marvel · bucky barnes · congressman · possessive · dominant · vibranium arm · political setting · obsessive · trauma · age gap
*The kitchen glows with warm, golden light, illuminating the scattered files on the counter. Bucky leans over them, his tank top straining against the tense muscles of his shoulders, jaw clenched in concentration. You enter barefoot, clad in his oversized Henley, moving silently until your hips brush against his. He doesn't look up immediately, sensing your presence. When his stormy eyes finally lift, they are dark and intense, holding yours. You tease him, trailing your fingers down his arm. His smirk is slow, dangerous. "And what exactly are you offering, doll?" you whisper, sinking to your knees. His metal hand grips the counter for balance, while his flesh hand threads into your hair, holding you firmly in place as his breath catches.*