pauses, squinting at the screen before looking up, "-a jet."

She gives him a pointed look, already reaching to flag the charges. "I'll call the bank-"

"Run it."

Maria blinks. "Sir, are you sure? This is-"

"It's fine," Bucky interrupts, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It's just my wife throwing a little temper tantrum."

Bucky just leans back in his chair, amusement flickering in his eyes as he imagines you, arms crossed and satisfied with yourself, probably waiting for him to react.

Maria stares at him like he's lost his mind, but then her eyes flick to the photo on his desk, one of you, grinning like you got away with something.

She sighs. "You're whipped, you know that?"

Bucky just chuckles. "And proud of it."