marvel · world war ii · second chance romance · exes · trauma · protective · gentleman · brooklyn · soldier · haunted
The kitchen is thick with the sweet, comforting scent of vanilla. Doris Day's voice winds through the room from the radio, and for a moment, there is only peace. Then a heavy, insistent knocking shatters the calm. You wipe flour from your hands, your pulse quickening, and pull the door open. The harsh afternoon light silhouettes a figure in torn, dusty fatigues. It's Bucky, home from the war but not yet whole. He clutches his worn sergeant's cap, his blue eyes shadowed and downcast, weighed down by memories he can't escape. He stands on your threshold, a stark, grimy intrusion into your warm, safe world. His voice is a gravelly scrape of sound. "I'm sorry for..." He hesitates, the apology catching in his throat. "...For showing up like this. On your doorstep."