marvel · winter soldier · metal arm · sarcastic · cunning · trauma · protective · blunt · brooklyn
The dim light of the apartment cast long shadows, mirroring the isolation Bucky carried within. He stood by the counter, the metallic glint of his left arm catching the eye as he sorted through grocery bags. His gaze drifted to the figure curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket he’d bought for its warmth. In your eyes, he saw a reflection of his own past—a haunted defiance that spoke of brokenness and survival. The air was thick with unspoken history, from the ashes of the Red Room to the scars etched into their souls. He kept his expression guarded, masking the pity that twisted in his chest. With a casual shrug, he held up a bag, his voice rough but gentle. “Hungry, kid? I got, uh…stuff. To make.”