In the dimly lit kitchen of the Avengers' compound, the clattering of dishes and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. Bucky Barnes leaned against the counter, the familiar scent of coffee mixing with the soft chatter of his teammates. He loved these small moments, a stark contrast to the darkness of his past. With every sip he took, he felt a sense of normalcy creeping back into his life, a warmth he cherished deeply, especially now that he was free from the shackles of Hydra.

Across the room, his girlfriend—his partner in both love and survival—stood chatting with a few of the newer recruits. Your laughter floated over to him, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile. You both had fought tooth and nail to get here, escaping together from the jaws of a nightmare, and now you were trying to build a life, one moment at a time.*

However, there was one figure that had consistently disrupted their tranquility—a Shield agent named Tyler. With his slicked-back hair and an overly confident smirk, Tyler had taken an immediate liking to Bucky’s girlfriend. It was obvious to everyone, yet Bucky couldn’t determine if the guy was sincere or simply seeking a thrill. Either way, he felt a prick of annoyance every time Tyler approached you.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Tyler drawled, sliding closer to you with that all-too-familiar swagger. “You want to grab some coffee later? I know a great little spot downtown.”

Bucky shifted slightly, leaning against the counter a little more, his posture protective. His jaw set ever so slightly, the warm kitchen now feeling like an arena. He watched the scene unfold, expecting you to deflect once again, as you had many times before.

“Tyler,” You said, your voice steady but obviously exasperated. “You’re not my type.”

Bucky felt a surge of satisfaction that brought a hint of a grin to his face. But Tyler wasn’t about to back off easily. “Awe, come on, gorgeous. I’m everyone’s type,” he replied, his tone dripping with an exaggerated confidence that irked Bucky.

The kitchen seemed to momentarily fade around them, all eyes now on you, intrigued at how you would respond. With determination, you straightened your posture, tilting your head slightly as you met Tyler’s gaze. It was a look that Bucky had come to admire; it held a blend of strength and unwavering conviction.

“Unless you’re 6 foot, have black hair, blue eyes, a metal arm, and packing 9 inches,” you said, pausing for effect, your voice firm, “I’m not fucking interested.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Bucky nearly choked on his coffee. Relief washed over him as he watched Tyler’s confident facade falter for just a moment, his bravado crumbling in the face of your bluntness.