Characters: reader, Natasha, Sam, Clint, Tony, Bucky, OC Mark.

Summary: A bet within the Avengers becomes a battle of the sexes, with you at the center of it. Who will be victorious and could it somehow help you snag the man of your dreams?

Song Inspiration: Cheap Thrills by Sia

Warnings: drinking, sexist behavior? Mild violence mentioned, very subtle mention of sexy times.

Word Count: 3.3k

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"Uh uh. No way."

"It's true, trust me."

"You wanna bet?" Clint challenged the redhead across the table from him.

Natasha leaned forward and held his gaze, not an ounce of doubt in her demeanor. "Absolutely."

It was too early in the morning for this childish banter, you thought from your seated position at the far end of the long kitchen table. You slumped forward, dipping the tea bag in and out of the steaming mug of liquid before you, then setting it on the small saucer beside it. Wrapping your hands around the cup's warmth, your eyes unfocused as you continued to tune out the blathering of your teammates. The only other person in the room paying them no mind was Bucky, who was slouched in a cozy chair, thoroughly engrossed in a book.

"Now wait a minute," a third voice joined the argument, "If we're gonna do this, we gotta level the playing field a little. Nat could do this in her sleep. We need someone a little more...down to earth. How about Y/N?" Sam gestured toward you.

Blinking a few times, you finally broke out of your stupor. "Hey! I was only half listening to your stupidity, but I think I'm offended."

Sam smiled apologetically, "I'm just saying, you did say ANY girl could do it with the right tools..."

Your eyes widened, fuzzy brain finally catching up to what they were implying.

"And I meant what I said..." Nat clarified, a wicked smile growing on her painted lips as she met your eye.

"Oh no..." you groaned.

___________

12 hours later, you found yourself squeezed into a much shorter and tighter dress than you would ever normally wear. You perched on a barstool, playing with a thin red straw in between sips of your fruity drink. It wasn't difficult to act bored and alone at a club, as you were instructed to do so. Any other Friday night, you would be back in the comfy sweatshirt and yoga pants you were wearing this morning, perfectly happy to be marathoning something on Netflix. However, after Nat got a hold of you, you barely recognized yourself. Nails painted, hair expertly styled and feet strapped into a sexy pair of heels, you were ready to party. Theoretically.

It wasn't that you didn't like going out on the town. Clubs just weren't your thing and wearing uncomfortable, borrowed clothing wasn't at the top of your list of enjoyable activities. But this was Natasha's game; you were merely playing your part.

Taking a sip of your drink, you caught the eye of a good-looking man at the far side of the bar. Looking away quickly with a smile, you then turned back to find him still staring. You held his gaze for a solid 6 seconds before glancing down bashfully, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. When you raised your eyes, the man was heading up the bar toward you. Gotcha.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he offered with a smile, getting the bartender's attention.

"I'd love that, thank you," you accepted, gesturing for him to sit beside you as the bartender approached.

"A drink for the lady, a uh..." he waited for you to respond.

"Vodka Cranberry. Thank you."

"I'm Mark," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

"Y/N," you responded, briefly grasping it in a shake. Firm, but not too firm.

Conversation flowed for a good ten minutes, at which point Mark asked you to dance. He led you onto the dance floor and you let the beat take over, dipping and swaying your hips from side to side. Hands in the air, you threw your head back and felt the rhythm flow through you. This was the part you enjoyed. Ridiculous as this night had been, you did love dancing. Except for that one guy who got a little who hands-y. You had taught him a lesson, though, and sent him on his way only slightly worse for the wear.

Mark was the fourth guy you had been able to snag tonight. It was a little absurd how easy it was. At the beginning of the night, you had walked right through the velvet rope into the club with a mention of one of Natasha's aliases. No cover charge. All night you had used different tactics. Brash and boastful: approaching a man and demanding, "Aren't you going to buy me a drink, handsome?" with a slight pout. Next was dancing suggestively and hooking your finger toward a guy at the bar, enticing him to dance with you. Then there was the "You look familiar, don't I know you from somewhere?" approach, which had worked with the hands-y guy, unfortunately. Lastly, there was the bored, lonely woman seen from across the bar that worked on Mark.

You actually hadn't wanted Natasha to be right, but somehow the evidence was in her favor. An afternoon of coaching from her and the perfect outfit, you had the men eating out of your hand. Ridiculous, really. There wasn't any genuine interest in any of the men on your part, in fact you'd had your eye on someone else for a while. The experiment alone kept you going, so after a little time spent with each man, you faked a phone call or ducked into the bathroom until he lost interest. Thankfully your head was clear, the four "cocktails" bought for you actually being all Cranberry and no vodka. You had explained the situation to the bartender beforehand and he agreed to your charade with an amused smile.

A few songs blend into each other as you lose yourself in the beat, Mark's hands on your hips with a sheen of sweat upon your skin. The dancing was fun, but you were getting tired and figured your point had been made. Suddenly opening the small clutch purse in your hand, you pretended to read a new message you had falsely felt buzzing from your phone. You faked a look of shock on your face and immediately stopped dancing, making your way to the edge of the dance floor.

"What? What's wrong?" He had followed you.

"I'm, uh...I have to go. Family emergency. I have leave right now, I'm sorry, uh..." You had forgotten his name.

"Mark. I understand. Can I walk you out?"

You nodded somberly, gathering your jacket from coat check. One of the perks of a high-end club. Stepping outside into the cooler night air, the noise level dropped to an almost deafening silence. A few cars passed and you paused, considering how far to take this. Sucking in shallow breaths, you let yourself get worked up about this supposed-emergency.

"What's that name of the, um...that app? For rides? I d—don't...I can't remember..." you became flustered.

Mark gently placed a hand over yours, "Hey, hey...it's fine. Don't worry. I'll get you a cab."

He stepped into the street and whistled, easily bringing a taxi to a stop right in front of you. Quite impressive, actually. He opened the door for you, but spoke before you could slide in.

"Y/N, I'm sorry about...whatever you have going on. I'll cover cab fare. How far are you going? All I want in return is...your phone number?" he asked, hope in his surprisingly kind eyes. You almost felt bad for deceiving him.

"Oh, um..."

In the time that you hesitated, a large man had silently stepped up to the pair of you, taking ahold of the taxi door.

"That won't be necessary. I've got it from here," the long-haired brunette spoke sternly.

"Bucky? What're you doing here?" you gawked.

"Who the hell...Y/N, do you know this guy?" asked a confused Mark.

"Yes, he's a...friend. I'm sorry I have to go," you muttered and stepped into the cab with Bucky sliding in after you, the car speeding off seconds later.

"What the hell was that?" you demanded gesturing to the scene you had just left behind. "I knew what I was doing and I didn't need rescuing. Nat and I had a plan in place. I would give an address a few blocks from the Tower and she would pick me up. Even a fake phone number matching the burner phone in my purse in case he checked it. I'm no damsel in distress, Bucky. I can handle myself just fine," you assured him, slumping back against the car seat after finishing your rant.

There was a moment of silence followed by his swift exhale. "I know you can."

You heart flipped in your chest. "What?"

"I know you can protect yourself, I never worried about that. In fact, I was pretty impressed with how you handled the jerk who tried to grope you. Subtle knee to the groin and a few choice words to get him to leave, I'm guessing?" Bucky smirked in your direction.

A smile tugged at your lips, chest swelling with pride. "Something like that. What were you doing there anyway? You hate clubs possibly more than I do."

The taxi paused under a street light, finally giving you a chance to take in the muscular man beside you wearing his usual apparel of jeans and a snug Henley. He had thrown on a leather jacket and left his shoulder-length hair down. Not exactly suited for clubbing, but for him it was a good look. Although for Bucky, there was really no such thing as a "bad look".

"I was, uh...supervising the operation," he answered, staring straight ahead as he cleared his throat.

Taking in his body language and inability to look your way, you narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion. "You were watching me."

He scoffed, "What? I...no, I was observing from a safe distance. You know, so both sides could accurately decide the outcome."

Folding your arms, you doubted his claims. "Uh huh. Whatever you say..."

"So how did it go? Have we reached a verdict?" he asked in curiosity, eventually meeting your gaze.

"I'd call it a success. A whole night of drinks, dancing, and debauchery without spending a dime. That was the wager, correct? Although I don't recall you being included in the bet, so I will repeat my question: what were you doing at the club?" you inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

Bucky had been in the room when Clint, Sam, Natasha, and yourself had agreed to the stakes of the bet, so clearly he had overheard. Natasha hypothesized that any woman could use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted without having to pay for anything for an entire night. Clint and Sam had more faith in men, claiming that a fluttering of eyelashes and well-fitting dress wasn't enough to turn their heads and open their wallets. Clearly the scales were tipped in your favor considering Nat was literally schooled in seduction, but agreements were made and consequences offered when the winner was chosen. One more cab ride and you would know for sure.

"I was...curious," Bucky began.

"About what?"

"I wanted to see you all dolled up," he blushed at his admission.

Placing a thumb and finger on either side of his chin, you turned his face toward you before releasing him.

"And?"

"You look gorgeous, Y/N, no matter what. I like your casual look but it was interesting to see this different side of you. Definitely turned my head, along with a few too many others for my liking..." he trailed off with a clench of his fists.

"Careful there, Sarge. I'm not sure green is your color," you grinned.

"What, me? Jealous? I wasn't...I'm not...." he struggled to finished his sentence, but you got the point, your smile fading.

Just then the cab came to a stop outside Avengers Tower.

You saved the both of you from humiliation by speaking first. "Relax, Barnes. I was joking. Besides, I don't know why it matters. You've never shown any interest in the past, so why should you be jealous?" you answered cooly. Despite your calm demeanor, you were hurt. You'd been crushing on Bucky for a few months now, but it seemed your subtle flirting had all been for naught.

You climbed out of the cab quickly as a grateful escape, leaving Bucky to select a few bills and hand them to the driver before following you to the door. He stopped you before entering the building.

"Wait! Wait, Y/N," he lightly grasped your wrist, suddenly nervous now that you were face to face. "You're right, I might have been a little jealous. Truthfully, if you hadn't handled that hands-y douche yourself I might have ripped his arms off. No one deserves to be treated that way, regardless. But even with the other guys...I just wanted to be the one who caught your attention and, you know... flirted with you and danced with and...."

Struck with courage by the words tumbling out of his mouth, you grasped his face in your hands. Eyes flicking down to his plush mouth, you leaned forward as he felt the shift in the atmosphere and grew silent, then meeting you half way. Your lips brushed his lightly at first, then becoming more heated, each of you nipping and pressing and tasting. Bucky's arms encircled your waist to pull you closer, your hands lost in his chestnut strands. The flame of desire began to consume you, warmth emanating from your belly outward. Your lungs were on fire, desperate for oxygen. A loud car horn sounded, startling you. Breaking apart suddenly, you took a step back with chests heaving.

Before you could speak or react, a sleek, expensive car pulled up to the curb and an angry redhead climbed out.

"What's the matter with you, Barnes? She had it all under control. You jeopardized the whole operation," yelled Natasha as she approached the two of you, then taking in your rumpled clothes, tousled hair, and blushing faces.

You cleared your throat and smoothed your dress with your hands. "Don't worry, the evening was a success and we have a clear winner: us," you grinned triumphantly.

"What?" both Nat and Bucky asked simultaneously.

"We won. It all went according to plan and I didn't need money for anything. Which is a good thing, because..." You grabbed the clutch purse you had dropped on the ground, then opening it. You removed the cheap burner phone before turning the clutch upside down to show nothing else inside. "I didn't have a backup plan for that. Luckily, Bucky was willing to help our cause. He paid for the cab home."

A smile stretched across Natasha's lips to match your own, then facing Bucky.

He finally understood your meaning, cursing his chivalry. "Dammit."

"I ain't got cash, but I got you, baby," you teased with an affectionate pat of his stubbled cheek.

"Alright, I'll see you two upstairs. Nice job tonight, Y/N," Nat winked at you before climbing into the car and peeling out to return it to Tony's garage.

Returning your gaze to Bucky, you saw a look of hurt and disappointment upon his face.

"So...I was just part of the plan?"

You immediately sobered, "No. Absolutely not. There may have been a lot of faking for me tonight, but this?" You pressed a lingering but gentle kiss to his lips. "This was anything but fake."

A bashful smile returned to his face as you grasped his hand and pulled him inside.

_____________

The following morning, you were snuggled on the couch with a mug of tea. Natasha sat beside you with her usual cup of coffee, enjoying the view as much as you were.

"I can't believe you're making us do this. It's ridiculous and demeaning," Sam protested, tightening the tool belt around his waist.

"Oh, and the French maid outfits you originally selected for us isn't? If you get to be sexist, then so do we," you declared, raising a hand toward Nat and she smacked it.

"That's right, boys. Now that you're properly dressed for the job, here is your project," the redhead smirked, pointing to several thin boxes leaning against the far wall.

Since you and Nat had won the bet, your punishment for the boys had now come to fruition. Sam, Clint, and Bucky were all three shirtless with tool belts slung on their hips and each wearing a hard hat.

"I don't know what you're complaining about, Wilson. I know I look good," Clint flexed as he sauntered over to the boxes and examined them.

"Oh, I'm confident in my body, that's no problem. Those little Allen wrenches, they're the issue. Why do we have the tool belt if all we need is that stupid tiny wrench? And isn't the hard hat a bit overkill?" Sam questioned as he surveyed the instructions.

"Uh uh. The hat and belt completes the look. You agreed to this, fellas," you smirked.

Clint piped up, "I am curious why Metal Man is here. When did he become a part of this?"

"When he chose to interfere and nearly sabotaged our plan. So he gets proper punishment, like the two of you," Natasha answered.

You could tell Bucky was uncomfortable, crossing his arms over his bare, sculpted chest. The weighted tool belt tugged his jeans down a little more than usual, offering a delicious trail of dark hair down his defined ab muscles. You caught his eye, though, and gave him a wink. He returned it with a smile as memories of the events last night caused your cheeks to flush.

After Natasha left the two of you downstairs, a few kisses led to a heated make-out session in the elevator which was followed by a swift removal of clothing in your bedroom. This morning, you could feel the soreness in certain previously underused muscles after so much heavenly activity. No regrets though. Feeling a bit more confident under your admiring gaze, Bucky joined the other men and began to unpack the contents of the boxes.

Just then, Tony walked past the common room which all five of you currently inhabited and headed for the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of expensive sparkling water, taking a swig. As he turned around, he surveyed the scene before him for the first time.

"Clearly I missed something," he spoke, walking forward slowly. "I didn't know the Village People were in town." You and Natasha snorted. "And what is that pile of crap doing in here?"

"Hey, now, that's not a nice thing to say about Barnes. Only I'm allowed to insult him," Sam joked, while Bucky glared at him.

"Shut up, Wilson!" you snarled, throwing a book in his direction and feeling victorious when he winced as it struck his thigh.

"Actually," Tony clarified, "I was talking about that pile of scrap wood the Swedish dare to call furniture."

As part of the punishment for the men, not only were they to dress like hot pin-up construction workers, they also had to physically construct something. So you came up with the idea of IKEA bookshelves.

"Don't worry, Tony, they're going in my room. It's mostly just to prove a point and piss them off. They lost a bet," you explained.

"Wait a minute. You three actually bet against these women who are clearly smarter than you and they literally took the shirts off your backs?" Tony gestured to you currently wearing Bucky's Henley over your pajamas and Nat had slipped on Clint's sweatshirt.

The men avoided Tony's gaze, unwilling to respond.

"Basically, yeah," you grinned proudly.

The billionaire narrowed his eyes at the men, "Well, I'm a little ashamed of my gender, but nicely done ladies." You and Natasha held up a hand and he slapped each one as he walked behind the couch and out of the room. "You're cleaning up the mess when you're done, fellas," he hollered from the hallway.

"Would you like to wear the maid outfits for that part, gentlemen?" you joked, eliciting a snort from Natasha.

"You know," Bucky strolled over to you, hands resting on the arm of the couch. "That was a cheap trick, getting me to pay for the cab."

You smiled, tugging on his belt loops as he leaned down for a kiss. "I know. But I do love cheap thrills."