#mindoverbarnes

You'd notice the lines between his eyes as he was focused on the book in his hands. You'd notice the way his tongue would dart out between his lips when he got to a really good part of the book. 

You'd notice the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. 

And you noticed other things too.

Like the way his hair sometimes curled at the ends when he hadn’t bothered tying it back. Or the faint scar along his jawline that your fingers often itched to trace. Or how, whenever you tried to make him laugh, he did this tiny half-smile, just enough to give you hope he didn’t mind your attention.

It had become a habit, really. Tossing him compliments, cheeky remarks, even a wink or two. You knew the others thought you were bold, but they didn’t see the nerves twisting in your stomach every time you dared to flirt with him. 

And yet… there was absolutely nothing from him.

He never flirted back, never encouraged you further. At first, you chalked it up to his reserved nature. Then, maybe he was simply shy. But after six months of little to no progress, you had begun to wonder if perhaps James Buchanan Barnes just wasn't interested in you at all.

Still, you kept trying. Because giving up felt worse than rejection.

The evening was quiet, which was rare in the Avengers’ common room. Sam had somehow convinced Tony to put on one of those panel style quiz shows, and the team had sprawled out across the sofas and armchairs, bowls of snacks and glasses of wine scattered around.

Bucky sat at the far end of the sofa, next to Steve. You’d taken a spot beside Natasha, close enough to steal glances at him without it looking too obvious.

Conversation drifted lazily between rounds of the game on TV. Someone asked Clint about his kids; Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony’s commentary. It was warm and familiar. It felt like… home.

Then Sam leaned forward, mischief glinting in his eyes. “So, Barnes,” he said, “you’ve been sneaking out of the compound quite a bit lately. Gonna tell the class why?”

Bucky frowned, caught off guard. “What d’you mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. Every few nights, gone for hours. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Steve smirked into his glass, which was answer enough.

Your stomach dropped. Your heart drummed dangerously fast against your ribcage.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. “I’ve… met someone.”

The room erupted in questions, teases, laughter. You tried to keep your face neutral, though you felt heat rise to your cheeks, a prickle at the back of your throat. You blinked quickly to stop any tears that threatened to roll down your cheeks. 

“Met someone?” Natasha arched a brow. “Is that why you’ve actually been smiling lately?”

“Tell us more!” Wanda pressed, grinning.

Bucky ducked his head, that rare, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. The same one you’d once thought was meant for you. “She’s… different. Normal. Makes me feel like I can breathe, you know? We’ve been seeing each other for a while now. It’s… it’s looking serious.”

You heard the words, but they blurred together, muffled beneath the rush of your pulse in your ears. Serious.

It was ridiculous, how much those four syllables hurt.

You laughed along with everyone else, or at least you thought you did. You forced a smile, nodded, even tossed in a teasing comment about how you never imagined Barnes going soft. It sounded like you, or close enough that no one would notice.

Except maybe Natasha, whose sharp eyes lingered on you a beat too long.

Inside, though, your chest felt hollow. All those silly little daydreams you had, him finally giving in to your flirting, him catching your hand one day and not letting go, him leaning in close with that gravelly voice murmuring something just for you, they all dissolved in an instant.

Because there was someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

Later, when the night wound down and everyone drifted off to their rooms, you stayed behind in the kitchen under the pretence of tidying up. Really, you just needed a moment.

You rinsed out a glass, staring at the stream of water until your vision blurred. You’d known, deep down, that your crush was one-sided. But hearing it confirmed, watching his face soften with genuine affection at the thought of another woman…

It was a quiet kind of heartbreak. Not loud, not dramatic. Just a dull ache you couldn’t quite shake.

“Hey,” came a voice behind you. Soft, familiar.

You turned, startled, to find Steve in the doorway. His expression was kind, but there was something knowing in his eyes.

“You all right?” he asked gently.

You forced a smile. “Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for it. He just nodded, gave your shoulder a squeeze, and left you to your thoughts.

Back in your room, you curled beneath the duvet and let the silence settle around you. It hurt. God, it hurt so much but at the same time, there was a strange sense of clarity.

Bucky deserved happiness. He deserved someone who made him feel normal, who eased the weight he carried. And if that wasn’t you, then… well, at least he’d found it.

Maybe one day, you’d find someone too. Someone who looked at you the way Bucky looked when he spoke about her.

For now, though, you would hold your head high, plaster on a smile when you needed to, and keep being the teammate he could rely on. Even if your heart would never quite stop aching when he walked into the room.

Because sometimes love wasn’t about being theirs. Sometimes it was about wanting them happy, even if that happiness wasn’t with you.

To you, it was serious.

His relationship with the mystery woman outside the compound hadn’t lasted very long. It ended ugly and with betrayal that cut deeper than he’d admit out loud.

She cheated with some guy she called an “old friend” Simon. She begged him to forgive her, swore it didn’t mean anything and it was a one time mistake. But Bucky wasn't interested in her excuses or lies. Once the trust was gone, it was gone. He wasn’t about to try to glue pieces back together knowing the cracks would always show and have a constant reminder of her betrayal by having to look at her everyday. He didn't need to go to bed at night wondering what she was doing or who she was with.

Bucky was done with her, once and for all.

Bucky needed a friend because it was what he so desperately needed and that’s where you came in.

Late nights brewing hot tea in the kitchen. Breaking into Tony’s ridiculously expensive stash of chocolate that he always hid in the top cupboard. Dunking cookies in milk, laughing at dumb movies, sitting shoulder to shoulder with books open but barely reading. It was just the little comforting things.

The things Bucky needed and loved doing, especially with you.

You got close. Closer than you had ever expected.

The walls Bucky had built around himself started to crumble piece by piece, especially during the times you smiled at him like he was worth something.

And maybe that’s why he looked so completely pissed and defeated when you walked into the common room with some guy’s arm slung around your shoulders.

This guy was no good, he could tell just by the aftershave he was wearing.

“Hey, everyone,” you said, voice quiet and nervous. “I'd like to introduce you to my new boyfriend. This is John.”

The team greeted John with handshakes, hugs and even ‘bro’ hugs as Sam liked to call them.

But Bucky just sat there with his fists clenched in his lap, jaw locked, staring ahead like the world had just ended.

And for Bucky, that's exactly how it felt.

John really did look the part. He was tall, he wore an expensive suit with shiny shoes and an expensive watch. His hair slicked back neatly with hair gel, though by how greasy it looked, it looked as though John had used the whole tube.

But there was something in John’s eyes that put Bucky on edge, there was something behind those eyes Bucky just didn't like about John.

Just as arrogant as Tony, he thought.

John's gaze flicked to him, a smirk etched into his features.

“Oh, you're the famous Bucky Barnes.”

John said, flat toned. But that smirk? It wasn't casual, it wasn't friendly. Not even close.

“You don't seem as scary as I imagined.” John chuckled, one posh hand slipped into the pockets of his tight slacks.

Bucky’s jaw twitched but kept focused on the white wall ahead. His vibranium arm whirred with the tension of the clenched fist.

Keep cool Barnes, keep cool.

But it didn't take too long for the cracks to start showing in yours and John's relationship.

It was very subtle at first. John would interrupt you mid sentence, intentionally being contradictive, making comments that he would disguise as a joke.

Intentionally being a dickhead.

Then as time went on John’s mask began to fall.

“Do you really think you should be wearing that? It’s a bit tight, you're going to attract unwanted attention.” he muttered one evening before training.

“Oh for fuck sakes Y/N! You're too damn sensitive. Why can't you ever take a joke?” whenever you would scowl at his immature comments.

The others noticed of course. Clint’s eyebrows nearly shot off his head. Natasha’s lips thinned every time she witnessed one of his digs.

But you being the sweet and stubborn you just kept brushing it all off, as if trying to make it hurt less.

Bucky however felt his blood boil hotter with every passing day that John was around. There were days Bucky was more tempted than others to ring John's neck.

Bucky often imagined what it would feel like to hear one of John’s pathetic bones crack under the pressure of his arm.

Because he’d heard those same words before. Cruel, narcissistic, leaving you to feel smaller than you deserved to be.

He just couldn’t stand watching it happen to you.

Things came to a boiling point one Friday evening.

The team had gathered in the common room for a takeaway and films, a rare moment of downtime that you cherished when it happened. You sat cross legged next to John, food in your lap and snacks on the other side of you. Your shoulders were tense and your smile felt a little forced.

Halfway through one of the films, you offered a light hearted joke on the plot. A few chuckles were heard, but your smile soon faded when John snorted.

“Babe, please don’t embarrass yourself tonight. Then again, you never seem to get it.”

The room fell silent. So silent that you could absolutely hear a pin drop. Your throat suddenly felt like sandpaper and it was hard to breathe. It felt as if there was no air and you were suffocating under the stares.

You tried to laugh it off, but nothing sound came out.

And that's when Bucky stood abruptly, his own food flying off his lap. His heavy breathing cut through the silence of the room. All eyes were on you.

“Get the fuck out.” Bucky’s voice boomed. His nostrils flared and vibranium arm whirring by his side, ready to punch that irritating smirk right off this guy's fucking face once and for all.

John blinked, chuckling as if finding this whole exchange humorous. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Bucky shouted. “You’re not welcome here. Not after the way you’ve been treating her.”

John scoffed. “Oh come on, Buck. She knows I’m only teasing.”

Bucky stepped forward, eyes blazing. “No you're wrong, John. Teasing doesn’t leave her looking small. Teasing doesn’t make her laugh like she’s trying not to cry. You’re not teasing her, you’re tearing her down and I've had enough of it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air.

John sneered, glancing around the room for backup. “Are you all just going to let him talk to me like that?”

Natasha crossed her arms. “He’s not wrong though.”

Sam gave a sharp nod. “She deserves better, man. Way better.”

John’s expression changed like the weather. He looked angry as he turned back to you, as if expecting you to defend him. “Y/N?”

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat, torn between instinct and the truth. For so long you’d brushed off his cruelty and comments. But the look in Bucky’s eyes, he was furious, he was protective of you and you realised it tonight. It made something inside you snap.

“I… I just think you should go,” you whispered, avoiding his stare.

John’s face twisted into disgust. “You are fucking unbelievable.” He shouted, causing you to flinch at both his words and anger.

He snatched his coat, muttered something under his breath, and stormed out.

The slam of the door echoed and rang in your ears.

The silence was intense. Embarrassment crept up to your cheeks.

Wanda leaned forward gently. “Are you all right, Y/N?”

You nodded quickly, though your throat felt tight. “I’m fine honestly. Just… I’m so sorry you all had to see th-”

“No,” Bucky said firmly, interrupting your train of thoughts, his voice softer now but no less intense. “Don’t apologise Y/N. He should never have spoken to you like that. Not once. Not ever.”

Your eyes met his, and something in your chest shifted. For a moment, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to cry or throw your arms around him.

“Thank you Buck.” You murmured instead, eyes glossing over.

When the evening officially ended and the team headed off to their own rooms, you lingered in the kitchen staring thoughtfully into your lukewarm cup of tea. Your chest felt tight, and your shoulders slouched under the weight of what happened tonight. Your mind replaying everything John ever said to you, his jokes, his control over you.

Bucky found you there, sitting on the stool in the kitchen staring out into the void.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You gave a weak smile. “I will be. Just… I just feel stupid, you know? For not seeing it sooner.”

“Don’t.” His tone was fierce, but not with you. “People like him Y/N, they’re very good at hiding it, at twisting things and never taking accountability for it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your throat tightened. “Still. I thought… I thought he cared. I only wanted that.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He didn’t deserve you. Not even close.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them was low, steady, filled with genuineness and made the warmth spread through your chest despite the ache.

You studied him for a long moment, searching his face for any signs he's lying. “Do you really mean that?”

He stepped closer, blue eyes locking with yours. “Y/N… you deserve someone who sees you for who you are, doll. Someone who makes you feel stronger and taller, not smaller. Who knows exactly how lucky they are to have you.”

Your breath caught. “Bucky…”

He swallowed hard, fighting the war inside himself. For years he’d kept it buried. Convinced he wasn’t good enough for you, convinced you deserved someone whole. But watching that man tear you down had snapped something inside him.

Bucky didn't just need you. He loved you.

His voice was raw when he finally admitted, “I’ve always seen you that way. Even when I tried not to.”

The air between you shifted, heavy with something unspoken, finally given breath.

You blinked, heart drumming fiercely against your ribcage. “You… you’ve always…?”

“I thought it was better if you didn’t know,” he said, voice low. “When I was with someone else, when you deserved more than a broken mess like me, I thought keeping it to myself was protecting you. But tonight, seeing him like that… God, Y/N, I can’t just stand by and let you think that’s all you deserve. Because it’s not. You deserve everything. You deserve love.”

Tears stung your eyes, but for once they weren’t from pain.

You reached for his hand. The cool metal of the vibranium was steady beneath your palm.

“Bucky…” Your voice shook. “All this time, I thought you didn’t want me.”

His laugh was rough, almost disbelieving. “Want you? Doll, I’ve been in love with you longer than I ever care to admit.”

The words settled over you like a balm, like sunlight breaking through a storm.

You lean against the headboard, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve been back in the 21st century for a while now, Buck. You can handle a little technology.”

He groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’ve fought aliens, robots, and gods. And this…” he waves the phone dramatically in the air, “...is still scarier.”

You laugh, reaching out. “Hand it over before you accidentally set off nuclear codes.”

He drops it into your palm like it weighs a ton. “Wouldn’t put it past Stark to build that feature in just to mess with me.”

Shaking your head, you start tapping through the menus, only to discover the problem almost instantly. “Buck… no wonder you’re confused. It’s in another language.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Another language?”

“Yes,” you chuckle, biting your lip as you try to navigate purely from memory. “And I don’t even know which one. The text looks vaguely Korean?”

He groans again and flops backwards on the bed, throwing his metal arm over his eyes. “See? Conspiracy. Stark’s out to get me.”

“Uh huh,” you tease, fiddling with the settings. “Or you pressed the wrong thing and switched it accidentally.”

“Same difference,” he mutters.

It takes a few tries, but eventually you flick it back into English. With a little flourish, you hand it back. “There. Good as new.”

Bucky eyes the screen with suspicion, as though it might bite him. “Not so scary when you do it.”

“Exactly why you keep me around.”

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “Among other reasons,” he murmurs, almost too soft to hear.

Your heart stutters, but before you can think too hard, he’s frowning again. “What’s this? It wants me to add a contact?”

“That’s where you save people’s numbers,” you explain patiently.

He shoots you a playful side eye. “Look at you, talking like I didn’t grow up in the 1940s when rotary phones were state-of-the-art.”

“Exactly,” you giggle. “So add my number. Come on, you’ll need it.”

He dutifully types it in, slowly, carefully, like each digit might set off a booby trap. When he finally hits ‘save,’ he exhales like he’s run a marathon.

You grin. “Congratulations, Barnes. You’ve officially joined modern civilisation.”

“Don’t mock the elderly,” he deadpans, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

You bump your shoulder into his. “Now pick a picture for my contact.”

He scrolls through his sparse camera roll. A few shots of the skyline, one of Steve’s old notebook, and then your breath catches. There are several of you.

You hadn’t even realised he’d taken them. One of you laughing at something Sam said, another of you holding two cups of coffee, sunlight catching your hair.

Bucky stares at them far longer than necessary. His thumb hovers but doesn’t select any.

“Go on,” you prompt gently. “Any of them will do.”

But he shakes his head. His voice is quiet, almost reverent when he finally speaks.

“None of these are good enough.”

The words steal the air from your lungs. “Buck-”

“They don’t even come close,” he continues softly, his eyes lifting from the screen to meet yours. “Not to… you.”

Your cheeks warm instantly, your heart skipping a beat. For a moment, the room feels smaller, quieter, like the world has slipped away and it’s just the two of you.

He swallows, thumb still hovering over the photos. Then, almost shyly, he lifts the phone. “Can I… take one now? For me?”

Your throat goes dry. “You want a picture of me?”

“I want my picture of you,” he admits, voice low. “Not one I snapped when you weren’t looking. Something real. Something that’s just… mine.”

The honesty in his eyes leaves you breathless. “Fine,” you whisper, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You try to smile naturally, but under the weight of his gaze, it’s impossible not to feel self-conscious. He holds up the phone, the camera clicking softly. When he lowers it, he’s still staring at you, his expression softened into something that makes your chest ache.

“That’s the one,” he says, saving it without hesitation. “Perfect.”

You blink rapidly, caught somewhere between flustered and fond. “It’s just a photo,” you murmur, trying to play it off.

“Not to me.”

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken things. His hand drifts toward yours on the bed, fingers brushing lightly. He doesn’t push, doesn’t take more than you’re willing to give, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

Your lips curve into a small, nervous smile. “At least you’ve mastered one bit of technology.”

He chuckles, low and warm, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. “Yeah. The most important part.”

You’re still smiling when he tugs you closer, slow and careful, giving you every chance to pull away. When you don’t, when you lean in instead, his lips brush yours in the softest of kisses.

It’s brief, tentative, but it leaves you dizzy all the same.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his smile is boyish, almost shy. “Think I could get used to this modern stuff if you’re the one teaching me.”

You laugh softly, your heart still racing. “Lucky for you, I’m a patient teacher.”

You should have been able to shake it off. You shouldn’t care. You weren’t together anymore. It was over. You were fine.

This was fine, and yet…

Memories of him flared up with painful clarity. The way he used to brush his hair back when he laughed, the way his metal arm would flex unconsciously when he got excited, the faint scar on his shoulder that only you knew about, the way he would soften in the quietest moments, all those little things that made him yours.

Not hers, not today, not ever.

Your chest tightened with a surge of possessive jealousy. You hated yourself for it, hated that it hurt this much, but you couldn’t stop it. Every fiber of you screamed that he was not supposed to smile for anyone else, not now, not ever.

You paced your room, phone clutched in your hand, mind racing. “It’s just a date,” you whispered to yourself. “He’s allowed. It’s nothing. Move on.”

But the thought of him with someone else, laughing, leaning in close, touching her hand, twisted your stomach into knots. He should be mine. You hated yourself for thinking it, but you couldn’t help it.

By the time you decided to go for a walk - anything to stop your brain from spinning - your feet carried you almost instinctively toward the little café he’d loved, tucked on a quiet street with warm lights spilling onto the sidewalk.

It just so happened that he was here.

With her.

Bucky. Laughing. Leaning toward a woman who wasn’t you, a light in his eyes that had always been reserved for you.

Your knees went weak. A hot, sharp mix of jealousy and longing surged through you. How dare he? How dare he smile like that, touch her hand like that, when you were the one who had spent countless nights memorizing the way he moved, the way he breathed, the way he smiled just for you?

Your instinct was to turn and leave, to hide, but some stubborn, aching part of you stayed rooted to the sidewalk. You wanted to see him. No, you needed to see him.

Bucky looked up, and for a split second, his smile faltered. His gaze caught yours across the street. There was a flicker of recognition, a tremor of surprise and something else you weren’t quite ready to admit: guilt.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was quiet, careful, unsure.

You crossed the street, heart hammering like it wanted to escape your chest. “Bucky,” you said, trying to steady your voice, but it shook with fury and longing. “You’re… on a date.”

He flinched, not from your words, but from the truth behind them. “I… yeah. I was trying-”

“Trying what?” you snapped, letting the heat of your jealousy spill over. “Trying to move on? Trying to pretend you’re not… mine?”

His eyes widened. “Mine?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” you hissed. “You’re my Bucky. You’ve always been my Bucky. Even Strve and the team call you my Bucky! And seeing you with her… smiling at her… it hurts, Buck! I hate it. I hate that I feel this way, but I can’t help it.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might disappear, vanish into the night to avoid the storm you’d become. But he didn’t. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, the familiar heat of him both tormenting and comforting.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head, voice low. “You’re wrong. You’re not imagining it, but… it’s not like that. It’s not like I’m… I’m hers.”

“Then what is it like?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve moved on. Like everything we had… doesn’t matter anymore.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flicking away, and you hated the flicker of shame that crossed his features. “Because… I thought I should try. Thought maybe moving on would… make it easier. Easier for me. Easier for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, bitter. “You think seeing you with her makes it easier for me?”

“No!” His voice cracked, raw and unsteady. “I… I didn’t think. I thought I could… forget. I thought I could be normal. But I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words hit you like a punch. Every thought, every memory, every heartbeat you’d tried to suppress, came rushing back. “You… Do you still love me?”

“Yes.” His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with longing. “I never stopped. I tried, but I couldn’t. And seeing you here… seeing you standing there, jealous and furious, it… it makes me realise I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want anyone but you.”

Your breath caught, the tension in your chest giving way to a raw, aching need. “You’re lying,” you whispered, half in disbelief, half in desperation.

“I’m not.” His hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, fingers trembling. “I tried. I thought I could, but I can’t. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry you saw me like this, but I don’t care about anyone else. I care about you.”

The city of New York felt impossibly quiet, the distant sounds of traffic and chatter fading into nothing. Only you and him remained, heartbeats echoing like drums.

“I-” you began, voice shaking, words failing under the weight of your emotions. “I still love you too. I’ve been trying not to, but I can’t… I can’t stop.” Your eyes welled up, tears spilling from the corners.

Bucky’s lips curved, tentative, soft, as he stepped closer. “Then don’t. Please. Don’t.”

You let yourself close the distance, stepping into him, into his arms. He wrapped you close, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing over your hair, forehead resting against yours. The heat of his body, the familiar scent, the soft rumble of his voice, it all crashed into you, overwhelming and intoxicating.

“I’m still yours,” he whispered, the metal of his arm cold but steady against your back.

“And I’m still yours,” you replied, letting the jealousy, the hurt, the longing all dissolve into the safety of finally, finally being together again.

For the first time in months, everything felt right. The heartbreak, the anger, the distance, it all melted away in the warmth of Bucky’s arms, and you knew, with every fiber of your being, that no one else could ever take your place.

No one could ever be your Bucky like you were.

You laughed at something the barista said. A small, bright sound that seemed to echo only in his chest. And for a moment, he forgot how to speak.

“What I… uh…” He started, his tongue tripping over the rehearsed line he’d practiced in the mirror. “I mean, I just wanted to…”

You tilted your head, noticing his sudden hesitation, the way his eyes lingered on your smile. “Everything okay?” you asked, a teasing lift in your voice that made him want to melt.

He swallowed hard. Normally, he could be smooth. Normally, words came to him without effort. But now, they were like butterflies trapped in his throat, fluttering, impossible to catch.

And then, without any warning, the rehearsed line completely abandoned him. He didn’t remember the clever thing he’d meant to say. He didn’t remember the joke, the casual comment, the casual compliment he’d imagined delivering flawlessly. All he remembered and all he could think  was you.

“You’re… beautiful.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He immediately wanted to retract them, cover them up with a joke, anything to make it less… real. But the way you stopped laughing, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, made him realize it was already too late.

“Wow,” you said softly, and for a heartbeat he thought maybe he’d imagined it. “That… was really sudden.”

He scratched the back of his neck, feeling the heat creeping up his face. “Yeah. I, uh… didn’t mean to- I mean, I did, but not like that… I mean-”

You laughed again, this time more gently, and it was like a soft balm on his nerves. “It’s okay,” you said, reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I kind of… wanted to hear that.”

Relief hit him like a wave, and his heart started racing in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He realized then that it wasn’t just the words he’d said, but how easy it felt to say them. How natural it felt to admit the truth.

“You really are,” he added, trying to sound more composed, more intentional this time. “Beautiful. And not just… like, looks. Your laugh, your smile… everything. It’s…”

You reached across the small table and lightly tapped his hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “You don’t have to explain it,” you said, eyes sparkling. “I get it.”

He blinked, a little dumbfounded by how easily you accepted it. Usually, moments like this were awkward, full of tension and second-guessing. But with you… it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. Warm, inevitable, impossible to ignore.

For a few minutes, you both just sat there, smiles lingering, words unnecessary. The café around you faded, the chatter of other patrons dimmed, the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine becoming background music to the moment.

He found himself memorizing every detail: the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the little dimples that appeared at the corners of your mouth, the soft sound of your laughter echoing in his mind long after it had faded.

“You know,” he said finally, trying to steady his voice, “I don’t usually just… blurt things out like that.”

You tilted your head, curiosity dancing in your gaze. “Do you normally rehearse compliments before giving them?”

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Something like that. But I guess… I don’t need to rehearse anymore.”

“Because?”

“Because the truth… it’s easier than I thought.” He paused, letting the words hang between you, delicate as a breath. “Especially when it’s about you.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you laughed softly again, but this time it was quieter, more intimate. “You’re really bad at hiding your feelings, you know that?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. I guess I am. But maybe… maybe I don’t want to hide them anymore.”

For a moment, silence settled over you both, comfortable and unforced. He could feel the rhythm of your breathing, the warmth of your presence, the subtle brush of your fingers against the table. And in that silence, he realized something he hadn’t before: words didn’t have to be perfect. Compliments didn’t need a script. All that mattered was honesty, and he had plenty of that to give.

“Then I’m glad you said it,” you said finally, voice soft. “Because I’ve been waiting for someone to.”

His chest tightened at your words. Waiting… for him. The idea made his heart feel simultaneously heavy and light, like gravity and flight in one surreal mix.

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” he whispered, leaning slightly closer, just enough that he could feel your warmth without breaking the unspoken boundary. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining naturally, effortlessly. “Good,” you said simply, and it was enough. More than enough.

He laughed, a little breathlessly, because he felt ridiculous and elated all at once. “I might get distracted again,” he admitted, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have that effect on me.”

“Then maybe you should keep watching,” you said, leaning in just slightly. “See what other truths slip out.”

He smiled, heart full, mind finally quiet, and he knew that no matter how many words he tried to rehearse in the future, none would matter as much as the ones he could say in moments like this. Moments when laughter and honesty collided, when the world fell away, and all that was left was her.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, softer this time, more certain.

“And I mean it,” you added, voice warm, eyes locking with his in a way that made the world dissolve completely.

You pause in the doorway, blinking at him. Seeing Bucky asleep in the middle of the day isn’t something you’re used to, especially with the blinds open and the city humming softly outside. Safe enough to nap in daylight. 

That’s new.

The quiet doesn’t last. A floorboard creaks beneath your shifting weight, and he stirs, mumbling something low and unintelligible. He drags the blanket higher, resolutely refusing to move.

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Yeah, I know that look. Not getting up ‘til there’s coffee involved, huh?” you tease, folding your arms as you step into the room.

From the couch comes a gravel-rough grumble,half complaint-half confirmation.

“I don’t need coffee,” he mutters from under the blanket. “I need sleep.”

“Oh, okay.” You chuckle, leaning over him with your hands on your hips. “Guess that just means more coffee for me.”

That earns a groan. He pulls the blanket down just far enough to glare at you. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” you reply with a grin.

You head for the kitchen, already thinking about that first steaming mug. By the time you return, Bucky is sitting up, hair mussed and a blanket still draped around his shoulders. He takes the coffee from your hands with a muttered, “Thanks,” cradling it like it’s the only thing keeping him awake.

At first, no one questioned it. But soon your absence became a constant hum in the background of the compound. You skipped film nights, mealtimes, training runs. You appeared when duty called, fought hard when the mission demanded, and then vanished again, slipping back into your quarters before anyone could corner you.

The team noticed, of course, but no one knew how to deal with it. People had their own scars, their own rhythms, and perhaps they thought you simply needed time.

But Bucky wasn’t so sure.

He caught onto the little things. The polite smile that never seemed to reach your eyes, the sleeves tugged down a fraction too far, the way you seemed smaller every time he saw you. And when he finally knocked on your door one evening, metal fist steady despite the storm in his chest, he knew he couldn’t keep ignoring the feeling in his gut.

“Doll?” His voice was rough, careful. “Open up. Please.”

You cracked the door an inch, and that was all it took. He saw the shadows under your eyes, the exhaustion etched into your features. He saw the thin mask of a smile. And when his gaze flickered down, just for a moment, he saw the secret you’d worked so hard to hide.

A mark that told him everything.

Bucky’s heart clenched. He didn’t need details; he understood more than he wanted to admit. He’d fought his own battles in the dark, lost count of the nights he’d tried to quiet the noise in his head in ways he wasn’t proud of.

“I’m not here to judge,” he said gently, though his throat was tight. “Just… let me help, yeah?”

You shook your head almost immediately, the smile slipping. “I don’t need help, Bucky. I’m fine.”

“Fine?” His voice cracked before he forced it steady again. “Doll, I know what fine looks like, and this isn’t it.”

Your chest tightened, panic prickling under your skin. You hated being seen like this, hated the thought of him or anyone  knowing. “You don’t understand,” you whispered.

But he did. God, he so did.

That night, he stayed outside your door longer than he should have, promising things you weren’t sure you could believe. Promising he wouldn’t leave you alone in this. And though you eventually let him sit with you, silence heavy between you, you felt suffocated by the weight of his concern.

The days that followed were harder.

Bucky tried. He tried so damn hard. He knocked every morning to coax you out for breakfast. He lingered at your door with offers of coffee, of a walk, of sitting outside in the fresh air. He dropped gentle remarks about not bottling things up, about letting someone in.

And it was too much.

The more he reached, the more you pulled away.

You started answering the door less and less. You told him you were tired, busy, not hungry. Every knock felt like pressure, every well meaning smile a reminder that you were disappointing him. You knew he meant well, but the constant concern pressed against your chest until you could barely breathe.

One evening, you snapped.

“Bucky, stop!” The words tore out sharper than you intended, but they rang down the corridor all the same. He froze, coffee mug in hand. “I don’t need babysitting, alright? I can handle myself.”

The look on his face nearly undid you. Hurt, confusion, but not anger. Never anger.

He set the mug down on the floor, slow and deliberate. “I know you can handle yourself. I’m just scared you’re handling it alone.”

The silence that followed was heavy, your throat thick with unspoken words. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, each blink sent droplets down your cheeks, leaving streaks behind. The tears felt just as heavy as his words, as the silence. 

For once, Bucky didn’t push. He gave a small nod and stepped back. “I’ll be here,” he murmured. “Whether you want me to be or not. Just… when you’re ready.”

It was days before you opened the door again. Properly, this time. Your eyes were red, your voice quiet. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just… let me sit with you. No talking, no questions. Just… sit.”

And so he did. Night after night, sometimes with silence, sometimes with little scraps of conversation that grew slowly into something steadier. He didn’t try to fix you. He didn’t ask you to explain. He was simply there, solid and unflinching, when the weight threatened to pull you under.

It wasn’t easy. Some days you wanted nothing more than to slam the door again, to retreat into the shadows where no one could see your cracks. But there was something about Bucky. The quiet understanding in his eyes, the way he never looked at you with pity, only recognition, that made it harder to push him away.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Bucky mutters, rubbing his right arm as he shuffles into the common room, his body trembling slightly. “But I am freezing today.”

“You’re a super soldier,” you say, clicking your tongue and setting your book down on the coffee table. “How can you be so cold?”

“I didn’t say I was cold, doll,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes as he sinks into the armchair across from you. His gaze flickers to the hoodie lying beside you, soft and warm, and he swallows hard.

You straighten your shirt, lift the hoodie, and drape it over your arm.

“You’re welcome, doll.” you murmur, letting it drop into his lap as you pass by, not bothering to hide the small smirk tugging at your lips.

Bucky grins, pulling the hoodie over his head. It smells just like you; warm, familiar, grounding and suddenly the shiver in his spine eases just enough to let him relax. He buries his hands in the pockets, letting the fabric swallow him up, and for a moment he dares to feel… safe.

This is mine now, he thinks, a small, mischievous smile curling on his lips. And I’m never giving it back.