Marvel One Shots

Cookie Dough || Bucky Barnes

Another one from after-avenging-hours
Bucky/reader fluff

Bucky was used to being awake at all hours of the night. His sleep schedule never seemed to normalize and it had just become something he learned to live with. He was not, however, used to having company up with him when he was awake at 2 o'clock in the morning. And he was certainly not used to having such loud company.
"I WANNA WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Your rendition of Feliz Navidad bordered more on the side of yodeling rather than actual singing, but Bucky figured you were hopped up on too much cookie dough to care if you broke a few glasses.
You've got a tub of raw chocolate chip cookie dough tucked under one arm and a spoon in the other hand. You've been eating freely from it for the last hour. Written quite clearly on the side of the tub were the words "Do Not Eat Raw Cookie Dough". However, when Bucky pointed that out to you, you'd proclaimed that you were a rebel and proceeded to shove a rather large amount of dough into your mouth.
Bucky decided to let you be, figuring you'd probably crash within the hour. You were still going strong.
"Are you having a merry Christmas, Buck?" you ask, leaning heavily against him.
His lips curl up into a small smile. "Yes."
"Try this," you insist, lifting a spoon of cookie dough to his face.
He laughs, leaning his head back. "I think I'm okay."
"Seriously. You have to."
He rolls his eyes, a smile still on his lips before he leans forward wraps his lips around your spoon. He takes a mouthful of cookie dough, chewing on it and nodding. "It's good," he comments, hoping that will appease you.
"Want some more?" you ask, scooping another spoonful.
"No, that's alright."
You shrug, pushing off of him. "Your loss." You stick the spoon in your mouth and walk off, continuing to hum Feliz Navidad to yourself.
Bucky shakes his head, turning back to his tablet which rests on the counter in front of him as he sits in the kitchen. He looks up a few minutes later when he realizes how quiet it's become.
Stepping out of the kitchen, he chuckles quietly when he sees you passed out on the couch in the living room, your bowl of cookie dough resting on the floor. You don't even stir when he lifts you into his arms and takes you to your room.
"Goodnight, Y/N. My Christmas wouldn't be merry without you," he whispers to you, brushing some of your hair out of your face before leaving your room and shutting the door behind him.