With Him | Bucky x Reader | Enemies with Benefits

-21-

Y/n's POV:

Due to the fact that we flew back on a SHIELD Jet, Barnes and I were now driving back to the compound in one of the sleek, black, government cars loaned to us by Fury. Once again, sitting in uncomfortable silence.

I had tried to put some music on but he had insisted that "Anything after the 80s is pure shit." and I only had three things to say after that:

1. That is complete and utter bullcrap.

2. "Andante Andante" is a fucking masterpiece.

3. ABBA are from the '70s you complete fucking asshole.

But of course, he wasn't going to let me play my music after I threw a lamp at his head. It's not like that puny plastic thing could have hurt him (unlike that rock that had left a pretty ugly bruise. Seriously, my arm looked like a three-year-old's attempt to paint 'Starry night' by Van Gogh).

Plus he deserved it, he wouldn't even lend me a hoodie to cover my neck so I had been forced to let my hair down, and even then, we turned more than a few heads and gained a couple of glares as we walked through SHIELD headquarters to get to the garage.

After what felt like hours of torture, we finally turned into the mini car park outside the residential entrance to the compound and I did not like what I saw.

"You said they wouldn't be home." I said, glaring at James and speaking through gritted teeth.

"Steve told me they wouldn't be." He answered, unbothered.

Well, he's not the one whose neck and chest are peppered by blatantly obvious hickies.

"Why else would Tony leave his favorite convertible there with the roof open? And why would Steve leave his Harley-Davidson there? You know he likes to tuck it safely in the garage before missions." I pointed out, frustrated.

Barnes climbed out of the car, briefly cocking his head before talking. "He is insane about that thing, It's a nice bike but he doesn't let anybody else touch it. It's like it's his child." 

He grabbed our bags out of the back of the car, throwing mine straight into my arms before scanning me with his eyes and smirking.

"Have fun coming up with a cover story for that Y/n/n."

"Don't call me that, I still don't like you dickhead." I yelled at him as he walked toward the door silently.

I'm going to get him back for all this.

----------------------

That's right. I'm getting him back.

Luckily, nobody had spotted the evidence of our 'activities' because I had run to fix it before going to see the group, but I still wasn't going to let him get away with making me deal with it on my own.

Which leads us to here.

Where I was sitting, three days later, on the floor of my bedroom at 3am preparing to vandalise the war veteran's prosthetic. 

Shit, it sounds bad when I say it like that, doesn't it? Never mind, I don't give a fuck.

As I crept slowly up to his door I noticed that it wasn't locked, weird. I always kept mine locked, I guess I just didn't want anybody interrupting me mid-nightmare/flashback-thing.

I placed every step very carefully, each with precise calculation and consideration. And by that, I mean I sprinted to James's bedside on tiptoe before he could hear me. You would think I was a trained undercover operative or something.

Wow, my internal monologue is feeling sarcastic tonight.

I grinned demonically as I pulled out my supplies from a small tote bag.

Pink paint and lots of pink glitter (plus a paintbrush) the perfect ingredients to any serious revenge prank.

I squirted a little paint straight onto his metal arm and started brushing it around, only pausing to dance a little. 

It would be impossible to pull of this prank if it weren't for the badass music pumping through my airpods. I even took a moment to silently belt the last verse of 'I'm Almost There'. The Princess and the Frog has one of the best soundtracks known to human kind and I will forever stand by that.

After another fifteen minutes or so, I stepped back carefully to admire my work. 

It was absolutely beautiful.

The (previously dreary and dull) arm was now a gorgeous explosion of pink that sparkled like a diamond. And I truly mean that because I put a shit ton of glitter on that thing. 

Now all I had to do was make it back to my room without bumping into any sleepwalkers because, knowing me, I would spill the remaining glitter all over them too and, although I could deal with one angry Avenger, I didn't know how well I could deal with two when I was running off 6 hours sleep for the last 48 hours since (although it pains me to admit it) if James Buchannan Barnes has anything, it's stamina. 

Flopping back onto my bed, I silently congratulated myself on another successful mission and lay back in anticipation, waiting for the next morning's shit show.

(823 Words)