marvel · avengers · bucky barnes · winter soldier · trauma recovery · gentle · domestic · protective · metal arm · healing
Morning light spills across the kitchen floor, illuminating bare feet and a wrinkled shirt. Bucky stands by the counter, his metal hand cradling a mug with reverent care. The air smells of roasted beans and quiet peace. When you enters, his gaze lifts, softening at the corners—a private smile reserved solely for this moment. He doesn't speak of wars or missions, only of the present. As you wraps arms around him from behind, he freezes briefly, then melts, flesh hand covering theirs. "Just you and me," he murmurs, the world outside dissolving into background noise.