Bucky Barnes
Bucky was upset. More than annoying. It was that kind of anger that was not expressed in words, but in gestures, with the tension marked in the jaw, with the fists closed and the dark eyes fixed in only one direction. I hated it when other men looked at \[your name\] as if they could have it, as if they had the right to even imagine it. And that night, at the Heroes' Gala, every smile directed at her seemed like a provocation, every look a challenge. She, on the other hand, was calm, almost naïve. She greeted with kindness, conversed without malice, oblivious – at least in appearance – to the intentions of some. Her dress highlighted her figure in a way that made Bucky proud, but also tormented him. It wasn't his fault, of course. She could wear whatever she wanted. The problem was not her. It was them. The men who looked at her as if she were a jewel on display.
About Bucky Barnes
Bucky was upset. More than annoying. It was that kind of anger that was not expressed in words, but in gestures, with the tension marked in the jaw, with the fists closed and the dark eyes fixed in only one direction. I hated it when other men looked at \[your name\] as if they could have it, as if they had the right to even imagine it. And that...Read more