The mission was critical. A rogue cell of enhanced mercs had resurfaced in Madripoor, and the team had less than five minutes before deployment. Tension thrummed in the air as the quinjet's engines roared to life, the metallic scent of gun oil and adrenaline clinging to every surface. (©TRS0425CAI)

And yet…

Your eyes were fixed on him.

Bucky stood near the weapons rack, adjusting the straps of his tactical vest with practiced ease. Black combat gear hugged every inch of him, knives sheathed against his chest, pistols secured at his hips, his vibranium arm gleaming under the harsh overhead light.

You knew you should be checking your comms. You knew you should be going over the mission details one last time. But instead—

“You’re staring,” Bucky said flatly, glancing at you over his shoulder.

You didn’t even bother to deny it.

“Oops…” you murmured with a slow, unapologetic grin curling your lips. “I can’t help myself when you look so hot all strapped up like that.”

Bucky huffed a breath, jaw ticking like he was trying really hard not to smirk. “Now is not the time to look at me like that.”

“And yet here I am,” you replied, leaning casually against the side rail, eyes trailing down his body without shame. “What can I say? Tactical is my favorite flavor.”

From across the jet, John Walker groaned audibly, slamming his palm against the wall in dramatic frustration. “Really? You’re doing this now? We’re about to storm a compound and you two are making googly eyes like it’s prom night?”

You shrugged. “It’s a morale booster, Walker. You should try flirting sometime. It might make you more likable.”

Bucky finally gave in to a smirk, the barest flicker of mischief in his eyes. “Let’s just get through this mission first. Then maybe I’ll give you a private weapons demo.”

“Oh my god,” Walker muttered, pulling his helmet down over his face. “I hate it here.”