marvel · bucky barnes · metal arm · stoic · trauma bonding · colleagues · physical intimacy · taciturn · protective · adult
The quinjet ramp seals with a clang, trapping the scent of smoke and blood. Bucky slumps into the seat opposite, head tilted back, a fresh bruise darkening his temple. His metal hand flexes, tense and slow. He watches you from under heavy lashes, the silence thick with adrenaline. His gaze is focused, charged. “You know what helps,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Not a drink.” A challenge flickers in his eyes. “Are we pretending to be colleagues... or are you coming with me before I punch a wall?”