bad idea, right?
Bucky Barnes x Avenger!fem!reader
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Summary: Bucky Barnes can totally handle an undercover mission with his ex. It was his idea to ask for her help, after all.
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Content: mentions of a friendly breakup so that means exes to lovers ;) reader wears a dress. slow burn + tension in denial + spice ;)) sam’s onto you guys. no use of y/n. cap quartet cameos bc everyone’s alive!
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Word Count: 5.4k
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ A/N: wow this fic got me out of writer’s block. inspired by various scenes in the captain america movies…you’ll see muahaha
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆
“Barnes, I’ve seen you do a lot of dumb things,” Natasha muses, crossing her arms. “But this has to be a new low.”
Bucky throws his head backwards onto the couch and decides he is definitely not in the mood for this.
The team sits around the compound’s living room table, eating takeout and discussing their latest assignment: to infiltrate the gala of a secret crime syndicate.
This group specializes in art heists around the world. By hour three of debriefing, everything about intercepting small yet priceless stolen artifacts – on their way to be smuggled into some high-profile museum – was clicking into place.
That is, until Bucky’s teammates determined he would be the one to go to the gala in person. And, looking for help, he messaged one of the retired Avengers – you.
Now everyone wants to act like he’s the one who committed a crime.
They should be grateful you live in the same location where the event is taking place. And that you happened to be knowledgeable in the arts world prior to your Avenging duties. It’s not his fault they’re sending him to a huge city he’s never been to. More than anything, your stealth and background will be a perfect asset. Texting an ex-agent was a great idea.
So you’re also his ex-girlfriend. What does it matter?
Waving a utensil at him accusingly, Sam snickers. “Your brooding won’t get you out of this one.”
“Whatever.” Bucky gives a singular roll of his eyes. “It’ll be fine. I’m over it.”
“Right,” Natasha observes, judging how he very casually checks his phone for what must be the tenth time in the last two minutes.
“Other potential contacts aside,” Steve – ever the mitigator – continues, “this is a job that’s a little out of our ordinary routine. That means we need to be precise. We’ve already established Bucky will infiltrate as a guest. We should also consider a group for surveillance, another for–”
Bucky’s phone buzzes. He flips it over like it’s sizzling.
Shit.
Shit.
You agreed to help.
Hell, you responded.
This is good. Great! It’s exactly what he wanted! For the mission, of course. His flesh palm is only sweating because you hadn’t talked in a couple of months. Absolutely nothing to be–
“Let me guess.” Sam’s voice goes sympathetic. “She said no?”
“Actually,” Bucky says defensively, “she said she’ll come out of retirement just this once. To join me on the field. That’s it. All business.”
When the others stare blankly – expressions falling on along a spectrum of concern to amusement – he swallows. “You’re welcome.”
“First of all, chill. Second of all, tell her we said thank you.” Turning to Sam as if Bucky weren’t even there, Natasha asks through a mouthful of food, “So how much are we betting?”
“Twenty five they get back together afterwards,” he declares.
“Alright, thirty if it happens before the mission’s even over.”
They lean over the table and handshake directly in front of him. Steve stifles a laugh with a bite.
“Ha, ha.” Frustrated, Bucky feels his face flush. At least, he thinks it’s out of frustration. “You guys know you can trust me, right?”
Natasha’s curls bounce when she nods exaggeratedly. “Oh, totally.” Then she leans back into her seat with a smirk. “Unrelated, but I think infiltration just became a three person party. You’re on it, Wilson.”
It takes everything in Bucky not to groan like a grounded teenager. That, quite possibly, is the worst case scenario. Sam was always teasing you two to no end even when you were dating. Not that Nat’s bluntness or Steve’s tendency to turn everything into a lecture would be much better.
Quickly, Bucky shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll stay focused!”
“Sure, now that I’m going,” Sam quips.
“We have power in numbers here. Nothing personal, pal,” Steve offers – unconvincingly, given how his face still shows traces of the grin harassing Bucky since 1929.
Sucking in a deep breath, he mumbles something about “being monitored” and “the audacity.”
The others go back planning or finishing up their food. After a few moments of moping, Bucky is about to re-engage in the conversation, but the reminder notification of your unopened message draws his eyes back to the phone.
What he mentioned about your response was true. Mostly. He skipped over the last part.
Glad to hear from you :)
For a second, any mixed emotions dissolve into a different kind of blush.
Reconnecting. That’s all this is.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
The breakup was mutual. Super amicable, as most interactions with you are. With your retirement and Bucky’s mental health, it was simply time to move on. He was finally starting to accept that as an ending, not a footnote or an introduction to the next chapter. So even though he is in a better place now, Bucky swears he won’t shoot any shots.
Sam thinks that’s the biggest lie he’s ever said.
Normally a stakeout car below a freeway overpass wouldn’t seem like the best place to discuss this. This whole time, they’ve been sitting without exchanging a word. But you’re about to meet them with intel, and the event is already tonight. Avoiding the elephant in the room forever is impossible. Sam needs to break the ice.
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Did she tell you what time she would get here?”
“No.”
“Okay,” he says, dragging out the last syllable skeptically. “Did she…tell you anything else?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t tell her anything else?”
The musty air conditioner buzzes louder for a second.
“Nope.”
Blood pressure rising, Sam realizes he has to cut straight to the point. “Come on, don’t have any feelings about doing a mission with your ex?”
“You’re only asking because you have money riding on this.”
“That doesn’t answer my–”
“We’re friends.”
Sam’s face goes deadpan.
“Shh,” Bucky hisses.
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“Whatever. I’m saying she’s here.”
Hunching over to see through the windshield – this car was not built with Avengers in mind – they watch as another vehicle pulls up. Admittedly, it puts their mini beat-up one to shame. Bucky wishes they had driven something else as a good first-impression. The polished exterior of your car is sleek yet low-profile, as anticipated.
He also expected you would look drop-dead gorgeous, but that doesn’t stop his breath from becoming shallow as soon as you step out.
Even though you’re wearing civilian clothing to blend in, the cunning agent’s sparkle in your gaze is as strong as ever. You haven’t changed at all. If anything, you became even more beautiful. Only you could make a sketchy underpass look like a runway.
Sam snorts. “Some friendly eyes you’re making over there.”
“It’s nothing,” Bucky lies straight through his teeth. Literally, since it only took an instant for him to fold and grin absentmindedly.
And, while your gaze is partially guarded, you’re returning the gesture with sparkling teeth.
“I cannot believe I’m already third wheeling,” Sam mumbles, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Refusing to give him any other chances to comment, Bucky shoots him a dry look, opens the door, and forces himself to stroll across the clearing.
“Hey!” he says as cheerfully as possible. This should be fine.
Except that’s as far as his plan goes. Does he give you a hug? No, it’s too soon. A handshake is another option, but what the hell are you, bankers at a business meeting?
He settles for shoving his hands straight into his pockets. “I really appreciate you helping us out with this. Thank you.”
If you noticed him hesitating like an idiot, you don’t seem to mind. You still smile so widely. “Of course! No problem at all.” A beat. “Here’s, uh, the file you asked for.”
He barely registers the manila folder you hold out, stamped and filled with information key to the operation. Right. How could he forget that while standing in the face of such a mesmerizing force to be reckoned with.
“Yeah, I…probably need it, don’t I?” Bucky stammers, dragging his hands back out to take the envelope.
You let out a breathy giggle. “Just like how you probably needed a bigger car.”
The joke hangs in the air for a second, a test of the actual waters between you. At least the highway’s rumbling above is overwhelming enough to distract him from the violent pounding of his heart.
Then, breaking into full on light-laughter, you punch his shoulder playfully. “It’s good to see you, Buck.”
He was not expecting that. The contact sends sparks flying throughout his entire body.
Even if your hand might not have any rekindling intentions, looks like caution can be damned.
“You too.” Bucky thinks another dumbass blush is coming on. But so far, so good (enough). An opportunity for small talk will not slip away. “I mean, it feels like it’s been forever! How is everything?”
Much to his relief, continuing the conversation doesn’t change your relaxed demeanor. “Great! Retirement has been nice to me, thankfully. Pretty under the radar. How about you?”
“Same as always, you know?” He shrugs, as if nonchalance were his default emotion in this situation. “Been excited about this mission more than anything. I missed–”
Never mind. He’s all over the place, and his mouth got ahead of his brain. It’s definitely overstepping to say you.
Bucky blinks. “I missed, um, being covert. For once.”
Coming from a super soldier like him, that excuse is absolutely terrible. Your expression goes unreadable for a second. Maybe you had a hard cutoff for the number of questionable interactions you would accept from an ex today.
Before he can collapse straight onto the ground, however, you offer a close-lipped grin. A bit awkwardly, which he’s surprised, and relieved, to see.
“That’s good,” you respond with enthusiasm. “We’ll need that energy tonight.”
Whatever’s happening, it makes Bucky more glad that your good terms haven’t changed.
You clear your throat, gaze moving past his shoulder with an amused raise of your eyebrow. “Sam, you can stop lurking.”
“I was brainstorming,” he says. The gravel clicks under his feet when he comes closer, his tone as teasing as it is genuine. “And waiting for my turn to say hi.”
Thankfully, Sam stays too busy catching up with you to make any obvious faces.
After an exchange in friendly pleasantries, you motion towards the file threatening to crinkle in Bucky’s tight grip. “Speaking of brainstorming, this thing tonight is no joke, so…” A flash of what might be nervousness passes through your eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a flame that’s unusually bold, even for you. “I have an idea. Hear me out.”
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
Later that night, the three of you coordinate your disguises in the living room of the team’s safehouse, tucked away in the outskirts of the city. The other option was to stay at your apartment, which you did offer. Nobody wanted to risk drawing attention back to your home if things went awry, though.
Thankfully, with your guidance, the chance of that happening is already very slim.
The plan starts off with one person going in for recon. During the big art auction of the night, the other two replace the stolen artifacts with replicas (whose likeness is courtesy of Nat and, fun fact, her elite knowledge of one of Tony’s old 3D printers). Because the items are no more than a few centimeters at most, you said you would carry them in a small, unsuspecting purse.
If anybody even notices the swap, it’ll be when you’re long gone.
Now that everybody is dressed as cuttingly elegant as the actual attendees surely will be, you can sneak in without a hitch. Asking for your help was indeed the move. Foolproof plan.
Bucky, running his gloved metal hand through his hair, just wishes it wasn’t so excruciating on his part. When you mentioned splitting up for this plan, you wanted the pair replacing the artifacts to look as non-Avenger as possible – something you could see at any party.
So, with his luck, you pitched an undercover couple heist.
Anybody could guess which third-wheel genius volunteered to be in charge of recon right away.
“I’m heading out now,” Sam announces. He stops by the full-length mirror near the door, adjusting his sleek suit with confidence. “You guys almost ready?”
“Almost!” you respond. “I need a couple more precautions.”
Excitement radiates from your face at being back in the swing of things again. You hide weapons and gadgets beneath the folds of your dress, in secret holsters that not even the most trained mercenaries would suspect. Propping your leg up on the table, you strap the latest knife through the slip of your dress and onto your thigh.
Bucky looks respectfully, but damn, is his mind overflowing with hot static.
It’s barely occurring to him how difficult it would be for you to see each other so tastefully dressed. Maybe a skim through this list of big criminals in attendance tonight can keep his eyes from bugging out of his head.
Rereading the same sentence on a file for the thirtieth time, he chokes out, “I’ll review this information one last time, then I’ll – be good to go.”
The shabbily disguised statement prompts a knowing glance from Sam in the mirror. He nods towards your back with his eyes and, humiliatingly, wiggles his eyebrows.
What is he, twelve!
Silently begging him not to say anything, Bucky gives a hard glare. Which, of course, is ignored.
“Hey, uh–” Sam starts, turning to face you. “It’s been great to have you back. Like old times, huh?”
To be fair, he isn’t joking when he says that. Your bond in particular was really tight. It goes without saying that the compound is far from the same when you’re not there, and that’s not Bucky’s own bias speaking.
You pause your weapon packing to share an honest smile. “Yeah. Definitely.”
“Tonight’ll be fun! Really. We missed you.” Unfortunately, the sentiment that doubled as the temporary exemption from bullying is over. “And believe me, I mean we.”
Just as Bucky is overcome with the urge to, say, tackle him from across the room, Sam’s lips curl into his classic smirk. “Good luck tonight, guys. See you there!”
He rushes out with a gentle slam of the door, leaving nothing but an electrical charge in the air. Bucky swallows whatever the hell he was feeling.
Now that makes space for the questions. Would you have felt more comfortable partnering up with an uncomplicated friend like Sam? Why did you suggest this idea in the first place? Does this all mean you’re actually interested again, or that you think of Bucky so painfully platonically that pretending to be back together is easy?
You step off the table as if nothing, heels quickly clicking as they carry you across the room towards the mirror. He begins to worry that it’s an attempt to establish distance – because being caught looking at you earlier would be so embarrassing – but a huff of a laugh leaves your mouth.
“Classic Sam,” you say softly, meeting Bucky’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
Any remaining energy he has goes towards a lopsided smile of his own. “Gotta respect his honesty, I’ll say that much.”
“Mhm.” Sighing, you smooth out wrinkles in your dress. “I’m really happy to be here with you guys, honestly. Guess I couldn’t stay away for long.”
“Glad you didn’t,” he blurts.
The statement would have sounded casual if his voice didn’t waver in the middle. Looks like he’s already fumbling through this anyway – might as well throw in a compliment. A friendly, innocent compliment.
Ignoring the blaring thoughts that tell him he shouldn’t, Bucky says, “You – you look really good tonight, by the way.”
“Thanks.” You bite your lip. “So do you.”
Something shifts. Suddenly making eye contact with you in the mirror is making him sweat. You look away at the same time.
“Okay, um…” You quickly grab the purse off the bag hanger hook by the door. “We should get moving.”
Bucky nods weakly. Fixing his tie when he stands up off the couch, he shoves away whatever just happened. Maybe he imagined it.
One thing is for sure: the toughest part of tonight isn’t going to be putting up a convincing front. On the contrary – it’s going to be denying you still look good in each other’s arms now.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
The party is overrun with security. Limousines pull up through the mansion’s roundabout driveway, and out step people who ooze high profile aura. Designer clothes probably paid in blood money, entourages that scream well-trained-assassins. They go up and down the wide marble staircase in the middle of the grand foyer like they mean business.
You fit the environment perfectly.
As you two make your way through this lobby, your arm interlinked in his, Bucky tries to ignore the knot in his stomach. Even though it’s part of the plan, being seen with you so publicly – when you look like this tonight – is intoxicating.
With impeccable timing as usual, Sam speaks into Bucky’s individual earpiece channel. “Coast is clear so far. Keep me posted.” He snickers. “And remember you’re on a mission, not a date.”
“Thank you, I’m well aware,” he murmurs, trying not to make it obvious to bystanders that he’s communicating with someone.
“Sure.” Sam purposefully coughs into the mic. “Nat hacked into surveillance back at the compound, by the way. This is your first and only warning not to do anything you wouldn’t want caught on camera.”
The image that instantly popped into Bucky’s mind should not be there.
He clears his throat. “Muting you now.”
As soon as he hangs up, though, the ideas prompted by Sam’s stupid joke resurface. Particularly the sight of your figure leaning while you prepared your weapons, the dress’ slit falling around your knee and calves like a delicate silk waterfall.
Bucky can’t help but glance at you from the side now. Every part of him is pulled towards you like a magnet – including his eyes, which are starting to wander down to the neckline of your dress.
Then he processes you’re already staring right at him.
Fuck.
Nervous that he crossed a line, the beginning of an explanation starts to tumble out. “I, uh – I was just–”
“Uh huh,” you muse. “If this is to sell our act tonight, then you’re doing a great job.”
You seem a bit more relaxed than earlier. A look you haven’t given him in ages appears on your face, the teasing one that always used to make his mouth go dry. It still does.
And it almost makes him forget that you’re supposed to be through.
As you stop at a small standing table covered in expensive appetizers, Bucky realizes you do have a good point about selling the act. You’re surrounded by all kinds of extravagant, flashy art looters and criminals; this makes it seem like it’s another day on the illegal-activities job for you.
If it makes the mission more believable, then…it’s fine, right?
Mentally flipping off his better judgement, Bucky lets you go temporarily. Careful to avoid the bag on your other shoulder, his arm snakes around your waist instead. The sleeve of his suit gently brushes over your silk.
He pretends to care about hiding his grin. “How’s this, then?”
“Perfect,” you hum. “Your act’s definitely convincing to me.”
The encouragement suddenly pushes Bucky into his old element, with that flirt that comes back ten times stronger. He brings you in close, and the side of your body presses flush against his. It’s not a possessive signal for any potential onlookers – rather, a silent personal follow up.
Leaning in, he drops his voice to a whisper. “Who said I’m acting, sweetheart?”
You are not about to be one-upped in this game. Feigning innocence, you tug at your dress neckline to readjust it. Excruciatingly lower. You don’t even have to say anything. Your eyes are on fire.
Not that this was a competition, but you just beat him at this interaction.
He’s so tempted to keep fanning the flame, except a well-dressed assistant comes up to your table with a tray of champagne glasses. “Would you all like anything to drink?”
“Oh, no thank you! We’re good for now,” you respond, your words instantly becoming polite and losing whatever undertone you were using with Bucky.
Your body stays pressed against him all the same.
The assistant – who, upon further inspection, is one of the higher-up mercenaries in this syndicate – nods. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He looks like he’s about to laugh. “I’ll let you get back to your…conversation.”
As soon as the man leaves, Bucky exhales heavily, releasing the tension pent up in his body from the interruption.
“So it’s working,” you say in a low voice.
Bucky chuckles, still breathless. “Yeah, I guess.”
Your eyes twinkle. “Then let’s keep it up.”
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
An announcement for the beginning of the art auction eventually places your little show on hold. People begin to filter out into the area functioning as the exhibition hall, with their fancy shoes clicking across the spotless tile floor.
Through all the commotion, Sam emerges seamlessly from the crowd on the other side of the room.
“In position,” Bucky hears you whisper into your earpiece.
Doing one last scan around, Sam nods towards a hallway next to the staircase. With that, he disappears back into the wave of individuals headed towards the big event. That’s your cue.
It’s easy for you and Bucky to slip out into the hallway. To stay close in the bustling transition, he makes sure to place his hand on the small of your back. He feels you tense up – a bit of friendly payback for your teasing earlier.
All for the act, of course. Even if no one else is watching at the moment.
As you sneak through, you both take mental note of the decorative archways that lead to other rooms – full of crime-paid treasures, no doubt – in case you need to duck away. The rest of the area is exquisitely adorned with expensive artwork and old collector’s weapons that stand out even in the dim light.
Your artifacts of interest are on display in a glass case down the back, exactly as your intel revealed. Now your countdown to make the swap has begun.
“Get me the code,” you command, already taking the replicas out of your bag.
Bucky reads out the combination to the case – another courtesy of Nat’s sleuthing – without missing a beat. Simultaneously keeping an eye out for any passerbys, he watches in awe as you swiftly switch the items out, being careful not to leave fingerprints. Within minutes, the replicas are in place, while the originals are safely tucked away in your bag.
“Damn, you’re good,” Bucky says under his breath.
“Thanks.” You exhale proudly. “I missed this so bad.”
Pure determination in your voice makes his chest ache. Your intelligence, your effectiveness out on the field – they were always some of his favorite things about being your partner. And obviously not just in the mission sense.
The realization that this ends after tonight is crushing.
“You know…” He rubs the back of his neck. “When this is all over, I was thinking–”
The words die on his lips instantly. Several voices are carrying down the hallway. Including that of the assistant from earlier.
“Shit,” you hiss. “We have to go.”
Within the second, you both start walking as quietly as possible. Yet picking up the pace would only make more noise. Reality dawns terrifyingly – it’s no use. You cannot be seen. You have to think of something, and fast.
Before Bucky can even blink again, he’s yanked by you into one of the archways. The agent in you truly kicks in as you throw your arm across his abdomen, backs rigid against the side wall. Your breath slows. On the other hand, his breathing can’t stay steady.
Not with your hand splayed on his body like this.
You have bigger problems, though. The conversation is growing louder. Frantically, your free hand leans towards the doorknob next to you. It wiggles slightly, but to no avail. You look back at him, eyes screaming.
“What do we do?” he whispers, barely audible. “Why the hell would we be here anyway? There’s nothing…”
It hits you both simultaneously. There is an excuse you could use for being here alone.
And it’s the one prompting you to pull him closer by his tie.
Oh, bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.
You’re breathless. “Kiss me, Bucky.”
He probably shouldn’t.
But you’re staring so intensely. His brain shuts off. You throw your arms around his neck, exchange a nod. Permissive. Dangerous. Necessary. Not for the mission, or for the act.
For each other.
Fuck it. It’s fine.
Every simmering spark explodes all at once. After months of agony, your lips are reunited in a kiss, hot and blinding, that ignores the very idea of knowing better. His hands run endlessly over the material of your dress. Your fingers intertwine in his hair.
As soon as he hit send on that message and you shot back a reply, you both hoped for this exact moment.
If it weren’t for the bag bumping gently against your side like a reminder, you would lose all self restraint. The sounds of your lips and tongue are practically echoing off the walls. You wrap your leg around his waist, and he grabs your hip in response. To make it really convincing, you throw in a few broken gasps.
But Bucky knows damn well you’re not just acting. It makes him dizzy.
The intensity does definitely sell it. Your unwanted guests pass by as if nothing, save their disgusted looks. Disappointed, somebody points out that you must be the third couple they’ve caught doing this tonight.
“Saw those two earlier in the lobby,” the assistant grumbles. “I’m not surprised.”
They come and go, footsteps disappearing down the hallway until the door closes.
Not that either of you care. You’re still a mess, tangled in the darkness of the archway.
Eventually, your kisses lull – only to catch your breath. Foreheads pressed together, you are utterly drunk on each other’s proximity.
But this isn’t quite over. Bucky’s metal hand, cool to the touch even through the glove, tilts your chin upwards for better access to your neck. The increased air exposure feels raw on your skin.
He gets back to work right away.
Slowly, he presses a trail of several kisses up and down, from your jawline to your collarbone. Each is more agonizing than the last. You can feel the way he grins against you. It gives you goosebumps.
“Bucky.” You grip his shoulder. “I think they’re–” Wow, his mouth is really distracting. “I think they’re gone.”
“Oh, are they?” He plants his latest kiss below your ear. “I didn’t notice.”
He’s not letting up. Hmm, what a shame.
With a long sigh, you move your hand to the back of his head for stability. “Hilarious.” You make a sound halfway between a laugh and a gasp. “I knew you’d be good for this job.”
“For which part?” Now Bucky lifts his head to look you straight in the eye. “Being undercover, or…” Putting an arm next to your shoulder, he pins you in with a smirk. “Being believable?”
You roll your eyes playfully. “Mind you, this was my idea, babe.”
“And it was a goddamn genius one,” he exhales. “Because you’re the perfect partner.”
Your breath hitches in unison, vulnerability suddenly laid bare.
“On that note, I–” Bucky clears his throat. Inhaling sharply, he pushes himself off the wall. “I understand if this whole, um – partnership thing was for the mission. So if you don’t want to–”
Your hand flies to his shoulder again. He gasps quietly.
“I appreciate that, but…it was never just for the mission, Bucky. When I said I was glad to hear from you, I meant it.” You giggle. “Not strictly in a business sense, in case you couldn’t tell.”
He must look like he lost the ability to hear his own thoughts – which he did – because you throw your head back in another quiet laugh.
“I think this can work again,” you whisper. “Now that I want to come back.”
Bucky freezes. “You mean you want to rejoin the team?”
You nod. “It feels right. Everything about it.”
The air stills. Once again, you have a point. Everything does feel right.
There is a default part of him that still nags about all of this. What if this is another disaster waiting to happen, an increasingly terrible idea?
He feels a tug on his tie again.
“So, in the meantime…Sam hasn’t contacted us yet.” A smirk dances on your lips. “Any objections for round two?”
Strength dissolving, he leans back within inches of your face. It’s your back pressed against the wall, but you’re in complete control this time.
Grinning stupidly, Bucky shakes his head. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
By the time you reconvene with Sam and head back to the safehouse, nothing feels real. Your table has several orders of milkshakes and fries, ordered on your phone in celebration of a job well done. The artifacts are organized, labeled, and packaged to be shipped to research facilities accordingly. Now you’re on video call with Steve and Natasha, their holograms hazy under the kitchen overhead light.
You and Bucky both hope the marks on your necks aren’t visible yet. On camera or otherwise.
Except everybody is already ecstatic since you broke the news of your return. That is, in fact, a major reason why you’re giddy. Surely it’ll pass as the sole explanation.
“Excellent work, everyone,” Steve declares with a smile.
Nodding, Natasha adds, “That was one of our cleanest missions yet. By far.”
“Hell yeah,” Sam says. He raises his milkshake towards you in a toast. “Special shoutout to our un-retired agent of the hour.”
“Thanks, guys.” You beam. “This was definitely a team effort, though. You made it even more exciting than I already knew it would be.”
You press your knee against Bucky’s under the table. He wants to faint. He has to keep reminding himself to pull it together.
To his dismay, the zone-out celebration is cut short. He notices a glint in Sam’s eye that he really doesn’t like. Everyone else must have recognized it, too, because the table is strangely silent.
Bucky narrows his eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?” he asks. “I’m not giving you a look.”
“If you have something to say, Sam, just spit it out.”
“That’s okay, I’ll do it for him.” Natasha grins wickedly. “He’s mad he owes me thirty bucks.”
You’ve been around them long enough to know when something is up. Cautiously picking up a fry, you add, “Do I want to know what this is about?”
All of the color drains from Bucky’s face. There’s no way.
He forgot Nat was on goddamn surveillance.
The woes are immediately interrupted by another whiplash – a complete outburst of laughter from Sam. Like, full-belly, tear-inducing laughter. “I don’t – I don’t even care about the money,” he manages to get out. “The story, it – it was too good.”
“I didn’t see much, if that makes you feel better,” she says. “Don’t worry, I gave you enough privacy.”
This time, Steve’s attempt to hide his laugh is very poor.
“Besides”– Sam elbows you with a wink –“from the sounds of it, you had fun.”
“Oh.” You pause another fry that’s midair on the way to your mouth. “I see.”
Bucky can think of a million other places he would rather be than here. Probably somewhere with only you, first and foremost.
Then, running your free hand over your face, you laugh. Nervous, but not quite ashamed. “Well.” You turn towards Bucky and tuck a piece of stray hair behind his ear. “In my defense, he was reminding me what a good partner he can be.”
The kitchen erupts into a chorus of either groans, fake gags, or laughs.
Still, humiliation aside, Bucky smiles. This mission left him silently hopeful from the word jump – no matter how much he denied it. Now he can’t believe you’re finally coming back into their lives.
If these are the worst consequences of your (sexy) little stint, then this whole idea really wasn’t that bad after all.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆
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