"You're over a hundred years old, I would have assumed you'd learned to control yourself by now," she answers, her tone cool, the fact that she's teasing betrayed only by the mischief dancing in her eyes. Bucky knows her well enough by now to see it, but she still curls her hand over his on her knee, squeezing lightly just in case he hasn't caught the light in her eyes.

"You'll have to be more specific in the future," she says as the car pulls away from the curb, gliding down Park Avenue. "I assumed you wanted to visit that taco truck by the boardwalk when you asked if I wanted to get something to eat."

And honestly, she would have been content with that. Sylvie may technically be Asgardian royalty, but it isn't as if she'd lived as such.