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brunchable · 2 months ago

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Don't be sorry your english was perfect haha. I think I get what you mean though 😆 thank you for reading 😊

Reverse Government Watch

《Bucky Barnes x F!Reader》 [18+]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Another Comedy, 18+ for Sexual Jokes/Humor.

Summary: You were assigned to watch Bucky who was under the Government Watch List. You are a rookie and your biggest mistake was thinking that Bucky wasn't onto you, let alone flip the tables on you.

A/N: HELP. It's just me again laughing my ass off at my own creation. . . my stomach hurts.

You strolled along the market, eyes fixed on the man across—James Buchanan Barnes, otherwise known as Bucky. Your target. You’d been assigned by the higher-ups to keep a close watch on him. For weeks, you’d trailed his every move, documenting his day-to-day activities. He had no idea. Or at least, you thought he didn’t. It was supposed to be a simple job—observe, report, make sure Bucky didn’t get into trouble.

Easy, right?

WRONG.

For someone under government surveillance, Bucky Barnes had an uncanny ability to make your life hell.

Take today, for example. You were tailing him as he leisurely strolled through a farmer’s market, like some guy who definitely wasn’t a former assassin. He picked up a pineapple and inspected it like it was a rare artefact. Turning it over in his hands, he squinted, furrowed his brow, and gave it a little sniff.

Was this a code? Who buys a pineapple with that much focus?

Your phone buzzed in your lap. Another message from your supervisor:

"Status update on the target?"

You sighed, trying not to sound as exasperated as you felt, and quickly typed back:

"All quiet. He’s… buying fruit?"

As you looked back up at Bucky, you saw it—a flicker on his face. Was that… a smirk? You narrowed your eyes. Could he sense you watching him? No way. You were a professional.

He strolled further into the market, seemingly unfazed, but then stopped to pull out his phone. You kept your distance, casually pretending to check out a nearby stall as you listened in.

“Yeah, Doc, I’m here,” Bucky said, his tone oddly serious. Doc? You frowned. Was he taking a doctor’s call in the middle of a farmer’s market? You shifted closer, your curiosity piqued, trying to catch more of the conversation.

There was a long pause, and you could faintly hear someone on the other end of the line. That’s when you noticed Bucky clear his throat, fighting to keep a straight face.

“Well… how much smaller are we talking?” Bucky’s voice dropped, sounding uncomfortably low.

Wait. What?

You blinked, your mind screeching to a halt. Smaller?

Another pause. Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered into the phone, his voice a little quieter now, but just loud enough for you to hear.

“Yeah… I guess the size reduction surgery worked a little too well.”

Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle the laughter that was about to escape. Reduction surgery? You stared at the pineapple in your hand, trying to act natural, but nearly dropped it.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky glancing around as if he was worried someone might overhear him. You quickly ducked behind a display of vegetables, barely able to contain yourself.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Bucky said, sounding way too resigned. “I’ll just, uh… I’ll live with a small penis.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, your shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter. This can’t be real.

“It’s not that noticeable,” Bucky continued, his tone dripping with fake optimism. “Well… maybe a little. But who’s paying attention, right?”

At this point, you were desperately trying to stay quiet, hiding behind a tower of tomatoes, tears forming in your eyes from trying not to laugh out loud. I’m reporting this. I have to report this. I’m definitely reporting this… right? RIGHT?

Bucky sighed heavily into the phone. “Look, Doc, I’ll just deal with it. If it gets worse, I’ll call you. I mean, I’m managing so far. It’s not that bad—At least I don’t have a third leg anymore.”

Just as Bucky was about to hang up, you heard a loud, very faint voice from the other end of the line:

“BUCKY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”

The voice was unmistakably angry, but you couldn’t make out who it was or what was said. You just caught the frustrated tone and Bucky’s subsequent expression as he tried to suppress a laugh.

Bucky quickly hung up, his face the picture of fake mortification. He turned toward you—or where he thought you weren’t hiding—completely unaware that you were barely surviving behind a pile of produce.

With an exaggerated sigh, he mumbled, “Stupid doctors… never listen,” and casually tossed the phone into his pocket like he hadn’t just fake-confessed to penis reduction surgery in the middle of a public space.

As Bucky strolled away, you finally let out the laugh that had been building inside you, leaning against a stack of cucumbers for support.

The next hour passed in an irritating series of mundane activities. Bucky went to a bakery, and then visited a pet store where he bought a massive bag of cat food. Now you were sure something was up. There is no way he has a cat.

Determined not to lose sight of him, you followed him into the park, keeping a safe distance while pretending to check your phone. He wandered over to a food cart and, to your surprise, bought an ice cream cone. Alright, nothing suspicious there, you thought, relaxing slightly. Just a man enjoying some ice cream. Totally normal.

That is, until he sat down on a nearby bench and began to eat the ice cream in the most unnecessarily slow, deliberate way possible.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. People eat ice cream in the park. But then, Bucky ran his tongue slowly up the side of the cone, swirling it around the top, before taking a ridiculously small bite off the tip. You blinked. What is he doing?

It got worse.

Bucky took another long, languid lick—far too slow for comfort—before tilting his head back slightly and letting out a soft groan of satisfaction. You almost dropped your phone. Was he... making out with the ice cream?

You shook your head, blinking rapidly. This can’t be real. What is even happening right now?

Your mind raced as you sat there, frozen, watching him turn a simple snack into something that looked like it belonged in a very different kind of movie. He wasn’t looking directly at you, but you could swear that every now and then, his eyes flickered in your direction, as if testing the waters.

Does he know?

No. No way. He was just... really into his ice cream, right?

But then he did it again. Another slow lick, this time letting a bit of the ice cream melt down his hand. He slowly licked the drip, eyes half-lidded, as if savoring every moment. You could feel your face heating up, and you were seriously contemplating whether or not to just leave.

Get a grip, Y/N, you told yourself, struggling to maintain some semblance of professionalism. He doesn’t know you’re watching. He’s just... very enthusiastic about ice cream.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, it was impossible to look away. You were completely and utterly trapped in this bizarre moment, and every time you thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.

Bucky took one last exaggerated bite, wiped his mouth, and let out a final, satisfied sigh. He stood up, stretched as if he hadn’t just devoured the ice cream in the slowest, most horniest way possible, and casually tossed the napkin in the trash.

He hadn’t even looked directly at you once. But somehow, you knew. You just knew. You wanted to disappear into the earth. How had this become your life?

You let out a long, slow breath, your heart racing as you fumbled for your phone to text your supervisor:

"Update: Subject... is eating ice cream. I’m pretty sure he just made an ice cream cone feel... emotions. Requesting transfer. Please advise.”

Bucky, blissfully unaware—or so it seemed—adjusted his jacket and casually strolled away, leaving you questioning your life choices and wondering if you’d ever be able to enjoy ice cream again.

But then things got even weirder.

The next day at the gym, Bucky seemed hell-bent on driving you insane. He spent an obscene amount of time flexing in front of the mirror. But this wasn’t your standard, after-rep, admire-your-workout progress.

No.

This was Bucky in full pose mode. First, it was a casual bicep curl. Then, he turned slightly, flexing just enough to give you a perfect view of his ridiculous muscles rippling beneath his shirt.

You were pedalling on a stationary bike nearby, pretending not to notice, but every few minutes, he’d “stumble” just enough to catch himself dramatically, sending a sly wink your way.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck in the back of your head. Is he doing this on purpose?

Your phone buzzed on your leg again, another message from your supervisor:

"Status update?"

Bucky wasn’t done yet. He sauntered over to the free weights and picked up a dumbbell. Then, with one hand, he started curling it, while the other hand was on his chin like he was deep in thought. It was like watching a Greek statue come to life, except the statue was a cocky jerk who knew exactly what he was doing.

You quickly typed back:

"Subject is…exercising. Very… intensely."

He turned his head just enough to catch your eye in the mirror, smirked, and then—oh no—he started pulling up his shirt.

He peeled it off in one smooth motion, revealing abs that looked like they were carved by the gods themselves. He stood there, shirt slung over his shoulder, flexing as if this were a damn photo shoot, while you nearly choked on your own saliva. His grin grew wider, eyes never leaving yours.

Your mouth went dry.

Bucky turned slightly, making sure you had a perfect view, and winked at you again.

You nearly fell off the bike. He knows!

Panicking, you hopped off the bike, pretending you needed to stretch, trying desperately to regain your composure. When you bent down to touch your toes, Bucky started doing overhead stretches of his own, his muscles on full display. It was like he was taunting you, silently daring you to keep watching.

Just act casual. You’re a pro.

Then, to your absolute horror, he reached for the waistband of his pants. You froze. There is no way.

But the grin on his face said otherwise. He slowly hooked his fingers under the waistband, pulling down just enough to make you think he was about to strip right there in the middle of the gym.

Your face turned bright red. He wouldn’t.

But the look in his eyes said, oh, he absolutely would.

Before you could fully process the impending disaster, he stopped, chuckling to himself, and picked up his towel instead. He tossed you one last smug look before strolling toward the locker room, leaving you standing there, humiliated and furious.

Smug. Bastard.

For a moment, you just stood there, heart racing. You were supposed to be the one watching him, but somehow, he had turned the tables on you. He was messing with you, and there was no doubt in your mind now that he knew exactly what you were doing.

Later that evening, during his nightly run, Bucky continued to torment you. He alternated between sprinting at full speed and walking so slowly that you nearly ran into him. He’d glance over his shoulder now and then, and each time you scrambled to hide behind a tree or a bench, but it was useless.

He knew.

Then, without warning, he turned down an alley. You cursed under your breath, jogging after him. When you reached the alley, it was empty. You blinked, confused.

Where the hell did he go?

Suddenly, a low voice whispered from behind you.

“Lose something?”

You jumped about three feet in the air, spinning around to find Bucky casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like a damn Cheshire cat.

“Oh, uh…” you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “I was just…uh, taking a shortcut.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Sure you were. You know, you’re not very good at this.”

“At what?” you asked, your heart thumping in your chest.

“Spying.” He grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

Your eyes widened in shock. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Look, I’ve known you’ve been watching me for weeks.”

Your stomach dropped. “You…you knew?”

Bucky laughed, stepping closer until he was practically in your space.

“Oh, sweetheart, I knew the second you started. The government thinks they can put someone on me without me noticing? Please.” He leaned in, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

Heat rushed to your face. “I—well, I wasn’t exactly trying to—uh…”

“Relax,” he interrupted, grinning like he was having the time of his life. “I’m not mad. It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Cute?” You blinked, completely thrown off.

“Yeah, cute. You’ve been trailing me like a lost puppy this whole time. I figured, why not have some fun with it?”

Your face flushed with embarrassment. “So all those weird things you’ve been doing…?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said, eyes gleaming. “The pineapple? Messing with you. My penis reduction surgery? Messing with you. The gym flexing? Well, that’s for your benefit.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring up at him. “You are ridiculous.”

“And you are adorable,” he shot back without missing a beat, that smug grin still plastered on his face. “But honestly, if you wanted to keep watching me, you could’ve just asked.”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “I’m working, Bucky!”

“Uh-huh, sure you are,” he teased, crossing his arms and nodding slowly. “Just doing your job. Nothing to do with how you’ve been staring at me like I’m the best thing since sliced bread.”

You stared at him, exasperated. “I was not staring!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? So you didn’t nearly fall off that stationary bike when I took my shirt off? I thought I’d have to catch you mid-flight.”

“I was stretching!” you shot back, trying desperately to cling to some semblance of professionalism.

He snorted, clearly not buying it.

“Uh-huh, ‘stretching.’ Sure.” He took a step closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Tell you what—how about next time, I give you a front-row seat?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “W-what?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking thoughtful for a second before flashing you a cheeky grin. “I’ll set up a chair for you. Maybe a little mood lighting—make it a real show. Wouldn’t want you to miss any of the good parts.”

“Who are you, magic mike?”

Bucky’s grin widened at your retort, clearly enjoying the banter. "Magic Mike? Nah. More like Winter Soldier: The Deluxe Edition. No cover charge, but tips are welcome."

"Oh my God. Please stop." You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Oh, come on," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "You know you’d pay to see this show."

You shot him a look, trying desperately to hold on to your last shred of professionalism. "I’m not paying for anything, Barnes. You’re already driving me crazy for free."

Bucky shrugged, stepping even closer, his grin never fading. "I could throw in some choreography. Maybe a little side hustle? You know, just in case this whole ‘saving the world’ thing doesn’t work out."

You blinked at him, utterly deadpan. "What? You’re going to start dancing on rooftops now? Maybe slide down a fire pole?"

"Hey, if it gets your attention, why not?" he teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I bet you'd be first in line for tickets."

"Trust me, the last thing I need is to see you in stripper mode," you shot back, crossing your arms, though the corner of your mouth was twitching, fighting a smile.

"Are you sure?" Bucky’s grin was downright wicked now. "Because I was about five seconds away from launching into a full body roll at the gym yesterday."

You couldn't help it. You snorted. "Is that what you call your ‘workout routine’? I thought it was an interpretive dance routine. Very... expressive."

Bucky put a hand to his chest, pretending to be deeply moved. "Thank you. I put a lot of emotion into my workouts. Next time, I’ll make sure the music’s louder. Really set the mood. Maybe add a fog machine for drama."

You threw your hands up in defeat, laughing now. "I’m begging you, no fog machines! That’s it. I’m filing a report. Official complaint: Bucky Barnes is out of control. Send help immediately."

He chuckled, clearly satisfied with himself. "I’ll make sure to give them an even better show tomorrow. Maybe bring out the real moves. You won’t know what hit you, sweetheart."

You shook your head, still laughing. "Oh, believe me, I’m already regretting this entire assignment."

Bucky winked, giving you a mock salute as he started to walk away. "See you tomorrow, Agent. And don’t forget the popcorn. You won’t want to miss it. Maybe I’ll dance to Pony."

As he disappeared around the corner, you pulled out your phone to text your supervisor:

"Update: Subject is 100% insane. Considering requesting reassignment. Also, possibly suggest psychiatric help for him."

You sighed, a reluctant smile still tugging at your lips. Tomorrow was definitely going to be interesting.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed again. You groaned, assuming it was your boss with some last-minute instructions, but the message wasn’t from a saved contact. An unknown number. You furrowed your brows as you opened it.

"Oh, by the way, you look pretty today. I like you in blue."

Your heart stopped.

WTF.

Your eyes darted down at your clothes—blue office attire. Your pulse raced. How the hell—? You whipped your head around, scanning the area, expecting Bucky to pop out from behind a corner, but he was gone. Long gone.

Another buzz.

"See you tomorrow, Agent. ;)”

WTF.

#thank you♡

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