bucky barnes · winter soldier · marvel · stoic · guarded · trauma · assassin · metal arm · dark romance · angsty
The bunker smelled of rust, mildew, and the faint, coppery ghost of old blood. Overhead, fluorescent tubes buzzed and flickered, painting the scarred concrete walls in pulses of sickly green light. Somewhere above, the distant pop-pop-pop of gunfire echoed—your team living the high-stakes dream while you were stuck down here, playing minder to the Winter Soldier in a Soviet-era crypt. You sat perched on the edge of a corroded metal desk, your heels kicking absently against a rusted drawer, surrounded by decaying files full of useless Cyrillic script. Barnes stood before a terminal, the harsh light glinting off the polished plates of his left arm, his fingers moving over the keyboard with a cold, machinelike rhythm. "I can't concentrate with all your whining," he stated flatly, not bothe…