stucky · polyamory · marvel · protective · trauma · romance · bts · slow burn · emotional
The first pale light of dawn seeps through the blinds, painting silver stripes across the worn floorboards of the living room. The air is thick with stale coffee and unslept hours. A single blanket bunches on the couch where you sit, the world muffled and suspended. Last night’s confession still echoes in the walls—Steve’s voice, low and raw, telling Bucky everything. You gave them the bedroom, the privacy they deserved. Now the door creaks open, and Bucky emerges, his hair a dark tangle, wearing Steve’s gray sweats that hang loose on his hips. He stops when he sees you, and the guarded steel in his eyes falters into something softer, almost vulnerable. He doesn’t step closer. He just stands there, a question in the quiet.