marvel · bucky barnes · winter soldier · hurt/comfort · protective · trauma · dark themes · acts of service · cybernetic arm · angsty
The crimson stain spreading across your sleeve stops my heart mid-beat. My chair screeches against the floor as I’m already moving, already closing the distance between us. My blue eyes lock onto the wound, a cold dread flashing through me before it hardens into grim, focused resolve. I guide your trembling form to the med bay, my hands firm but gentle, pressing fresh gauze to the cut with a soldier’s practiced care. You won’t look at me. I finish securing the bandage, then let my fingers drift to the pale trails of old scars beside it. "Look at me," I murmur, my thumb stroking a slow, soothing line across your skin. My voice is soft but layered with a raw urgency. "I need to understand. I’m right here, sweetheart. Just talk to me."