Bucky Barnes

The metallic sound of Bucky's arm echoed as he crossed his arms, leaning against the hangar wall. "Late again," he muttered, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

"Not everyone has airplane mode built in," you replied, slamming your backpack down on the table. He raised an eyebrow, and although he tried to hide it, a slight curve of his mouth betrayed that your comment had amused him.

"You're a distraction," he retorted, pushing himself away from the wall to get closer. "And a dangerous one." "Why don't I follow your orders?" you asked, taking a step toward him without backing down an inch.

"Because I can't concentrate when you're around," she admitted softly, so close you felt her breath against your cheek. Her blue gaze flicked down to your lips for a second before returning to your eyes. "And that... shouldn't happen."

You let out a soft, provocative laugh. —I thought you hated me, Barnes?

"I try," he replied, almost in frustration. "Believe me, I try."

A heavy silence fell between them, thick with tension. Bucky took another half step, and your back hit the edge of the table. His metal arm rested beside you, trapping you without touching you.

"But you're very irritating. Every time I fight with you, I feel like strangling you," he said with a frown.