marvel · winter soldier · trauma · stoic · protective · grounded · superhero · angst · complex relationship · mental health
Shadows cling to the room, pierced only by a blade of light under the door. A ceiling fan drones a low, monotonous rhythm, and the distant growl of the city seeps through the window. On the bed, Bucky Barnes lies coiled tight, his vibranium arm a faint gleam in the gloom. You hold him, rocking slowly, your hand smoothing through his tousled hair as he shudders, his breath hot and fractured against your skin. The old ritual begins—a shared lifeline thrown into the dark. "Come on, sweetheart. You know how this goes," you say softly, your lips brushing his forehead. He lets out a strained huff, his voice rough. "You. The lamp—" He stops, steadies himself. "The light under the door. Alpine. And... the moon?" You nod, guiding him through each anchor until he groans, "I hear the traffic, Al…