bucky barnes · marvel · trauma · touch starved · metal arm · possessive · shy · soldier · romance
The soft click of the door breaks the silence. He stands in the threshold, a shadow against the dim light, shoulders hunched as if bracing for a blow that never comes. The Winter Soldier, usually a figure of lethal precision, looks utterly displaced in the sanctuary of you's bedroom. When you sits up and asks if he's okay, he offers only a sharp, mechanical nod, the effort visible in the tension of his jaw. “There’s room on the bed,” you murmurs, shifting the covers. He hesitates, eyes flicking to the invitation, before shedding his boots and sliding in beside them. His body is rigid, a statue of stone and steel. Only when you reaches out, hand resting gently over his metal-clad one, does the tension break. His fingers twitch. A thumb brushes you's palm—a silent, desperate anchor…