It's way too late but my brain said 'Bucky in an apron furiously mixing cookie batter' so here I am and here you go. 

* * *

Bucky was mad. Bucky was very mad.

 Bucky was as furious as one could get, because of freaking Sam Wilson.

Bucky also had glitter everywhere. It wasn't that type of glitter that washes out easily (cause that doesn't exist). It was the glitter that you could not get rid of. The glitter that you would find in your food six months later. 

How did it get there? No one knows, that's the power of glitter.

So anyway, Bucky was in a predicament. He wanted to murder someone (a certain flying falcon), but according to the modern rules, that's illegal. 

What could he do?

Certainly nothing to do with knives was an option, but oh, how he wanted to. Bucky's brain thought about guns, too, but that was probably just as bad.

No, he needed to do something harmless to release his anger. Not the gym though, he'd had enough of that.

Almost mechanically, Bucky's body led him to the kitchen. He slipped on an apron, Steve's apron, and took out ingredients. Tools were set out, space prepared- it was time to make some bomb cookies.

Bucky couldn't find any spoons. Unperturbed, he detached his metal arm. He shrugged and shook it a bit until it whirred like a mixer.

Commence stirring, angrily.

Peter walked into the kitchen, startled awake at the noise. What he saw was quite a sight.

Bucky, with a pout upon his lips and glitter infused into his very being, was holding his metal arm as he stirred a mixture. In his, no Steve's, hot pink 'kiss the cook' apron, Bucky mumbled a bit. Amidst his incomprehensible babble, Peter was able to pick up some of Bucky's sentences.

 "Stupid flappy bird"

 "Sam. HAm. They rhyme. What a C O I N C I D E N D C E."

 " Glitter. Oh funny, Bucky has glitter! HAaha we'll see who's laughing when we're at your funeral. Me, that's who. I'm gonna be laughing until I cry.'

 "Idiotic cookie dough. Sam I mean. You could do no wrong, my sweet substance."

 It was two in the morning, and Peter had not the patience nor the will to deal with an angry assassin that early in the morning. He slowly backed out of the kitchen, and figured that he could find food elsewhere.

~

The next morning, everyone had waffles for breakfast, since they had been left out. There were sweets covering all the counter space, too, and Sam was in heaven.

He reached out to grab a cupcake when a metal hand stopped him.

"No," Bucky said. "You don't get any."

"Why not?" Sam asked, outraged, "I've got just as good a claim on these as you do."

He shook his head. "False. I made these."

Sam stewed in his anger for a while before Bucky approached him apologetically. 

"I'm sorry for being mean. Here, eat this specific cookie and no others." 

Sam ate it while Bucky sat in the background with an evil grin upon his lips. Needless to say, Sam spent most of the day in the bathroom.

Steve laughed. "Geez, Buck. What'd you put in that?"

"High-strength laxatives." Bucky answered smugly.

No one messed with Bucky after that.

* * *