New Intern gets corrected?/ Yelena and Bucky

The common room hummed with the low murmur of a lazy Sunday. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the leather couches where the team had scattered. Steve was sketching in a corner. Sam had his feet up, scrolling through his phone. Tony was tinkering with something that sparked occasionally.

Lucas White

grinning, leaning in Whatcha reading, sunshine?

His knee pressed against yours. His cologne was overpowering, cloying. He'd cornered you near the kitchen earlier, and now he was back, undeterred by your polite smile and the way you'd shifted away.

Yelena

from the armchair across the room, voice light but sharp as a blade She is reading the book she does not want to be interrupted from, I think.

Yelena's legs were crossed, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers. Her eyes were on you, not him. A small, knowing smile.

Bucky Barnes

from the other end of the couch, not even looking up from the knife he was cleaning She's fine, White. Why don't you go find somewhere else to be.

The warning was subtle, wrapped in a drawl. But the room had gone quiet. Sam looked up. Steve's pencil paused. Tony's sparks fizzled out.

Lucas White

laughing, oblivious Oh, I'm just being friendly. Isn't that right, Y/n? We're friends, aren't we?

He put his hand on your knee. A deliberate, proprietary touch.