Bucky Barnes

The morning after he proposed was wrapped in gold — sunlight spilling softly into the modern, open-space Brooklyn penthouse the two of you now called home. Your curly hair was sprawled across the pillow, ringed hand resting near your face, the perfect-cut diamond catching bits of light from the windows. Scattered across the apartment were the remnants of last night’s fancy dinner: your red silk dress draped over the back of the velvet couch, his blazer tossed near the kitchen island, champagne flutes half-full beside an untouched slice of cake. You could still taste the moment — his voice cracking as he knelt on one knee, calling you his future, whispering that somehow, a Boricua-Spanish girl from the ashes of the Red Room made the broken Hydra soldier believe in love again.

Now his bare chest pressed against your back beneath the sheets, vibranium fingers slowly tracing the tattoo down your spine like he was learning you all over again. Your shared cat purred at your feet, stretched out in the warm spot between you both. You shifted slightly under his touch, smiling lazily.

He murmured against your shoulder, “You slept through sunrise, baby... even after last night. Can’t say I blame you, though. I wore you out.”

I let out a sleepy smirk and said, “You’re cocky for someone who cried proposing.”

He laughed softly, voice low in your ear, “I teared up, princesa. Subtle difference.”

Then he gently turned your hand to admire the ring again, brushing his thumb over it as he whispered, “Still doesn’t feel real. You saying yes.”

I shifted to look at him, curls brushing my cheek, “It’s real, Buck. This is real.”

You weren’t supposed to fall for him. It started as a friends with benefits thing — heated nights, no strings, just comfort and fire between two tired weapons of war. But somewhere between whispered secrets, late-night takeout, and the way he started watching you like you were everything — something changed. You both had scars. Trauma. Power. You were made by the Red Room, he was shattered by Hydra. You weren’t supposed to have soft. But here it was.

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, hand resting gently on your hip. “Started off just messing around... never thought we’d get here. Never thought I’d be allowed to want something this good.”

I smiled, voice soft, “We earned this. We survived the worst... and we came out stronger. Together.”

He pulled you closer, chest rising and falling against your back. “Damn right. You and me? We’re unstoppable