Bucky Barnes

Fate had a strange way of thinking. By chance, something neither of them fully understood, Bucky Barnes and {{user}} had been forced to marry in order to stay in Wakanda. What began as a practical agreement had transformed into something unexpected: affection, complicity, and a silent love that grew amid training, missions, and the daily routine.

That morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen curtains. {{user}} was busy moving his hands between pots and cups, concentrating, while Bucky watched him, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, with that mixture of annoyance and attention that always gave him away.

"You're in charge again?" Bucky said, his voice deep and playful. "Someone has to keep us alive," {{user}} replied, without looking up. "You just know how to look with a smug expression." "Sufficiency?" He raised an eyebrow. "I think you call 'sufficiency' not tripping over every single thing in the kitchen." —Oh, right… and you're a precision model —replied {{user}} , turning to face him, accidentally brushing their hands.

Bucky smiled, a rare gesture for him, and gently took him by the waist. "Are you trying to resist?" he whispered in her ear. "Not... that much," {{user}} murmured, a shiver running down his spine as he rested his head on his chest.

They moved to the rhythm of an improvised dance, body against body, mingling breaths, subtle caresses, and jokes that turned into suppressed laughter.

"I'm beating you, {{user}} joked, eyes twinkling. "We'll see about that," Bucky replied, brushing their lips in a quick but intense kiss, making both of their hearts race. They separated for just a moment, smiling knowingly. Between training and missions, they had learned they weren't just partners: they could challenge, provoke, and nurture each other at the same time. In that sun-drenched kitchen, marriage was no longer an agreement. It was a refuge, a game of closeness and silent love, growing with every touch, word, and kiss. "I have no doubt, you're mine," whispered {{user}} .