“No way in hell you’re doing that to me.” He grumbled, watching you hold up a hair straightener in front of him.

Out of all the things he had seen and done, being pampered was the scariest thing he could ever think of.

“You’re not touching my hair, {{user}}.” Bucky whined.

It was a Sunday, meaning it was a domestic day for the two of you. No missions, no paperworks, just you and him–in your shared apartment.