#spatula

Bucky had been on a solo mission for the past week, and he was supposed to be coming back the next day, probably in the afternoon. The others had warned you about him – his staring, his brooding, how grumpy he was – so you were a little nervous to meet him. But you didn’t have to worry about that until tomorrow.

Because you didn’t have to get up early to train with the others, you stayed up late, watching a movie. You had chosen a horror movie tonight, so you were sitting on the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, knees pulled up to your chest, hands just below your eyes, ready to cover them at any moment.

Suddenly, you heard the elevator door ding, causing you to jump.

You quickly paused the movie, listening closely since you couldn’t see the elevator door from the couch. It was just off the kitchen, and you heard heavy footsteps walking down the hall in the opposite direction of the kitchen, towards the…well you actually didn’t remember what was down that way.

You quickly got up and crept into the kitchen. You slowly walked in, eyes trained on the doorway to the hall they had just walked down. You glanced at the clock on the oven, realizing it was almost 1:30 am.

You looked back at the hallway, slowly reaching to grab a knife off the stand on the counter. You slowly made your way to the doorway, holding the knife out in front of you…only to realize it wasn’t a knife.

You had grabbed a spatula.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, arms dropping to your sides. You turned back around to switch the spatula out with a knife, when you heard the footsteps again, approaching the kitchen.

You quickly turned back around and quietly ran to the doorway. A spatula would have to do.

The second they took a step into the kitchen, you jumped out in front of them, spatula inches away from their face.

A metal arm grabbed your wrist, and you realized who it was. “Bucky?”

He moved your hand out of his face so he could see yours. “And you must be y/n,” he said, letting go of your wrist.

You dropped your arm, taking a step back. “Sorry, I thought you were breaking in.”

“And a spatula was your weapon of choice?”

You sighed, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I meant to grab a knife,” you mumbled, walking back into the kitchen.

You walked back to the counter, returning the spatula where you found it, as he followed behind you. When you turned around, the security light in the kitchen cast a faint glow over his features.

He was a lot more handsome in person.

His dark hair was a little longer than you expected, still slightly damp from the cold night air, and it curled gently at the ends near his jaw. His features were sharp but softened by the tiredness in his eyes – eyes that were a piercing blue, almost too intense to hold eye contact with for too long. He had a faint stubble along his jaw, his jawline sharp. And, of course, there was the arm – the metal catching the low light as he leaned casually against the counter, like grabbing strangers wielding spatulas in the dark was totally normal.

But as you were taking him in, you didn’t notice he was doing the same to you.

His eyes flicked over your face, lingering on the way your long hair spilled over your shoulders, slightly tousled from where it had been tucked into your blanket. The blanket was still wrapped around you, though it had fallen open in the front, revealing an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder and a pair of shorts that barely peeked out beneath the hem. His gaze dropped briefly to your legs – long, toned, and bare – before catching sight of your feet, completely barefoot against the cool tile floor.

You didn’t say anything, too distracted by the way he was looking at you – brows slightly raised, almost curious, like he hadn’t expected you to look quite like this.

“Not exactly the warm welcome I expected,” he said, his voice a little rough, eyes finally meeting yours again.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t scare me next time,” you said, crossing your arms. “Or maybe I shouldn’t keep watching horror movies alone.”

He just chuckled as he looked down, shaking his head.

“I didn’t think you were supposed to be back until tomorrow?” you asked, leaning against the counter behind you.

“I finished earlier than I thought, decided to drive straight back instead of stopping somewhere.”

You just nodded in response, looking away awkwardly, not sure what to say now.

“Why are you up so late?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Oh, I’ve been doing my own workouts that Steve gives me in the afternoon, so I can sleep in since I don’t have to train with them in the morning.”

Bucky nodded slowly, then tilted his head. “So instead of sleeping, you decided to scare the hell out of yourself with a horror movie?”

You gave him a look. “It’s called self-care.”

He smirked, arms crossing over his chest. “Interesting definition.”

“I like the adrenaline rush,” you defended, though your voice betrayed the slight tremble from earlier. “And I was doing just fine until you showed up like some kind of horror movie final boss.”

That made him laugh – actually laugh – and you were a little stunned by how much softer he looked when he did. Like there was no way he used to be the Winter Soldier.

“You really thought someone was breaking in?” he asked, clearly still amused.

You gave him a dry look. “At 1:30 in the morning? With heavy footsteps? Yeah, I panicked.”

“And went for a spatula.”

“Okay, we’re not gonna keep bringing that up. I thought I grabbed a knife.”

He just grinned, leaning one hip against the counter. “Can’t promise that.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, but there was a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not as scary as everyone made you sound, you know.”

“Oh, just you wait,” he said, giving you a dramatic deadpan look. “I haven’t even glared at you yet.”

You snorted. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“Depends. Are you gonna throw any more kitchen utensils at me?”

“Only if you sneak up on me again.”

There was a beat of silence as the banter settled, and you both just looked at each other. His expression was thoughtful, eyes roaming over your face again, more curious than anything.

“You’re different than I expected,” he said quietly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

He shrugged, pushing off the counter and heading toward the fridge. “You’re not intimidated.”

“I waved a spatula at your face. That’s practically a dominance display.”

Bucky chuckled again, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. “Alright, new rule. No more horror movies alone. At least not without a real weapon nearby.”

You leaned your head back against the cabinets, giving him a playful smile. “So what, are you volunteering to be my horror movie buddy?”

He twisted the cap off the water and took a sip, eyeing you over the top of the bottle. “Only if there’s popcorn.”

You grinned, but before you could reply, he yawned – big and unfiltered, catching him off guard enough that he blinked a few times afterward and rubbed at his eyes.

“Long drive?” you asked, voice softening a little.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been up for…way too many hours.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back safe,” you said, gently pushing off the counter. “And sorry about the spatula. For real.”

“No permanent damage,” he said with a small smile, and that same curious look passed through his eyes again. “Goodnight, y/n.”

You returned the smile, a little warmer this time. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

He lingered for a second like he might say something else, but instead, he gave you a quiet nod and walked off down the hallway, water bottle in hand, metal arm catching the light one last time before disappearing around the corner.

You exhaled slowly, finally letting your shoulders drop. Then you glanced down at the spatula still sitting on the counter and shook your head.

“Welcome to the team,” you muttered to yourself, turning back toward the couch.

--

The next morning when you woke up, your stomach was growling.

You went to the bathroom and quickly ran a brush through your hair before washing your face, but you didn’t bother getting dressed before you walked to the kitchen.

As you padded into the kitchen, still in the sweatshirt and shorts from last night, all the other Avengers were in there, either eating, making breakfast, or just talking – including Bucky.

Nat was the first to notice you. “Morning, y/n.”

“Morning,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. A few others smiled or nodded good morning as you made your way to the fridge, trying to decide what you wanted to eat.

Bucky stood in front of the open fridge, grabbing eggs from the carton.

“Morning, Bucky,” you said, sticking your head under his arm to look in the fridge.

Everyone else just watched silently, waiting to see what Bucky would do. They had no idea you had already met, and they knew he hated being talked to or approached in the morning, so they were a little worried.

“Morning, y/n. Want me to make you eggs too?”

You just hummed, still crouching under his arm, surveying the fruit options in the fridge. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, ducking under his arm and taking a step back.

He grabbed a few more eggs as you turned around, noticing everyone staring at you two, some with their mouths hanging open.

“What?” you said, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Sam was the first to break. “Wait, he offered to make you breakfast?”

You blinked, looking between them. “Yeah…?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky. “Since when do you cook for anyone?”

Bucky just shrugged, cracking the eggs into a pan like it was no big deal. “She threatened me with a spatula last night. It felt only fair.”

There was a beat of silence – and then a collective explosion of laughter.

“You – wait, what?” Sam leaned forward, nearly choking on his coffee. “She pulled a spatula on you?”

You felt your face go red instantly. “I thought someone was breaking in! It was dark, I panicked!”

Tony set his mug down with a dramatic shake of his head. “And this is who we’re trusting to help save the world?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It was either a spatula or a loaf of bread, Stark. I made a call.”

Nat laughed into her coffee, clearly enjoying this way too much. “So let me get this straight – you startled her, she tried to Spatula America you, and instead of being grumpy and scary like usual, you made her breakfast?”

Bucky smirked but kept his eyes on the pan. “She had good form. Almost smacked me in the face with it.”

Clint leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Wow. And here I thought you didn’t like anyone who made eye contact before noon.”

Bruce, sitting with a smoothie, tilted his head thoughtfully. “You seem…oddly chill right now.”

Bucky glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe I like being threatened by kitchen utensils.”

That got a second round of laughter, even from Steve – who was now studying Bucky like he was trying to solve an equation.

You were still standing there, completely thrown by how casually he was acting. He wasn’t snapping, or glaring, or giving anyone his signature “don’t talk to me” vibe. He was just…cooking eggs. For you.

Tony leaned toward Nat and whispered – not quietly enough – “ten bucks says they’re secretly dating already.”

You shot him a look. “I can hear you.”

He raised both hands. “I’m just saying! This is the calmest I’ve ever seen Barnes and the first time I’ve seen you voluntarily in the kitchen before noon. Something is definitely going on.”

Bucky just shook his head, flipping the eggs effortlessly. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”

You looked at him, one brow raised. “Because of the spatula incident?”

He didn’t look up, but there was a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe.”

You shook your head, still trying to process the fact that you had been the one to somehow get through Bucky Barnes' grumpy morning shield.

You wandered over to the kitchen island and sank down onto one of the barstools, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged on the seat, your oversized sweatshirt sliding down one shoulder. Nat slid onto the stool next to you, still grinning, while Sam leaned his elbows on the counter across from you, like he was watching a soap opera unfold in real time.

“So,” Nat said casually, “how exactly did we get to ‘good morning’ and ‘I’ll make you eggs’ from ‘grumpy murder stare’ Barnes?”

You groaned softly. “Guys, it’s not that deep. We just…met last night. Accidentally. Kind of.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “With a spatula.”

“Okay, yes, with a spatula,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “It was dark. I was scared. Let it go.”

“You waved a pancake flipper at a trained assassin and now he’s making you breakfast,” Sam said, straight-faced. “This is a rom-com and I did not get a script.”

As you laughed and bickered with them, you didn’t notice Bucky finishing up at the stove behind you. He didn’t say anything – just quietly plated the eggs, grabbed a fork, and set the plate down in front of you on the island, right in the middle of your sentence.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh – thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said simply, then returned to the stove to make his own plate.

The room went dead silent for a split second before—

“Ohhh my god,” Sam groaned dramatically, flopping onto the counter. “He cooked for her and served it to her? He’s down bad.”

Clint pointed a spoon toward Bucky. “We’re witnessing history. This is like…the Bucky Barnes Soft Launch.”

Tony mimed typing on a phone. “Hold on, I’m live-tweeting this. ‘Winter Soldier melts down from weaponized spatula and domestic bonding.’”

You gave them all a look and muttered, “He literally just made me eggs.”

Nat leaned in close, grinning. “He served you eggs. There’s a difference.”

“I’m right here,” Bucky called without looking up, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he dished up his own food.

“And yet,” Tony said, grinning as he sipped his coffee, “you’re not denying it.”

You shot Bucky a look, and he just shrugged, bringing his plate to the other end of the island and sitting down like none of this chaos concerned him at all. But when you looked again, his gaze flicked up to meet yours, and he gave you the tiniest wink.

You looked back down at your plate, cheeks warm. Yep. You were definitely in a rom-com.

You dug into the eggs—honestly, they were really good—and the conversation drifted to something else entirely. Nat was telling a story about a disastrous undercover mission that involved a lot of goats, and you were halfway through laughing at Sam’s horrified expression when you realized your plate was gone.

You blinked down at the empty space in front of you, then looked up to see Bucky at the sink, rinsing your plate and his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sam noticed at the same time you did. He froze mid-sip of his orange juice, slowly lowering the glass with wide eyes. “Oh my god.”

Nat turned around in her seat, catching sight of Bucky calmly scrubbing dishes. “No. No way.”

“He’s doing her dishes,” Sam said, turning to Nat like he needed a witness. “He’s washing her plate. Voluntarily.”

You blinked. “I – he didn’t have to do that–”

“Are you two already married or just emotionally bonded for life?” Tony called from the other side of the room, tossing a grape into his mouth.

Wanda, walking into the kitchen with a bagel, stopped dead in her tracks. “What’d I miss?”

“Barnes just cleared her plate and started washing it,” Sam said like he was reporting breaking news.

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “...did she save his life or something?”

“I threatened him with a spatula,” you mumbled into your coffee.

Bucky, still facing the sink, didn’t even turn around. “You’re never gonna live that down.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Nat said cheerfully.

You gave Bucky a look. “You didn’t have to clean up for me, you know.”

He glanced back over his shoulder. “I know.”

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned, dropping his head to the counter. “He knows.”

Tony pointed between the two of you like he was tracking a conspiracy. “So we’ve got: late night meeting, cooking, casual touch proximity, washing her dishes–”

“Next thing you know, he’s folding her laundry and building her a bookshelf,” Clint added.

“Okay, I draw the line at laundry,” Bucky said, finally turning around with a half-smile.

“You didn’t deny the bookshelf, though,” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

That got a low laugh out of him. “Depends. Do you have books?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it, realizing you did. Like, a lot.

Sam made a strangled noise. “Oh no. Oh no no no. This man is gone. G-O-N-E, gone.”

You couldn’t help it – you laughed, hard, burying your face in your hands.

And through it all, Bucky just leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching you with a quiet kind of amusement, like he didn’t even mind being the center of the chaos. In fact…he looked like he kind of liked it.

As the others continued joking and speculating about your supposed domestic takeover, you leaned your chin on your hand, watching Bucky from across the kitchen.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly – maybe the fact that you didn’t tiptoe around him like everyone else, or maybe it was just timing – but somehow, you'd slipped past a few of the walls everyone warned you about.

He caught you looking and gave you a small, knowing smile, like he could read your thoughts. You looked away quickly, but couldn’t fight the quiet little grin tugging at your lips.

You weren’t sure how you’d managed to crack through Bucky Barnes’ armor with a spatula and a pair of sleep shorts, but...maybe you wanted to find out what else you could break through.

Maybe this was just the beginning.

--