WinterShield Bingo

A.N.: This is the first part of 2 or 3 that I will be posting this week for @intotheomegaverse’s and @stuckygeekevents’ Eggpreg Week 2026 event. Happy Spring🌷, happy Easter🐣 to those who celebrate (He is risen! 🙌🏾) and go check out the event if you haven’t already!)

Part I.

The groveswood meadow bustled with activity: vendors and villagers alike, the smell of sweet nuts and ale, music of lyre and flute, the chatter of people playing games and the laughter of children rushing between adults’ legs as they roamed in wild packs. There were foods, flowers, families, and ribbons just about everywhere one looked, and it was a busy, beautiful sight to behold.

The festival of the Spring Equinox was well underway. It had been for nearly one full day, but that second day at several hours past the noon hour would mark the festival's peak: the mating run. It had to be then, that fragile sliver of time where the lengthening days matched the shortening nights, when the soil, having shivered loose with new-sprouted life, would welcome the sirenfolk of Marvèlle to run, and chase, and pair … and breed. 

Bucky was equal parts excited and nervous to be participating for the very first time. He was finally old enough, the elders having declared him eligible and fit after examining his last heat at home. That had been embarrassing, but worth the trouble, since he was so eager to see what all the fuss was about. Running was something that teenagers and adolescents tittered and gossiped about, that adults smiled secretly for, and children play-pretended at without knowing a thing. But no matter anyone’s age or knowledge, running was known to be thrilling, exciting, and primal. It was something only the grown ups got to do, and now Bucky finally knew that he counted as one, because he would be running the groveswood that year, naked and wild and free! (… well, until someone caught him. Then he’d be pinned down and claimed and bred. But that was the whole point, of course.)

“So … do you think it’s better to accept ribbons from many different alphas, or just one or two?” Bucky asked his friend Clint, who was participating in his second run that season, but who had also spent much more time around the event even prior to that, due to his many older siblings having taken part over the years. 

Clint shrugged and shoved another handful of candied nuts into his mouth and crunched down on them, seeming unconcerned with giving a fast reply. “Eh,” he said through his mouthful. “Maybe?”

Bucky whined unhappily, impatient for more reassurance than that. “Come on, man, be straight with me. I mean,” he huffed and held up his cluttered wrist and forearm, shaking it with some urgency, “was this a mistake? Does it make me seem not serious? Should I have been more, ya know, selective? Or something?”

Clint snorted. “Gods, quit your bellyaching, dude. Most people’d be kicking their heels if they had that many alphas offering.”

“Cliiint. You know what I mean! What if they all think I’m not that serious about them? Do they think that? when you just go around accepting from every alpha who offers? Do they, like, not try as hard to catch you, then? out in the grove?” His questions came anxious and rapid fire, but Clint remained calm as he rolled his eyes and walked along, pondering his answer.

“Mm, I dunno. I guess … I guess it doesn’t really matter that much?” he finally decided, sounding anything but sure.

“You guess?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I think so? Heck, think about it Buck: they’re probably just glad not to get turned down publically when they come up and offer. Embarrassing, you know?” He held out his paper cone of remaining sweet nuts to Bucky in offering, but Bucky waved him off, far too worked up to think about eating anything. Clint shrugged and shimmied out another handful for himself. “Don’t worry so much. Most of ‘em aren’t even out here seriously. They just want a bit of a chase. It’s good fun.” 

Bucky pouted. He’d come there with the intent of seriously running, maybe even with the secret wish that he might be lucky enough to meet his mate that day. Sure, the odds weren’t high, especially for a siren’s very first season running, but one could always hope. It was only 1949, after all. Romance wasn’t completely dead yet. … was it? “Well I don’t think that should be allowed,” he grumped. “It’s not nice to get people’s hopes up for nothing like that. And besides, the Council didn’t start this whole thing to just be some big game. It’s our survival we’re talking about here!” Clint rolled his eyes, and Bucky raised his chin up obstinately. “I mean it. It isn’t right. People should only be allowed to run if they seriously intend to—” He stopped talking as he spotted yet another unknown alpha approaching with an air of purpose. He grimaced. “Oh, geez …”

The man walked right up to them and introduced himself with a courtly bow. As he straightened, Bucky saw that the flare of his lapel bore the crest of the Squid. Great. Another Hydrässe fop. Bucky tried to force something approximating a smile onto his face as he waited awkwardly for the man to say his piece. He wasn’t the sort of fellow that Bucky would typically pine for, but he wasn’t completely unfortunate looking, either. He had dark hair and was lean and wiry rather than large and strong, he looked quite young too,  like he might still be in his first years of running. But he wasn’t fat or ogreish, at least. “James of Brooklyne?” the man asked, eying the emblem of piccolo and lyre that graced Bucky’s own collar.

“Erm, yeah. … Hi,” Bucky greeted reluctantly.

“Are you running this year?” the man asked, the sparkle in his eye making Bucky wince internally, because obviously Bucky’s forearm betrayed that he was, and because he could already infer what the guy must be holding where he had his hand hidden behind his back. And Bucky really didn’t need to be accepting another ribbon from yet another alpha. 

“Ah … yes. Yes I am.” He smile-winced as the alpha proudly brought his hand around front and presented him with a length of russet colored ribbon. “Oh, gee …”

“May I?”

He was helpless to do anything other than hold out his arm in defeat, allowing the alpha to tie his favor onto his wrist. It sat alongside nearly fifteen others, all of various widths and lengths and colors. “Thanks,” Bucky said, waving awkwardly as the alpha began to bow away with a self satisfied smirk.

“I hope to see you in the grove,” he bid, and turned and left in the direction of the Maypole. 

“Wow,” Clint said once the man was out of earshot. “The squids love you this year.” 

Bucky pressed his lips together in displeasure. “Yeah,” he muttered. He must’ve had a sad look on his face as he held up his wrist to inspect all the different ribbons, because Clint scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are allowed to say ‘no’, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky mourned. “But it just seems so mean. I don’t wanna have to watch them walk away all dejected and wilted with their ribbons still in hand.” Like Clint himself had pointed out: it was embarrassing. Many alphas’ friend groups made a sport of standing nearby to watch the handing out of favors, waiting to crow at each victory and harangue their friend at each rejection. “I’ll just lose ‘em all at the beginning of the run,” Bucky decided, looking down at his wrist again as he tried to remember which ribbons had come from the more attractive alpha suitors. In general all the best had been Shelden and Avèngese, so he could at least narrow things down by discarding the red and green ribbons at the beginning of the chase, keep only the favors that sported shades of purple or blue. He sighed forlornly and let his arm drop. “Nobody’s going to bother with me, are they?”

Clint tutted and told him he was taking the whole thing entirely too seriously (“It’s supposed to be fun, Buck”) then tugged him in the direction of where the carnival games were set up. “Come on, firsttimer. I’ll buy you some tokens. This is just nervous energy. A little friendly competition ought to get it outta ya.”

Bucky threw his head back with a sigh as he was steered in the direction of the tent stalls that housed the throwing and tossing games. Clint was always best at those. “What competition?” he complained. “You just want to show off.”

“I’ve got my eye on a stuffed bear and I ain’t leaving here without it,” Clint didn’t bother to deny.

As they were leaving the third tent—Clint with a large stuffed bear and Bucky with dented pride—yet another alpha stood out from the crowd as he began to walk their way with that same, poignantly purposeful look in his eye. 

… Except this one actually had Bucky’s breath catching in his lungs in a way that felt more like the excitement Clint kept saying he was supposed to be experiencing, and less like the put-upon apprehension that he’d felt with every other suitor.

The man was coming from the direction of the Council’s shade pavilion. He was of Sheldebourg, his purple lapel bearing the oaken crest and shield. And even from a distance, it was apparent that he was uncommonly handsome, with features that appealed as both striking and beautiful, and a frame just as impressive. He was tall, and muscular, with shoulders that filled out his jacket to a degree that most men could only ever hope for. His body spoke of an active lifestyle, of years of hard and good labor, even as he walked with grace and ease in their direction. 

“Holy shit.” Bucky stopped in his tracks and grabbed Clint at the crook of his arm. “Don’t look,” he hissed, “But who’s that?”

”Who’s who?” Clint at least had the good sense not to swivel his head around all obviously. 

“That alpha. There. Headed our way. From over by the Council pavilion.” Bucky peeked in that direction again, heart jumping in his chest as he caught the man’s gaze still straight on them as he came closer. “Oh gods, he’s coming to us. Act cool.”

There wasn’t time to say any more before the man was within earshot. “Hello.” He greeted them with a pleasant smile, self assured but hardly arrogant. He stood there in an unmistakably purposeful way, but with far less pomp, pride, or even eager nerves that some of the other alpha suiters had held throughout the day. He seemed completely relaxed. Which oddly made Bucky feel all the more flustered to turn and acknowledge him.

“Oh,” he said, pulse in his throat as he turned to face the man (and pretend that he hadn’t already known for the past lifetime fifteen seconds that he was coming their way). “Um. Hi.” His eyes did a onceover drag of the man. Gods be good, was he ever handsome. His lapel bore the oakenshield, but also the sigil that marked him as a veteran of the War. Bucky felt his attraction grow and his accessible vocabulary shrink. “Um, g-good morning to you. Or, afternoon I guess. Almost.” The man smiled kindly as if he could tell that Bucky was flustered—and oh, dear Gods of earth and isle, Bucky hoped not. Pull it together, Barnes. “The fair is quite the event this year, is it not?” he said, trying to show that he wasn’t just a virgin dunce who couldn’t thread two sentences together when confronted with an attractive alpha.

“It is indeed,” the man agreed pleasantly. “Every season it seems to have something delightful and new to discover.” Here, he let his eyes drag meaningfully up and down Bucky’s body, returning to his face just in time to see it turning pink. He waited for a response, and Bucky became aware that he had to say something back.

“Oh!” he said dumbly. “Um, yes, indeed. They have … so many foods. H-have you tried the rum buns yet? Ser …?” He trailed off with a wince. The rum buns? What a stupid thing to bring up!

“Rogers,” the man supplied, looking as though he found Bucky’s bumbling amusing, rather than foolish. “Ser Steven Rogers. Of Sheldebourg.” His bow was perfunctory and short, but polite. He seemed most interested in looking Bucky in the eye and speaking to him straight on, not in silly courtship flourishes. At his side, his hand held a length of violet ribbon in plain sight, not concealed behind his back. It showed him to be honest and straightforward rather than coy and pretentious, and Bucky liked that. Ser Steven smirked as he caught Bucky staring at the ribbon. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I do favor pastries. And rum. I suppose I’ll have to get my hands on one, give it a try.” He shot him a fast wink. “It’ll be good fuel for the run.”

“It’s almost noon hour,” Bucky said lamely, getting lost in the man’s—Steven’s—gaze. “They, um, stop serving them at noon. I think.”

Ser Steven’s eyes twinkled. “Well I’ll have to make haste, then.” 

From up close, he was even more attractive. He had eyes the color of spring sky, strikingly blue in their intensity. His hair was a burnished golden color, darker at the roots and grown long and shaggy past his ears. While he obviously was no first-time runner, the lack of grey in his beard or wrinkle to his skin hinted that he was far from the age of an Elder, either. The fellow had a few decades under his belt. Old enough to have been one of the fighting men drafted in the War. Old enough to be a man, not a boy. Realizing that he was just standing there and not introducing himself in turn, Bucky blushed and began to say, “I’m sorry, how rude of me. My name is—”

“Bucky Barnes,” Ser Steven said. “I know.” 

“… of Brooklyne,” Bucky finished weakly, surprised to hear his common name from the man’s lips. Every other suitor that day so far had called him by his given name of James (if they’d even called him anything at all). “How … how did you know that’s what I’m called?” he asked. 

Ser Steven grinned—an easy, carefree flash of perfect teeth through his short beard. Dear Gods, he was unfairly handsome. “Well. I suppose l’ll confess: I did a bit of research, before today.” His smile turned sheepish and he brought up the ribbon that he’d never bothered to hide that he was holding in the first place. “To figure out which omega I might offer my favor to, for the run.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline. “You did, um, you did research?” (So had he, but he’d been under the distinct impression that it was considered embarrassing to admit to such a thing. Like Clint himself had pointed out: most people didn’t take the run so seriously.) But when the alpha in front of him nodded, Bucky only found himself more enamored. He’d never been researched before. His gaze fell to the ribbon in Steven’s hand and he could only think to blurt out next, “Erm, you said, favor? As in …” He looked again, but indeed, there was only one violet ribbon in the man’s hand. There were no others visible on his person; not stuffed in his pockets nor looped about his belt like the other village alphas had done to show off their popularity. And he’d said the words as singular: omega. ribbon. Bucky gulped. “You um, you only just brought the one?”

Steven smiled bashfully and looked down, his golden lashes fanned out against cheeks that, if Bucky wasn’t mistaken, held a touch of a blush. “Yes, well … I do like to make my mind up about things.” He looked back up at Bucky with those blue, blue eyes. “No sense in spreading false hope or shallow promises to half the island, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Bucky breathed. “I agree.” And with that, before he could do anything or say another word, the handsomest alpha that Bucky had ever seen went to one knee in front of him. He reached out, asking for his hand, and it took Bucky a long second before he shook himself into action and stepped closer to offer it. “Oh,” he said, when Ser Steven’s fingers closed around his. They were large and rough, and warm …

“If you’d accept, that is,” he hedged, waiting for Bucky to look him in the eye again before checking, “Do you?”

Bucky swallowed, at a loss and yet already licking his lips from the urge to nod. He had asked around, this week prior, as to who in the village and the other districts might be running, wanting to discover if any exceptionally suitable suitors stood out for him to look for. But he hadn’t heard anyone make mention of a Steven of Sheldebourg running that year. Indeed, Bucky was sure he’d never heard of the man. “Why haven’t I seen you before?” he asked, too curious to realize how rude of an answer that was to give to the man kneeling before him. 

Ser Steven didn’t seem offended. His mouth quirked as if he thought it a good question, if also oddly timed. “Well I’m not the most social of alphas,” he admitted. “I have my group of friends. But I’m not one to be known for running at the equinox, if that’s what you’re thinking of.” He looked down at their joined hands, at Bucky’s wrist and forearm full of ribbons, and Bucky felt a wave of shame come over him at how he’d pranced around that entire morning, accepting every interested alpha’s token of intent.

“Erm …” he started to say, prepared to excuse his appearance, to defend himself. “It’s my first year and I didn’t know—“

“I was asked by the Elders to consider running, this season,” Ser Steven interrupted him, looking up at him honestly as he admitted, “They don’t care for how much of a game some people have turned it into. They spoke with some of the alphas my own age and standing, asked if we would look into any eligible omegas that we might pursue, if we did run. So,” he shrugged, perhaps a bit self consciously, “I did.”

Bucky felt like a million golden butterflies were dancing inside his ribcage. “And … me?” He said, astounded to think that of anyone this prime example of an alpha could have, he’d want to pursue him. 

But Ser Steven nodded and confirmed, “Yes. You.” He looked down at where Bucky’s hand still rested in his, the purple ribbon he held ready to tie to it. “If you want to accept, that is. You’re under no obligation to. I won’t be offended or upset if you tell me no,” he said. 

Bucky was flabbergasted. No other alpha had been so accommodating, so kind and polite and unassuming in how they’d approached and offered their favors. Indeed, he’d felt quite put upon each and every time, as though he’d be the jerk for declining, if he did say no. But not now. “Ser Steven,” he said.

“Just Steve, please,” the man insisted.

“Steve. I’d … I’d love to accept your favor,” Bucky said, voice barely more than a whisper. 

He was rewarded by the brightest smile he’d ever seen from a man, and Steve wasted no time in tying the scrap of ribbon onto him: right at the very bottom of all the other ribbons that’d been stacked up his arm that day. He took a moment to tie it into a little bow and center it just perfectly over the bones of Bucky’s wrist. Then, he stood and took a step back. He looked very pleased indeed, and Bucky felt a thrill of satisfaction at being the one responsible for it. “Thank you for accepting, James of Brooklyne,” Steve said, proving that he did, in fact, know Bucky’s given name as well. He took another step back, and another, giving a respectful nod before locking bright eyes on Bucky’s one last time. “I hope to see you in the grove.”

Bucky felt like he had little breath left in his chest to produce sound as he opened his mouth to reply, and watched the alpha turn around and go. “… you too,” he said, certainly not loud enough to be heard, a grin slowly overtaking his face as he watched Steve make his way across the grass—notably in the direction of the rum bun vendor. Bucky couldn’t help it: he laughed. 

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💖 Leda

Masterlist

This has been a fill for:

Event: The Spring Hunt - Into the Omegaverse Egg Preg Week 2026 @eggpregweek2026 @stuckygeekevents @intotheomegaverse

Card: L.T. Swann

Prompt Fills: “Courting rituals,” “Hidden in the hollow,” “a helping hand.”

Event: @sweetspicybingo (beginnings bingo)

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square B1: First Time

Event: @sebastianstanbingo

Card: sarahowritesostucky

Square G2: Siren AU

Event: @ultimatechrisbingo

Card: sarahowritesostucky 

Square O2: 1940s AU

Event: @wintershieldbingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky 

Square B4: Siren

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