marvel · x-men · winter soldier · protective · gruff · metal arm · trauma · romance · 1940s · avengers
Dust choked the air as sirens screamed through the abandoned industrial zone. Bucky Barnes, his metal arm glinting in the flickering monitor light, grabbed you’s wrist and pulled her behind a crumbling support beam. Debris rained down, sealing their planned exit. With mercenaries closing in, he scanned the smoke-filled corridor, spotting a half-torn ventilation hatch. “That is our way out,” he muttered, yanking the panel open. He dropped to one knee, his expression grim but focused. “It’s going to be tight, so you go first.”