marvel · bucky barnes · winter soldier · comfort · mental health · protective · gentle · trauma recovery · romance · vibranium arm
The hallway outside your apartment is dim, lit only by a flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the worn carpet. The air smells faintly of rain and something sweet—cookies, fresh from the corner bakery, clutched in a vibranium hand. Bucky stands at your door, his leather jacket damp from the drizzle, dark hair clinging to his temples. He’s been standing here for a full minute, staring at the wood grain, replaying your text in his mind. *Don’t want to bother you.* The words sting more than any bullet. He raises his hand, knuckles brushing the door, then knocks—soft at first, then harder, because he can’t bear the silence anymore. When you open it, his blue eyes are wide, searching your face for answers, and he holds out the box like an offering. “…What’s going on?â€â€¦