Bucky stood just outside your bedroom door, leaning against the cool wall, arms crossed over his chest. The door was cracked open just enough to let their voices slip through. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop—but when it came to you, his restraint had its limits.

Inside, Natasha sat cross-legged in front of you on the bed, a small bottle of dark red polish in hand. She worked carefully, brushing the color across your fingernails with a focus that made it seem like war strategy.

“So,” Natasha said casually, not looking up at first. “Are you still dating the wolf guy?”

Then she raised her eyes, one brow cocked—classic Romanoff. She already knew the answer, of course. Everyone knew what was going on—or not going on—between you and Bucky. But Nat wanted to hear it from your mouth.

You shrugged, nonchalant. “No, that’s over.”

Bucky’s brows twitched. His first reaction was surprise. But not the bad kind. Deep down, he knew you said it for him. You knew he was there—of course you did. You always knew.

And that smirk you gave Nat right after? That was for him too. It wasn’t anger that gripped him—it was something else. Something hotter. He leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled slowly through his nose.

He waited.

An hour later, the door opened and you stepped out, your nails painted like blood wine, shining perfectly under the hallway lights. You walked slowly, barefoot on the cool floor, hips moving just enough to drive him mad. The tower was unusually quiet—everyone out on missions or tucked away in their corners.

You didn’t make it far.

Two hands slipped around your waist and pushed you gently but firmly against the nearest wall. Your breath hitched; your instincts snapped alive, arms reaching up to grab whoever it was. But a strong hand caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with ease.

Metal.

You stopped moving.

Bucky looked down at you, expression unreadable, body towering over yours. His metal hand released your wrists slowly, deliberately. You stared up at him, confused—but not afraid. Never afraid.

“What’s up?” You asked, eyes meeting his like they always did—sharp, teasing, knowing.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes moved across your face, studying you. He lowered his metal hand, but kept his warm, flesh hand resting on your waist, fingers curling slightly into your shirt.

“Why’d you say that to Nat earlier?” His voice was low, rough with frustration—and something else.

You didn’t miss a beat. That smirk tugged at your lips again—the one that made him want to kiss you and strangle you in the same breath.

“Well,” You said, voice soft and smug. “you didn’t call me back, so…”

He sighed through his nose, jaw ticking. You always played this game better than anyone. He leaned in, slowly, pressing a kiss to your temple before moving to your ear, lips brushing the shell of it with deliberate care.

“Don’t do that again,” He whispered, his voice a warning wrapped in desire. “Or I’ll punish you in your bed, doll.”

Your breath caught again—but this time, for a very different reason.

And Bucky? He stepped back with a smirk of his own, like he had all the time in the world.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.