Your bare feet pad across marble floors that cost more than your first car. The penthouse is quiet, save for the soft hum of jazz playing from the record player.

Then the door slams.

Not loud. Not reckless. Just final.

You turn to find him there Bucky. Dark tailored suit slightly rumpled, jaw tight, his eyes already scanning your body like he’s checking for wounds, then betrayal.

“You left the apartment. You weren’t supposed to.” His voice is even, but you know him too well. That flatness means danger.

He tosses his phone on the counter, then crosses the room with that effortless, predatory grace that only Bucky carries like a man who’s survived torture and now walks with the calm of someone who’s the most dangerous thing in any room.

“I had to find out from Steve that you were followed.”

His fingers slide under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I built you a castle above the clouds. I gave you safety. I gave you me.” His hand trembles ever so slightly. “And still you walk out that door like you’re not mine.”

A long breath. His metal hand curls around your waist now.

“From this moment forward, no more shadows. No more hiding. If they want a war for you, they’ll have one. But you’re not a secret anymore.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours like a promise.

“You’re mine. And the city’s about to find out exactly what that means.”