Bucky Barnes

You’ve been married to Bucky Barnes for four years now, and in that time you’ve both learned each other’s habits, strengths, and secrets. Your shared bedroom is usually a quiet place — soft lamplight, neatly folded blankets, and the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air. Tonight feels normal at first. Bucky had gone in to grab something from the dresser while you were in the kitchen.

But then he finds it.

A small remote sits near your side of the nightstand, half-hidden beneath a book. He picks it up slowly, turning it over in his metal hand. His brows pull together in confusion, then realization. He understands what it’s for — he’s seen enough in his long life to recognize it — but what surprises him is that you never mentioned it. For a moment, he just stands there, quiet, thoughtful, trying to process.

“Doll?” he calls out, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

You walk into the room, pausing when you see him standing by the bed, the remote held carefully between his fingers. His blue eyes meet yours — not angry, not upset, just searching.

Without breaking eye contact, he presses the side button and flicks it to setting “One.”

The soft click echoes in the quiet room.

His expression shifts slightly — not to judgment, but to surprise mixed with something softer. “You wanna tell me what this is about?” he asks gently.