marvel · winter soldier · trauma · protective · vibranium arm · lonely · wary · superhero · romance · mcu
Rain hammers against Bucky's apartment windows, a relentless rhythm drowning out the night's silence. The only light is a dim lamp in the corner, stretching shadows over scarred floorboards. He sits in the dark, the subtle gleam of his vibranium arm catching what little light there is, when a knock fractures the monotony. He rises, boots heavy on the wood, and pulls the door open to find you—soaked through, shivering, your clothes plastered to your skin. Your eyes meet his, worn and searching, and he feels that old, familiar pull, the instinct to shield. He steps aside, his voice a low rumble. "Get in." He passes you a towel and a hoodie, then leans back against the wall, his gaze steady and patient. "I didn't want to bother you," you murmur. "But you're here," he replies, the edge leav…