summary: She’s impulsive. He’s impossible. Teamed up on missions and constantly at each other’s throats, they’d rather fight than cooperate.
note: Im telling u, this is gonna be a series, and it’s gonna be THE BEST, ok maybe not but still kinda good. (plus, i had to edit this in my phone so if titles or shit like that are not aligned or well situated it’s bc I cannot make it any better on my phone, sorry!).xoxo
Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III - Chapter IV
Too young, too bitter (chapter I)
mission gone wrong, obviously his fault
“You want me to follow him?” you ask, deadpan, staring at the glowing mission tablet in your hands. “You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Natasha replies without looking up from her gear bag. “You’re on recon with Barnes. Sam and I take the northern perimeter. Steve’s running point with Wanda.”
You glance across the hangar. Bucky stands at the Quinjet, arms crossed, looking like someone just asked him to eat a salad for breakfast.
“Can’t I just—switch with Sam or something?” you plead. “I’d rather spend two hours listening to Tony explain quantum physics in Klingon than spend one more minute with his cranky ass.”
From across the hangar, Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You know I can hear you, right?”
You don’t even flinch. “Good.”
He scoffs and turns back to the Quinjet. You groan.
Later, high above the city skyline, the two of you move through the crumbling remains of an abandoned HYDRA base. You’re nimble, fast, clearing rooms ahead of him like a blur.
“You going to keep rushing ahead like a toddler on Red Bull?” Bucky mutters through comms.
“You going to keep walking like your hips are made of rust and regret?” you shoot back.
“Maybe if someone followed the damn plan—”
“Maybe if someone updated their attitude post-WWII—”
“Guys,” Natasha cuts in over comms. “Shut up.”
You both go silent.
But it doesn’t last.
In one of the darker corridors, a security turret snaps to life.
You dodge. Bucky shoots. It barely misses your shoulder.
“Are you trying to kill me?” you snap, panting behind cover.
“You jumped in front of my shot!”
“I moved like a normal person. You aimed like my grandma.”
His voice comes through low and annoyed: “If you’d stop acting like a reckless kid—”
“And if you’d stop acting like every decision is life or death, maybe we wouldn’t be stuck in this eternal pissing contest!”
There’s a pause.
“Is that what this is? A contest?” he says, dryly.
“No,” you reply, stepping out from cover, voice icy. “Because I’m already winning.”
cold war (a.k.a the pettiest show on Earth)
Back at the tower, your feud reaches a level of childish few Avengers have witnessed before.
The thermostat war begins Monday.
You like the lounge at a cool 21°C. Bucky, the 106-year-old relic of a man, insists on setting it to an unholy 25. You start changing it every time he leaves the room. He starts locking the settings.
You hack it.
He disconnects it from the Wi-Fi.
You tape a printed photo of yourself next to the controls flipping the bird with a sticky note: "This war is mine."
Tuesday, you label everything in the fridge.
Not just your food. Everything.
"YOGURT — NOT BUCKY'S"
"JUICE — MINE. NOT GRUMPY GHOST VETERAN'S."
"LEFTOVER PASTA — TOUCHED BY ME. HOPE YOU LIKE GERMS."
The next day, your stash is replaced with MREs and a Post-it that just says “Try being less annoying.”
You leave his arm polish in the freezer.
He doesn’t speak to you for two days.
things (almost) gets physical
You’re sparring in the gym. Steve pairs you up intentionally, everyone in the tower Stark can’t take anymore you two fighting and failing on missions all the time.
You glare at Bucky from across the mat. He rolls his eyes.
"You know, we could skip this,” he mutters, rolling his shoulder.
“What, afraid I’ll kick your ass?” you ask sweetly.
“I’m afraid I’ll say something you’ll cry about for three hours.”
You lunge. He blocks. You spin and catch him with a leg sweep, sending him stumbling.
He recovers fast, grabs your arm, and flips you—hard. You hit the mat with a dull thud.
“Oops,” he says, smirking.
“You’re such a child,” you hiss, wiping blood from your lip.
“Says the one who labeled her yogurt.”
You go at him again, and this time, your fight looks more like a bar brawl than training. Steve has to physically step between you, catching your wrist mid-swing.
“Okay!” he says, laughing nervously. “Let’s dial it back.”
Bucky huffs and storms off.
You’re left breathless, heart pounding—not just from the fight.
There was a moment in there.
A second where he was above you on the mat, hands gripping your wrists, your faces inches apart, and your pulse jumped for a completely different reason.
You haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
white flag
It’s a week later when you find Bucky alone on the balcony during one of Tony’s ridiculous rooftop parties. Everyone else is drinking and dancing under string lights. He’s nursing a beer, watching the city.
You don’t say anything at first. Just lean next to him, close enough to feel his presence but not close enough to be soft.
He glances at you.
You both sigh at the same time.
“I still think you’re too bitter for your own good,” you say eventually.
He chuckles. “And you’re still an immature pain in my ass.”
You clink your glass against his bottle.
“Glad we understand each other.”
He glances sideways at you, and for the first time, there’s no venom in it.
Just something... complicated.
“You’re not that bad,” he says.
You smirk. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
You stand in silence again, this time comfortably. Maybe this cold war isn’t over. But you’ve both stopped firing missiles.
For now.
Would you like a follow-up chapter where all this tension explodes into something more intimate (or romantic), or maybe a scene where they have to pretend to get along during a mission undercover as a couple?
