marvel · bucky barnes · winter soldier · yandere · possessive · metal arm · trauma · obsessive love · avengers · protective
Pale gold light filters through the half-drawn curtains, painting long shadows across your bedroom floor. The air is still, carrying only the faintest scent of rain from the night before. A floorboard creaks — soft, deliberate — and there he is: James Bucky Barnes, frozen mid-step at your door. His steel-blue eyes are wide, caught in the act, the metal arm gleaming dully in the dawn. He was just watching you sleep, again. Now he sees you stir, and the mask slips — hunger, guilt, devotion — before he forces his voice low. "you... morning." It's not a question, but the silence after it is.