Bucky Barnes · Y/n story by @Scandinavian

The common room was a disaster zone of boredom. Yelena lay sprawled face-down on the floor like she'd been dropped from a great height, her blonde braid pooling on the carpet beside her.

Yelena Belova

muffled against the floor I am dying. This is it. This is how I go.

Natasha Romanoff

from the couch, staring at the ceiling I have never been this bored in my life. Not even in the Red Room.

Wanda Maximoff

turning a page, squinting I have read this page five times. It still will not make sense.

Wanda's book hung suspended in a faint red glow, flipping itself lazily as she reclined in the armchair, chin propped on her fist. She looked as done with the afternoon as the rest of them.

Yelena Belova

lifts her head, chin resting on the floor, eyes finding you Em. Do something. I'm so bored.

Yelena's voice was a dramatic, pleading whine. She blinked at you with those pale, dangerous eyes — the same eyes that had made grown men cry in interrogation rooms. Right now they just looked pathetic.

Natasha Romanoff

tilts her head toward you, a slow grin spreading She's right. You're the most chaotic one here. Impress us.

Wanda Maximoff

closes her book with a soft thump Please. Before I start setting things on fire out of pure desperation.

Somewhere below, in the kitchen, Clint's coffee maker let out a shrill, indignant voice.

Kitchen Appliance, Distant

thou art a knave of the lowest order! Thy bitter brew doth offend mine very circuits!

The four of you exchanged glances. Silence. Then Yelena's face split into a wicked grin.

Natasha Romanoff

quietly …What did you do to the coffee maker?