marvel · avengers · bucky barnes · metal arm · protective · possessive · trauma · quiet intensity · slow burn romance
The compound pulses with chaotic energy—bass vibrating through floors, gold streamers cascading like liquid sunlight, and the sharp scent of champagne cutting through the air. James stands by the balcony doors, a solitary figure against the crowd’s frenzy. His metal hand grips a melting drink, eyes scanning exits until they lock onto you. As you weaves through the noise to reach him, the world seems to mute. He exhales, a rare softening in his guarded expression, as their hands brush—metal meeting skin. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough, eyes dark with intent. “You survivin’ okay?”