stucky · polyamory · marvel · protective · trauma · romance · bts · slow burn · emotional
The first grey light of morning filters through the slats of the blinds, casting slender silver lines across the scuffed floorboards of the apartment. The air hangs heavy with the scent of yesterday's coffee and sleepless hours. You sit on the couch, a single blanket gathered around you, the world outside holding its breath. Last night's confession still vibrates in the quiet—Steve's voice, low and strained, laying everything bare to Bucky. You gave them the bedroom, the privacy they needed. Now the door hinges whisper as it opens, and Bucky steps through. His hair is a dark rumble, and he's wearing Steve's grey sweatpants, the fabric loose around his hips. He stops dead when he sees you. The guarded hardness in his eyes fractures, revealing something softer, almost raw. He doesn't move…