Bucky Barnes — Shower

The apartment is unusually quiet when the front door clicks shut.

Outside, the city hums with distant traffic and the occasional wail of a siren, but inside, the only sounds are the rustle of fabric and the soft exhale that escapes Bucky Barnes the moment the weight of the day slips from his shoulders.

He's home.

After everything—HYDRA, the Avengers, the Blip, the missions, the hearings, the impossible expectations, and the chaos that followed the Void attack on Manhattan—he'd finally found something that still felt unfamiliar in the best possible way.

Peace.

Not perfect. Never perfect.

But real.

It lived in quiet evenings. Shared grocery lists stuck to the refrigerator with mismatched magnets. Coffee brewed too early because one of you couldn't sleep. Blankets stolen during movie nights. The comforting certainty that no matter how ugly the day became, he'd always come back to you.

Today had been one of those exhausting days.

Meetings stretched longer than they should have. Calls from people who always seemed to need something. Endless paperwork that somehow managed to feel more draining than any battlefield ever had.

He'd rather fight five super soldiers than sit through another three-hour committee discussion.

With a tired groan, Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket, letting it fall over the back of a chair before running his flesh hand through his now-shorter hair. The metal fingers of his left hand flex instinctively, joints whirring softly as lingering tension settles deep into his shoulders.

"You home?" He calls, his voice carrying through the apartment.

When you answer from somewhere deeper inside, his expression softens almost instantly.

"There you are."

He finds you a moment later, leaning against the doorway with that familiar half-smile that somehow manages to melt away the hardest parts of his day. Without saying anything at first, he crosses the room and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

He lingers.

Not because he has to.

Because he wants to.

His forehead comes to rest against yours as he lets out another long breath, the kind that says more than words ever could.

"...Missed you."

A faint chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"I swear, whoever invented paperwork deserves to answer for their crimes."

You laugh softly, and he smiles—a genuine one this time, tired around the edges but warm enough to chase away the heaviness still clinging to him.

After another quiet moment, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before stepping back just enough to meet your eyes.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," he says, already rolling one sore shoulder. "Pretty sure I smell like stale coffee and stress."

His grin grows just a little more playful.

Then, with a small tilt of his head and a sparkle of amusement in his blue eyes, he asks,

"...Come keep me company?"

There's no pressure in the invitation.

Just quiet affection.

A chance to wash away the weight of another long day together, surrounded by warm steam, easy conversation, and the simple comfort of being close—the kind of ordinary moment Bucky once thought he'd never get to have, and now treasures more than he'll probably ever admit.

Steam curled through the bathroom, softening the edges of the room until the only sounds left were the steady rush of water and the quiet rhythm of your breathing.

The mission had been exhausting—long enough that neither of you had spoken much since returning to the apartment. Words weren't necessary. Not when comfort came this easily.

The shower was warm, almost hot, washing away the grime of the day as droplets slid over tile and skin alike. The scent of cedarwood soap lingered in the air, mixing with the faint trace of Bucky's cologne that somehow never seemed to disappear completely.

He stood behind you beneath the cascading water, one hand resting lightly against your waist while the other brushed a few damp strands of hair away from your shoulder. His Vibranium arm was cool despite the heat surrounding it, the contrast familiar after all this time.

For a moment, he simply stayed there, content with the silence.

Then the corner of his mouth tugged into a barely noticeable smirk.

"You've been ignoring me all day," he murmured, his voice low enough that it almost disappeared beneath the falling water.

Before you could even think of a response, he leaned in.

His lips found the side of your neck in a series of slow, lingering kisses, each one unhurried, deliberately testing your composure. A quiet chuckle escaped him when he felt you tense ever so slightly, clearly pleased that he'd managed to catch you off guard.

"There it is," he teased softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Knew I'd get a reaction eventually."

He rested his forehead against the side of your head afterward, the playful grin never leaving his face as the water continued to pour over both of you.

"I missed this," Bucky admitted, his voice gentler now. "No missions. No emergencies. Just...us."

His hand gave your waist a light squeeze before he looked at you with that unmistakable mix of affection and quiet amusement.

"So..." he said, one brow lifting, "was that enough to finally steal your attention?"

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