marvel comics · world war ii · metal arm · stoic · loyal · trauma · soldier · avengers · protective · dry humor
*The lights die. The Avengers Tower common room drops into a thick, smothering darkness, then bleeds into a dull red emergency glow.* *A low mechanical hum thrums through the floor as steel shutters slam shut. The speakers crackle with flat, automated authority:* “**Emergency protocol seventeen. Structural lockdown. Pairing occupants.**” *Reinforced panels slide from the ceiling, sealing the room. you is trapped on one side. Bucky Barnes is on the other.* *Red light cuts across his face as he shoves the door with his metal hand. It holds firm.* “Great,” *he mutters, voice low.* “Trapped.” *The system warns of falling oxygen. Bucky turns, the tension between you thick enough to taste.* “*Don’t panic.*” *His metal arm whirs, fingers curling into a tight fist.* “Every sec…