ilovolderman

[ilovolderman]

I Owe You a Song

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: At team karaoke night, you and Bucky try to keep your secret relationship under wraps.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, mild language.

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

“Karaoke builds trust,” Natasha said. “We sing, we share, we… don’t punch each other for two hours.”

You eyed her. “This is a trap, isn’t it?” Natasha only smiled.

So now here you were — in a dimly lit karaoke bar with neon lights, sticky tables, and a suspiciously aggressive disco ball, surrounded by Avengers in varying stages of emotional denial and secondhand embarrassment.

Sam sat at a corner booth, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “I’m watching you two.” “You always are,” Bucky deadpanned beside you. Sam squinted. “That’s not a denial.” “Neither was your fashion choice tonight, but here we are.”

Natasha snorted into her drink.

You, sitting between them, pretended to sip your watered-down soda while gently nudging Bucky’s knee under the table. He bumped you back. Innocent. Friendly. Entirely illegal under the Sam Wilson Overprotective Act.

“Alright, lovebirds—” “Excuse me?” you and Bucky said in unison. Sam didn’t blink. “I said ‘lovely… buds.’” Natasha fake-coughed: “He’s unraveling.”

Tony was up first, naturally, singing “Uptown Funk” with full choreography and backup vocals from Peter, who clearly hadn’t read the fine print about secondhand humiliation. Steve refused to sing but was mouthing along to “Sweet Caroline” with the resigned air of a man who had lost many battles, including this one.

And then — “Oh no,” you muttered as your name appeared on screen

 “Y/N, you're up next!” someone shouted from the front.

“Wait, what? I didn’t—” You turned to see Sam looking smug near the machine. “SAM.”

“I may have signed you up.” “Without asking?” He shrugged. “I believe in your potential.” “And your chaos,” you muttered.

Bucky raised an eyebrow as you stood, half-flustered, half-laughing. “You sure you’re up for this?” he said, lips twitching. You gave him a slow smile. “I won’t make you sing, Barnes. But you don’t get to look smug when I blow the roof off.”

“You gonna sing about heartbreak or sabotage?” “I was thinking something happy.” You paused, then added— “Maybe about love.”

He didn’t react. Not visibly. But his jaw tightened just a little.

That was enough.

You turned on your heel and made your way to the stage as the first few notes of the song kicked in — upbeat, bright, and way too catchy. “You Make My Dreams” by Hall & Oates.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t “All of Me.” But it was bouncy and full of something and when you started singing—

“What I want, you've got And it might be hard to handle…”

—you accidentally looked straight at Bucky.

Not on purpose. Not theatrics. Not a performance. Just instinct. And he was already watching you.

You stumbled, just for a second, barely noticeable, before catching the rhythm again.

You kept going. Let yourself lean into it. Smiled. Twirled the mic in your hand like it was just a normal Thursday night and you weren’t singing in front of half the Avengers while quietly pining for the man brooding in the shadows.

Natasha raised her glass toward you. Steve gave you a thumbs-up with an earnestness that nearly made you laugh mid-line.

And Bucky?

He didn’t smile. But he leaned forward.

Just a little.

“You make my dreams come true…”

The chorus hit, and you danced a little—because screw it, if you were up here, you were committing. The crowd clapped along. Sam was clearly filming. Someone near the back whistled.

But your eyes kept drifting back to Bucky. Without meaning to. Without thinking.

He watched like no one else was in the room.

“You make my dreams…”

You weren’t even trying to sell it anymore. Not really. Just… feeling it. A weird kind of joy that came from singing something happy in a world that usually demanded you be serious and sharp and composed.

It felt like a secret, singing something sweet and bold with him watching. Like you were giving him a piece of something no one else knew he already had.

The song ended with applause and hoots and someone yelling “Encore!” as you laughed your way off the stage.

Bucky was still in the same spot when you returned. Still watching.

“Well?” “You didn’t fall.” “I crushed it,” you corrected. He shrugged, but his voice was soft. “Yeah. You did.”

You looked at him. Really looked. He wasn’t teasing now. He looked… proud. And a little like he was restraining himself.

“Not gonna lie,” you said, nudging his boot with yours. “Kind of hoping you’d run up and join me for the chorus. Could’ve done a little duet.” “Not happening.” “No?” “I don’t sing.” “You have a beautiful angry baritone,” you teased. “It’s romantic.” He smiled — a real one this time, crooked and a little tired. “Romance doesn’t need a mic.”

You blinked at him. That did something to your ribs.

The moment you slid back into the booth next to Bucky — still slightly breathless, cheeks warm from singing and applause — Sam appeared like a man on a mission.

Or, more accurately, like a man who’d just witnessed something suspiciously couple-coded and was ready to stir the pot.

“Well, well, well,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you like he’d been waiting for hours to pounce. “What was that?”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “What was what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me.” Sam pointed between you and Bucky with the exaggerated flair of a man who thought he’d just uncovered a global conspiracy. “You were serenading him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You picked the song.”

“Yeah, and you picked the human target.”

Beside you, Bucky leaned back, completely unfazed. “Maybe I’m just incredibly serenadeable.”

Sam squinted. “That’s not a word.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Bucky muttered, sipping his drink.

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows dramatically on the sticky table. “I know what I saw. You looked straight at him during the chorus. Multiple times. Don’t think I missed that ‘you make my dreams come true’ business with the lingering eye contact.”

“That could’ve been directed at anyone,” you said quickly. “Natasha was in the line of sight too.”

From a nearby table, Natasha raised her drink. “Don’t drag me into this. I know a targeted performance when I see one.”

You shot her a betrayed look.

Sam, satisfied, crossed his arms. “So let me get this straight. You’re telling me that when you walked up there, got all smiley and bashful, and started singing about dreams coming true, it was just… coincidence that you laser-locked onto Bucky like a heat-seeking karaoke missile?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Turned to Bucky for backup.

He didn’t blink. “Maybe she just likes my face.”

Sam slapped the table. “Aha!”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.

“You two are so bad at this,” Sam grinned. “I mean, you think you’re being all lowkey and mysterious, but I’ve seen spy missions with less tension.”

“You watch rom-coms for intel, don’t you?” Bucky asked dryly.

Sam didn’t deny it. “And this? This is textbook third-act denial right here.”

You sighed, giving Bucky a sideways glance.

Natasha leaned over from her seat. “They’re guilty. Let them live.”

Bucky smirked. “Appreciate the support.”

Sam shook his head in mock exasperation. “Just don’t make me witness a live duet proposal or something. I will cry. And then I’ll blame you.”

“No duets,” Bucky promised. Then paused. “Probably.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Probably?”

You smiled, bumping your knee against Bucky’s under the table. “Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll be the first to know when we drop our debut album.”

He groaned loudly, leaning back. “I hate this timeline.”

But as he sulked off toward the bar — loudly muttering something about needing a drink strong enough to erase romantic tension from his memory — you saw the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Clint wandered over just as Sam was dramatically muttering into his drink, “I swear, if I see one more smoldering glance, I’m pulling the fire alarm.”

Peter followed behind him, clutching a plate of nachos like it was critical evidence. “Okay, I’ve been watching you mutter to yourself for five minutes—are you okay or did the karaoke machine insult you personally?”

Sam didn’t look up. “They’re in love.”

Peter blinked. “Who?”

Sam tilted his drink toward your table. “Y/N. Bucky. Secret couple. Bad liars. Song-related emotional crimes. I’m onto them.”

Clint, who had already eaten half of Peter’s nachos, squinted toward where you and Bucky were still sitting in suspiciously synchronized silence.

“Ohhh,” he said slowly, pointing with a half-eaten chip. “That’s why Barnes didn’t flinch when she touched his arm earlier. I thought maybe he’d been replaced with a nicer robot.”

Peter gasped. “Wait, they’re together? Like, together together? Like—”

“Not officially confirmed,” Sam said darkly. “But I’ve seen less intimate wedding vows.”

Peter nearly dropped his plate. “That’s so romantic.”

Clint frowned. “Romantic? No, man. That’s dangerous. Secret couple around here? That’s how people end up on the mission board with a broken comms system and matching injuries.”

Peter looked delighted. “Do we start a betting pool?”

Sam sighed. “Already did. You’re three weeks late, kid.”

Clint tossed another chip in his mouth. “Put me down for ‘they admit it within the week but pretend it’s casual.’”

Peter nodded eagerly. “I’m going with ‘accidentally kiss in front of Steve and pretend it was a tactical misfire.’”

Sam groaned. “You people are chaotic.”

Clint raised his drink. “We learned from the best, Captain Chaos.”

Sam stared at him. “That title is reserved.”

“Sure it is,” Clint said, grinning. “Now scoot over. I wanna see if they make heart eyes again when the next song starts.”

Peter leaned in, whispering, “Do you think we’ll get a duet?”

“God, I hope not,” Sam muttered. “If Barnes starts singing John Legend, I’m throwing myself into traffic.”

From across the room, Bucky suddenly turned and met Sam’s eyes — cool, unreadable.

Sam narrowed his own in return.

The stare-down lasted three full seconds.

Then Bucky smirked.

And winked.

Clint dropped his chip.

Peter audibly gasped.

Sam groaned into his drink.

Later that night the music had dipped for a minute while someone fought with the karaoke machine, and you and Bucky had found yourselves standing just off to the side of the booths, half in shadow, half in flickering disco light.

Someone had put on “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer, clearly as a joke. But the mood changed anyway.

You were swaying, just a little. Barely noticeable.

And he was watching. Quiet and still.

“Dance with me,” you said softly.

“Here?” His brow rose. “In public?”

“In a dark corner of a bar where everyone’s drunk and distracted by Clint trying to rap? Yes.”

He hesitated.

You grabbed his hand before he could change his mind and tugged him half a step closer, resting one hand on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I swear,” you said, smirking, “If you say you don’t dance again, I’m signing you up for the next duet.”

That got a grunt out of him. But he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he let his hand settle lightly at your waist.

You moved together slowly — barely shifting weight. Just enough to feel the presence of each other in the hazy room.

Natasha passed by then, clutching two drinks, and didn’t even pause as she murmured, “Discreet, you’re not.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re subtle.”

“She’s got a point,” Bucky muttered into your ear.

But neither of you moved away.

Around you, the room buzzed with music and laughter and another teammate launching into “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” But it felt far away.

“Too loud in here,” Bucky murmured suddenly, glancing toward the door. “Wanna get out for a bit?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later, the compound was still and dark. Everyone was at karaoke. The silence felt sacred.

You padded through the living room beside Bucky, quiet footsteps against hardwood floors.

It was peaceful. Easy. But that tension—the one that had been building all night—was still there.

He stopped near the kitchen counter, turning to face you.

“You were looking at me,” he said. No judgment. Just fact. You looked down, a little flustered. “Was I?” His voice was warm. “You always do during the soft parts.” You smirked. “Gotta keep someone grounded. I’m a performer, you know.” “You’re terrible at lying.”

You nudged him with your elbow, but didn’t move away.

There was a beat. Then another.

And then, softly— “I owe you a song.”

You blinked, looking up at him. “What?” Bucky looked down at his hands, then back at you. “For earlier. You said you wouldn’t make me sing, but…” He shrugged. “I kind of want to.”

Your chest tightened in the best way.

“You don’t have to.” “I know.” He stepped in, just slightly. “But you looked happy up there. Singing. Laughing. That… thing you do with your face when you’re enjoying yourself but trying not to show it.”

You snorted. “I don’t do a thing.” “You definitely do a thing.”

He reached for your hand. No pretense. No mission cover. Just warm fingers against yours.

You stared at him, heart thudding, every sarcastic comeback dying quietly in your mouth.

He squeezed your hand. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be a stage guy. But next time you sing a love song?” “Yeah?” He smiled, just for you. “I want to be the one it’s about.”

And just like that—soft and slow—you kissed him.

No rush. No drama. Just a quiet, perfect kiss in the dimly lit compound kitchen. His hands found your waist, yours curled into his shirt, and the whole world folded inward.

When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his chest.

“I liked the song,” he murmured. “Yeah?” “You looked happy.” “I was thinking of you,” you whispered. He kissed the top of your head. “I know.”

The compound kitchen was still — low lights, humming fridge, and nothing but the sound of your breath evening out after laughter.

There was no music. No piano. No fanfare. Just the faint hum of the compound around you and the quiet between your heartbeats.

And then, without moving, without looking away, he started to sing.

“Wise men say Only fools rush in…”

His voice was low. A little rough. Unsteady at first — like it was hard to say the words out loud.

But it didn’t matter. Because it was him. And it was real.

“But I can't help Falling in love with you…”

You forgot how to breathe.

You didn’t mean to tear up. But the raw, unfiltered truth in his voice — like he was giving you something fragile and hoping you'd hold it gently — pulled something loose in your chest.

Bucky stepped closer. Kept singing. Eyes locked to yours.

“Take my hand Take my whole life too…”

And this time, he really did reach for your hand.

You took it without hesitation, fingers threading into his like they’d been waiting forever.

“For I can't help Falling in love with you…”

He didn’t stop singing. He just pulled you close, one hand on your waist, the other still holding yours.

Then, with a soft breath — so careful, so deliberate — he began to sway.

You danced.

In the middle of the kitchen.

No music. No spotlight. Just the two of you and his voice — velvet and vulnerable, brushing against your skin like a secret. Your socks slid a little against the floor, and Bucky huffed a soft laugh against your hair as he steadied you with a hand on your waist.

“Still not a dancer,” you murmured.

“You’re doing perfect,” he whispered back.

You laughed, and he kissed the top of your head.

You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into him — into the low hum of his voice, the steady beat of his heart under your palm, the warmth of his arm around your waist.

“I can’t believe you’re singing Elvis to me in a kitchen,” you whispered, not looking up.

“I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner,” he said quietly.

Your chest pulled tight.

You tilted your head back, eyes meeting his.

“Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling so it goes Some things are meant to be…”

The last line came soft. Almost a whisper.

He stopped singing. But his arms didn’t let go.

You stood like that for a long time — wrapped up in the quiet, in each other, in something that didn’t need words.

Later, when you were wrapped up in his bed — legs tangled, heads pressed together, breathing in sync — Bucky whispered something against your hair.

“I want to sing with you next time.”

You smiled into his chest. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He kissed the top of your head. “Just… don’t pick Hall & Oates again.”

You snorted into his chest, still tangled in warm sheets and cooler air. “Okay, noted. What’s your genre then? Brooding assassin ballads?”

“I was thinking slow jazz,” he said dryly. “Something with a saxophone and unresolved trauma.”

You giggled, then yawned — the kind of sleepy, safe sound that only came when you knew you didn’t have to be on guard anymore.

“You know,” he murmured, “I really do want to sing with you someday.”

“You will.”

“Even if I can’t carry a tune?”

You looked at him, soft and sure. “Doesn’t matter. It’ll still be my favorite duet.”

He didn’t say anything to that.

Just pulled you closer, until your head was tucked under his chin and your leg draped over his, and all the space between you disappeared.

And when you finally drifted off, the hum of his voice — no lyrics this time, just a low, steady tune — followed you into dreams.

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[ilovolderman]

Tactical Romance

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam assigns you and Bucky to go undercover as a couple in love. Too bad you’re already secretly together.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, mild language.

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

"Okay," Sam said, walking into the briefing room with the energy of a man who knew he was about to start drama. "I’ve got a mission. I need two agents to pose as a couple."

You instantly made eye contact with Bucky across the room.

Do not react, you told yourself.

He blinked once. Internally, you knew he was screaming.

“Now,” Sam continued, clicking the projector like he was running a middle school PowerPoint on volcanoes, “this op involves a gala, high society, and a suspicious arms dealer named Claude who only talks to married couples—don’t ask why.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Is that in the briefing packet?”

“No,” Sam said, “it’s in the vibes.”

Bucky raised a hand, deadpan. “Why not send a real couple?”

“Great question, Barnes!” Sam said, pointing at him with both hands. “But everyone else is busy.”

“Then just send Nat,” you offered. “She can flirt better than any of us.”

Natasha smirked. “True. But I already told Sam I’m not wearing heels for a mission unless it involves international espionage or revenge.”

You and Bucky exchanged another look.

Sam was absolutely waiting for someone to say it.

So of course, he didn’t wait.

“I’ve made an executive decision,” he said, with the smugness of a man about to kick over a tower of secrets. “Bucky and Y/N—you’re the couple.”

You choked on your coffee. “Come again?”

“You heard me. Fake married. Matching outfits. Holding hands. Possibly light cheek kissing if the situation calls for it.”

Bucky blinked. “Why do you sound excited about this?”

“Because,” Sam said, hitting the projector remote again, “I’ve already booked you a honeymoon suite.”

There was a long pause.

Then Natasha asked, “Do they at least get room service?”

“Only if they send me proof of cuddling,” Sam said.

Natasha turned to you with a perfectly neutral face. “I’ll pack the champagne.”

The ballroom glittered.

It was the kind of high-society gala where everything sparkled a little too much—chandeliers like miniature suns, polished marble floors that made your footsteps echo like plot twists, and champagne that probably cost more than your monthly rent. Twice.

You tugged at the neckline of your gown as you stepped into the ballroom, arm hooked through Bucky’s, your smile surgically affixed in place.

“Relax,” he murmured under his breath, hand gently settling on the small of your back. “You look perfect.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “We’re pretending to be married, Barnes. You’re supposed to say ‘You always look perfect, darling.’”

He arched a brow, lips twitching. “Sorry. I left my 1950s husband voice in my other tactical suit.”

You bit back a laugh. His palm stayed against your back, warm and steady. A grounding presence in the chaos of music, silk gowns, and political sharks in tuxedos.

Natasha’s voice crackled softly in your comm. “Target spotted. Claude Lemaire. East side of the ballroom. He’s drinking something fluorescent. Approach casual. You’re a couple in love, remember.”

You sighed, keeping your smile sweet for the passing diplomats. “I’m gonna strangle Sam for assigning us this op.”

“I’ll hold him down,” Bucky said, smile tight.

Your gaze flicked around. You spotted Claude—smug, suspicious, currently being schmoozed by an arms broker in a floor-length sequined cape.

Showtime.

Bucky leaned down slightly, murmuring in your ear, “Ready to be disgustingly in love in public?”

You tilted your head up. “You’ve been training your whole life for this, Barnes.”

He smirked. “I am very good at suffering in silence.”

As you approached Claude, Bucky adjusted your hand in the crook of his arm—then, unexpectedly, laced your fingers with his.

Your heart flipped. Not because it was new—you’d held his hand a hundred times in private. But here, now, under chandeliers and mission stress and the eyes of an international arms dealer?

This was allowed.

This was on purpose.

You squeezed his fingers back.

“Okay,” you said, “be charming and mildly intimidating. Claude likes couples who are affectionate but could also kill him.”

“So us,” Bucky said simply.

You blinked. “...That’s alarmingly accurate.” as you approached Claude, the target—who immediately smiled and said, “Ah, the newlyweds! I can always tell.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “It’s the way she glares at me with love.”

Claude laughed, delighted. “And you—what do you love most about her?”

You froze.

But Bucky didn’t.

He leaned in slightly, eyes soft. “She’s the only person who ever makes me feel calm. And she lets me finish her fries.”

Your heart did something illogical.

Claude cooed like you were puppies.

God help you.

As he turned to fetch another drink, you pulled Bucky aside, into the quieter corner of the ballroom. Behind you, strings swelled into a sweeping waltz.

You looked up at him. “Okay. That was almost too convincing.”

He stepped closer, voice quieter. “I meant it.”

Your chest tightened. The lights glinted off the cuff of his sleeve, the faint silver of his dog tags just peeking out beneath his collar.

“I know,” you said softly. “But here, right now—we’re allowed to mean it.”

He watched you, gaze steady. “How weird is it that pretending feels easier than hiding?”

“Very,” you whispered.

“Do you want to… pretend a little longer?”

He held out his hand—not mission protocol. Not because Natasha was watching. Just because he wanted to.

You took it.

He pulled you into a slow, quiet dance. Not at the center of the room. Not under a spotlight. Just off to the side, in the warm gold of chandelier light and the faintest breeze from an open balcony door.

You moved together easily. Like you’d done this before. Because you had.

Just never in public. Never like this.

His hand settled on your waist. Your other hand rested lightly against his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingers.

No one interrupted. No one questioned it.

Here, in this room, you weren’t hiding. For once, the mission gave you a reason to be exactly who you were.

And the look Bucky gave you?

That was real.

Natasha’s voice came back in, low and amused.

“Claude bought the story. He’s requesting a private meeting to ‘discuss business ventures’ with the newlyweds. Good work, lovebirds.”

You didn’t reply.

You were too busy trying not to smile too wide as Bucky leaned in, brushed a kiss—not dramatic, not flashy, just real and yours—against your temple.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “Let’s pretend again tomorrow.”

You nodded. “And the next day.”

“And the next.”

His thumb traced your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

Outside, the gala continued—music and laughter and glittering espionage.

Inside, you swayed slowly with Bucky in a room full of people, hearts pounding just a little too loud.

And for once?

You didn’t mind being seen.

Back in the van (because of course there’s a van) Sam and Natasha watched the feed in silence.

After a moment, Natasha said, “He’s gonna blow it.”

“No,” Sam whispered. “He’s too smooth. No one’s that smooth unless they’re in actual love.”

“Maybe he’s just committed to the bit.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “No one commits to bit-cuddling.”

Then he gasped and zoomed in.

“Did you see that hand placement?! That’s not fake couple hand placement. That’s kitchen slow-dancing at midnight hand placement!”

Natasha blinked. “Wow. You’ve been single a long time.”

“I’m gonna prove it,” Sam muttered. “If I have to stake out their honeymoon suite and wear a fake mustache, I will.”

The suite Claude arranged for the “private meeting” was obnoxiously luxurious. Velvet chairs. Crystal decanters. Some sort of art installation that looked like an angry glass squid. Too much.

You and Bucky sat on a plush couch that was absolutely too small for two people to sit on without touching.

Which, you suspected, was very much the point.

You’d barely sat down before Bucky’s thigh brushed yours. Not by accident. Not entirely on purpose either. Just inevitable. His knee tilted slightly toward yours, as if even his body couldn’t help it anymore.

He didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

Claude was droning on across from you, gesturing with a fancy whiskey glass, talking about “cross-border investments” and “risk tolerance.”

You barely heard him. You were focused on Bucky’s hand. His right hand. The human one.

It was resting on the couch cushion, two inches from yours.

Then one inch.

Then—casually, quietly—he tilted his pinky so it just barely touched yours.

You felt it like a current.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe.

Across the room, Claude chuckled at something he said. You laughed politely. So did Bucky. He leaned toward you just slightly to whisper in your ear—something about Claude’s fake laugh—but his breath hit the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw.

You flinched. Barely.

He noticed.

You turned your head. Slowly.

His eyes were right there. Closer than they’d been all night. Blue and unreadable and full of that quiet, dangerous softness he saved for late nights and safe houses.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low.

You nodded. “You?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, his fingers brushed the inside of your wrist. Light. Thoughtless. Like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

“Hard to concentrate,” he said finally, just for you.

You smiled faintly. “Claude’s very boring.”

“I meant you.”

You turned fully toward him. “You’re not supposed to say things like that when we’re in character.”

He smiled, slow and tired of pretending. “I thought being in character meant I could.”

That quiet settled between you again—the kind that felt warm and electric and entirely too much for a diplomatic arms deal.

Then his arm moved behind you, stretching lazily along the back of the couch, but the motion brought his body just slightly closer. Not enough for Claude to notice. But enough that you could feel Bucky’s breath when he exhaled. Slow. Careful.

You reached up and rested your hand on his thigh. The way a partner would. Calm. Unthinking. But your fingers curled slightly—possessive, grounding.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then his hand slid down from the couch back, settled at the curve of your waist.

Just resting.

Warm.

Familiar.

God, this was so much easier when you weren’t allowed to touch him. Because now, in front of someone else, for the sake of a lie, you got to have the thing you usually had to hide.

It wasn’t fair, but it was also irresistible.

You turned your head just slightly and leaned into him. Not dramatically. Not for show. Just… letting your shoulder rest against his chest, your temple near his jaw.

You whispered, “You’re going to ruin me.”

He whispered back, “You’re going to marry me if you keep looking at me like that.”

You blinked up at him. “That a proposal?”

He smiled, soft and secret. “It’s a warning.”

Your pulse skipped. Not because it was just banter. But because the way he said it—it didn’t feel like a joke. It felt like a promise he hadn’t let himself say out loud until now.

Claude was still talking.

You had no idea what he was saying.

All you knew was that Bucky Barnes had his hand on your waist, his thigh against yours, and a look in his eyes that said:

I’m not pretending anymore.

Later, you and Bucky entered the suite, door clicking shut behind you.

It was comically romantic. Rose petals. Candles. One bed. (Obviously.)

“I swear Sam did this on purpose,” you muttered.

“I swear I’m not mad about it,” Bucky replied, loosening his tie.

You turned to him. “So… we sleep top-to-toe? Classic sitcom panic mode?”

He grinned. “Or we sleep normal. Because we’re adults. Who have definitely shared beds before.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Fine. But no funny business. I know Nat’s watching the security feed.”

“She’s probably betting on how long we’ll cuddle before falling asleep.”

“I give it ten minutes,” you said.

“Five,” Bucky replied.

In the next morningSam burst into the suite with a camera. “AHA! Caught in the—”

He stopped.

You and Bucky were fast asleep.

Fully dressed. On opposite sides of the bed.

A pillow fortress between you.

Sam stared, defeated. “Dammit. They’re good.”

Natasha strolled in behind him, sipping coffee. “Told you. You’ll never catch them.”

“But I know! I feel it in my soul!”

She patted his shoulder. “Maybe your soul’s just lonely.”

Sam sulked. “They’re smug. I hate smug couples.”

She grinned. “You love them.”

“Shut up.”

Lateras you were walking back to the surveillance van Bucky slid a note into your pocket. You opened it.

“Reason #3: You fake-slept through Sam’s 5 a.m. ‘gotcha’ ambush. That’s dedication.” – B

You turned, caught him watching you, and mouthed, Reason 4?

He smiled and tapped his heart.

You grinned.

Sam muttered, “They’re either the world’s greatest spies or a Hallmark movie waiting to happen.”

“Can’t it be both?” Natasha leaned back, smirking. “So. The Claude meeting. Anything to report?”

Bucky answered first. “He’s interested. Nat’s recording should give us enough to start mapping the transfer routes.”

You nodded, trying to sound normal. “We played the part. He bought it.”

Natasha, sipping from a travel mug that definitely wasn’t just coffee. “He’s a narcissist. Loved being the only one in the room who wasn’t making eyes at someone.”

Your stomach flipped.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “That’s funny. Because when I reviewed the van feed—”

You groaned. “Please don’t say van feed like that.”

Sam powered on the tablet dramatically. “—it looked less like ‘pretend married’ and more like ‘emotionally compromised barn animals.’”

Bucky blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“You were making heart eyes like a Disney prince. There was forehead touching. Wistful sighing. And at one point, I swear to God, you grazed her wrist like you were reading poetry off her pulse.”

You pressed your palms to your face. “You are not a stable witness.”

Sam leaned forward, squinting. “You’re holding hands right now, aren’t you?”

Your heart stuttered.

You looked down—

Yep.

Your fingers had laced together automatically, Bucky’s thumb tracing lazy, soft circles on your knuckles. It hadn’t even been conscious.

You started to pull away.

Bucky didn’t flinch. Just shifted casually, reaching for a crumpled mission report, letting your hands fall apart like nothing had happened.

“Just reviewing the debrief notes,” he said smoothly.

Sam didn’t catch it. He was too busy flipping through surveillance timestamps. “I swear there was a moment. Like a moment moment. At 17:43. Don’t lie to me, Barnes.”

Natasha didn’t look up. “He’s not lying. He’s deflecting.”

You folded your arms. “Maybe you’re just projecting. You want there to be something.”

Sam made a sound of pure disbelief. “Why would I want that?”

Natasha shrugged. “Because you’re bored. And nosy. And deeply emotionally invested for someone who claims not to care.”

Bucky nodded, flipping through the report without looking at it. “Also you made a slideshow called Operation: They’re Totally in Love and Lying About It.”

“That was a working title,” Sam muttered.

You nudged Bucky’s foot under the bench. Quick. Hidden.

He tapped back.

Natasha noticed. She always noticed. But she just sipped her coffee like it was tea.

The rest of the debrief was more of the same—Sam theorizing, you deflecting, Bucky offering occasional vague phrases like “mission cohesion” and “emotional rapport under cover.”

Sam threw up his hands. “Fine. Maybe you’re not dating. Maybe you’re just weirdly co-dependent and touchy.”

You nodded solemnly. “Mission chemistry. It happens.”

“She’s very comfortable to lean on,” Bucky added, deadpan. “Physically. Strategically. Emotionally.”

Sam pointed wildly between you both. “That’s not normal.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Neither are you.”

As you stepped out of the van, Bucky caught your hand—briefly, barely noticeable to anyone passing by.

You didn’t look at each other.

Didn’t speak.

Just let your fingers brush once before dropping back to your sides, like nothing happened.

Like there wasn’t a storm of warmth between your ribs.

“Good job in there,” he murmured under his breath.

You smirked. “You too. Very smooth deflection.”

Bucky glanced down the hallway. “Think Sam’s convinced?”

“No,” you said. “But he’s tired.”

He grinned. “We should buy Natasha lunch or something.”

“Or a secure USB with all the evidence she’s sitting on.”

Bucky laughed under his breath and walked beside you down the corridor—shoulder to shoulder, hands apart, hearts very much not in mission mode anymore.

Still a secret.

Still yours.

next part

a/n: thank y’all for being so patient with me and always showing you said what so much love <33 i already have the next part done, so i promise the next update won’t take long! love you sm!

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[ilovolderman]

I LOVE "You Said What" it's such a fun chaotic read! I don't know if you're a Brooklyn 99 fan but Sam's crash outs and over the top attempts to catch Bucky and Reader reminds me of Captain Holt and I read Sam saying them with Holts enthusiasm! So funny!

Can you add me to the tag list?!

omg this made me smile SO much 😭 I have seen Brooklyn 99 (even if it’s been a while hehe) and now I can't stop imagining Sam with Holt’s dramatic flair and it’s killing me 💀 thank you for this, seriously!!

So sorry for the late reply. but I’ve added you to the tag list!! <33

[ilovolderman]

i’m literally in love with your “you said what?” series and could literally read a million more parts and still want more. you’re an amazing writer and keep up the amazing work!!

you’re gonna make me cry 😭 that seriously means the world to me!! I’m so happy you’re enjoying the series. thank you for being the absolute sweetest and for taking the time to say such kind things. ilysm!!

[ilovolderman]

Caught on Camera

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam drags you and Bucky to stakeout duty and tries to expose your secret relationship.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, mild language

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

You knew this stakeout was doomed from the moment Sam brought a whiteboard.

Not a mini dry-erase board. Not a tablet with a stylus. An actual, full-sized, collapsible, wheeled whiteboard.

Bucky stared at it. “Why does that have string on it?”

Sam clicked a marker with the flair of someone about to unravel a conspiracy or get tackled mid-presentation. “Because it’s time,” he said ominously, “to connect the dots.”

You closed your eyes. “Oh no.”

“Don’t ‘oh no’ me. You two have been weird. And I—your trusted friend and field partner—will get to the bottom of it.”

“You think we’re Hydra sleeper agents?” you asked, mostly just to gauge the level of chaos today.

Sam didn’t hesitate. “Worse. You’re dating.”

Bucky blinked. “That’s your worst-case scenario?”

“You’re Bucky,” Sam said. “She’s… tolerable. It’s unnatural.”

You and Bucky exchanged a glance. He did that little eye-squint he thought was subtle. It wasn’t.

You cleared your throat. “We’re in a surveillance van. On a mission. Maybe focus on that?”

Sam threw an arm toward the monitor bank. “Nothing’s moved in two hours except a suspicious delivery guy who turned out to be carrying vegan muffins. Vegan muffins, Barnes.”

“That’s not illegal,” Bucky muttered.

“It should be,” Sam said grimly.

Natasha’s voice crackled over comms. “I’m stationed outside the north stairwell. The target is inactive. You’ve got time to argue about snacks and feelings or whatever this is.”

Sam pointed a marker at the speaker like she’d just validated his entire existence. “Thank you, Natasha.”

You sighed. “Can we please do anything else? Read a book? Pretend we’re asleep? Watch literally anything besides—what even is this?” You pointed to the whiteboard.

Sam turned it so you could see. In neat but slightly chaotic handwriting were phrases like:

“Elevator Incident?”

“Two coffee mugs — ONE MORNING?”

“Barnes: suddenly moisturized??”

“Y/N’s tactical vest adjusted @ 0800 by WHO?”

Bucky pointed at that last one. “That was self-care, not seduction.”

“Tell that to the helmet cam footage,” Sam muttered.

You groaned and slumped back into your seat. “Why do you even care so much?”

“Because,” Sam said, turning slowly, dramatically, “if I am the last to know… I’m bringing slide transitions to the roast.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but Bucky leaned forward, elbows on knees, and said, “Fine. You want proof? Real proof?”

Your heart jumped. Bucky, what are you doing.

Sam straightened like a bloodhound that’d just caught a scent. “Go on.”

“Okay,” Bucky said calmly, “when I got out of cryo in Wakanda, I was emotionally closed-off, unstable, and could barely sleep.”

“Yeah. We know. That’s not new.”

“Well,” Bucky continued, “guess who taught me mindfulness, made me journal, and introduced me to oat milk?”

Your eyebrows lifted. This was true… but it was also your cover story for sneaking into his room every night. As in, yes, I taught him mindfulness, and also how to sneak a second pillow into your bed without anyone noticing.

Sam blinked. “...You’re saying she therapized you?”

Bucky nodded.

Sam opened his mouth, then paused. “You do seem weirdly well-adjusted.”

“Exactly,” Bucky said.

You chimed in. “I’m basically a wellness program in combat boots.”

Sam rubbed his temples. “I’m too tired for this. You’re either dating or you’ve joined a cult. Either way, I hate it.”

Just then, the van monitor beeped. Movement.

Natasha’s voice buzzed back in. “Eyes up. We’ve got two incoming—unmarked car pulling into the garage. Heads down, stay sharp.”

You all ducked slightly. Silence fell.

And then—buzz. A second beep. Sam’s phone.

He glanced at it, then frowned. “Weird. I just got a Venmo request from Natasha. ‘$12 — for emotional labor.’”

You smothered a laugh. Bucky cleared his throat and looked very interested in a gum wrapper on the floor.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Okay. That’s it.”

He stood and whipped around the whiteboard. “Forget the dots. Time for the web.” He pulled back the curtain on the second side of the board.

It was a complete red-string conspiracy map. Photocopies of you and Bucky in seemingly mundane situations: walking down a hallway, sparring, looking slightly too happy in a debriefing. In one, you were handing him a protein bar.

Underneath it read: "The Protein Pact?"

You just said, “That’s a very organized delusion.”

“Thank you,” Sam said proudly.

Natasha’s voice crackled again. “FYI, the suspects are exiting the vehicle. And also, you guys are being recorded right now. There’s a camera in the corner of the van.”

Everyone whipped around.

There was a camera in the corner.

Sam screamed.

“WHO PUT THAT THERE?”

“Security,” Natasha said casually. “Fury installed them after the incident with the karaoke machine and the flamethrower.”

“That was ONE time,” Sam shouted.

Bucky turned to you and murmured, “I bet she’s saving the footage for leverage.”

“She’s definitely building a blackmail folder,” you replied.

Sam pointed wildly between you both. “WHISPERING. SECRET WHISPERING.”

You reached for your comm. “Nat. Can you confirm that whispering is suspicious?”

Natasha replied smoothly, “Only if it’s romantic. Otherwise, it’s standard spycraft.”

Sam looked like he was about to cry.

Bucky stood, walked over, and patted Sam on the shoulder. “Listen, man. If we were dating—which we’re not—it wouldn’t be your business.”

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide. “But I’d be right.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just tired. And alone. In a van. With string.”

Sam collapsed onto the floor dramatically. “Fine. Keep your lies. But I’m putting this in the mission report.”

“No one reads those,” Natasha said.

“I DO!” Sam yelled.

Outside, the target was already being cuffed. Natasha waved casually at the building’s security camera. Mission: complete.

Inside, Bucky took your hand under the table—quick, quiet, and hidden from the whiteboard of doom.

You smiled.

Sam didn’t see.

He was too busy sketching his next whiteboard masterpiece: “Trust No One: Except Maybe Nat. (Still Investigating.)”

As soon as Sam stomped down the ramp and out of the van—still muttering about “betrayal” and “at least Tony would’ve let me interrogate the toaster”—you and Bucky just… sat there.

In the silence.

Watching the whiteboard sway slightly from his exit.

After a beat, Bucky reached over and gently nudged one of the red strings off a pushpin.

“That’s better,” he said.

You snorted. “I’m honestly shocked he didn’t have a slideshow with animations.”

“Oh, he did. He just couldn’t figure out how to get the HDMI to work.”

You turned toward him on the small bench seat, tucking one leg under yourself. The van’s interior lights buzzed faintly, casting a soft, warm glow across Bucky’s face. He looked calm now. Not mission-mode Bucky, not suspiciously-neutral Bucky. Just… yours.

“Think he’ll ever stop suspecting?” you asked, voice low.

He tilted his head slightly, thinking. “Doubt it. But I think Nat officially joined the conspiracy, so we’ve bought ourselves time.”

You smiled. “Good. I like our secret.”

“Me too.” He paused. “But I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t a secret someday.”

You looked at him, really looked. There was that little furrow in his brow again—the one that showed up when he was being sincere and slightly terrified about it.

Your heart did a slow, quiet somersault.

“I wouldn’t either,” you said gently. “But for now... this is kind of fun.”

Bucky smiled—that real smile. The soft one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your stomach flip. The one Sam claimed was statistically impossible without “emotional compromise.”

Without a word, he reached behind him, grabbed the emergency blanket from the supply bin, and draped it over both your shoulders. Then he leaned into you, shoulder against yours, warm and solid.

“You cold?” he asked, even though you weren’t shivering.

“No,” you said. “But I���ll allow the dramatic gesture.”

He nudged your foot with his. “You always allow my dramatic gestures.”

“Because they come with blanket rights.”

He chuckled, then reached over and laced his fingers through yours beneath the blanket. His metal thumb gently brushed along your knuckles in a slow, grounding rhythm. It made your chest ache—in the good, heart-melting way.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The van was quiet. Peaceful. The outside world was just a blur through tinted windows. Inside, it was warm, and calm, and yours.

Then Bucky said, very seriously, “We should keep one of Sam’s whiteboards.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“For our future apartment. I’ll write ‘Reasons I Like You’ on it.”

You grinned. “Oh yeah? What’s reason number one?”

He squeezed your hand. “This.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling his breath shift as he leaned gently into you too.

“Number two?” you mumbled.

He kissed the top of your head, soft and quick and secret.

“Still working on the list,” he whispered.

You smiled against his arm.

The emergency blanket was still around your shoulders when you remembered.

You sat up straight, eyes widening. “Wait.”

Bucky blinked at you. “What?”

You slowly turned your head toward the corner of the van.

The camera stared back. Silent. Judgy. Still recording.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, horror dawning. “The blanket moment. The hand-holding. The forehead kiss.”

Bucky followed your gaze, then visibly winced. “Right. Fury’s spy cam.”

You both froze in place like kids caught stealing cookies on a security feed.

You buried your face in your hands. “We’re toast. Fury is going to give us the dad talk.”

“I’m not afraid of Fury,” Bucky said automatically. Then he paused. “Okay, maybe a little. But I’m more afraid of Natasha.”

As if summoned, Natasha’s voice crackled over comms again. “Just to confirm—yes, the camera caught all of that. And yes, I’m saving it for your engagement slideshow.”

Bucky groaned and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “We’re gonna die.”

You laughed. “She has footage, Bucky. We are so compromised.”

“Maybe if we act super professional now, she’ll delete it,” he said, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat. “Agent Barnes, commencing protocol alpha. Tactical—uh—tactical recon blanket deployment successful.”

You snorted. “Copy that. Agent Y/N initiating hand-holding for… morale support.”

Natasha’s voice came through again, deadpan. “Truly inspiring. I’ll put it in your performance review.”

You made a face at the camera. “You better at least edit in music. I want violins if this goes public.”

“Please,” Natasha said. “You’re getting a slow piano montage and a ‘Mission: Love Possible’ title card.”

Bucky made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “We should’ve stayed emotionally repressed.”

You nudged his side gently. “You say that, but you’re the one who initiated the blanket cuddle.”

He squinted. “That’s slander.”

“Camera says otherwise.”

Bucky turned to the lens like he was negotiating with a supervillain. “Nat. Come on. Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see that?”

There was a pause.

Then: screenshot sound.

Both of you groaned.

“Okay,” you muttered. “New mission. Break into Natasha’s room and delete the footage.”

“Impossible,” Bucky said. “She probably has laser traps.”

Natasha’s voice chirped one last time. “Correct. And a pressure-sensitive chocolate drawer. Touch it, and I release the singing drones.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“Don’t ask,” Bucky said immediately.

After a beat of quiet dread, you both looked back at each other—and just started laughing. That quiet, ridiculous kind of laugh you only get when you’re this in love and this caught.

Bucky shook his head, reaching for your hand again. “You know what? Fine. Let her record it. Let Fury analyze it. Let SHIELD make it into a training video called ‘Advanced Emotional Espionage.’ I don’t care.”

You smiled. “Wow. That’s bold.”

“Besides,” he added, leaning in, voice low and smug, “if we’re already being filmed—”

“Don’t,” you warned, laughing as you held up a finger. “We are not making out in front of the security camera.”

He grinned. “What if it’s just a dramatic hug? For morale.”

“Morale my ass,” you said, but you still let him pull you in.

You sat there together—arms wrapped tight, blanket still draped around your shoulders, faces half-hidden from the camera’s angle.

And as the monitor quietly beeped with another “all clear” signal, Bucky whispered in your ear:

“Reason number two: You always let me have the last muffin.”

You laughed softly and tucked your head under his chin.

“Reason number three?” you asked.

He kissed your temple. “You make this feel easy.”

And from her position on the roof, Natasha took one last photo—then switched off the comm and muttered to herself, “God, they’re disgusting.”

Then she smiled.

And added the file to a folder on her encrypted drive labeled: ‘BLACKMAIL or BEST MAN SPEECH’ — TBD.

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari@authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven@elfypineapple @smellybad @niceskyler @avengemepercy @crowleythesexydemon @bumblebeebutter @cjand10 @avivarougestan @parkers-gal

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[ilovolderman]

hey, I'm not sure if anyone will see this but I just want to say im sorry for the delay in posting the next part of "you said what?"

last year of college is kicking my ass and on top of that, anxiety has me second-guessing and lowkey hating everything I write lol

writing this fic has always been something that brought me a lot of joy, but lately, even though I have a million ideas for what’s next, I keep wondering if I’ve already passed the point, y’know? like maybe it’s time to wrap it up? I’m not sure. please let me know if it ever feels like that to you too.

btw I'm gonna try to post the next part today. I really appreciate every single one of you who’s stuck around. it means so much. 💞💐

[ilovolderman]

Stealth Raccoons

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: During a chaotic mission, Sam’s on high alert and Natasha’s low-key helping you and Bucky keep your secret relationship under wraps.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

The mission was going fine. Until it wasn’t.

“Everyone stay in comms range,” Sam had said. “No hero moves,” Sam had said. “Stick to the plan,” SAM HAD SAID.

But now there were fire alarms blaring, half the base was flooding for reasons that were absolutely not in the briefing, and somehow you and Bucky were trapped in a side corridor while Sam and Nat were three levels up and getting increasingly annoyed.

Sam’s voice crackled over comms. “What do you mean you’re stuck in a broom closet?”

“It’s not a closet,” Bucky said tightly, scanning the door panel. “It’s a supply room. Very tactical. Very... moppy.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “Tactical mop. For stealth cleaning.”

“You’re both impossible,” Sam muttered. “Can you at least not flirt during a breach?”

“We’re not flirting,” you said, far too quickly. “We don’t flirt,” Bucky added.

A pause.

Natasha’s voice cut in, bone dry. “That’s funny. You were making heart eyes while dodging tripwires like it was a romantic tango.”

You smacked your forehead on the wall. Bucky visibly stopped breathing.

Sam cut back in. “Wait—heart what? What do you mean tango? Are you saying there was—?”

Suddenly Bucky kicked the door panel.

It sparked. The lights flickered. A loud clunk sounded.

The door opened.

Bucky turned to you, nodding very seriously. “Tactical success.”

You gave him a look. “You just panicked and kicked the wall.”

He gave you a little grin. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Natasha hummed over comms. “You two gonna keep making goo-goo eyes or are you gonna join the rest of us before Sam has a stroke?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said through clenched teeth. “I’m just saying. They’re suspiciously in sync lately. You saw them backflip in unison last mission.”

You and Bucky exchanged a quick look.

You had, in fact, practiced that move. In private. After several accidental crashes and at least one rug burn incident that required aloe.

Bucky cleared his throat. “We’re just good at teamwork.”

Sam scoffed. “You were holding hands.”

“We were anchoring each other.” “That's a combat grip,” you added helpfully.

There was a pause.

“Combat grip?” Sam repeated flatly. “I’m going to throw myself out a window.”

Later, everyone regrouped in the main server room.  The plan was to download intel and leave quietly.

Naturally, something exploded.

Now the lights were out, alarms were blaring, and everyone was sprinting through dim corridors lit only by emergency red glow.

You and Bucky split off (again) to find the backup drive.

Sam’s voice came through comms, exasperated. “Why do they always get sent off together? Every time. It’s like Mission: Secret Couple or something.”

You nearly ran into a wall.

“Excuse me?” you said, trying to sound offended and not like your heart just plummeted into your boots.

Bucky made a face at you, whispering. “Secret Couple is a terrible code name.”

You whispered back “Sounds like a dating app for spies.”

He grinned. You grinned.

You did not kiss.

But only because the walls had cameras. And the last time you kissed near Hydra tech, it triggered an alarm labeled "UNSANCTIONED BONDING ACTIVITY."

Still not over that.

Sam was still talking. “—and it’s always like ‘oh no, we accidentally got locked in this romantic storage closet again,’ or ‘oops, my hand slipped and I caught them emotionally gazing!’”

Natasha: “Wow. Sounds like you’re really keeping detailed logs.”

Sam: “IT’S SUSPICIOUS!”

Three minutes later, you and Bucky were climbing a ladder inside a narrow, dimly lit vent shaft. You were going up first, carefully placing your boots on the creaking metal rungs. Bucky was right behind you, unusually quiet for someone who usually had a sarcastic comment locked and loaded.

You paused briefly to adjust your grip. That was apparently enough time for chaos to erupt over comms.

"Just got eyes on Y/N and Barnes," Sam’s voice rang out, suspicious and way too smug. "They’re in Vent Shaft 7, heading north—wait. Why is Barnes looking up like that? Why’s he—OH COME ON."

You froze, forehead hitting the wall with a quiet thunk. "SAM. Do not read into this."

"There was a pause," Sam insisted, scandalized. "A full, lingering pause. With a view, Barnes."

Bucky, completely unbothered, replied, "Just making sure the ladder’s stable."

"Stable my ass! You were looking up like it was art, man. That was a neck-tilt of appreciation."

Natasha cut in, her voice dry as a martini. "Sam. Be honest. Are you mad because you think something’s going on... or because no one’s ever looked at you like that in a vent shaft?"

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Just saying, maybe if you wore less tactical gear and more emotional availability—"

"I will not be emotionally manipulated by the Human Blade of Sarcasm and her two suspiciously hoodie-sharing raccoons."

"...Did he just call us raccoons?" Bucky asked.

"I think so," you said.

"Honestly? Not mad about it."

"You do share a hoodie!" Sam jumped back in. "I asked you if it was your combat hoodie, and you said ‘Don’t worry about it.’"

"I wasn’t lying. It is combat-rated. For cuddles," Bucky said with a smirk.

"Tacti-cuddly," you added.

"I hate this. I hate all of this."

Natasha, casually: "You know, now that I think about it, I did see them split a breakfast burrito this morning."

"YOU WHAT—"

"And I took a bite too. Maybe it’s a cult. A burrito cult. Ever think of that?"

"I—what—I—OKAY. Polyamorous burrito cult. That makes so much more sense than whatever secret relationship you’re all denying!"

"Honestly? That’s kinda got a ring to it," you said.

"Can we get jackets made?" Bucky asked.

"Only if I get to design the logo," Natasha replied.

"I will unravel this mystery. I will," Sam grumbled.

"Looking forward to it, Detective Wilson," Natasha said sweetly.

"This is worse than that time you all gaslit me about the mission in Madrid."

"That was an actual hallucination," you reminded him. "You took cold meds and fought a vending machine."

"It took my change and lied about it!"

"Let it go, man," Bucky said.

"I need a new team," Sam muttered.

"You need a nap," Natasha said.

"Or a snack," Bucky added.

"Or therapy," you chimed in.

"I AM FINE."

Bucky glanced up again—brief, but noticeable. You looked down at him, trying to hide your grin.

"HEY! I saw that! That was another lingering pause!"

"I was checking to make sure he didn’t fall off the ladder," you said, deadpan.

"She’s just a very responsible coworker," Bucky added innocently.

"You’re all terrible liars."

"Actually," Natasha said, cool as ever, "they’re great liars. That’s what’s so impressive."

"I WILL FIGURE THIS OUT!" Sam practically shouted.

"Of course you will," Natasha replied, too-sweet to be sincere.

You and Bucky shared a quiet look.

"Think he’s gonna try to set a trap?" Bucky asked.

"Absolutely. Wanna beat him to it?"

Bucky grinned. "Always."

After the mission ended, everyone was seated. Exhausted. Quiet. Sam sat across from you and Bucky in the quinjet, arms folded, staring like a detective in the final five minutes of a Law & Order episode. You sat a safe six inches apart from Bucky, the kind of distance that said “not officially” but definitely “definitely.”

Then his hand slid over to rest lightly on your knee. Hidden. Barely touching.

Natasha saw it instantly. She didn’t say a word. She just slid her sunglasses down her nose and gave Sam a look that said, “Don’t even bother.”

Sam sighed, rubbed his temples, and whispered to himself, “There’s something going on. I know it. I can feel it in my spleen.”

Natasha deadpanned, “Maybe it’s indigestion.”

You smirked. “Maybe you’re just emotionally constipated.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe the real secret romance was the friends we gaslit along the way.”

Natasha raised her cup of jet coffee in a mock toast.

Sam looked so tired. And still: clueless.

Minutes later, Sam’s head lolled forward, and his eyes fluttered shut. The tension in the cabin eased as he slipped into sleep, snoring softly—a rare, vulnerable moment.

You glanced at Bucky, who was watching you with that slow, fond smile reserved just for you. His hand tightened just a bit on your knee, and before you knew it, you leaned against him, your shoulder resting gently against his arm. The world outside the quinjet melted away.

Bucky’s breath was warm on your temple as he whispered, “Finally, some peace.”

You smiled, heart full, and whispered back, “Mission accomplished.”

Natasha, ever the perfect mix of sarcastic and warm, glanced over and quipped, “Well, at least someone’s asleep before Sam figures out what’s really going on.”

You and Bucky exchanged a glance, grinning.

The quinjet hummed quietly around you, a gentle lull beneath the stars streaking past the windows. Bucky’s hand never left your knee, and you let yourself relax fully into the warmth of his presence.

“You are falling asleep, aren’t you?” you whispered, leaning your head gently against his shoulder.

He turned his face just enough so you could see the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “That’s just cause I’m comfortable,” he murmured. “You make me feel like I can.”

You smiled softly, heart swelling. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me. No backsies.”

Bucky’s fingers brushed lightly over your skin, thumb tracing lazy circles. “I like the sound of that.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said, voice low and steady.

“Next time Sam starts spouting nonsense about ‘emotional indigestion’ or ‘gaslighting,’ you’re the one who tells him to shut it. I’m officially outsourcing emotional labor.”

Bucky chuckled. “Deal. I’ll be the designated emotional bouncer.”

You tightened your grip on his hand and sighed happily. “You know, I think this might be the first time Sam’s fallen asleep mid-interrogation. What do you think that means?”

Bucky laughed softly. “He’s finally met his match.”

From behind you, Natasha’s quiet humming floated through the cabin, sounding suspiciously like a victory tune. Sam’s soft snore was rhythmic now, peaceful — a rare break from his usual intense energy.

You nestled closer, your cheek resting against Bucky’s warm arm. “It’s nice. Just… nice. No secrets. No guessing. Just us.”

“Exactly,” he said, voice soft as a whisper. “I like this. I like you.”

You smiled wider, squeezing his hand. “I like you too.”

Natasha’s voice piped up from the back, light and teasing, “And somewhere in the world, Sam’s still clueless and probably crying softly about a burrito.”

You and Bucky exchanged amused glances, eyes shining.

Clueless, but perfectly content.

Later, after the mission, after the jet touched down and everyone went their separate ways, you were finally curled up on the couch, warm, clean, and almost asleep.

Then your phone buzzed.

“SAM ADDED YOU TO A GROUP CHAT.”

You stared at the screen. The chat was called:

“stealth raccoons + sam”

Of course it was.

You opened it.

[Group Chat: stealth raccoons + sam] Members: Sam, You, Bucky, Natasha

Sam: this is now the official mission coordination thread. i need updates. and accountability. and transparency.

You: That’s a lot of feelings for a mission thread.

Bucky: Yeah, usually those just say “Van’s here” and “We’re being shot at.”

Sam: y’all think this is a joke. but i see things.👀

Natasha: Oh boy. The eyeballs are back. Everyone run.

Sam: i’m just saying the hoodie-sharing the synchronized exits THE BURRITO

You: Bold of you to keep bringing up the burrito like it didn’t emotionally wound you.

Sam: IT WAS A BETRAYAL IN THREE BITES

Bucky: Still mad I didn’t get the last bite tbh.

Sam: AHA YOU ADMIT YOU SHARED IT

Bucky: …we all shared it, Sam. Team nutrition.

Natasha: Sounds like love. I mean… loyalty. Definitely loyalty. 👀❤️👀

Sam: I WILL CATCH YOU I HAVE CAMERAS AND INSTINCTS AND VIBES

You: Vibes aren’t admissible in court, Sam.

Bucky: Unless you’re Judge Judy.

Sam: i am the judge and the jury and the petty god of group chat receipts

Natasha: Petty God is a great title for your next mission report.

Sam: don’t act like you’re innocent in this you’re always mysteriously nearby when they “accidentally” disappear into unmonitored zones

Natasha: Oh no. You’ve discovered my side hustle. Secret couple bodyguard slash chaos enabler. (And I look great doing it.)

Sam: Y/N. Barnes. one day. you’ll slip.

You: What if we already did and you missed it?

Bucky: What if we never did and you’re spiraling for nothing?

Sam: what if i block both of you and live in peace

Natasha: You won’t. You live for this. Sam: you’re all MENACES

You: Menaces in love? 🤷‍♀️

Sam: i hate this group chat but i refuse to leave i must monitor

Bucky: Aw. He loves us.

Sam: I SWEAR ON MY WINGS THE TRUTH WILL COME OUT THIS ISN’T OVER

[Sam has changed the group chat name to: “Operation: Truth & Betrayal”]

You: Ok now it sounds like a reality show.

Natasha: Or a band. Dibs on drums.

Bucky: Y/N sings. Obviously.

Sam: YOU’RE DEFLECTING AGAIN I’M WATCHING YOU

You stared at the group chat for a long second, thumb hovering over your screen.

Sam had just renamed it, for the third time in twenty minutes. The man was unraveling in real time.

You locked your phone and exhaled a slow, amused sigh.

From the couch across the room, Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Sam renamed the chat again?”

“Yep,” you said. “I think he’s having a dramatic monologue in the kitchen.”

“He’s gonna start drawing red string across the wall soon.”

You padded over and dropped down next to him, letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a quiet laugh. “We’re menaces.”

Bucky smirked. “Secret menaces in love. Very stealthy.”

You grinned, reaching for his hand. “He’s never gonna catch us.”

And somewhere, several rooms away, Sam sneezed violently—like the universe had just dared him to prove you wrong.

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari@authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven@elfypineapple @smellybad @niceskyler @avengemepercy @crowleythesexydemon @bumblebeebutter @cjand10 @avivarougestan @parkers-gal

@coffelover13 @13c13 @samcortlandlivesinmyheart @pandcbarnes @rosieyama @iminyourceiling @lori19 @94namkooksworld @1000shipsnh @hughjackmanadict @ficmeiguess @beigesthatic @barnes70stark @rosylnsworld @rrosiitas @simp4f1 @vieenr0se @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

[ilovolderman]

Hello! Can you add me to the bucky secret relationship taglist? That would be amazing 💞💞

Sure <333 Thank you sm for reading

[ilovolderman]

So im pretty sure I just clogged your notifs while reading the Bucky/Secret ! Sorry! But pla add me to the taglist I cant get enough of Sam going insane and Friday being so funny 🤩

Omg don’t even worry about it. I love when that happens!! Thank you so much for reading!! And yesss, you’re already on the taglist <33

[ilovolderman]

what do you mean YOU ARE REREADING??? omg you have no idea what this actually means to me. thank you so much <333 ily and appreciate you endlessly 💞

Vibranium Dust

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Natasha helps to cover your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, smoothies

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sunlight poured into the common area, casting a soft golden glow over the polished floors. The smell of waffles and fresh coffee lingered in the air, and Natasha was already in the kitchen—perfectly calm, black coffee in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to say I am awake, but only barely.

She was perched on a stool at the island, watching the toaster like it owed her money.

From down the hallway came the soft shuffle of two people trying very hard not to be suspicious.

Enter: you and Bucky.

Casual. So casual. Painfully casual.

You were walking a few inches apart, but you had the unmistakable look of someone who definitely hadn’t slept in their own bed. Bucky’s hair was still a little mussed in the back, like someone’s fingers had been in it. There were two mugs of coffee—one in each hand—but Bucky handed one to you with a quiet murmur and a glance that lasted just a little too long.

And the kicker?

Matching faint marks on both your necks.

Not obvious unless someone was really looking.

Natasha was always looking.

She didn’t say a word. Just sipped her coffee slowly, like she was watching a nature documentary in real time.

That’s when Peter Parker bounded into the room, bright-eyed and on his third toaster waffle already.

“Morning, guys!” he chirped, opening the fridge. “I’m starving. Stayed up way too late, almost beat that new boss in Elden Ring though, so worth—wait—uh—”

He turned, catching a glimpse of you both standing side-by-side by the counter.

Then he squinted.

Then he really squinted.

First at you. Then at Bucky. Then at the identical, slightly smudged marks just beneath both your jawlines.

And his eyes went wide.

“Wait a sec—” Peter blurted, brow furrowed. “Is that—do you guys both have, like—did you—?!”

SLAP.

A waffle smacked against his shoulder with the force of justice.

Peter jumped back. “WHAT THE—?!”

Natasha lowered the plate she had “accidentally” thrown from across the room and gave him the flattest look known to mankind.

“Oops,” she said blandly.

Peter stared at the waffle now sliding off his hoodie. “Why did you throw breakfast at me?!”

“Reflex,” she said. “Thought I saw a threat.”

“I was just—!”

“You were squinting too hard. I don’t trust that kind of squint this early.”

Peter opened his mouth again, but Natasha was already in front of him, stuffing a fresh waffle into his hands like a peace offering-slash-distraction.

“Eat. Now. No thoughts.”

Peter stared down at the waffle. “I feel like I missed something huge.”

Natasha gave him a tight smile. “Nope.”

He looked back at you and Bucky, who were both suddenly very interested in your coffee.

Suspicious. But now waffled.

Peter narrowed his eyes. “This feels like a cover-up.”

Natasha raised one brow. “I have seven knives hidden on my body right now.”

Peter blinked. “...Right. Cool. Got it. No more questions.”

He slowly backed out of the room, waffle in hand, glancing over his shoulder like someone who knew he’d seen something important but had no idea what.

The door slid shut behind him.

Silence returned.

You turned to Nat, eyes wide. “You threw a waffle at him.”

“You’re welcome,” she said taking another sip of her coffee. “He was about to connect the dots. You’re lucky I keep frozen backup.”

Bucky blinked at her. “How did you even know—?”

“I’ve been doing this since Budapest,” she replied, already pouring herself another cup of coffee. “Covering messes. Cleaning up disasters. Assaulting teens with carbs.”

Bucky coughed, laughing behind his mug. “You’re unbelievable.”

Nat gave him a lazy smirk. “And yet, here I am. Keeping your secret romance alive. You’re welcome.”

You tried to suppress a laugh, shaking your head. “What do we owe you?.”

“Oh, I’ll collect eventually,” she said. “Probably at your wedding. Or the next time Sam walks in and you’re on each other’s laps.”

You and Bucky exchanged a look of mild guilt.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “...Don’t tell me that already happened.”

You shrugged. “Depends on how you define ‘lap.’”

Nat turned back to the waffle maker. “God help you both.”

Then she smirked.

“Just don’t make me throw a pancake at Sam next. That one might fight back.”

Later that day, the gym was bathed in the sterile, fluorescent glow of overhead lights, the rhythmic clang of weights and the hum of treadmills echoing off the walls. The Avengers’ training facility was in full swing—Steve was off somewhere doing morally upright cardio, and Sam had claimed the squat rack like it was a personal vendetta.

You were pretending to stretch near the mats. Bucky was a few feet away at the pull-up bar, doing reps like he wasn’t aware you were there. Like he hadn’t just had his hands on your waist behind the weapons locker twenty minutes ago.

Casual. Again. Painfully casual.

Unfortunately, Sam was not stupid.

He paused mid-set, towel slung over his shoulder, and gave Bucky a long, narrowed stare.

“Hey, cyborg,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You got a reason you keep looking over at the mats like they’re gonna explode?”

Bucky dropped from the pull-up bar, landing light. “Just keeping an eye on form. Stretching’s important.”

Sam didn’t blink. “Uh-huh.”

You coughed and reached for a resistance band, clearly trying to look occupied and not like you were considering fake-stretching your way into another room.

Sam turned to you. “And you. You’ve been in here for forty-five minutes and haven’t actually done anything.”

“Prepping my muscles,” you said brightly. “Activation is vital.”

Sam squinted. “You said that last week. I don’t think ‘activation’ is a real word outside TikTok.”

Before you could come up with a clever reply (or fake an injury), the gym door slid open.

Enter: Natasha Romanoff.

In full tactical leggings, tank top, and a towel over her shoulder like she was born to win spy-themed gym class.

She took one look at the room—at you, at Bucky, at Sam’s suspicious expression—and her eyes narrowed half a millimeter. A full diagnostic scan, complete in under two seconds.

Then she smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.

“Hey boys,” she said, sauntering in like a cat who had personally hidden all the bodies and then sold the house. “Did I miss the passive-aggressive circuit training?”

Sam pointed an accusing finger. “I know something is up with those two.”

“Oh?” Nat said, walking over to the weight bench and casually loading two plates like it was nothing. “Like what?”

“Like—” Sam gestured vaguely between you and Bucky. “Like that. They’re being weird. Too quiet. Avoiding eye contact. Or making too much eye contact. It’s suspicious.”

Nat laid back on the bench and started benching like she wasn’t doing more than half the team could with one arm.

“They’re always weird,” she said conversationally. “That’s just their vibe. Moody tension and repressed feelings. It’s practically aesthetic at this point.”

You tried not to choke on your own breath. Bucky let out a short cough that might’ve been a laugh.

Sam folded his arms. “Then explain why Bucky had glitter on his shoulder this morning.”

Nat paused mid-rep.

Slowly lowered the bar.

Sat up.

“Glitter?” she repeated.

“Yup.” Sam crossed his arms. “Glitter. Sparkly. Suspiciously Y/N-colored glitter.”

You opened your mouth, but Nat beat you to it.

“That wasn’t glitter,” she said calmly. “That was vibranium dust.”

Sam blinked. “Vibranium...dust?”

“Yep.” She nodded seriously, patting the bar like she was weighing the lie. “We were running a containment test in the lab last night. Microparticles. Stuff gets everywhere. You think glitter’s bad? Try cleaning up experimental Wakandan debris.”

Sam looked alarmed. “Wait, is that dangerous?”

Nat stood, grabbing her towel and tossing it over one shoulder with impressive nonchalance. “Only if you inhale it and start levitating. Which you haven’t. Yet.”

Sam stared at her, now mildly concerned. “You’re messing with me.”

“Am I?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Or are you just mad you didn’t get invited to science night?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

You were biting your lip so hard you were in danger of drawing blood.

Sam threw his hands up. “Fine. Whatever. But I’m watching you two.”

“You always do,” Nat said, giving him a wink. “That’s why we like you. So diligent.”

Sam turned and walked away, muttering under his breath about “paranoia” and “glitter conspiracies.”

The second the gym door closed behind him, you let out a slow exhale. “Vibranium dust?”

Natasha turned to you with a look of satisfied brilliance. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Bucky stared at her. “Do you just… make this stuff up on the spot?”

“Please,” she said. “I’ve got at least twelve pre-loaded cover stories ready for rotation. That was number six. Glitter emergency protocol.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You’re terrifying.”

“Flattering,” she said, walking toward the exit. “Just don’t make me fake a fire drill next time. Or explain to Tony why his security footage mysteriously cut out between 2:04 and 2:17 PM.”

You and Bucky exchanged a glance. Guilty. Grinning.

“Define cut out,” Bucky said.

Nat pointed at him without looking back. “You’re paying for the next round of waffles.”

A few minutes later you and Bucky sat side-by-side on the padded bench against the far wall, legs brushing just enough to feel it.

He took a long sip from the smoothie in his hand—strawberry banana, courtesy of the cafeteria downstairs—and passed it to you without a word.

You drank, leaning your shoulder gently into his for just a second longer than necessary, then passed it back. “Still can’t believe she said vibranium dust.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “The fact that Sam believed it is the best part.”

“I almost lost it when she said you might start levitating.”

“She said it so seriously, too,” he added, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think Sam started checking his pulse.”

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand. “Honestly? If you did start levitating, I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re like three bad days away from unlocking a new superpower.”

Bucky smirked and leaned his metal arm along the back of the bench, fingers brushing the top of your shoulder. “What, and ruin the mystique? I like being a grounded kind of guy.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Very grounded. Except when you're scaling walls like a cat burglar and sneaking into my room at 2 AM.”

He leaned in slightly, grin deepening. “You left the door open.”

“That was not an invitation.”

“Sure,” he said, voice low and amused. “You accidentally leave the door open. Every time.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning. “Well, being cute definitely lets you get away with it.”

“Get away?” he teased, handing you the smoothie again. “Pretty sure you’re the one sparkling like a disco ball.”

You took a sip, shooting him a mock glare over the rim of the cup. “Funny—you didn’t seem to mind glitter last night.”

Bucky raised both eyebrows, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I didn’t complain about a lot of things last night.”

Your face flushed instantly, and you turned your attention very intently to the smoothie.

He chuckled softly and bumped your knee with his. “Hey.”

You looked up.

There was something softer in his expression now—less teasing, more gentle. More real.

You smiled, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it did whenever he got like this.

“You know we’re living under Natasha’s secret protection program, right?”

Bucky chuckled again. “We owe her so many waffles.”

“Should we, like… get her a thank-you basket or something?”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Or a knife set. Personalized. For all her dramatic snack-based violence.”

You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder, finally relaxing into the quiet.

He grinned, eyes twinkling.

“Let’s just enjoy the mess for now.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway.

He leaned in and kissed your temple gently.

“Until then,” he murmured, “I’m fine with being suspicious and sparkly.”

You laughed against his shoulder. “You’re the prettiest glitter boy I’ve ever seen.”

Meanwhile,  Sam stood in the tech hub like he was about to interrogate a war criminal.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he said grimly, pointing at the nearest wall panel. “We need to talk.”

The AI responded immediately, perky and just a little too cheerful.

“Wilson. Trying to order kale again? Or looking for another playlist called ‘Suspicion Vibes’?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I need answers, not attitude.”

“Noted. Proceed with your deeply serious query.”

He took a breath, crossed his arms. “Was there a vibranium containment test last night?”

A pause. “There was not.”

“Are you sure?” he said, like he was challenging a witness in court. “No lab experiments? No Wakandan tech stuff? Not even, like, a little vibranium flaking off something?”

“Sam,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said patiently, “vibranium doesn’t flake. It’s not a croissant.”

Sam blinked. “But Nat said—”

“—that you might start levitating?” The AI’s voice went dry. “Yes. That was a bold lie. Impressive delivery. Truly Oscar-worthy.”

He frowned. “So the stuff on Bucky’s shoulder?”

“Cosmetic glitter.”

Sam stared at the panel like it had personally betrayed him. “Glitter?!”

“Technically non-toxic, low-grade craft store glitter. Pink. With silver specks. Possibly strawberry-scented.”

Sam closed his eyes. “I knew it. I knew it wasn’t vibranium. But I doubted myself. I Googled symptoms of levitation.”

“You also drank a kale smoothie and did twelve squats in a row ‘just in case,’” F.R.I.D.A.Y. added helpfully. “The footage was... memorable.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I got played.”

“If it helps,” she said sympathetically, “Natasha Romanoff has a 96.7% success rate in lying to male teammates under emotional duress.”

Sam pointed at the screen. “That’s weirdly specific.”

He sighed deeply, deflated. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Okay. Fine. New question. Pull today’s gym footage. I need to confirm something about Bucky and Y/N. I swear something’s going on there.”

There was a suspicious pause.

“Mmm... can’t do that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because someone—definitely not Natasha—scrambled the security feed between 2:04 and 2:17 PM. That section is now just ambient whale sounds and footage of Steve doing yoga from 2014.”

Sam stared, horrified. “I KNEW IT. She has tech sabotage plans. This place is a circus.”

“You’re just mad you’re not one of the clowns in the spotlight.”

Sam glared. “You think this is funny?”

“You spent an hour today whispering about ‘dust particles’ like a man uncovering alien life. I think it’s hilarious.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Eventually: “...Can I at least have access to hallway footage?”

“Sure. But fair warning, Y/N was holding a smoothie and smiling at Barnes for four seconds longer than the platonic limit. Viewer discretion is advised.”

Sam groaned again, turning to leave.

“Would you like me to prep a PowerPoint titled ‘This Is Clearly a Relationship’?”

“I’M FINE.”

As he stormed down the hallway, the interface behind him blinked softly.

“You are not fine,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said sweetly to herself. “But you are very, very funny.”

A/N: its me again, hi!! i’m really sorry for the delay in posting this new part. things have been super busy lately, i’m currently in my final year of college, and it’s been a bit overwhelming with all the assignments. thank you so much for your patience and understanding! i truly appreciate it. i’m doing my best to get back on track and update more regularly soon. <33 ily guys

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari@authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven@elfypineapple @smellybad @niceskyler @avengemepercy @crowleythesexydemon @bumblebeebutter @cjand10 @avivarougestan @parkers-gal @coffelover13 @13c13 @beigesthatic

@samcortlandlivesinmyheart @pandcbarnes @rosieyama @iminyourceiling @lori19 @94namkooksworld @barnes70stark @1000shipsnh @hughjackmanadict @ficmeiguess

[ilovolderman]

Vibranium Dust

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Natasha helps to cover your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, smoothies

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sunlight poured into the common area, casting a soft golden glow over the polished floors. The smell of waffles and fresh coffee lingered in the air, and Natasha was already in the kitchen—perfectly calm, black coffee in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to say I am awake, but only barely.

She was perched on a stool at the island, watching the toaster like it owed her money.

From down the hallway came the soft shuffle of two people trying very hard not to be suspicious.

Enter: you and Bucky.

Casual. So casual. Painfully casual.

You were walking a few inches apart, but you had the unmistakable look of someone who definitely hadn’t slept in their own bed. Bucky’s hair was still a little mussed in the back, like someone’s fingers had been in it. There were two mugs of coffee—one in each hand—but Bucky handed one to you with a quiet murmur and a glance that lasted just a little too long.

And the kicker?

Matching faint marks on both your necks.

Not obvious unless someone was really looking.

Natasha was always looking.

She didn’t say a word. Just sipped her coffee slowly, like she was watching a nature documentary in real time.

That’s when Peter Parker bounded into the room, bright-eyed and on his third toaster waffle already.

“Morning, guys!” he chirped, opening the fridge. “I’m starving. Stayed up way too late, almost beat that new boss in Elden Ring though, so worth—wait—uh—”

He turned, catching a glimpse of you both standing side-by-side by the counter.

Then he squinted.

Then he really squinted.

First at you. Then at Bucky. Then at the identical, slightly smudged marks just beneath both your jawlines.

And his eyes went wide.

“Wait a sec—” Peter blurted, brow furrowed. “Is that—do you guys both have, like—did you—?!”

SLAP.

A waffle smacked against his shoulder with the force of justice.

Peter jumped back. “WHAT THE—?!”

Natasha lowered the plate she had “accidentally” thrown from across the room and gave him the flattest look known to mankind.

“Oops,” she said blandly.

Peter stared at the waffle now sliding off his hoodie. “Why did you throw breakfast at me?!”

“Reflex,” she said. “Thought I saw a threat.”

“I was just—!”

“You were squinting too hard. I don’t trust that kind of squint this early.”

Peter opened his mouth again, but Natasha was already in front of him, stuffing a fresh waffle into his hands like a peace offering-slash-distraction.

“Eat. Now. No thoughts.”

Peter stared down at the waffle. “I feel like I missed something huge.”

Natasha gave him a tight smile. “Nope.”

He looked back at you and Bucky, who were both suddenly very interested in your coffee.

Suspicious. But now waffled.

Peter narrowed his eyes. “This feels like a cover-up.”

Natasha raised one brow. “I have seven knives hidden on my body right now.”

Peter blinked. “...Right. Cool. Got it. No more questions.”

He slowly backed out of the room, waffle in hand, glancing over his shoulder like someone who knew he’d seen something important but had no idea what.

The door slid shut behind him.

Silence returned.

You turned to Nat, eyes wide. “You threw a waffle at him.”

“You’re welcome,” she said taking another sip of her coffee. “He was about to connect the dots. You’re lucky I keep frozen backup.”

Bucky blinked at her. “How did you even know—?”

“I’ve been doing this since Budapest,” she replied, already pouring herself another cup of coffee. “Covering messes. Cleaning up disasters. Assaulting teens with carbs.”

Bucky coughed, laughing behind his mug. “You’re unbelievable.”

Nat gave him a lazy smirk. “And yet, here I am. Keeping your secret romance alive. You’re welcome.”

You tried to suppress a laugh, shaking your head. “What do we owe you?.”

“Oh, I’ll collect eventually,” she said. “Probably at your wedding. Or the next time Sam walks in and you’re on each other’s laps.”

You and Bucky exchanged a look of mild guilt.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “...Don’t tell me that already happened.”

You shrugged. “Depends on how you define ‘lap.’”

Nat turned back to the waffle maker. “God help you both.”

Then she smirked.

“Just don’t make me throw a pancake at Sam next. That one might fight back.”

Later that day, the gym was bathed in the sterile, fluorescent glow of overhead lights, the rhythmic clang of weights and the hum of treadmills echoing off the walls. The Avengers’ training facility was in full swing—Steve was off somewhere doing morally upright cardio, and Sam had claimed the squat rack like it was a personal vendetta.

You were pretending to stretch near the mats. Bucky was a few feet away at the pull-up bar, doing reps like he wasn’t aware you were there. Like he hadn’t just had his hands on your waist behind the weapons locker twenty minutes ago.

Casual. Again. Painfully casual.

Unfortunately, Sam was not stupid.

He paused mid-set, towel slung over his shoulder, and gave Bucky a long, narrowed stare.

“Hey, cyborg,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You got a reason you keep looking over at the mats like they’re gonna explode?”

Bucky dropped from the pull-up bar, landing light. “Just keeping an eye on form. Stretching’s important.”

Sam didn’t blink. “Uh-huh.”

You coughed and reached for a resistance band, clearly trying to look occupied and not like you were considering fake-stretching your way into another room.

Sam turned to you. “And you. You’ve been in here for forty-five minutes and haven’t actually done anything.”

“Prepping my muscles,” you said brightly. “Activation is vital.”

Sam squinted. “You said that last week. I don’t think ‘activation’ is a real word outside TikTok.”

Before you could come up with a clever reply (or fake an injury), the gym door slid open.

Enter: Natasha Romanoff.

In full tactical leggings, tank top, and a towel over her shoulder like she was born to win spy-themed gym class.

She took one look at the room—at you, at Bucky, at Sam’s suspicious expression—and her eyes narrowed half a millimeter. A full diagnostic scan, complete in under two seconds.

Then she smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.

“Hey boys,” she said, sauntering in like a cat who had personally hidden all the bodies and then sold the house. “Did I miss the passive-aggressive circuit training?”

Sam pointed an accusing finger. “I know something is up with those two.”

“Oh?” Nat said, walking over to the weight bench and casually loading two plates like it was nothing. “Like what?”

“Like—” Sam gestured vaguely between you and Bucky. “Like that. They’re being weird. Too quiet. Avoiding eye contact. Or making too much eye contact. It’s suspicious.”

Nat laid back on the bench and started benching like she wasn’t doing more than half the team could with one arm.

“They’re always weird,” she said conversationally. “That’s just their vibe. Moody tension and repressed feelings. It’s practically aesthetic at this point.”

You tried not to choke on your own breath. Bucky let out a short cough that might’ve been a laugh.

Sam folded his arms. “Then explain why Bucky had glitter on his shoulder this morning.”

Nat paused mid-rep.

Slowly lowered the bar.

Sat up.

“Glitter?” she repeated.

“Yup.” Sam crossed his arms. “Glitter. Sparkly. Suspiciously Y/N-colored glitter.”

You opened your mouth, but Nat beat you to it.

“That wasn’t glitter,” she said calmly. “That was vibranium dust.”

Sam blinked. “Vibranium...dust?”

“Yep.” She nodded seriously, patting the bar like she was weighing the lie. “We were running a containment test in the lab last night. Microparticles. Stuff gets everywhere. You think glitter’s bad? Try cleaning up experimental Wakandan debris.”

Sam looked alarmed. “Wait, is that dangerous?”

Nat stood, grabbing her towel and tossing it over one shoulder with impressive nonchalance. “Only if you inhale it and start levitating. Which you haven’t. Yet.”

Sam stared at her, now mildly concerned. “You’re messing with me.”

“Am I?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Or are you just mad you didn’t get invited to science night?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

You were biting your lip so hard you were in danger of drawing blood.

Sam threw his hands up. “Fine. Whatever. But I’m watching you two.”

“You always do,” Nat said, giving him a wink. “That’s why we like you. So diligent.”

Sam turned and walked away, muttering under his breath about “paranoia” and “glitter conspiracies.”

The second the gym door closed behind him, you let out a slow exhale. “Vibranium dust?”

Natasha turned to you with a look of satisfied brilliance. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Bucky stared at her. “Do you just… make this stuff up on the spot?”

“Please,” she said. “I’ve got at least twelve pre-loaded cover stories ready for rotation. That was number six. Glitter emergency protocol.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You’re terrifying.”

“Flattering,” she said, walking toward the exit. “Just don’t make me fake a fire drill next time. Or explain to Tony why his security footage mysteriously cut out between 2:04 and 2:17 PM.”

You and Bucky exchanged a glance. Guilty. Grinning.

“Define cut out,” Bucky said.

Nat pointed at him without looking back. “You’re paying for the next round of waffles.”

A few minutes later you and Bucky sat side-by-side on the padded bench against the far wall, legs brushing just enough to feel it.

He took a long sip from the smoothie in his hand—strawberry banana, courtesy of the cafeteria downstairs—and passed it to you without a word.

You drank, leaning your shoulder gently into his for just a second longer than necessary, then passed it back. “Still can’t believe she said vibranium dust.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “The fact that Sam believed it is the best part.”

“I almost lost it when she said you might start levitating.”

“She said it so seriously, too,” he added, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think Sam started checking his pulse.”

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand. “Honestly? If you did start levitating, I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re like three bad days away from unlocking a new superpower.”

Bucky smirked and leaned his metal arm along the back of the bench, fingers brushing the top of your shoulder. “What, and ruin the mystique? I like being a grounded kind of guy.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Very grounded. Except when you're scaling walls like a cat burglar and sneaking into my room at 2 AM.”

He leaned in slightly, grin deepening. “You left the door open.”

“That was not an invitation.”

“Sure,” he said, voice low and amused. “You accidentally leave the door open. Every time.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning. “Well, being cute definitely lets you get away with it.”

“Get away?” he teased, handing you the smoothie again. “Pretty sure you’re the one sparkling like a disco ball.”

You took a sip, shooting him a mock glare over the rim of the cup. “Funny—you didn’t seem to mind glitter last night.”

Bucky raised both eyebrows, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I didn’t complain about a lot of things last night.”

Your face flushed instantly, and you turned your attention very intently to the smoothie.

He chuckled softly and bumped your knee with his. “Hey.”

You looked up.

There was something softer in his expression now—less teasing, more gentle. More real.

You smiled, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it did whenever he got like this.

“You know we’re living under Natasha’s secret protection program, right?”

Bucky chuckled again. “We owe her so many waffles.”

“Should we, like… get her a thank-you basket or something?”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Or a knife set. Personalized. For all her dramatic snack-based violence.”

You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder, finally relaxing into the quiet.

He grinned, eyes twinkling.

“Let’s just enjoy the mess for now.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway.

He leaned in and kissed your temple gently.

“Until then,” he murmured, “I’m fine with being suspicious and sparkly.”

You laughed against his shoulder. “You’re the prettiest glitter boy I’ve ever seen.”

Meanwhile,  Sam stood in the tech hub like he was about to interrogate a war criminal.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he said grimly, pointing at the nearest wall panel. “We need to talk.”

The AI responded immediately, perky and just a little too cheerful.

“Wilson. Trying to order kale again? Or looking for another playlist called ‘Suspicion Vibes’?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I need answers, not attitude.”

“Noted. Proceed with your deeply serious query.”

He took a breath, crossed his arms. “Was there a vibranium containment test last night?”

A pause. “There was not.”

“Are you sure?” he said, like he was challenging a witness in court. “No lab experiments? No Wakandan tech stuff? Not even, like, a little vibranium flaking off something?”

“Sam,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said patiently, “vibranium doesn’t flake. It’s not a croissant.”

Sam blinked. “But Nat said—”

“—that you might start levitating?” The AI’s voice went dry. “Yes. That was a bold lie. Impressive delivery. Truly Oscar-worthy.”

He frowned. “So the stuff on Bucky’s shoulder?”

“Cosmetic glitter.”

Sam stared at the panel like it had personally betrayed him. “Glitter?!”

“Technically non-toxic, low-grade craft store glitter. Pink. With silver specks. Possibly strawberry-scented.”

Sam closed his eyes. “I knew it. I knew it wasn’t vibranium. But I doubted myself. I Googled symptoms of levitation.”

“You also drank a kale smoothie and did twelve squats in a row ‘just in case,’” F.R.I.D.A.Y. added helpfully. “The footage was... memorable.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I got played.”

“If it helps,” she said sympathetically, “Natasha Romanoff has a 96.7% success rate in lying to male teammates under emotional duress.”

Sam pointed at the screen. “That’s weirdly specific.”

He sighed deeply, deflated. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Okay. Fine. New question. Pull today’s gym footage. I need to confirm something about Bucky and Y/N. I swear something’s going on there.”

There was a suspicious pause.

“Mmm... can’t do that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because someone—definitely not Natasha—scrambled the security feed between 2:04 and 2:17 PM. That section is now just ambient whale sounds and footage of Steve doing yoga from 2014.”

Sam stared, horrified. “I KNEW IT. She has tech sabotage plans. This place is a circus.”

“You’re just mad you’re not one of the clowns in the spotlight.”

Sam glared. “You think this is funny?”

“You spent an hour today whispering about ‘dust particles’ like a man uncovering alien life. I think it’s hilarious.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Eventually: “...Can I at least have access to hallway footage?”

“Sure. But fair warning, Y/N was holding a smoothie and smiling at Barnes for four seconds longer than the platonic limit. Viewer discretion is advised.”

Sam groaned again, turning to leave.

“Would you like me to prep a PowerPoint titled ‘This Is Clearly a Relationship’?”

“I’M FINE.”

As he stormed down the hallway, the interface behind him blinked softly.

“You are not fine,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said sweetly to herself. “But you are very, very funny.”

next part

A/N: its me again, hi!! i’m really sorry for the delay in posting this new part. things have been super busy lately, i’m currently in my final year of college, and it’s been a bit overwhelming with all the assignments. thank you so much for your patience and understanding! i truly appreciate it. i’m doing my best to get back on track and update more regularly soon. <33 ily guys

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari@authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven@elfypineapple @smellybad @niceskyler @avengemepercy @crowleythesexydemon @bumblebeebutter @cjand10 @avivarougestan @parkers-gal @coffelover13 @13c13 @beigesthatic

@samcortlandlivesinmyheart @pandcbarnes @rosieyama @iminyourceiling @lori19 @94namkooksworld @barnes70stark @1000shipsnh @hughjackmanadict @ficmeiguess

[ilovolderman]

i am literally in love with the way you write bucky 😫 sending all the love 🫶🏼

you’re making me blush 🥹 thank you so much for the love!! sending it right back at you 🫶🏼

[ilovolderman]

Omg, Sam losing his mind is making me lose mine, I'm laughing so hard. Absolutely loving the series - would you please add me to your Bucky taglist? I don't want to miss any future parts! ❤️

i’m so happy you’re enjoying the series!! and of course, you’re on the bucky taglist now ❤️ thank you for reading!!

[ilovolderman]

this made me laugh so hard 😭 your title is way more accurate, poor sam never stood a chance 💀 thank you sm for the love and hype, it means everything!!

Game Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It’s game night, and Sam is being extra suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, uno

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It was a Monday, and Sam Wilson was once again spiraling.

Not because he had a particularly bad day or because a rogue pigeon had decided his sandwich was a target. No, Sam’s mental breakdown was much more subtle, much more insidious.

It was because of the vibe.

The vibe was off.

At first, it was innocent. Steve had invited everyone over for "a quiet evening," which meant they were playing board games and pretending they weren't all secretly trying to outsmart each other with complex strategies and alliances.

But it wasn’t the games that were bothering Sam.

It was you and Bucky, like always.

You and Bucky entered the living room at the same time. He was holding a bag of fries like it was an offering, and you had a look on your face like you were trying to keep from laughing at a private joke. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Sam’s gut tightened. He'd been through this before.

He had a sixth sense for this kind of thing.

A totally normal looking Bucky waved at Sam, but there was something about the way he did it—too casual, too... loaded. You smiled as you sat down on the couch, and Bucky followed.

Then, the thing happened.

You both reached for the same side of the couch at the same time. And you didn’t immediately pull away like people usually do when they're not on the verge of launching into some kind of... well, whatever this was.

You just... stayed there.

Sam squinted, his eyes narrowing like he was a detective trying to crack an impossible case. This was the moment. The moment when his suspicions shifted from theory to solid fact.

Sam wasn’t sure who made the first move, but suddenly—without explanation—Bucky’s arm was draped over the back of the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A few moments passed.

Still no words.

Just an... unsettling silence as you both stared ahead at the game unfolding in front of you.

Sam looked from you, to Bucky, then back to you. His fingers twitched. The notepad was in his lap, but he hadn’t written a single thing down yet. How was he supposed to document what was happening?

It was... too subtle.

He turned to Steve. “Are they—?”

Steve, blissfully unaware, was deep into his Monopoly strategy. “Hmm?”

“Do you notice anything... off about them?” Sam asked, nodding toward the couch.

Steve glanced over and blinked. “What? They’re sitting next to each other?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “It’s the way they’re sitting. They’re... too comfortable. Like they’re already sharing the same DNA. You see that?”

Steve squinted for a moment, then shrugged. “I think you’re reading too much into it.”

Sam was about to respond when Tony strolled into the room, “What’s this about reading into things?” he asked casually, taking a seat next to Steve.

“They’re being weird,” Sam muttered, pointing to the couch.

Tony leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean how they’re subtly acting like they’ve been married for thirty years, without the commitment?”

Sam’s eye twitched.

Tony grinned at the chaos unfolding in Sam’s mind. “Don’t overthink it, Sammy. Some people just get comfortable with each other.” He took a sip from his glass.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky were still sitting there, but now you were exchanging an absurdly synchronized look.

You both looked at each other like you were reading a secret book written in a language only the two of you could understand. The silence was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Then—just as Sam felt his sanity slip away completely—you both laughed. At nothing.

A soft, almost eerie laugh, like you were in on some joke only the two of you got.

Tony, who was now practically snickering, leaned over and whispered to Steve, “We should’ve put money on it. Sam’s on the edge, and he’s about to combust.”

Sam stood up abruptly, looking at the pair on the couch, then back at Steve, his eyes wide with the fury of a thousand unanswered questions. “That’s it. I’m gonna ask them directly.”

“Oh, no,” Steve said, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “You really don’t want to.”

But Sam was too far gone. His mind was locked in a war with his instincts. He marched over to the couch, put his hands on his hips, and shot you and Bucky an unrelenting stare.

Bucky didn’t even look at Sam, he was handing you the fries, leaning toward you. You smiled at Bucky like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and Sam felt his soul physically leave his body.

This was it. This was the moment that proved it.

"You two are literally a walking romcom," Sam spat out in a low voice, too quietly for anyone to hear except you and Bucky. "I see it. The fries. The eye contact. It’s like... like... a plot."

You smirked. “What’s your deal, Sam? I’m just getting some fries. Everyone loves fries.”

Bucky nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his grin. “Yeah, Sam. What’s your deal?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You guys. Are you really gonna sit there and keep telling me you’re just friends?”

Both of you paused. The air felt like it shifted, like it thickened, as if the universe was waiting for the punchline. Sam’s pulse quickened.

And then, in perfect unison, both of you said:

“We’re friends.”

Sam stared at you both, utterly dumbfounded.

“Friends?” he whispered in horror. “With... this?”

You both blinked at him innocently.

“Of course,” you said.

“We’re just good pals,” Bucky added, just barely holding in a laugh.

 “I—I can’t,” Sam muttered, trying to make sense of the absolute absurdity unfolding before him.

Bucky slapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, like the world’s least convincing therapist. “You’ll get there, Sam. You just have to let go and stop thinking so hard about it.”

Sam made a strangled noise that could’ve been a scream or the noise of a man who had just realized he was doomed. He glanced at Peter, who was giving him a look of pure, unfiltered sympathy.

“Is this some kind of test?” Sam asked, his voice rising. “Am I being pranked? Are you two secretly married? Or, like... I don’t know, are you... trying to get a rise out of me?”

Bucky leaned forward slightly. “No, Sam. We’re just casually enjoying life... together.”

“Together,” Sam repeated, clutching his head dramatically. “I’m going to be sick.”

And then, just to make sure he was completely defeated, you reached over, casually brushing your hand against Bucky’s arm before giving him a tiny, affectionate squeeze.

Sam blinked. His notebook hit the floor with a dramatic thud.

“I knew it.” he gasped, and then, as if the universe had somehow heard him, he heard Natasha’s voice from across the room, still half-asleep:

“Sam, you’re being ridiculous. Just let them enjoy the vibes.”

Sam’s soul left his body.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky exchanged yet another impossibly synchronized glance.

Tony, still grinning, patted Sam on the back. “Don’t worry. One day you’ll look back on this and laugh. Just not today.”

And with that, Sam grabbed his coat, shook his head, and walked out the door.

Meanwhile, Bucky reached over, snagged the last of the fries, and handed them to you. “You think he’s buying it?”

You shrugged. “Nah, I think we’ve got him exactly where we want him.”

Bucky smirked. “Good. Let’s mess with him some more tomorrow.”

The room was quiet now. The chaos had died down. Steve had gone to clean up the kitchen, Tony had retreated to a mysterious project involving lasers, and Natasha was now fully asleep, curled up with a blanket over her face on the armchair.

That left just you and Bucky, still curled on the couch — the battlefield of your dramatic emotional warfare against Sam.

You reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the deck of Uno cards you’d swiped earlier. You looked at Bucky with a mischievous little glint in your eye.

“Wanna play?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I thought we already emotionally destroyed a man tonight. Isn’t that enough chaos for one evening?”

You started shuffling the deck, your fingers moving deftly. “Just one game. Come on. I promise not to make you cry.”

“Oh, please,” Bucky said, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at you. “You’re only confident because you’ve been cheating.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I do not cheat! I win with style.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, lounging comfortably as he took the cards you dealt him. “Style, manipulation, same thing.”

The game started quietly, the soft rustle of cards filling the silence. You both sat cross-legged on the couch, knees bumping occasionally. The warm, low lamp cast a golden hue over everything, and the mood had shifted from chaos to... something soft. Comfortable.

Halfway through the game, you narrowed your eyes. “You’re letting me win.”

Bucky paused mid-draw. “What?”

You pointed at his hand. “You had a +4 and a Reverse like, four rounds ago. You haven’t played either.”

He blinked, all innocent puppy eyes. “What are you talking about? Maybe I just forgot.”

You squinted harder. “James Buchanan Barnes. Do not lie to me.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “Fine. Maybe I’m letting you win a little. You get this cute little proud look when you think you’ve cornered me. It’s adorable.”

Your face flushed, and you tossed your card at him. “That’s cheating in a different way.”

“It’s strategic emotional warfare,” Bucky replied smoothly, grinning as he finally laid down a card. “I’m adapting to modern combat.”

You crossed your arms, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Well, stop it. I want a fair game.”

He nodded solemnly, eyes twinkling. “Understood. No mercy.”

You resumed playing, and this time he was relentless—Reverse, Skip, Draw Two. You shrieked in betrayal as your carefully constructed hand crumbled.

“This is what happens when you ask for a fair game,” Bucky said, laughing.

“I take it back!” you shouted, laughing as you threw your hands up. “Bring back the gentle sabotage!”

Bucky leaned over, gathering the cards again, but this time he didn’t start a new game. He looked at you, expression softening.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now. “Being here with you… it just makes everything else fade out..”

You tilted your head, suddenly serious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached over and brushed a piece of lint off your sleeve. “Feels like home. Like peace.”

Your heart melted a little, the kind of soft ache that came when you realized you were exactly where you were supposed to be. You shifted closer, your legs pressed gently against his, and rested your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t move for a moment—then his arm wrapped around you, pulling you just a little closer, like muscle memory.

“Uno?” you whispered.

“Only if I get to win this time,” he whispered back.

You smiled into his shoulder. “We’ll see.”

And in the warm, quiet room, surrounded by discarded fries and chaos-shaped memories, the two of you played on.

“Uno,” you announced, placing your second-to-last card down with a triumphant grin.

Bucky stared at you in betrayal. “You said we were being nice this round!”

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I was nice. I could’ve skipped you again. You should be thanking me.”

He shook his head in disbelief, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence as he picked up a card from the draw pile.

You squinted at him. “Say it again.”

He leaned in, his voice low and smooth like velvet. “You heard me.”

Your heart fluttered. Stupidly. Ridiculously. And yet, you couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep your cool, placing your final card down with a flourish.

“Game,” you declared smugly.

Bucky groaned and dropped his hand. “Unbelievable. First you destroy Sam’s psyche, now you destroy my winning streak.”

“I’m on fire tonight,” you said, laughing.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes softening as he looked at you. “You really are.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like something was shifting again. Not in a chaotic, Sam-spiral kind of way. In the way the air gets thicker when something good is about to happen.

He leaned forward, slow and certain.

You met him halfway.

The kiss was soft. Unhurried. His hand cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing along your skin like he’d been waiting forever for the right moment and wanted to savor it now that it was here. You melted into it, your fingers curling into the sleeve of his henley.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, and you both just... stayed there.

No words. No teasing. Just you and him and the warm hum of everything unspoken.

You yawned a moment later, trying (and failing) to hide it behind your hand.

Bucky chuckled, pressing a tiny kiss to your temple. “Okay, game champ. Time for bed.”

“I’m not tired,” you said, already half-asleep against his shoulder.

“You just yawned into my clavicle.”

“Coincidence,” you mumbled, snuggling closer.

He smiled, shifting so you were tucked more comfortably into his side. He grabbed the discarded throw blanket and wrapped it around both of you.

“You’re staying right here,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

You made a sleepy little noise of agreement, already drifting.

And as the last of the game night chaos faded into silence, Bucky pressed one more kiss to your hair, rested his cheek against your head, and held you close.

Neither of you moved for a long, long time.

Hours later, the room was wrapped in a sleepy kind of silence, warm and golden under the dim light.

You and Bucky were curled up on the couch, tangled beneath a blanket, both long since surrendered to sleep. Your head was tucked against his chest, his arm securely around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. His metal fingers rested gently against your side, thumb unconsciously tracing small, soothing circles.

It was peaceful.

Quiet.

Almost.

From the armchair in the corner, Natasha Romanoff slowly opened one eye.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just... observed.

Because of course she’d heard everything. The kiss. The whispers. The “you’re lucky you’re cute.” The affectionate laughter. The unmistakable sound of two people falling completely, irrevocably into something more.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

She watched as Bucky instinctively pulled you closer in his sleep, like even unconscious, he wasn’t letting you drift far. You murmured something incoherent and nuzzled into him, and he murmured something back that sounded suspiciously like your name and definitely like trouble.

Natasha shook her head slightly, amusement flickering across her face.

“You two are the worst,” she whispered to herself, barely audible over the sound of the heater kicking on. “Hopeless.”

But her voice was warm. Fond.

She leaned back into her chair, pulled her blanket tighter around her, and closed her eyes again—smiling like she’d just watched the final twist in a very long-running, extremely satisfying spy mission.

She wasn’t going to tell.

Not yet.

After all, what fun would it be if she ruined the secret when she could just enjoy watching the rest of the team slowly unravel trying to figure it out?

She’d wait.

She could keep a secret.

For now.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari @authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven @elfypineapple

[ilovolderman]

Game Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It’s game night, and Sam is being extra suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, uno

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It was a Monday, and Sam Wilson was once again spiraling.

Not because he had a particularly bad day or because a rogue pigeon had decided his sandwich was a target. No, Sam’s mental breakdown was much more subtle, much more insidious.

It was because of the vibe.

The vibe was off.

At first, it was innocent. Steve had invited everyone over for "a quiet evening," which meant they were playing board games and pretending they weren't all secretly trying to outsmart each other with complex strategies and alliances.

But it wasn’t the games that were bothering Sam.

It was you and Bucky, like always.

You and Bucky entered the living room at the same time. He was holding a bag of fries like it was an offering, and you had a look on your face like you were trying to keep from laughing at a private joke. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Sam’s gut tightened. He'd been through this before.

He had a sixth sense for this kind of thing.

A totally normal looking Bucky waved at Sam, but there was something about the way he did it—too casual, too... loaded. You smiled as you sat down on the couch, and Bucky followed.

Then, the thing happened.

You both reached for the same side of the couch at the same time. And you didn’t immediately pull away like people usually do when they're not on the verge of launching into some kind of... well, whatever this was.

You just... stayed there.

Sam squinted, his eyes narrowing like he was a detective trying to crack an impossible case. This was the moment. The moment when his suspicions shifted from theory to solid fact.

Sam wasn’t sure who made the first move, but suddenly—without explanation—Bucky’s arm was draped over the back of the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A few moments passed.

Still no words.

Just an... unsettling silence as you both stared ahead at the game unfolding in front of you.

Sam looked from you, to Bucky, then back to you. His fingers twitched. The notepad was in his lap, but he hadn’t written a single thing down yet. How was he supposed to document what was happening?

It was... too subtle.

He turned to Steve. “Are they—?”

Steve, blissfully unaware, was deep into his Monopoly strategy. “Hmm?”

“Do you notice anything... off about them?” Sam asked, nodding toward the couch.

Steve glanced over and blinked. “What? They’re sitting next to each other?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “It’s the way they’re sitting. They’re... too comfortable. Like they’re already sharing the same DNA. You see that?”

Steve squinted for a moment, then shrugged. “I think you’re reading too much into it.”

Sam was about to respond when Tony strolled into the room, “What’s this about reading into things?” he asked casually, taking a seat next to Steve.

“They’re being weird,” Sam muttered, pointing to the couch.

Tony leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean how they’re subtly acting like they’ve been married for thirty years, without the commitment?”

Sam’s eye twitched.

Tony grinned at the chaos unfolding in Sam’s mind. “Don’t overthink it, Sammy. Some people just get comfortable with each other.” He took a sip from his glass.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky were still sitting there, but now you were exchanging an absurdly synchronized look.

You both looked at each other like you were reading a secret book written in a language only the two of you could understand. The silence was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Then—just as Sam felt his sanity slip away completely—you both laughed. At nothing.

A soft, almost eerie laugh, like you were in on some joke only the two of you got.

Tony, who was now practically snickering, leaned over and whispered to Steve, “We should’ve put money on it. Sam’s on the edge, and he’s about to combust.”

Sam stood up abruptly, looking at the pair on the couch, then back at Steve, his eyes wide with the fury of a thousand unanswered questions. “That’s it. I’m gonna ask them directly.”

“Oh, no,” Steve said, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “You really don’t want to.”

But Sam was too far gone. His mind was locked in a war with his instincts. He marched over to the couch, put his hands on his hips, and shot you and Bucky an unrelenting stare.

Bucky didn’t even look at Sam, he was handing you the fries, leaning toward you. You smiled at Bucky like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and Sam felt his soul physically leave his body.

This was it. This was the moment that proved it.

"You two are literally a walking romcom," Sam spat out in a low voice, too quietly for anyone to hear except you and Bucky. "I see it. The fries. The eye contact. It’s like... like... a plot."

You smirked. “What’s your deal, Sam? I’m just getting some fries. Everyone loves fries.”

Bucky nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his grin. “Yeah, Sam. What’s your deal?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You guys. Are you really gonna sit there and keep telling me you’re just friends?”

Both of you paused. The air felt like it shifted, like it thickened, as if the universe was waiting for the punchline. Sam’s pulse quickened.

And then, in perfect unison, both of you said:

“We’re friends.”

Sam stared at you both, utterly dumbfounded.

“Friends?” he whispered in horror. “With... this?”

You both blinked at him innocently.

“Of course,” you said.

“We’re just good pals,” Bucky added, just barely holding in a laugh.

 “I—I can’t,” Sam muttered, trying to make sense of the absolute absurdity unfolding before him.

Bucky slapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, like the world’s least convincing therapist. “You’ll get there, Sam. You just have to let go and stop thinking so hard about it.”

Sam made a strangled noise that could’ve been a scream or the noise of a man who had just realized he was doomed. He glanced at Peter, who was giving him a look of pure, unfiltered sympathy.

“Is this some kind of test?” Sam asked, his voice rising. “Am I being pranked? Are you two secretly married? Or, like... I don’t know, are you... trying to get a rise out of me?”

Bucky leaned forward slightly. “No, Sam. We’re just casually enjoying life... together.”

“Together,” Sam repeated, clutching his head dramatically. “I’m going to be sick.”

And then, just to make sure he was completely defeated, you reached over, casually brushing your hand against Bucky’s arm before giving him a tiny, affectionate squeeze.

Sam blinked. His notebook hit the floor with a dramatic thud.

“I knew it.” he gasped, and then, as if the universe had somehow heard him, he heard Natasha’s voice from across the room, still half-asleep:

“Sam, you’re being ridiculous. Just let them enjoy the vibes.”

Sam’s soul left his body.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky exchanged yet another impossibly synchronized glance.

Tony, still grinning, patted Sam on the back. “Don’t worry. One day you’ll look back on this and laugh. Just not today.”

And with that, Sam grabbed his coat, shook his head, and walked out the door.

Meanwhile, Bucky reached over, snagged the last of the fries, and handed them to you. “You think he’s buying it?”

You shrugged. “Nah, I think we’ve got him exactly where we want him.”

Bucky smirked. “Good. Let’s mess with him some more tomorrow.”

The room was quiet now. The chaos had died down. Steve had gone to clean up the kitchen, Tony had retreated to a mysterious project involving lasers, and Natasha was now fully asleep, curled up with a blanket over her face on the armchair.

That left just you and Bucky, still curled on the couch — the battlefield of your dramatic emotional warfare against Sam.

You reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the deck of Uno cards you’d swiped earlier. You looked at Bucky with a mischievous little glint in your eye.

“Wanna play?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I thought we already emotionally destroyed a man tonight. Isn’t that enough chaos for one evening?”

You started shuffling the deck, your fingers moving deftly. “Just one game. Come on. I promise not to make you cry.”

“Oh, please,” Bucky said, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at you. “You’re only confident because you’ve been cheating.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I do not cheat! I win with style.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, lounging comfortably as he took the cards you dealt him. “Style, manipulation, same thing.”

The game started quietly, the soft rustle of cards filling the silence. You both sat cross-legged on the couch, knees bumping occasionally. The warm, low lamp cast a golden hue over everything, and the mood had shifted from chaos to... something soft. Comfortable.

Halfway through the game, you narrowed your eyes. “You’re letting me win.”

Bucky paused mid-draw. “What?”

You pointed at his hand. “You had a +4 and a Reverse like, four rounds ago. You haven’t played either.”

He blinked, all innocent puppy eyes. “What are you talking about? Maybe I just forgot.”

You squinted harder. “James Buchanan Barnes. Do not lie to me.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “Fine. Maybe I’m letting you win a little. You get this cute little proud look when you think you’ve cornered me. It’s adorable.”

Your face flushed, and you tossed your card at him. “That’s cheating in a different way.”

“It’s strategic emotional warfare,” Bucky replied smoothly, grinning as he finally laid down a card. “I’m adapting to modern combat.”

You crossed your arms, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Well, stop it. I want a fair game.”

He nodded solemnly, eyes twinkling. “Understood. No mercy.”

You resumed playing, and this time he was relentless—Reverse, Skip, Draw Two. You shrieked in betrayal as your carefully constructed hand crumbled.

“This is what happens when you ask for a fair game,” Bucky said, laughing.

“I take it back!” you shouted, laughing as you threw your hands up. “Bring back the gentle sabotage!”

Bucky leaned over, gathering the cards again, but this time he didn’t start a new game. He looked at you, expression softening.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now. “Being here with you… it just makes everything else fade out..”

You tilted your head, suddenly serious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached over and brushed a piece of lint off your sleeve. “Feels like home. Like peace.”

Your heart melted a little, the kind of soft ache that came when you realized you were exactly where you were supposed to be. You shifted closer, your legs pressed gently against his, and rested your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t move for a moment—then his arm wrapped around you, pulling you just a little closer, like muscle memory.

“Uno?” you whispered.

“Only if I get to win this time,” he whispered back.

You smiled into his shoulder. “We’ll see.”

And in the warm, quiet room, surrounded by discarded fries and chaos-shaped memories, the two of you played on.

“Uno,” you announced, placing your second-to-last card down with a triumphant grin.

Bucky stared at you in betrayal. “You said we were being nice this round!”

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I was nice. I could’ve skipped you again. You should be thanking me.”

He shook his head in disbelief, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence as he picked up a card from the draw pile.

You squinted at him. “Say it again.”

He leaned in, his voice low and smooth like velvet. “You heard me.”

Your heart fluttered. Stupidly. Ridiculously. And yet, you couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep your cool, placing your final card down with a flourish.

“Game,” you declared smugly.

Bucky groaned and dropped his hand. “Unbelievable. First you destroy Sam’s psyche, now you destroy my winning streak.”

“I’m on fire tonight,” you said, laughing.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes softening as he looked at you. “You really are.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like something was shifting again. Not in a chaotic, Sam-spiral kind of way. In the way the air gets thicker when something good is about to happen.

He leaned forward, slow and certain.

You met him halfway.

The kiss was soft. Unhurried. His hand cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing along your skin like he’d been waiting forever for the right moment and wanted to savor it now that it was here. You melted into it, your fingers curling into the sleeve of his henley.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, and you both just... stayed there.

No words. No teasing. Just you and him and the warm hum of everything unspoken.

You yawned a moment later, trying (and failing) to hide it behind your hand.

Bucky chuckled, pressing a tiny kiss to your temple. “Okay, game champ. Time for bed.”

“I’m not tired,” you said, already half-asleep against his shoulder.

“You just yawned into my clavicle.”

“Coincidence,” you mumbled, snuggling closer.

He smiled, shifting so you were tucked more comfortably into his side. He grabbed the discarded throw blanket and wrapped it around both of you.

“You’re staying right here,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

You made a sleepy little noise of agreement, already drifting.

And as the last of the game night chaos faded into silence, Bucky pressed one more kiss to your hair, rested his cheek against your head, and held you close.

Neither of you moved for a long, long time.

Hours later, the room was wrapped in a sleepy kind of silence, warm and golden under the dim light.

You and Bucky were curled up on the couch, tangled beneath a blanket, both long since surrendered to sleep. Your head was tucked against his chest, his arm securely around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. His metal fingers rested gently against your side, thumb unconsciously tracing small, soothing circles.

It was peaceful.

Quiet.

Almost.

From the armchair in the corner, Natasha Romanoff slowly opened one eye.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just... observed.

Because of course she’d heard everything. The kiss. The whispers. The “you’re lucky you’re cute.” The affectionate laughter. The unmistakable sound of two people falling completely, irrevocably into something more.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

She watched as Bucky instinctively pulled you closer in his sleep, like even unconscious, he wasn’t letting you drift far. You murmured something incoherent and nuzzled into him, and he murmured something back that sounded suspiciously like your name and definitely like trouble.

Natasha shook her head slightly, amusement flickering across her face.

“You two are the worst,” she whispered to herself, barely audible over the sound of the heater kicking on. “Hopeless.”

But her voice was warm. Fond.

She leaned back into her chair, pulled her blanket tighter around her, and closed her eyes again—smiling like she’d just watched the final twist in a very long-running, extremely satisfying spy mission.

She wasn’t going to tell.

Not yet.

After all, what fun would it be if she ruined the secret when she could just enjoy watching the rest of the team slowly unravel trying to figure it out?

She’d wait.

She could keep a secret.

For now.

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari @authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven @elfypineapple

[ilovolderman]

girl omg i’ve just read movie night and omg i was giggling like crazy the entire time, you can write stories so funny!! 😭😭😭

OMG, I’m so glad you enjoyed it! 😭💖 You literally just made my day with this! Thank you so much, my love <33

[ilovolderman]

Hi,

i just want to say i‘m loving your bucky series! It‘s so funny and pure hearted. It‘s by far the best I’ve read. Could you add me to the tag list please? I can‘t wait to read the next chapter 🫶🏻

Hi!! Sure!! 🥹💖

Thank you so much, that seriously means the world to me! I’m so happy you're enjoying the series, it’s been so much fun to write about these two.