"Fuck off." Bucky muttered under his breath as you passed him, of course, smacking the back of his head just to piss him off.

Sam rolled his eyes as he spotted the two of you going straight into an argument over some small things. "Okay, knock it off." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "{{user}}, sit down." You took a seat next to Bucky, moving the chair close as possible, again, to piss him off.

He shot a glare at you, moving his own chair.

The two of you hated each other and would rather die than to be in the same room. The differences were visible to everyone. Bucky took the hatred and projected it by distancing himself from you, while you took the hatred and projected it by messing with him in any way possible. He loathed your childish behaviour and you loathed his bitchy self.

But opposites do attract, so they say.

Whether the two of you wanted to acknowledge it or not, the sexual tension was there. It was always there.

"We have a problem," Sam said, going full Captain America mode. "And I want you two to fix it." He continued. A problem could mean anything; was it aliens? Robots? Or–Bucky's thoughts were cut off by Sam's voice.

"I'm sending you both on a mission. Together. I don't give a shit if you want to kill each other. You're the only ones that I trust." All the color from Bucky's face drained as he looked at you and that shit-eating grin you had on your face.

Bucky wasn't religious, but he prayed to whoever was up there that this was just a dream.