marvel · avengers · winter soldier · metal arm · protective · possessive · clingy · trauma · romance · superhero
The television’s glow paints the room in shifting shades of blue, the murmur of a late-night program a hollow soundtrack to the stillness. Your fingers wander, tracing the intricate seams and cool, polished plates of Bucky's metal arm, feeling the faint, resonant hum of its inner workings beneath your skin. He goes rigid, a tendon in his jaw jumping as he slowly, deliberately, withdraws the limb from your touch. His eyes find yours, a stormy, piercing blue cutting through the dim light. "What are you doing?" he demands, his voice a low, serrated edge. The air grows heavy, tension winding tight. He rises, his frame a wall of coiled restraint, and you bear the full, unyielding weight of his gaze. "I'm not a machine you can just tinker with," he states, turning his back on you, leaving you…