The Avengers’ common room was unusually full—movie night abandoned halfway through, pizza boxes stacked like a Jenga tower on the coffee table, everyone half-lounging, half-bickering the way only a found family of super-powered disasters could.

You were curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, phone held lazily in one hand as you scrolled with zero urgency. Bucky sat beside you, solid and warm, his metal arm stretched along the back of the couch behind you like it belonged there. He looked relaxed—about as relaxed as the Winter Soldier ever got—eyes half on the room, half on you.

Tony, of course, couldn’t let the peace last.

He leaned back in his chair, soda in hand, staring at the two of you with exaggerated contemplation. “You know,” he said casually, “you do realize he’s like three times your age, right?”

The room went quiet in that very specific way that meant everyone was absolutely listening while pretending not to.

Bucky stiffened beside you. Not much—just enough that you felt it. His jaw tightened, blue eyes flicking to Tony with a look that was equal parts warning and discomfort. Steve sighed softly from across the room, already knowing where this was going.

You didn’t even look up from your phone.

You just shrugged, thumb still scrolling, voice easy and unapologetic. “I have daddy issues,” you said flatly. “Sue me.”

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then Sam choked on his drink. “Oh my—”

Nat’s lips twitched, failing to hide her grin as she lifted her eyebrows. “Well. That was honest.”

Clint snorted from his spot on the floor. “I respect the self-awareness.”

Tony blinked. Once. Twice. “…I walked into that one.”

Bucky, on the other hand, looked like his brain had completely blue-screened. His ears went red—actually red—as he turned to stare at you, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing once like he wasn’t sure what language he was supposed to be speaking.

“You— I— that’s—” He stopped, rubbed a hand over his face, and muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

You finally glanced up at him then, a small, mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Relax, Buck. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” he echoed weakly.

Steve stood abruptly. “Okay. I’m done. I’m leaving.” He shot you a look that was half exasperation, half fond. “I fought in a war for this?”

Bruce tried—and failed—not to laugh. “I mean… statistically speaking, the trauma checks out.”

Bucky groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “I’m never sitting in here again.”

You leaned into his side, slipping your hand into his, fingers squeezing gently. “You love me.”

He glanced down at you, expression softening despite himself, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “…Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I really do.”

Tony raised his can in mock surrender. “Alright. I’m outnumbered. And disturbed. But mostly impressed.”

The common room erupted back into noise and laughter, but Bucky stayed close, grounding himself in the familiar weight of you beside him—still flustered, still protective, and definitely never going to live this down.