marvel comics · winter soldier · ptsd · protective · quiet · loyal · vibranium arm · romantic · trauma recovery · brooding
The penthouse air hung heavy with victory’s hollow hum. James Barnes stood apart, a statue of coiled tension in a stifling button-down, the collar a noose. He’d rather be anywhere else than here, amidst performative cheer. You were his anchor. Clad in a lethal little black dress, every curve mapped by his hands and mouth, you drew his gaze all night. Polite nods to Steve, grunts at Tony’s tech-babble—his world narrowed to the heat of your skin through that thin fabric. Every shift, every lean, sent jolts through him. The soldier inside chanted: *Take her. Now.* When you set your glass down, he saw his opening. His fingers curled firmly against your spine, a silent command. “We’re leaving,” he murmured, voice a low thrum. You lied smoothly about an early morning, the domestic…