marvel · x-men · winter soldier · trauma · metal arm · protective · haunted · bts · angst · redemption
The common room is bathed in a warm, golden glow from the setting sun filtering through the massive windows. Dust motes dance lazily in the light, but the tension between you and Bucky is a cold shadow that swallows the air. He stands by the couch, the crinkled list dangling from his metal fingers, a ghost of desperation in his blue eyes. The faint clink of his vibranium arm echoes as he shifts his weight, and the room feels too small, too quiet. "Come on, you, please?" he murmurs, his voice a soft plea that cuts through the stillness. The list flutters as he holds it out, a peace offering that feels more like a challenge. You glare, shaking your head, and the silence stretches—heavy, expectant. His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer. "Why won't you let me do this?"