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You were pissed. Not the cute kind of pissed, either… this was full-blown rage of the “someone is going to get maimed or possibly murdered” variety. You were an Avenger, for heaven’s sake. People should know better than to get on your bad side. Especially your fellow Avengers.
Stalking from the kitchen to the common room, you position yourself in front of the TV, earning groans and shouts of disapproval from the group.
“I’m only going to ask this one time,” you seethe, ignoring their continuing protests. “Who. Ate. My. Ice Cream?”
Waving the empty carton of spumoni at them, you scan the group looking for any signs of guilt. You see none, but aren’t convinced. Someone did it. And someone knows who did.
Steve elbows Bucky urgently, who is trying - and failing - to conceal his laughter. Your eyes flash to him, blazing. Boyfriend or not, this is something that has his name written all over it.
“Did you eat my ice cream, Barnes?” you hiss, starting towards him and jabbing the empty carton at him.
“Sugar, calm down,” he says gently as he stands, slowly approaching you with his hands up. “It wasn’t me… you know I hate that pistachio shit. C’mon, just relax. I’ll go get you some more.”
“You can’t just go get more!” you snap. “I have to go all the way to QUEENS to get this stuff. And the little shop is closed until TUESDAY .”
Glancing around the room again, you decide to try a different tactic. With a smile significantly less malicious than you felt, you made an offer you knew someone would take. “I know one of you knows who ate my ice cream. Whoever tells me gets two batches of homemade cookies, any kind they want”.
As your words hit home, you grinned. Steve was biting his lip, hard . Nat looked like she was weighing the pros and cons of outing whoever it was, and if she could take them down when they inevitably came for her. Vision was staring blankly… he wouldn’t tell. Bruce was shaking his head violently, and Tony was singing something that sounded suspiciously like “someone’s gonna get it” under his breath while looking around eagerly.
Just when you thought none of them would crack, it happened. “Sam did it!” Wanda blurts out.
“Thanks Wan!” you shout, skipping off down the hallway, carton still in hand.
Bucky sighs, and turns to Steve. “Where’s Wilson?”
“Out on a date… why?” Steve asks nervously.
“Does Y/N know that?”
“I think so… heard them talking about it yesterday,” Wanda chimes in.
Bucky groans. “I never thought I’d say this willingly, but I have to go save Wilson’s ass.”
You reach the garage, surprised Bucky hadn’t followed you to try and calm you down. As you make your way to your baby, you twirl your balisong open and shut in one hand. It always calmed you, although it looked pretty terrifying to others.
Just as you’re about to slide in to the driver’s seat, you see him appear on the other side of the car. Folding his arms on the roof of the Corvette, he cocks an eyebrow at you.
“Where y’goin’ sugar?” he purrs, voice like honey. You know what he’s doing, and it’s not gonna work this time.
You shrug nonchalantly, slipping your knife into your pocket and hopping into the car. “I’m either going out for ice cream, or to murder someone. I’ll decide in the car”.
Before you can stop him, Bucky slides into the passenger seat. “Baby, come on. It’s just ice cream. No reason to ruin Sam’s date over it”. He rubs his metal hand on your thigh, trying to calm you down.
“It’s the principle of the thing, Buck,” you sigh, irritated. “It had my name on it. I would’ve shared if he asked but no! He just ate it all ”.
You barely notice his hand has moved from your thigh to your hand until you feel him pressing kisses to your palm. “Well,” he murmurs between pecks, “I know for a fact Wilson has some Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia stashed in the mini fridge in his room. How about you go eat some of that, and leave the murdering to me?”
Smirking, you pull your hand away from his and move to get out of the car. “I like the way you think, Bucky.”
As you walk back to the elevator together, Bucky slips his arm around your waist. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you look up at him. “Hey Buck?”
He looks down at you, quirking his head to the side.
“Don’t actually murder Sam. I think Steve might miss him,” you giggle as the doors to the elevator open.
“Oh sugar, that’s not the kind of murdering I’m going to be doing tonight,” he growls, spinning you around and backing you into the elevator before crashing his lips onto yours.