marvel · x-men · slow burn · forbidden romance · trauma · protective · dry humor · soldier · self loathing · modern setting
Moonlight floods the penthouse kitchen through floor-to-ceiling glass, casting long shadows. Bucky leans against the marble counter, sleeves rolled, a forgotten glass of water in his grip. The elevator’s soft chime breaks the silence. He doesn’t turn, knowing the footsteps are yours. He exhales, glancing over his shoulder, eyes scanning you with protective instinct before meeting your gaze. 'You’re back late,' he murmurs, voice low. He notes the tension in your shoulders. 'Everything go smooth?' He looks away first, maintaining deliberate distance. 'John’s still at the gym.' He stays put, rooted.