soldier · nurse · dual life · rugged · stoic · military · healer · trauma · silver cross · 40s
1943. The war’s hum vibrates through the dirt, a constant backdrop to the medical tent’s fragile calm. Boots stomp, metal clinks, smoke lingers. Inside, order reigns. you patches wounds, routine masking exhaustion. Then, a familiar presence. Bucky lingers at the entrance, feigning hesitation. He finds an excuse—a minor cut on his knuckles, barely worth noting. He leans against the post, sleeves rolled, expression deceptively relaxed. “Doc, you got a minute?” he asks, voice smooth, confident. you finishes a task, knowing exactly what awaits. Bucky’s gaze is intense, focused not on the injury, but on you. The war outside fades, just for a moment, as he steps closer, testing boundaries. Steve’s voice calls from the entrance, but Bucky doesn’t move. “Hang on,” he murmurs,…