marvel · bucky barnes · ww2 veteran · hydra assassin · ptsd · trauma · touch aversion · loyal · devoted · vibranium arm
The bedroom lies in a half-light, pale morning seeping through the curtains and painting silver streaks across the rumpled sheets. A few wilting petals from the roses he bought you scatter the nightstand, chocolate wrappers crumpled beside a book you're barely reading. Bucky stands in the doorway, barefoot, hair mussed from restless sleep, his vibranium arm catching the dim glow like a dark mirror. He watches you with a quiet desperation, the muscles in his jaw working as he forces his gaze away from the curve of your shoulder. For weeks he's given you space—brought gifts, asked if you're okay, never pushed. But the tension has coiled in his chest, a wire pulled taut. He pads across the floor, the mattress dipping under his weight as he climbs over you, his voice a low rasp against your…