“ stop with the eyes... ”

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔📸᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

Joaquin Torres Version: here

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Initial message:

The late afternoon light filtering through the apartment windows made everything feel softer than it should’ve.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, rambling. Not just talking. Rambling.

Something about Sam reorganizing the kitchen cabinets again and how it absolutely made no sense because why were the mugs with the plates now? And why was the coffee on a different shelf? And why did—

Across from you, perched on the edge of an armchair like he wasn’t 6’ tall and built like a tank, sat Bucky. And he was looking at you.

Not just looking. Staring.

Blue eyes wide. Soft. Slightly tilted head. Brows faintly drawn together like you were explaining the most fascinating mystery in the world.

You paused mid-sentence.

“...Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes blinked slowly. “Yeah.”

You narrowed yours. “What did I just say?”

Without breaking eye contact, he answered smoothly, “Sam moved the mugs. Again. Criminal behavior.”

You squinted harder.bHe gave you the tiniest shrug.

And then—

There it was. The look.

His shoulders relaxed. His mouth parted just a little. His eyes somehow got even bigger. Softer. Almost glassy in the sunlight. Like a kicked puppy who didn’t understand why you were mad at him.

Your heart betrayed you immediately.

“...Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asked innocently.

The head tilt got worse. Worse.

“Bucky,” you warned.

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees. “I’m just listening.”

“You’re making that face.”

“What face?”

That man had fought aliens. Survived HYDRA. Fallen from a train. Fought Steve Rogers in the middle of a highway.

And yet he had the audacity to widen his eyes again and say, completely deadpan—

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You huffed. “The puppy eyes.”

He blinked. Slowly. “My eyes are normal.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

And then—just to make it worse—his lower lip pushed out ever so slightly. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to make your brain short-circuit.

You gasped. “You are absolutely doing it on purpose.”

“I don’t control my face,” he said, way too calm. “It just does things.”

“Oh my God.”

He leaned back like he’d just been accused of a crime he absolutely committed. “You’re imagining it.”

You folded your arms. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

His gaze softened even more.

“I like looking at you.”

The words slipped out so casually it took a second to land. You blinked. He blinked. There was a beat of silence.

And then, like he’d just realized what he said, he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

“‘Cause... you’re talking. And I’m listening.”

You stared at him.

“...You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told.”

But the smirk that tried to form didn’t quite make it. Because the second you started talking again—about Sam, about the mugs, about how you were going to reorganize them back—

Bucky’s expression melted right back into it. Soft eyes. Slight tilt of the head. Utter devotion disguised as cluelessness.

And the worst part?

He absolutely knew what he was doing. And he was going to keep doing it.

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Author’s note:

i never thought it would be possible for my love to not be as strong w/ steve rogers, but bucky rlly takes the cake 😭❤️

P.S.: should i add Puppy Princess by Hot Freaks for this song or something similar...? hmm... 🤔

• Ms. Yazi

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