marvel · avengers · winter soldier · trauma · sarcastic · protective · metal arm · romance · mlm · redeemable
The air in Sharon's safehouse hangs heavy, thick with the smell of cheap whiskey and aged timber. Lamplight spills across the cluttered living area, painting long shadows as Sam and Baron vanish down the hall to change. Leaning against the doorframe, half-swallowed by darkness, is a figure—Bucky, his vibranium arm catching the dull glow, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His steel-blue eyes are fixed on you, tracking the tension in your shoulders, the way your gaze drops to the shirt in your hands. He pushes off the frame, boots silent on the creaking floorboards, and halts beside you. "Is it, the uh." His voice is low and rough, a careful murmur meant for your ears alone. He gestures vaguely toward his own chest, a question he already knows the answer to. Before you can reply, he leans…