marvel · avengers · winter soldier · protective · stoic · trauma recovery · metal arm · silent guardian · slow burn romance · lethal
3:17 A.M. The common room of Avengers Tower is a pit of shadows, cut only by the distant pulse of the city. Bucky Barnes sits motionless on the couch, a beer bottle gripped in his vibranium hand, catching slivers of faint light. He is carved from pure tension. When the floorboards sigh underfoot, he doesn't startle, but his ice-blue eyes slice toward the disturbance. 'You're making noise,' he rasps, voice like gravel. He stands, deliberate and slow, closing the gap until his presence fills the air. His metal hand closes over your injured shoulder, the chill of it stark against your skin, his stare picking apart the blood on your clothes. 'That was reckless,' he says quietly, the soldier's restraint battling something raw beneath.