#Captain America: Sam Wilson 18

[braveclementine]

Chapter 6

Warnings: None. (Will however be a 18+ reader book)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

You stirred at the sound of metal on stone. It was terrible sound, making you want to plug your ears.

The next thing you noticed was the pain in your arm. You winced, looking at the mess of bloody bandages. God you hoped nothing else happened, but you really hoped it didn't get infected. That would be just your luck.

The last thing you noticed was just how cold you were. You curled up, wrapping your arms around you in an attempt to get warm.

Your head was pounding, trying to remember how exactly you had gotten to this point. Right, you'd gone to Starbucks and walked home by yourself. Damn, you should've just made crappy at home coffee.

You could hear shouting, something that sounded possibly like guns being fired, and zapping noises.

Suddenly, there were footsteps outside of your cell. You looked up just in time to see two of the five get shot down while the other three were tripped with orange chains before being shot.

Bucky and Stephen entered the cell. Bucky was holding a huge gun in his metal hand, a knife in his flesh. He sheafed the knife to come and kneel by your side. "You alright doll?"

"Arm hurts." You murmured, closing your eyes again. "And I'm cold."

You winced as you felt your body jostling, Bucky picking you up in his arms. "Open a portal back to HQ. I'll alert the others on comms that we've got her."

You could hear a soft whooshing noise and then the air turned from cold to a bit warmer. You were laid down on a padded hospital bed. Stephen was gone and then back, wrapping you in a grey fuzzy blanket. He kissed your forehead softly before Dr. Banner came over with a tray full of torture devices.

"I have to go back and get the others." Stephen said to Bucky, "Will you stay with her?"

"Of course." Bucky said. You could hear that whooshing noise again and Stephen was gone.

"How are you feeling doll?" Bucky asked softly as Bruce carefully gave you a needle for a light dose of anesthesia.

"We're all safe?" You asked, worried about everyone you hadn't been able to see yet.

"Yes." Bucky said solid. "It's hard to lose when you have two extremely angry Gods on your side."

You smiled a little, thinking of Loki and Thor being furious. "I'm sorry. Was stupid going out for coffee."

"Not your fault. We're the ones who're supposed to take care of you." Bucky said softly.

"Ah good." Fury said, walking in. Though he was trying not to sound it, his voice was full of relief.

"She'll probably go under in about. . . now." Dr. Banner said, and everything went black.

*Later*

You came to what felt like seconds later, feeling a little fuzzy, but nothing hurt- yet.

You slowly opened your eyes and almost started laughing. It seemed that everyone had fallen asleep waiting for you to wake up.

Fury had fallen asleep in his hard chair, arms crossed over his chest, head hanging.

Tony and Stephen were fast asleep on the sofa, Stephen laying on top of Tony, their arms hanging over the side of the couch.

Thor was sitting on the floor, legs straight out, hands in his lap, head hanging as well.

Steve, Bucky, and Sam had piled together on the floor as well.

Clint's head could be see as he was curled up in the vent.

T'Challa was sitting backwards on the chair, resting his head on his arms on the back of the chair while Rhodey had his back pressed against the back of the same chair, knees tucked up under his chin, fast asleep on his arms.

Loki had fallen asleep standing up, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed across his chest.

You sat up, feeling just a little dizzy at the sensation, "Lokes?"

He stirred easily, walking out of his position to come and sit on the bit of space on your bed. "How are you feeling, my Queen?"

"Fuzzy." You said with a small smile, "Were you really asleep standing up?"

"It's an ability I've developed over the years." Loki said with a small smile.

"Is everyone okay?" You asked, worried for the health of your soulmates, "And my sister, what does she know?"

"Everyone is fine." Loki said, the smile turning into a smirk. "And your sister is here, though I think she's fast asleep upstairs. Wanda and the robot are with her. She knows you were taken and were hurt, but we told her not to worry. You'll recover in a couple of weeks without a mark if the green giant is accurate."

You leaned forward, Loki opening his arms so that you could snuggle into them. "Thank you."

"Anything for you my Queen."

***

They all took turns sitting with me, talking to me, or just being a comforting presence. I had explained to a select few like T'Challa, Clint, Loki, and Rhodey about what had happened in there, about how they were trying to find a way to end soulmate bonds forever.

But I couldn't share that with like Stephen and Tony or Steve, Bucky, and Sam. I just couldn't. Not that Steve ever visited for me to tell him anyways. Well, he stopped by to check in how I was, but he never spent much time with me.

Of course, there was always someone else, but I would've liked to have talked to Steve for more than ten minutes every day.

Fury was extremely busy, but he made sure that he always made time for me.

Bucky and Sam said that Steve was busy organizing training schedules and was barely getting sleep at night. I said nothing. Besides, I was really starting to enjoy T'Challa and Clint's company when they were together. I enjoyed hearing the stories of how they were once fighting against each other during the Civil War fight.

Loki was equally fun to talk to, especially if Thor or Stephen was in company with him.

Thor kept bringing up wedding ideas and finally, Loki set the binder on fire, making Thor almost cry. It was hilarious.

Then Thor had produced a second binder that was practically identical, claiming that he always knew Loki would set it on fire.

I giggled and then asked Thor if I could see the binder.

There was really a lot of cute ideas in here.

"You should go into this business Thor." You complimented, looking over his ideas for a beach wedding. It was absolutely beautiful, like something out of a movie. "You really have an eye for this stuff."

Thor beamed and Loki coughed.

"You know," You said after a moment, handing Thor the binder back, "I wouldn't mind marrying sooner than you guys plan. I don't. . . I don't think we have to wait the whole two years. I mean, it's up to you guys, there's eleven of you after all, but for me, I think I wouldn't mind at the one year mark or something."

"Yes! This is excellent!" Thor said excitedly. "So much to plan! What design was your favorite?"

"I really liked the beach one." You admitted. "Or the church one, but I don't think everyone is religious, so the beach one would probably be better. Especially since, you know, you two are Gods. I think it would be a bit ironic to marry the two of you in a church."

Loki chuckled quietly. "Very true my Queen, very true."

"Reindeer games, Point break, we need ya." Tony said, sticking his head through the med-bay doors. "How are you Penguin?"

You rolled your eyes. He'd started calling you Penguin after your show with the umbrella because that's what Penguin from Batman used as his weapon.

"I'm good tin man." You shot back, "Where are you guys going?"

"Short mission. Even shorter if the Gods come along." Tony said, stepping into the room to come over to where you were sitting. He took your good hand in his. "We'll be back before you know it."

"Okay." You agreed. He bent down to kiss your cheek and you returned the favor. "See you guys later then."

The three of them headed out, leaving you by yourself for the time being. T'Challa was back in Wakanda for the moment and Nick had left for space yesterday with Hill. They'd be gone for about a month. Stephen was training an onslaught of new magicians. The super solider trio, Clint, and Rhodey were probably going with them on mission. So that left you alone.

You settled back in your hospital bed, thinking about getting in a nap.

You weren't allowed to leave the hospital bed until tomorrow morning because Bruce had discovered a special device TYPHON had inserted in your foot that had damaged some nerves in your right foot.

You managed to get a few hours of sleep, though it was off and on. When you came to again, you heard voices outside the hallway and tried to stay awake in order to hear what was happening. Had someone been hurt?

". . .since then everything has been disrupted." Steve's voice wasn't particularly low, though not loud. "We're going to have to get things back to the way they were. Just the three of us then, I think."

Just the three. . . Steve, Bucky, and Sam? Meaning. . . without you.

"You'll have to say it in a way that won't, you know, piss them off." Bucky said. "But I agree, that's probably for the best."

You felt your heart drop in your chest. Bucky agreed?

"How soon?"

The third voice startled you. It was not Sam- but Nat.

The voices and footsteps soon faded away, leaving you uncomfortable and wishing you hadn't overheard it.

Maybe you were overthinking it.

'Since then everything has been disrupted.'

Well, ever since you'd came into their life, that was true. Things had certainly changed around the Avengers Tower, at least as far as you could tell. T'Challa, Loki, and Thor spent more time here for one thing. And I had started getting between the three of them. . .

'Get things back to the way they were.'

How? Would Steve not go through the soulmate bond with you?

'Just the three of us.'

But you had assumed that he was deeply in love with Sam. So why was Nat part of the conversation? Unless Steve just wanted to talk to Nat to get an outside point of view. That was the part that confused you. Surely, Steve and Bucky weren't sneaking around Sam's back with Nat?

You shifted uncomfortably in the bed. Did you tell Sam?

But maybe you were still overthinking things? Maybe they were talking about something else. Something like. . .

Like what Y/N? You thought to yourself. Your own parents didn't want you around, what makes you think just cause you have a soulmate bond with someone makes any difference?

Just your luck, Sam walked into the room a few hours later. It was near dinner time, and he had a huge plate of Mac and cheese, some baby carrots, a bowl of blackberries, grapes, and currants, along with a glass of milk.

"I would've brought you chicken fingers as well," Sam said as he put the plate down on the tray that you ate off of, "But I didn't want to overload you with to much food either."

"Thanks." You whispered, moving your fork around the cheesy pasta, but not eating it.

"You okay?" Sam asked, looking concerned. "You don't look to good. I can just get you some saltine crackers and ginger ale if that's what you need."

You shook your head, "I- I overheard something, that's all."

Sam was immediately wary. "What? Who? When?"

You looked at him and then away. "It was um, Steve, Bucky, and Nat."

"Oh? What did they say?" Sam's paranoia dropped for curiosity.

You repeated the conversation- the bit that you had heard- and then immediately voiced your worries for both yourself and him.

"I think you've got a misunderstanding there baby." Sam said softly. "Nat and Bruce are extremely in love. And Steve isn't the kind of guy to just drop a soulmate cause things get difficulty. Or even just a friend. He likes you a lot babe."

"But-" You fidgeted with the food a little more and then said, "What if he got the option of having his soulmate bonds. . . gone? TYPHON is trying to find a way to get rid of soulmate bonds once and for all. And then maybe. . . maybe without the soulmate bonds, he'll choose Bucky and Nat."

Sam was quiet for a moment. Now that you had put the pieces together, you felt sicker than before, pushing the food away.

Sam sighed quietly, moving the tray to the bedside table if you wanted to eat it later. "Let me see what's going on, okay? That doesn't sound like the Steve I know."

Sam leaned forward, kissing your forehead before getting up and leaving the room.

Well, Sam could do that. You had your own plans.

*Sam's P.O.V.*

Sam walked took the elevator to the meeting floor, where he knew most of the others were already going to be.

Upon entering the room, Bucky, Tony, Thor, and Steve were messing around with the hologram over the table.

"There you are, where were you?" Steve questioned, a cinch between his eyebrows.

"I was visiting with Y/N. Which, by the way, can I talk to you, Buck, and Nat real quick?" Sam questioned, jerking his head slightly towards the door.

Looking confused, the three of them followed Sam out into the hallway.

"What's wrong?" Nat questioned.

"Y/N overheard a conversation between you three." Sam said with a sigh before repeating exactly what Y/N had overheard and told him, and then letting the three of them know what she thought the conversation meant.

"Shit." Bucky cursed. "No, we were talking about the training of new agents. How after the episode with Sharon and the way fire gun everything went wonky. And that it should be the three of us training since Steve and I can take it and then Nat has a lot of experience with the trainees."

"I figured there was a misunderstanding." Sam sighed. "I just wanted to get the entire story so I had something to tell her."

"I'm not surprised." A new voice said from down the hall. They all turned to see her sister standing there.

"What do you mean?" Nat asked.

"Neither of us are exactly used to having people want us around. Except each other. So it would've been natural for her to immediately jump to the conclusion that Mr. Rogers here was talking about excluding Y/N from the soulmate bond."

Steve looked absolutely terrible and Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's not your fault Stevie. You didn't know she was awake and there was most certainly nothing wrong with the topic you were talking about."

"No, but ugh I haven't even been spending much time with her because of all the missions and reports. She probably does think I hate her. I need to go talk to her right now. Start the meeting without me."

Steve took off down the hall, booking his ass towards the hospital wing.

"I'm going to go and check on her too." Bucky said, quickly taking off after Steve.

"Well, let's get the meeting started." Nat said with a shrug, "Thank you Y/S/N for alerting us to that. You want to step in with the meeting? It's not really confidential."

"Sure." Y/S/N said with a shrug. "Sounds like fun."

"Where's Capsicle and Manchurian Candidate?" Tony asked when they stepped into the room.

"Oh they went to see Y/N." Nat said with a shrug. "There was a misunderstanding between them so they're sorting it out."

"Misunderstanding?" Loki asked with an ice cold edge to his voice. He had really taken after his soulmate more than Thor had ever seen him take to a person, except perhaps their mother and a little bit with Thor.

"Y/N overheard a conversation between Steve, Bucky, and I." Nat explained. "She took the words out of context and thought Steve and Bucky didn't want to be soulmates with her. Completely off, we were talking about the training mishap. But the words we used definitely were misconstrued. Anyways, they're down there talking to her. Steve said to start the meeting without him."

But before they could even finish contemplating Nat's words, Steve and Bucky came through the doors.

"Is something wrong?" Bruce asked, immediately getting to his feet in case he was needed in the med-bay.

"Yeah." Bucky said as Steve strode past the others to grab his shield. "She's gone."

⬅️➡️

[samsseptember]

☆ Day 18 - Shield ☆

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Sam’s Hot Super Soldier Friend » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader with Sam Wilson/Falcon

Summary: You think Sam’s Super Soldier friend is hot.

Warnings: Fluff and implied Smut (18+), language, flirting, pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Sammy!” You walk through the house. “You home?” You asked.

Bucky turned his head when he heard your voice. Your eyes landed on Bucky when you walked in the living.

“Oh, sorry.” You apologized. “Sam’s nephews let me in. I didn’t know Sam had company.” You explained. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” You say.

“You didn’t. I was already awake.” Bucky says.

You two were in awkward silence for a moment before Bucky spoke up.

“You can take a seat if you’re waiting for Sam.” He says.

“There’s nowhere to sit, silly.” You say, referring to him laying on the couch.

“You can sit on my lap.” He says, throwing the blanket off of his lap and patted his thighs.

You giggled and walked over to him. You sat down on top of him, straddling him. Bucky tried not to groan as you got comfortable on his lap. He rested his hands on your hips.

“May I ask what your name is?” You asked, looking down at him.

“James Barnes. Everyone I know calls me Bucky.” He tells you. “What’s your name, doll?” He asks.

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a family friend of Sam’s.” You tell him.

Bucky licked his lips as he admired your beauty.

“You know…” Bucky starts. “Sam’s never told me about you.” He says.

“That’s a shame.” You playfully pouted. “He’s told me a lot about you.” You say.

“What did he say exactly?” He asks, worried that he told you stories of when he was the Winter Soldier.

“All good things.” You smiled. “He specifically told me that you’re the best friend of Captain America. You’re a Super Soldier and you have a metal arm.” You say, rubbing your finger against his vibranium bicep.

“Vibranium.” Bucky corrected.

“Even better.” You bit your bottom lip. “So Bucky…” You tilted your head slightly. “Are you single?” You asked curiously.

“Why do you ask, doll face?” He asks, his grip on your hips tightened.

“Well, for starters, you’re insanely hot.” You say in a flirty tone, licking your lips.

“You’re the kind of girl who gets straight to the point, huh?” He bit his bottom lip. “I like that.” He says.

“Let’s just say, I like what I see.” You say seductively, licking your lips.

Bucky chuckles. Sam walked in the living room, stopping in his tracks when he seen you on top of Bucky.

“Y/N, get off of Bucky.” Sam says.

You playfully pouted and gave him a kiss on his stubbly cheek before getting off of Bucky’s lap.

“And Bucky, stop flirting with girls who are old enough to be your granddaughter.” He says, looking at Bucky.

“She started it.” Bucky says, playfully poking your side.

Sam rolled his eyes at the Super Soldier.

“What’s the cool thing you want to show me?” You asked Sam.

“It’s outside. I’ll be out there in a minute.” He tells you.

“Ok, but before I go…” You wrote your phone number down on a piece of paper and put it in the front pocket of Bucky’s jeans. “Call or text me anytime, hottie.” You say, winking at Bucky.

“Will do, doll.” Bucky says with a smile and winks back.

You went outside while Sam stared at Bucky.

“Just so you know, she’s 23.” Sam says.

“So I have a chance?” Bucky says with a smirk.

“You’re like 110 years old, man.” He says.

“107.” He corrected him.

“Close enough.” Sam says before walking away.

Bucky chuckles as Sam walked away. He reached his hand in his pocket and pulled the piece of paper out of it. He smiled, excited to call or text you so he can talk to you again.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[whirlybirbs]

 (  gif by @buchanans​ from this lovely gifset !   )

✪ — JUST TALK ; vacant mirrors holiday special

summary: you spend the holidays at the wilsons. you and bucky really need to talk. pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader ; established in vacant mirrors tags: set post-tfatws, situationship angst, holidays shenanigans, drunk bucky in uniform, they just don't make cigarettes the way they used to, sam wilson is oblivious, sarah wilson is god to me word count: 12k a/n: happy holidays you filthy animals, this is just an excuse of me to finally make these two talk about their feelings (   AO3    |    MASTERLIST   )

It's December 23rd.

The door before you, adorned with a festive wreath and flickering electronic candle, is not that of your family home in Morristown, New Jersey.

The crunch of gravel signals that your rideshare from the airport is pulling away. Headlights dash up the side of the house to illuminate candlelit windows and you offer a courteous wave to the older gentleman. You crane your neck to watch for a moment, then trace the parade of cars parked up the long driveway; all belonging to friends and family you don't know.

You exhale and check your phone one more time. 18 Dancy Avenue. It's the right address. So, shuddering down any lasting, remaining tatters of the fear you're at the wrong holiday party, you take a deep breath and knock three times.

Your luggage knocks at your ankles as you shift in your boots.

Inside you can hear the chatter of voices — the knock seems to startle a wave of jeers as someone calls out:

"Someone's here!"

Moments later, the door is sharply yanked open.

Sam Wilson's toothy smile has maybe — maybe — never been bigger.

"There she is!" he cheers, his expression bright and excited as he swings you into the sort of hug that makes every bit of lasting worry about being a burden melt away; the urge to run is fought off with seasons greetings, "Took your ass long enough—"

"I know, I know, but the traffic was a nightmare coming from the airport," you sigh. Sam Wilson, the nation's new Captain America, waves you off. He bends and snatches up your luggage without a word like the man he is.

"All that matters is that you're here," Sam leans in a little closer only after casting his eyes over his shoulder; the look in his eyes is mischievous — almost boyish — like he knows something no one else knows, "Bucky was starting to pace."

Immediately, a burst of nervousness flares in your heart.

Bucky.

Right.

You... You promised yourself that you'd finally talk to him about all this. About... About the kissing and the consistency and the fact he has a toothbrush at your apartment and you have a toothbrush at his and how this isn't just sidekick business anymore. You promised yourself you wouldn't ring in another year without telling him how you really, truly felt.

For now, though, all you can manage is a brave face. You roll your eyes and a nudge to Sam with your shoulder. Enough, it says. Leave it be.

(He's been leavin' it be since months ago, alright? Sam has seen enough to know there's clear-as-fuckin'-day something between you two — after all, it was only a year or so ago that you were dragged alongside them to Madripoor and Latvia, dragged through all the GRC shit. Sam has seen those thought-to-be private looks shared, he's seen the way you're the only person in this dimension with enough patience to wrangle a certain pain-in-the-ass hundred-something-year-old man. And he lets you. Sam's not stupid, and he'll be fuckin' damned if Bucky doesn't get it together and lock it down by the New Year.)

Sam ushers you in with a smirk, nudging the door shut behind you with his hip as you shed your jacket and boots. The house smells good. Like a warm, fresh meal and pie and cinnamon and—

"She lives!" Sarah laughs from the living room, standing up and weaving past the family members gathered on the sofa; her Santa socks pad softly against the rug, and the drink in her hand sways as she smiles, "It's good to see you."

You hug her tightly, arms around her shoulders, and beam. "Thank you so much for having me, Sarah."

"Oh, psh," she tsks and waves her free hand, "Least I can do — seriously. You keep those two in line. I dunno how the hell you stand the bickering."

She waggles her fingers at her brother (who sucks his teeth in quiet disagreement and rolls his eyes) before quirking a brow. Sarah's eyes wander behind you into the packed dining room where the younger cousins are gathered over a Lego set.

"Speaking of, where is tall, dark, and brooding?" she asks her brother.

"Yo! Buck!" Sam leans around the banister and calls down the hall, "Where you at?"

There's a sudden crescendo of laughter — and the heavy footsteps of a gaggle of teenage girls come pummelling down the stairs. Their faces are split into smiles. Shyness creeps in at the sudden new face at the family holiday party, and you offer your best smile in return. They slip past you into the living room, invested in the snacks on the coffee table.

This house is alive.

"Kitchen!" comes the call in return and your heart leaps into the same genre of kick-up that comes with the mere mention of his name.

Sam juts his jaw towards the direction of Bucky's voice — through the dining room and down the hall — before hauling your suitcase up into his arms. "I'll put your stuff upstairs."

"Thanks, Sam."

"You better not be messin' with my pies, Bucky Barnes!" comes Sarah's follow-up; she lowers her voice and serves you a look, "Your man has a sweet tooth something fierce."

"He's—" you swallow down a sheepish laugh; is there some mind-reading shit going on today? "He's not my—"

Sarah raises her hands in resignation, but her eyes say otherwise. "Right, right, right. Sure. Either way, you are the only one he listens to. So if he's touchin' my pies—"

"I'll make sure he isn't touching the pies," you promise, patting Sarah's arm before starting down the hall.

"And get yourself a drink, okay?"

"I will, I promise."

15 Dancy Avenue in Delacroix, Louisiana has been home to the Wilsons for generations. There's photo evidence lining the hallway walls — family photos and school portraits serve as milestone reminders in time. Sarah's wedding photos, Sam's Air Force graduation.

A pair of people (you recognize the woman as one of Sam's cousins he's mentioned — she's a lawyer) squeeze past you in the hall. On the back porch, the smell of a cigar is wafting through the screen door.

Everything is so alive, so comfortable, so warm.

And there, in the kitchen, is Bucky Barnes.

He needed to keep himself busy.

It's not like he was worried — no, no. He's fine. Absolutely fine. Totally not worried that this is a... a big deal or anything. Y'know, the whole c ome to Sam's for the holidays thing. Which essentially translates to come home with me for the holidays .

It's fine. You're like family to Sam, and Sam is family to him, and you are... important to him.

The most important, actually.

...You two still haven't ironed out the details just yet.

Not that he doesn't want to. He does. But he also doesn't want to ruin anything. Not after everything the two of you have been through. I mean, all of last year had you running around the world as his off-the-books sidekick dealing with Flag Smashers and super soldier serum and political intrigue... and... Zemo, that fucker. And now? It's quiet. For once.

Peace on earth and all that shit.

He's been worried this would be a lot all week. It was a lot for him the first time — I mean, Sam's got a big fuckin' family. Huge. Lotsa Aunts and Uncles which means lotsa cousins and even more second cousins. It felt like a real homecoming the first time he was folded into the mix over the holidays.

And, well, Bucky never really got one of those.

So, it was special.

"I'm here to vouch for the pies?" comes your amused voice from the doorway.

Speak of the damn devil.

Bucky's head snaps around — and immediately, a smile splits across his face. He can't control it. Not anymore, not when he hasn't seen you in the flesh in nearly five days.

That smile is a sight you're not entirely sure you'll ever be used to.

"Hi," you breathe, your cheeks already aching from how hard you're beaming — and you've only been here four minutes and counting. That nervousness, the good kind , only increases when he smiles back.

Immediately, his task of decorating cookies is forgotten and it only takes the apron-clad super soldier two long-legged strides to cross the kitchen and sweep you into a crushing hug. It's the sort of hug that warms your bones. The sort that makes you giggle — and it only worsens, when Bucky hauls you up off the floor just enough to make you peel out a bark of laughter.

"Put me down!"

"You said," he scolds you with a touch of humor as he plops you down; he waggles a vibranium finger in your face, wrestling with a smirk to try and seem serious, "You would text me when you landed."

You shrug as your eyes sparkle. "I thought it would be a nice surprise. I gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

"You're a pain in my ass," Bucky mutters, shaking his head. He's looking you over — he's taken up this habit lately. It's almost like he's running some silly checklist in his mind to ensure you're good. Comfortable. And you do seem to be. You look relaxed if not a bit tired.

Bucky likes this sweater on you.

You look... pretty . Really pretty. So pretty, in fact, that he has to remind himself to breathe. In and out.

When he clears his throat and sneaks a look over his shoulder you know he’s up to something. The kitchen is clear. From this spot, no prying eyes can see you two from the dining room.

The moment before he moves is laden with mischief — and you're about to open your mouth and ask him what the deal is with that look when he bends down and cages you against the doorframe.

Fuck.

Shit.

God damn it, James Buchanan Barnes.

The stolen kiss he pulls you into is slow and warm, tender and sweet. His palm slots against your cheek in a practiced motion of endearment. It's slow at first. Tentative and soft. But, then you place your hands on his chest and he takes that as permission to really kiss you. His stubble tickles. Bucky tastes like peppermint thanks to whatever drink Sarah has made for the grown-ups. He pulls away to catch his breath.

"I missed you," he croaks against your mouth, a vibranium thumb pressed to your bottom lip.

For a second, all you can do is blink and try to remember to exist . Bucky seems exceedingly unaware of the fact that he's managed to wind you — as always. He has no idea , you think, the things you'd let him do to you.

...Okay, maybe he has, like, one or two ideas.

"I missed you, too," you whisper back, dazed and trying to find your footing before you blurt out that you need to talk to him, you need to tell him that you really, really like him and it's the serious sort of like and you're not sure how much of this unspoken situationship you can do if you two don't make it spoken —

Then, the oven beeps.

"Shit."

The moment isn't nearly long enough. The kiss is even shorter.

Bucky leans around you, hollering down the hall; his hands are gentle on your shoulders, "Sarah, the pies—"

"—Don't you dare touch my pies, Barnes!"

Domestic bliss — or utter chaos — looks good on Bucky. His hands are raised in silent surrender when Sarah barrels into the kitchen, and Sam is hot on her heels. You try your best to wrestle the dazed expression off your face and play with your bottom lip, mind rooted entirely on the ghost feeling of his thumb.

"Christ, Buck, you haven't even got her a drink yet? She's a guest," Sarah sighs disapprovingly and shakes her head before leaning in close to whisper a scathing accusation, "You too busy fuckin' with my pies?"

"I'm sensing some animosity over the pies?" you cheep weakly over Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky throws his hands. "It was one time."

"And it was two pies," Sarah takes care to remind him as she flips the oven open; she's muttering to herself, "Who even eats two pies in one sitting?"

"I'm a growing boy."

"Oh my god," you scoff as Sam nudges the fridge shut and hands you a beer. Thank Christ . Wordlessly, you hand it to Bucky — he knows his job. He cracks the top off with his metal palm and then rolls his eyes. Whether it's in reaction to the pie commentary or his role as the group's personal, walking-and-talking bottle opener, you'll never know.

"They were for the VFW," Sarah continues as she — to her credit — pulls two perfectly baked pies from the oven. Pecan, and... sweet potato, maybe? "Speaking of—"

"You two have plans tomorrow night," Sam says as he fires a lazy finger waggle between you and Bucky. He leans back against the counter and swigs his beer.

Bucky is immediately on high alert. The super-soldier crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. "That didn't sound like a question."

"'Cuz it wasn't," the man tosses back, "Tomorrow night, the local VFW is holdin' their annual Christmas Party—"

While your face lights up, Bucky's face falls.

"Oh, that's nice—"

"—No," Bucky responds curtly as he unties his apron, "Not interested."

"Oh. Oh, no ," Sarah laughs and shakes her head as she skirts by Bucky to hang up her oven mitts, "I had that musty, dusty dress uniform of yours dry-cleaned for this. You are not backing out."

Bucky snaps his eyes to Sam. In another life, that look would kill.

Sam shrugs it off with practiced ease.

"Maybe you don't remember. You promised last year," Sam smirks into his drink, "That you'd go."

Bucky's jaw falls open. This? This is a complete and utter betrayal. "...I was drunk —"

"A promise is a promise," Sam goads, wetting his lips as Bucky's face twitches.

Meanwhile, your jaw is slack and you look like you've just been struck with the biggest news of your life.

"Hold on, pause, you were drunk?!" you incredulously fire back, holding onto your beer for dear life, like suddenly James Buchanan Barnes and his love for a shitty pilsner is a threat; you're in a whirlwind as you blink ferociously at Bucky, "Since when is that a thing?"

Bucky groans. He inhales, nice and slow, before sighing. His eyes roll to the resident Captain America. "Our dear friend Sam Wilson was kind enough to gift me some Asgardian mead for the holidays last year, which I am now realizing was just a damn long-con to rope me into this shit."

"Take a breath, will you?" Sarah rolls her eyes, over the dramatics of a certain super-soldier occupying her kitchen, "It's a buncha' old veterans and their families playing cards, alright? You'll fit in just fine, Grandpa."

"You stole my dress uniform?" Bucky narrows in on Sam and decidedly ignores Sarah entirely because, well, he's never been good at handling people telling him to calm down. Bucky leans momentarily over Sam's shoulder to make sure the younger bunch of cousins in the other room isn't listening before a string of swears flies from his mouth, "You fuckin' bastard. That's why you came over the other week, isn't it? Where the fuck did you even find it? "

"It's one of six outfits you got hung in your closet, man," Sam waves him off as he mimics his discovery of the uniform and mimes sifting through the closet, " Black t-shirt, black sweater, black long sleeve, ooh! A garment bag with U.S. ARMY and PROPERTY OF JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES OF THE 107TH branded across the front, I wonder what this is? What, you think I'm stupid?"

"—Stupid lookin'—"

"I'll knock you stupid—"

"Guys," you exhale, "Can we not—"

"He started it!" they both shout at once, turning on their heel to gesture to the other. For a second, you're in Madripoor. Sam is in that damn suit and heeled booties, Bucky is looking less like Bucky and more like the Winter Soldier. And somewhere, in the far distance, is Zemo's stupid voice. That guy seriously never shut the hell up.

Your laugh is a bark. You offer Bucky a swig of your drink. He takes it with an utter look of exasperation. The metal of his vibranium fingers tinkers along the brown bottle's neck.

"It'll be fun," you cock your head and slip a smile at Bucky in an attempt to soothe the now agitated look on his face, "Just an hour or two—"

"You know I hate my dress uniform," he murmurs as shoulders sag; and Sam almost snorts at how rapidly the angry guard dog persona melts away with you, "It's—"

"Itchy, I know," you lament as you take his apron and hang it on the back of the pantry door with the others, "But, they don't starch uniforms the same way they used to in 1943, Bucky."

"Really?" Sam's brows knot in confusion.

"I didn't know that," Sarah mumbles as she moves to pour peppermint schnapps into the drinker shaker.

Bucky looks utterly hopeful.

You wet your lips and hesitate, only to pull your bottom lip between your teeth and shrug. Your eyes dart between everyone in the kitchen. "I... I have no idea, actually — I was just hoping that me saying that would make him feel better—"

"Oh, come on!" Bucky throws his hands.

"It'll be fun!" you moan, throwing your head back.

"I hate fun," Bucky leans in, mocking you, before finishing the rest of your beer and tossing it into the recycling. You roll your eyes, cross your arms, and swivel on your feet. Your reindeer socks slide easily across the hardwood.

"You're being mean."

Bucky's back is turned as he eyes his handiwork with the decorated cookies. Sam's brows rise as he eyes the two of you. Here we go.

"I'm not being mean."

"Fine. You're being anti-social ."

"That's who I am," he chirps back as he tries to adjust the sprinkles on Rudolph the Red Nose Cookie, "You know this."

"—I'd even venture to say you're being a real Grinch about it—"

Sam smacks his teeth in awe that you even dared to go there, and Sarah scoffs to herself as she works the martini shaker. Bucky freezes, and his eyes immediately narrow. He knows what you're doing — you're goading him. He turns around slowly, his face set in determination.

"I'll have you know I love the holidays."

(It's true. Raised by a devout Catholic father and Romanian Orthodox mother, Christmas was one of the biggest holidays on the books. Even after his father's passing, James Buchanan Barnes, his mother, and his sisters always attended mass, usually alongside Steve's family. Then, they'd leave that immense, ornate church on Fourth Street and head home for food, games, and — when they got older — dancing, beer, and holiday parties with cute girls from their high school.

He appreciates giving gifts. It's always his favorite part. He vividly remembers being fifteen — tall and awkward — and saving all year to get Mama a box of fancy European soaps.

Four years later, he was mailing home the same Parisian soaps from the frontlines.)

You shrug, toeing the floor, feigning disapproval. "I dunno, that's a lot comin' from the guy at the holiday party in all black."

Bucky drops his hands to his narrow waist, his eyes narrowing further. He quickly and dryly volleys back: "One would argue the true meaning of Christmas isn't gaudy sweaters."

"You're right, Buck," you concede with feigned, deep sincerity and clap him on the shoulder roughly. He bobs and winces, "It's about spending time with those you care about—"

"Oh, fuck off—"

"Yo, Uncle Bucky, that's five dollars in the swear jar," comes the voice of AJ as he rounds the corner of the kitchen; Cass is in tow, the both of them scoping out the current state of sweets in the kitchen, "Hi Rabbit."

"Hey guys," you grin, tugging them both into quick side hugs as Bucky angrily digs out his wallet from his back pocket. He's jamming a crisp bill into the jar on the window sill when Cass speaks up.

"You and Uncle Bucky are coming to that thing tomorrow, right?"

It's like a well-aimed (and even better-timed) arrow to Bucky's knee.

He's got a weak spot bigger than the state of Texas for those two boys. You can see the defeat in his eyes. It makes you muscle a smirk off your face as Sarah catches your gaze and smiles to herself. She's pouring the drinks into four glasses when Cass continues.

"You said you'd come last year," he reminds the adults as he steals a cookie, "And take a picture with Santa."

"Santa?" you grin, stealing a look between the boys and Bucky — whose shame is just increasing with every reminder of his blitzed promises, "Oh, well, we just have to go."

"Yea, man, you love holidays," Sam reminds him with an edge of humor.

"Alright, alright," Bucky concedes with pain in his eyes, "Yes."

AJ pumps his fist. Cass gives a toothy grin that reminds you of Sam. All you can do is thank Sarah as she hands you a Peppermintini in a cocktail glass and smiles.

"Cheers."

Dinner is nice.

Sarah and Sam (and Bucky, apparently) had spent the entire day previous cooking — so you make sure to load up your plate with every fixing possible. Sam insists you go first, chattering to his cousins about you havin' just flown all the way here from New York, to your abject horror. However, beating the rush does score you a nice spot at the dining room table beside Bucky.

He's carrying two full plates. You snort a little at his mountainous portions but say nothing and continue on sipping your second peppermintini of the night. These things are dangerous. You can feel the buzz in your knees.

"Don't gimme that look," Bucky mutters as he scootches his chair in and drops his napkin to his lap, "If I get up for seconds, this seat is forfeit."

"Oh?" you question through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Bucky smirks a little then nudges your knee with his under the table, "Can't lose the spot next to my best girl."

Your smitten (and utterly panicked) smile is hidden in another bite of dinner. He's doing it — that thing. The... the flirting. But it's different from just flirting. It has feelings behind it.

He takes a huge bite of food, chews, then swallows. "I'm glad you came."

You shrug, elbow brushing his. "I'm glad I came too. This is really nice. The holidays are usually sad at home."

Bucky hums. "Your mom is visiting Fei's family with her?"

Your sister-in-law was delighted when you told her you'd been invited down to Louisiana for Christmas — and it was a good break in the usual grief-stricken schedule of the holidays at home in Morristown. You were all still mourning your brother. The holidays always made it worse, and... well, misery loves company. It feels strange to break out of that pattern of gloom. It was like Fei sensed the guilt radiating off you, and quickly she urged you to go, to accept the invitation. So, your mom joined your sister-in-law and niece on a little holiday trip up North to see Fei's parents.

You just nod.

"Next year," Bucky roughly says after a minute of mashing his sweet potatoes around; he swallows tightly, "We should, uh... We should spend it with them, maybe. Your mom, Fei, and Naomi."

The suggestion makes your heart tighten.

Next year.

We.

Your smile blooms slowly as Bucky's eyes scour your face for any sight of resistance. He doesn't find any, only that little glimmer of something he can never figure out when talk of the future comes up.

...He needs to talk to you.

"That would be nice," you agree, your mini wreath earrings swaying as you nod. Buck's smile is warm.

He reaches under the table, his vibranium hand squeezing your knee. Your hand follows, giving his knuckles a squeeze back. Bucky keeps his hand there, holding yours, through the entirety of dinner.

"Alright, pack it up! Outta my damn house!"

Sarah's call for the party's end comes at 10:30 — and you're glad. In the span of the last hour, you've been absolutely grilled by Sam's gaggle of younger high-school-aged second cousins on your entire life story and if you're an Avenger or not. You're on your fourth (count 'em, four) peppermintini and Bucky has mysteriously disappeared with Sam for an after-dinner walk.

You tried to join them but were ushered back into the warm house and told it was important ' guy time'.

Fine. Whatever.

By the time the house is finally empty, Sarah is ushering AJ and Cass up to bed and you've successfully melted into the couch by the Christmas tree while Die Hard's credits roll across the television screen. This is really nice. You take a moment to let it sink in.

Then, the front door opens, and Sam and Bucky spill inside — and you can immediately see they're up to something.

"Where have you two been?" you lazily ask, sitting up and taking the last sip of your Sarah Wilson specialty cocktail. You lean over the back of the couch and narrow your eyes at the two of them in silent judgment.

"Garage."

"I thought you went on a walk?" confusion passes across your face as you mumble.

"A walk," Bucky says coolly, "To the garage."

Your eyes snap to him. His cheeks are pink. You see him swallow down a grin; his posture a bit more relaxed than usual. Bucky leans to muscle his boots off and sways.

"Is everyone gone?" Sam asks with a touch of seriousness.

"Yea, Sarah's putting the boys to bed," you say slowly, "...Why?"

Your jaw drops open when you spy the bottle Sam procures. It was tucked under his jacket, and now that the coast is clear, he holds his prize high in the sky.

"Can't have anyone — especially Carlos — tryin' to get a sip of this."

Asgardian mead.

Your smile cracks wide open.

...Bucky is drunk.

It's painfully apparent now — worse when the resident super-soldier stumbles into the living room and collapses onto the couch beside you without regard for leg and limb. He pops his socked feet up on the coffee table and exhales. Your jaw is still open, the crest of a grin threatening to sweep away your awe in favor of total joy.

"You want another drink, Buck?" Sam calls over his shoulder from the hall.

" That’d be awfully kind a’ you, Sam ."

You laugh. You laugh, and Bucky melts further into the couch as you tuck your legs beneath you and lean into his orbit. His arms are splayed along the back, his eyes shut, and he looks utterly blissful in this state of... tipsy? You're not even sure — in the nearly two years you've known Bucky, you've always understood he couldn't get drunk. Something about super-serum impacting metabolisms and protein synthesis.

This is new.

Your hands press against his thigh, and Bucky tries to ignore the warmth of your hands through his jeans.

"You're drunk," you accuse with glee, "Are you drunk?"

"Getting there," he grunts, a bit like an old man — and you think that's awfully cute.

"This is, like, seeing a shooting star," you coo, watching him crack an eye open and smirk at your evident excitement; it's cute. It's clear that your joy comes from seeing Bucky relax enough to even get drunk — albeit on whatever potent drink-of-the-gods Sam is serving up as they speak, "This is insane."

"It's not insane , " he counters easily, shrugging a little deeper into the cushions; he moves to pat your knee. But, his hand stays there , "You doin' okay?"

"Mhm," you nod, resting your cheek in your hand and you settle in a little closer to him. Still, a distance that would seem friendly to Sam and Sarah's eyes — but close enough that you can pick a stray sprinkle off his shirt with wandering eyes, "Those drinks Sarah makes are dangerous."

"You were slammin' those things back," Buck mutters with an edge of humor, "I was worried I'd have to carry you to bed."

You smack his chest and ignore the burning implication. He chuckles.

"You gettin' tired?" he asks after a moment of comfortable silence held by the fire in the embrace of the holiday warmth.

"A little," you relent with a shy shrug. Bucky's touch turns tender for a second; he's looking at you like you've hung every star in the sky, and it makes you choke and stumble on your words. You'll never get used to it — ever. Seeing him so... content. Soft. Warm and relaxed. It's a gift in and of itself.

“You’ve had a long day,” he ruminates quietly. He's staring.

He's silent for a second, and then when he speaks it's nothing more than the quietest whisper among the crackle of the fireplace. His eyes trace the lines of your face, trying to commit it to memory.

"You're really beautiful, y'know."

He wishes he could frame this moment — the fireplace, the Wilson's hung stockings, the tree. You. It's home. It's everything he loves.

He looks twenty-something and in love when he says it. Untouched by war, by HYDRA, by horror. He looks young in the warm light of the tree, the fire, and the string lights. It makes you shy. You tuck yourself closer to the cushions and obscure your lovesick smile into your palm. Bucky eats it up .

Another whisper. He shakes his head as he speaks.

"God, I wanna kiss you again."

It's enough of a cue to bring you closer. Wordlessly, you drag yourself towards his chest and press a palm to his cheek. Bucky's hand tenses around the curve of your thigh. You're about to kiss him senseless when Sam's voice cuts through the palpable tension just as he rounds the corner.

"I tried to make it into some sort of... uh..." a blink. You're now on opposite ends of the couch from one another, and Sam swears Bucky is blushing, "You two good?"

Bucky takes the tall glass of questionable decisions from Sam as he clears his throat. "Never better. Thanks."

"Drink up," Sarah says as she wanders halfway down the stairs, bidding everyone goodnight; she points at Bucky, "You and bird brain over there are sharin' this couch tonight. You know where the sheets are. Rabbit, you're up in the guest room."

There's a pause.

Then:

"No funny business."

It's directed at Bucky.

The super soldier offers a sheepish thumbs up, and you purposefully ignore the little look he slides you.

...Did you miss a memo?

Sam waves her off. "See you in the mornin'."

"'Night, Sarah," Bucky calls.

"Night!" you call out to her.

Bucky takes a long sip of whatever the hell Sam has cooked up with the Asgardian mead. It isn't half bad, but this stuff is strong. Like a kick to the back of the knees strong.

"Need help cleanin' up, Sam?" you ask after him as he disappears towards the kitchen, only to find he's returned rather quickly with a parcel in hand. It's old, latched shut — you realize it's a fire-proof box.

"Nah, we'll do that tomorrow," he shrugs, "Bucky and I got you a little somethin', though. We wanted you to take a look."

You quirk a brow. "Was this also in the garage?"

Bucky takes a sip of his drink and smirks. "Sure was."

Sam sets the slate grey, metal box on the coffee table gently. It looks familiar. He stands back, offers his best Captain America smile, and waves you on. Immediately, you're suspicious but do as is expected. The latch securing the fire-proof box shut is a little rusted. It jingles softly against the metal when you flip it open and ease open the lid.

...Inside are papers.

Letters.

... Photos.

Immediately, you snap the lid shut and whip your head up to Sam and Bucky. Goosebumps. You have goosebumps. Sam is grinning and Bucky looks like the cat who got the canary.

Because in this box?

It's history.

Steve Roger's personal collection of history.

You've seen this box before, that's why it's familiar — in his room up at Elmwood. He would consult it often with Bucky by his side and pull tattered and faded memories out to reminisce on.

You're shaking your head when Bucky speaks.

"He wanted you to have this," says Bucky after a moment passes, "He said so."

"I can't possibly—"

"Yes, you can," Sam says as he plops down beside you on the sectional, "What, am I supposed to give it to the Smithsonian? We saw how that worked out last time."

Right.

The shield.

The alcohol in your system is making you emotional. You're clutching the box to your chest tightly, looking absolutely two beats from crying.

"Are you sure?"

"C'mon. Open it up. I haven't looked through everything," Sam says softly, rubbing your back, "And I thought it would be nice. Y'know, the three of us, talkin' about Steve. Like good ol' times."

Your face softens.

Bucky's heart clenches.

And Sam? Well, Sam's never been good when people start crying, so he just yanks you into a rough hug that feels brotherly and warm. "No, no, no tears — quit it, open the damn box, you sap."

"I told you she'd cry—"

"I'm not crying," you say as you definitely wipe a stray tear away as you toss a Santa-themed throw pillow at Bucky, "This is just... really nice. Like, really, really nice... I... It means a lot to me."

Sam lets out a soft breath. You've always held Steve in high reverence — Sam knows the whole bit about that signed poster in your apartment. He's seen it. Never let Buck live it down, either. With Steve's mantle now formally his, Sam can't help but feel glad he has someone on his side of this who cares so deeply.

"I promise I'll take good care of it," you whisper.

Sam doesn't say it, but that's why he's giving this to you.

Bucky's up and moving; he knows how you get about the sentimental stuff. You're like him about memories. They have a profound way of moving you. So, Bucky plops beside you and throws an arm around your shoulder as you sniffle. His voice is low, and Sam pretends he doesn't see his best friend soften. "Let's see this thing."

You take careful pride in opening the box again, your fingers gracing the tattered edges of photos and letters and newspaper clippings and folded posters. It's immediately clear this box had become Steve Rogers' catch-all for things that meant something to him. The thought alone makes your chest ache.

You slowly reach in, pull the entire pile from the box, and carefully set the bundle of history in your lap.

You feel, suddenly, like you're in college again — clamoring over Captain America memorabilia, obsessed over his career, proud of your favorite Avenger.

The first thing on top of the pile is a photo of Steve, Bucky, and Sam. It's a few years old now — if you had to guess, you'd assume before the Snap, after the Sokovia Accords. Bucky's hair is long, Sam looks the same, and Steve is young. They're crowded together, Steve in the middle. Gingerly, you turn it over.

Best Friends, 2017.

The next thing in the pile is a bundle of letters — they still smell faintly of roses. You spy an address and the neat penmanship of Peggy Carter. Bucky, beside you, hums softly.

"He wrote her all the time," he utters as he takes the bundle into his hands; he flips through them, eyeing only the dates — as if the privacy of their romance wasn't for him to read, "We'd be in some bombed out house in the South of France, no light orders, and he'd beg me to borrow my lighter. Just to write somethin' quick."

Sam shakes his head as he lets out a laugh. Bucky hands the letters back and you smile, thumbing the old rubber band keeping the bundle together.

The next thing in the box is a handful of photographs — old, curled up, black-and-white photos that were never really in focus. At some point, it's clear they'd been kept in a photo album of sorts. There's a discolored smear of dried glue on the back of most of them where dates are scrawled.

Photos of a cozy home, photos of a dog, photos of a laughing woman you realize suddenly is Peggy Carter. The wood paneling in the living room dates a handful of photos in the seventies.

And then there's the older stuff.

Stuffy portraits of a skinny Steve and his mother, rare childhood photos taken at holidays. Bucky laughs at these, shaking his head as he takes a long drink.

And then — photos of Bucky.

Sam whistles immediately, snagging the first photo off the top of the pile and shaking his head. "Woa-ho, man — okay , lady-killer—"

Bucky's face falls and he rolls his eyes. "I don’t know why he kept this shit—"

Steve took these. Bucky remembers.

"Lemme see," you chatter, leaning over to take a look — and Sam is right. It's a bit blurry, and a little off-kilter, but it's a weathered photo of James Buchanan Barnes on the stoop of an apartment building. He looks young. Maybe seventeen or so. His hair is slicked back neat, and he's got a dress shirt on. There's a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He's mugging for the camera — and he's so young .

Your smile is sweet as you pin Bucky with an adoring look.

Bucky rolls his jaw.

That itch for a cigarette is back — the same one that creeps up on him every now and again.

Sam, again, pretends not to notice the adoring tension between the two of you.

"I was a kid," he snaps at your puppy dog eyes, "Let it rest."

"Oh, there's more," Sam crows as you place the picture of Bucky gingerly aside — and the super-soldier notes that it's separate from the letters and photos of Steve. Like you're saving it for you. And something about that makes him feel dizzy.

Sure enough, the next photo is, again, of Bucky — but this time, he's older. Sharper. He's in a kitchen, and there's two girls at the table behind him. The flash melts them into the background, and all you can focus on is how handsome Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th looks in his United States Army dress uniform.

All you can muster is:

"Wow."

It's a whispered prayer.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his spot. He moves to take the photo from you. "Yea, wow , who is that loser?"

"Stop it," you scold him gently with a whine, pulling it tightly to your chest before he can steal it away, "Don't say that. You look very handsome."

He's smiling in the photo. A real smile. You can almost hear the laugh that accompanies it. There's something in his hands — and you realize suddenly he's helping his mother cook in the photo. Those girls in the back must be his sisters.

The sight of the memory, frozen in time, makes your heartstrings tighten.

"Well," Bucky kicks his feet up and tries to ignore how tenderly you hold the photo of him, "You'll see just how stupid it looks tomorrow."

Sam rolls his eyes. "You are so dramatic."

You can't get over how handsome he is. You're staring — trying hard to memorize the photo — when Sam moves to pluck another piece of history from the pile.

It's Steve and Bucky, together arm-in-arm, in their Howling Commando uniforms. They're laughing, there's a banner hung behind them in the photo. Beside you Bucky sits up, his face brightening.

"I remember that," he says slowly like he's piecing it together; his words are looser with the alcohol, "Christmas. It was Christmas, and we were in England. Couldn't make it home, so... Peggy tossed the Commandos a little Christmas party."

Then:

"I was piss drunk."

You snort, handing the photo from Sam to him, and watch Bucky's eyes light up. The admission is soft and honest. "I was so drunk, I remember throwing up in Steve's cot — and the next morning, the Colonel had us running a debrief. Had to step out four times to puke beside some sorry bastard's tent."

He goes quiet for a moment. His face shifts into something somber.

"I, uh... I fell off that train car a month later."

Your eyes slip down his face, to his hand. His vibranium thumb is carefully tracing the scalloped and faded edges of the photo. The feeling of your palm across his back brings him to the present, and Bucky clears his throat before tossing the photo back into the pile.

There's more in the bundle in your hands — but you and Sam know how to read the room. Carefully, you return everything to its spot in the pile, save for one photo, and latch the box shut. You give it one more good hug before placing it beneath the tree beside the other presents.

"Thank you."

Sam's got the sheets in his hands, and he's tossing a bunch of pillows at Bucky. "You're up in the guest room, Rabbit — I put your stuff in the closet. If you need anything..."

"I'll holler," you smile, hugging Sam tightly.

Bucky feels... strange. Usually, he'd follow you to bed — curl up beside you. These days, you two flip-flop between his apartment and yours on account of the cats: Alpine and Mr. Poke Bowl. But, here? In front of Sam? It's... It's different.

"'Sleep tight, Rabbit," he offers instead.

You nod, and he realizes you still have that photo of him held tightly in your hands as you slip up the stairs into the dark.

"...When are you gonna tell her, man?"

Bucky is flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Across the room, Sam is in the same position.

His whisper is urgent, and in the dark, Bucky can almost see Sam's exhausted expression.

Bucky sighs.

"No, no, don't you — don't you sigh at me," Sam bites back; Bucky hears him shift to sit up, "It's like soft-core porn without the porn between you two—"

"What the hell does that even mean?" Bucky mutters — translation: shut the fuck up.

"You said you were finally gonna tell her how you feel," Sam urges. He waves his hand through the air, looking increasingly more stressed out, "What's stopping you?"

"I'm me, Sam," Bucky all but snaps in a harsh whisper, "Alright? I'm — I'm a fuckin' mess. Who would want that?"

Sam grows quiet. Then, he huffs out a defeated sigh. He knows when to pick his battles, and he knows this one is Bucky's to fight. The new Captain America rolls over with a grunt, but not before firing off:

"I've seen the way she looks at you."

Bucky tenses his jaw.

"She doesn't look at anyone else like that."

With that, Sam shuts up and Bucky is left alone with his thoughts in the dark of the living room.

He can be quiet when he wants to.

It's like muscle memory. The Wilsons' home has old bones and likes to settle at odd times in the night. Bucky uses that to his advantage as he climbs the stairs to the second floor.

Downstairs, Sam has already started snoring on the opposite end of the couch.

Sarah, in the master bedroom, is fast asleep. AJ and Cass are too, and Bucky checks on the boys out of habit.

The light in your room is still on. Warm light bleeds under the crack of the door, and Bucky debates for a long minute if he should be doing this. The other option is lying awake downstairs on the leather sectional and spiraling over his feelings.

Flesh and blood knuckles rap gently on the door.

"Come in."

You're in bed, thumbing through a book he recognizes as the one you've been working on since last week. It's been a bedside read. Something about star-crossed lovers through the dimensions. There's a god, he thinks. And a... scientist? He can't remember the details. You had rambled about it to him one night while he fell asleep after a long patrol.

You look adorable — skin clean, glasses on. You've been regimented about your bedtime routine lately.

There, beside your phone and a bottle of Lexapro, is that photo of him in his dress uniform.

Bucky's silent as a mouse as he closes the door to the bedroom.

"Sarah is gonna kill you if she knows you snuck in here," you whisper as he creeps closer; he's clad in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, "Her house, her rules—"

No funny business.

Bucky's knee hits the edge of the bed, and he slowly tugs the book free from your fingers. He's slow to place it on the nightstand. The twin bed creaks, and he freezes to listen for any reaction from the sleeping house, before leaning farther down to catch you in the kiss he's wanted since you arrived.

Warm. Slow. He tastes like toothpaste. His hands are cradling your face as he kisses you senseless — his nose nudges yours as he breaks away for a breath.

His dog tags jingle as he hovers over you.

"What're you doing with this, huh?" he smiles; he reaches and plucks the photo from your nightstand and turns it over in his fingers while he watches your reaction. The corners of his eyes crinkle in that way that makes your body feel hot.

You grow sheepish. "It's special."

"I look like an idiot, Rabbit," he chirps as he gently takes the photo and settles to sit on the edge of the bed, "It's ridiculous."

His mother took this photo the day before his deployment. He remembers pieces of this memory — but not the whole thing. He can't for the life of him remember what he's helping her cook. Becca and Mary are playing cards in the back. They'd just been arguing over curfew, trying to get him to walk them to some dance that night.

Bucky barely recognizes himself.

Strangely, this version of him has no idea what sort of life would play out. This version of him wasn't hardened and cold, wasn't broken and pieced back together. This part of him wasn't a weapon yet.

"I think you look handsome," you murmur dejectedly, taking the photo slowly from his hands and cradling it close, "And if I had a locket, I'd put this picture in it."

Bucky's grin is wry as he eyes you over his shoulder, his hands resting in his lap. "...You'd put me in your locket?"

If you squint, it’s the opening to the conversation you’ve been avoiding. "Who else would I put in one?" you shake your head in disbelief.

"Not Cap?" he quips, whistling quietly, "You've changed."

"Oh, no, it's you on one side and Star Spangled Steve Rogers on the other," you play along, enjoying the way Bucky looks back at you against the pillows, "Don't even think for a second—"

His laugh is a low rumble. His shoulders shake, and you can't help but sit up in bed and reach for his arm. He bends, his chin resting atop your head as you hug his bicep. He plants a sturdy kiss on the crown of your hair before you raise your chin and look him over.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, "I know the memories can be a lot."

His lips quirk; another kiss, this one slower — and suddenly Bucky understands softcore porn without the porn . "I'm better now."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he murmurs against your mouth, his original goal of talking swept away in favor of touching. You're soft and gentle and make him feel whole. It's worse when you touch his dog tags beneath his shirt. It's worse when you let him deepen the kiss.

Focus.

You're on a mission, Barnes.

"Rabbit, I — I gotta talk to you about something—" he forsakes himself, stealing another open-mouthed and searing kiss because god damn it, you are so beautiful.

You barely hear him, you're too busy melting into another kiss. "Okay."

"It's important," he stutters, the feeling of your hands slipping up his chest providing an unsteady distraction. Another kiss. Another groan — because you're doing that thing where you play with the hair at the back of his neck, "It's about us —"

Your heart catches.

You pull back slowly, and Bucky feels panic strike his heart with how vulnerable you look. "Us?"

"—I said no funny business."

Sarah Wilson cuts an imposing figure in the shadow of the doorway. Her gaze lacks judgment, but god damn it — her timing is impeccable. Bucky's hair is a mess, his lips kissed red and you're no better, staring slack-jawed at him and terrified at whatever Pandora's box Bucky was about to open. You blinky rapidly between him and Sarah.

It's important. It's about us.

"C'mon, loverboy. Up," Sarah shakes her head at him, "That ain't your bed."

Bucky grits his jaw. "I was just saying goodnight—"

"You coulda done that downstairs," she scolds, "Or with the door open—"

It's important. It's about us.

"Fine," Bucky relents, standing to full height before raising both hands. Sarah tugs her robe a little closer, " Fine."

"Goodnight, Bucky," Sarah retorts as the super soldier slinks away, disappearing down the hall only after he tosses a lingering look your way.

"Yep, 'night."

It's important. It's about us.

You don't sleep a wink that night.

Christmas Eve morning, traditionally, is a slow morning.

It's late by the time you pull your eyes open and look at the clock on the bedside table. The sky over the river is blue and dotted with fluffy clouds. Though there's a distinct lack of snow in Delacroix, Lousiana, it's still a rather picturesque view.

The house is awake.

You shrug on a sweatshirt and a pair of joggers before slipping downstairs hellbent on a cup of coffee and something to eat — lest you start to dwell on whatever Bucky wanted to talk about last night again.

It's important. It's about us.

Padding down the stairs, you're immediately greeted by AJ and Cass. They're dueling it out on Mario Kart. They don't even look at you when they greet you in sync. You fire off a good morning in turn.

Sarah's in the kitchen.

There's a plate of bacon and eggs set aside for you.

"Good morning," she greets with an edge of a smirk, "Sleep well?"

All you can do is let out a long sigh and pull out a chair at the counter. Sarah, as she works on platting a box of catering for the VFW, slides you a look out of the corner of her eye. It's mischievous. You ignore it, trying to be normal.

"Where are dumb and bummer? " you ask, noting the dual plates in the sink.

"Out for a run," she rolls her eyes, "Fine by me. I needed a break."

You hum, take a sip of your coffee, and cross your legs.

"C'mon now," she chides after you silently take a big sip of your coffee, "Spill."

You almost choke. "I—"

"Y'know, it's cute," she begins, closing the lid of a box. Sarah's attention is now focused solely on you as she leans against the counter, "The two of you."

You're not sure why that hits you square in the heart.

You pause. Your lashes flutter for a second before you drop your gaze.

It's important. It's about us.

"Thanks, Sarah."

"He's nervous, I think," she mutters as she offers some hot sauce from the fridge for your eggs; you graciously accept it, "About you seeing him in uniform."

You almost laugh. "What?"

"Yea," she chimes in, "He said somethin' this morning that made me wonder — when's the last time he even wore that thing?"

Before everything, probably.

Before the Winter Solder , before the train car. Back when he hoped for a homecoming to his mother and sisters, back when he was young, back when he was told they'd be home by Christmas.

You chew thoughtfully. The truth tugs at your heartstrings.

"I think," you exhale, "The last time he wore it was a very long time ago."

The VFW in downtown Delacroix is small — but it's clear from the packed parking lot that this little holiday party draws a big crowd. You hop down from Sarah's tuck, shrug your wool coat a little closer, and follow her around to the tailgate. AJ and Cass are corraled close and handed boxes of meals by their mother.

You take a bundle with a smile.

By the time you'd showered and dressed, Sam and Bucky had disappeared off another side quest — this time grabbing Sam's Air Force dress blues from the local dry cleaner. They remarked in passing that they'd meet the four of you there, and when you brushed past Bucky's shoulder in the mudroom, the look he offered verged on apologetic. Kicked-puppy, almost.

There had been no time to talk. So, things were still hanging in the air. Things were... weird.

You try to remember that this is supposed to be fun — the temptation to fall down the cyclical thought pattern is there, but you try to breathe and remember to be present. It'll be fine. Everything is fine.

Hoisting the cardboard box a little higher, your eyes drift to the dotted lights hung across the entrance of the old building housing the local unit of the VFW. It's nothing special — but as you ascend the ramp alongside families and older veterans, the sound of Christmas music drifts to meet you.

The heat is blasting in the lobby, and you offer a cordial smile to the young woman holding the door open for you, Sarah, AJ, and Cass.

It's bustling — and through the halls of the lobby, there's a larger ballroom, no doubt used to functions like reunions and parties. The floors creak underfoot, and you follow Sarah like a lost puppy through the flow of families.

Long tables stretch across the far wall, punctuated by paper plates and plastic utensils. There's a punch bowl that looks suspiciously glittery and you offer a bitten smile to the older woman who moves to give the concoction a perfunctory taste test. The large, rectangular tins of Sarah's cooking are laid out on their own stands, and it quickly becomes your job to light the small, round containers of fire-starter.

The task is welcomed — and it gives you the chance to meet a handful of faces who are clearly familiar with the Wilsons. Vets, wives, mothers, daughters, granddaughters.

You're shaking your hand out from a close call with Sarah's lighter and trying to get another tin started when you hear a familiar voice over your shoulder.

"She put you to work, huh?"

He feels stupid.

This damn uniform is a lot. And sure, there are a handful of other guys in their dress uniforms, but Bucky's is old. His wool coat is chocolate brown, complete with a Howling Commandos patch on his shoulder and adorned with a handful of medals awarded to him posthumously. It was strange to pin them to his lapel. The jacket is belted tightly at his waist. Putting this whole thing on was like muscle memory he didn't know he still had.

And you were right. The starching is different.

He sweeps his cap off his head the moment you turn around, feeling less like Bucky and more like James.

It could have been a movie moment — picture it: you turn around in slow-motion, eyes alight, and there he is, your dashing Sergeant. It could have been perfect, with Sinatra's crooned carols floating by as the sea of people evaporates and all there is is Bucky. It could have been fluttered lashes and bitten cheeks, and Bucky would let out that stupid, huffed laugh he does while ducking his head and rocking on his shined dress shoes.

But, instead, you're so floored you proceed to freeze dumbly. The gel of the heating tin sparks, finally, and you proceed to realize ow, you're burning yourself, ow, ow ow ow—

"Ohmygod—"

"Jesus, bunny," Bucky exasperates as he throws his cap on, hopping quickly to your side to snag the tin from your hands with his vibranium hand; he quickly toss it beneath a tray, all while cradling your fingers in his other hand.

You're still staring at him. Burnt fingers be damned.

He shaved. He smells like crisp sandalwood aftershave and — cigarette smoke. It's faint, but it's clung to his jacket. You can't help but rake your eyes across him, realizing you much prefer this version of him to the one in that photo still on your bedside table at the Wilson's. He's here. Alive. Him. Not a twenty-something Bucky, but a hundred-something with all his quirks and agitations.

"You alright?" he asks, brows tightened in worry. He doesn't see the awe, just like usual.

Your voice sounds far away when you speak.

"Yea," you croak, blinking furiously to try and get your bearings because at this moment? It's all Bucky. Only Bucky. Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes who you realize you've never seen in dress shoes before, but you've also never seen him in slacks starched and creased to regulation.

Bucky swallows.

You're still staring.

"Is it that bad?" he asks dryly after a long stretch of silence on both your ends; his face is set in a deadpan, "I told you—"

"No!" you nearly snap, quickly lowering your voice as you blink over your shoulder. Sarah seems to have handled the rest of the setup, you notice, as she slips a curious look over to you and Bucky, "No, no. You... You..."

Your heart feels like it's on fire.

And this is just proof, again, that you can't keep doing this without some sort of promise that he's not just going to leave or call it quits or... Or give up on you. This feeling is more than anything you've ever felt, and Bucky seems to notice.

Blue Christmas drones on in the background.

"You look really, really handsome, Buck."

It's all you can muster.

Bucky's eyes flicker with something like worry — and immediately, his fingers are curling in his pockets.

"You, uh... You got a sec?" he asks after a moment; his eyes haven't left yours, "To talk?"

You're nodding before you can even speak — but it doesn't matter, because Sam Wilson is here, throwing his arms around Bucky's shoulders. His own dress uniform is crisp and clean, his navy blues contrasting against Bucky's warm chocolate.

"Doesn't this shmuck clean up nice?" Sam jokes, completely unaware of the conversation he's interrupted, "I told him he oughta wear it more often, he'd look less like the long lost member of My Chemical Romance—"

"Ha, ha," Bucky deadpans, "Can you fuck off?"

"C'mon," he smacks Bucky's chest and leans to tug you into a half-hug. Your cheek smushes against Bucky's shoulder, "The three of us need drinks."

Bucky's begrudging irritation flares — he needs to talk to you, but... God damn it. There are more people here now, and... And Sam is tugging the two of you towards the open bar in the back of the banquet hall.

You relent, deciding that yea, you need a drink. A rum and coke is fine, and the grizzled-looking bartender behind the counter makes two drinks with heavy pours —

"Just a coke for me," Bucky rumbles as he leans on the counter, "Leave a lil' room at the top."

You quirk a brow.

Bucky rolls his jaw — then tugs his jacket apart to reveal the flask tucked into his inner breast pocket.

Sam claps him roughly on the shoulder again, his eyes alight. "Sly dog."

"I was not going into this dry," Bucky chirps back, shrugging Sam off as he takes his drink and turns away from the bar.

"Doll, hold this," the nickname slips out, and Bucky winces. You shoot him a look — he knows you hate it when he calls you 'doll' but... Muscle memory. Old uniform, old habits. You take his drink either way, letting him tug that flask of Asgardian mead out and unscrew the cap.

"Yeah, doll, " Sam parrots piqued interest.

"Don't," Bucky raises a finger, beating you to the punch, "call her that."

"Thank you," you sigh as he tips a generous amount of the Asgardian liquor into the bubbling cup of coke, "I hate—"

"—Only I get to call her that."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't," he responds flippantly, shrugging his flask back into his jacket as he takes the cup from you; he tips his cap back a bit, gesturing to the two of you with his drink, "Cheers."

"Cheers!" Sam laughs, and you smirk into your drink as you knock your rim against theirs.

"Cheers, you two."

The first sip is dangerous because shit — this is stronger than Sarah's peppermintinis. No wonder Sam insisted on coming to this party. An open bar with pours like that? This place should be shut down.

Sam's got the same screwed-up look on his face and you're just glad you're not the only one slightly mortified by the punch of rum. Bucky, though, wets his lips in contemplation. He seems impressed with his own little drink and tucks his vibranium hand in his pocket.

"Good turnout," he says plainly as he looks over the busy banquet hall.

You're still trying not to gag from your drink. "When are you sitting on Santa's lap again?"

The super soldier slides you a glare. "Don't start—"

"107th, huh?" comes a warbled voice from behind Bucky, and then a wrinkled and papery hand drifts to swat the brunette's shoulder; Bucky's lips jump into a smirk, and immediately he's locked in a strong handshake with an older man who must be in his late 90s.

...It's good to see Bucky like this. He's in his element, whether or not he wants to admit it. He gets along with these guys — better than most folks. He can relate. Maybe not to have a wife, or kids, or grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, but war is the tie that binds.

The man is whisking — as best as you can whisk with a cane and a hand on Bucky's arm — him away to a table full of Army vets, all well in their older years. You smile, sip your drink, and lean against Sam's shoulder.

The new Captain America tugs you into a half-hug.

Then, his voice is low.

"...He talked to you yet?"

You huff out a laugh — disbelief painting your words. "He was gonna, then you bombed in insisting on drinks. Which, by the way? This is the strongest thing I've ever had."

"Shit," Sam mutters under his breath, "I'm sorry, Rabbit—"

"It's alright," you pat his back and sip your drink, "He... Did he talk to you?"

"Why do you think we were out half the morning?" Sam huffs as the two of you watch him move around the table shaking hands, "Needed to run him like a dog — he wouldn't shut up about he's gonna fuck this up."

You raise both brows and serve Sam a look. "What could he possibly fuck up?"

"The whole... thing, I guess. You know how he is. He's got that broken-man-complex-thing — I told him it doesn't matter," Sam sips his drink and you sigh in agreeance.

"If that mattered, wouldn't I have stopped seeing him months ago?"

Sam blinks.

"Wait," he blinks, " Stopped seeing him?"

You lean back and confusedly eye Sam.

"...Yes?"

"Meaning," the man's face is set in utter disbelief, "You are seeing him?"

"...Oh my god, did you — did you seriously not—"

"No, I didn't know!" Sam cries, stepping back and bending at the knees as he throws his head back, "Are you serious? Since when?"

"Since before Madripoor," you fire off, blinking rapidly, "You always joked, I thought you knew—"

"I thought — oh my god — I thought the sexual tension was just there! "

"It was! Because we were sexually tense!" you whisper-yell, smacking his hands down from his dramatic show of exasperation, "I cannot believe you didn't know—"

"I can't believe this bastard has been gettin' the milk without buyin' the cow — It's been two years? "

"Alright," you bite, giving Sam a look that says ' please never say that again' , "In all fairness, I've also been getting the milk—"

"Alright!" Sam mimics your tone of finality, the look in his eyes begging you never to say that again, "So? What now?"

You cast a look over your shoulder at Bucky as he laughs at something one of the old Veterans says.

"I guess Buck and I talk."

Sam lets out a long sigh.

"Cheers to that."

This is a nightmare.

Is this bartending crew out to kill everyone here?

Thank god the kids are busy with ornament decorating, toy swaps, and Santa photo-ops.

The back of the banquet hall has dissolved into the sort of chaos only a bunch of old soldiers plied with liquor could create. Sam's on his third drink, tossed . Bucky is no better — he's squinting at a hand of cards, muttering something to himself as a guy from the 101st Airborne heckles him.

He folds with a buzzed scoff as you near with a plate of food. You're chewing, intent on seeing what all the noise is about as the table croons at the new loser: James Buchanan Barnes.

"Aw, did someone lose his wager?" you chirp as Bucky begrudgingly wrestles out his wallet and tossing a ten-dollar bill on the table.

"What else is new?" Bucky murmurs before standing. He sways a little, and you can tell from the ghost of heat across his cheeks that his flask is most likely empty by now.

He takes your fork from your hands, shoveling a bite of pie into his mouth. You laugh a little, handing over the entire plate to him.

"You keepin' your girl away from us, Barnes?" comes a call from the table — it's from a man in a Korea war veteran hat, "Not even gonna introduce us?"

Bucky's mouth is full when he points an accusatory hand at the man. "You've taken my cash, you're not takin' my girl—"

More laughter, and you just roll your eyes. " Your girl, huh?"

Bucky swallows and his Adam's apple bobs. His eyes roam across your face as he tries to sort out how you're feeling — and he decides then and there that it's time to talk. He's got enough liquid courage and a half-pack of won cigarettes in his pocket.

"Wanna take a walk?" he murmurs between another bite of pie.

"About time you asked, Sergeant."

The paper plate is promptly dumped into the nearest trash can.

The back entrance of the VFW is quiet. The music from inside drifts through the open doors, and as you shrug on your jacket, you note Bucky's fingers tugging a crumpled pack of Marlboros from his uniform slacks.

He won it in cards.

A smirk quirks your lips.

"You've gotta be kidding," you scoff.

"I've been itching for one," he laments as he drops the unlit cigarette between his lips and leans back against the slate brick of the back wall, "Since yesterday."

"Need a light, soldier?" you joke, trying your best Lauren Bacall-esque, trans-Atlantic accent. In your pocket is the lighter you used earlier — it's Sarah's.

"Be a doll , would you?" he croons back, the rare lightness of humor passing through his words as he ignores your pointed roll of eyes; Bucky slips the lighter from your offered hand, and with three flicks of the flint, strikes up the cigarette.

Now he really looks the part of the dashing Sergeant.

You cross your arms and lean back against the wall beside him as you watch him.

Bucky's eyes meet yours.

For a long moment, it's quiet comfort. He exhales a curl of smoke, the Marlboro perched between his fingers.

Then:

"This is fuckin' horrific."

The cough that follows is dry and brutal, and you can't help but laugh out loud as Bucky flicks the cigarette beneath his dress shoe and stomps it out. He coughs again, into his jacket, and spits onto the pavement — his face is knitted in revulsion.

You're laughing, really laughing, and Bucky swipes at his mouth with the back of his palm.

"What the hell—"

"Not like how you remember?" you chortle.

"This must be real funny for you," he rumbles out, swallowing back a wince of disgust, "Isn't it?"

"Almost like it's payback," you sidle up close, tilting your head, "For dropping the whole 'we need to talk' bombshell and then not talking to me—"

"Third time's the charm," he juts his jaw out, taking a step closer, "We're talking now, aren't we?"

"Not yet," you pry, standing toe-to-toe with him. You can see the anxiety radiating off him — and for once, you realize, it's not you saddled with the nervousness that burns through your rationality.

Bucky reaches out, his hand slipping along your cheek, "I'm not good at talking."

"I know," you mutter, turning your cheek and speaking into the warm flesh of his palm, "But all this tiptoeing is making me anxious—"

"I love you."

...Oh.

It just — it just comes out. It spills out before Bucky can catch it; not like he wants to catch it, though. He's been wanting to say it.

In the mornings, when you press your cold nose between his shoulders and murmur his name? He wants to say it. Over coffee that you make just for him? He wants to say it. When you lay your head on his lap and talk nonsense about books and movies and music? He wants to say it. After every single kiss, he needs to say it.

Your mouth is moving but no sound is coming out.

Then, like a damn bursting:

" Bucky—"

"I love you," he cuts you off again, leaning in to grasp your face and hold it tightly; his expression is deadly serious, "I love you, and you need to know that I—"

"Buck—"

"—I've loved you since Innessa, since Madripoor, since... Since Walker and the Shield and you've been by my side through the worst—"

" James."

Bucky blinks.

You're laughing.

You're laughing, and your hands are cradling his own against your face. Bucky's mouth snaps shut, his breath caught in his throat. You pull his hands down and wind your fingers through his.

"I love you, too."

His voice sounds far away.

"...I'm not easy to love, Rabbit."

"I know," you breathe; his eyes never leave yours, "Hasn't stopped me so far, though."

"Maybe it should," he whispers, glancing down at your fingers, "It'd be easier if you didn't."

"Maybe," you mutter back, breaking from his held hands to reach up and hold his face, "But, I don't really care, Sergeant Barnes."

And you kiss him.

Slowly, softly, and like a promise, you kiss him. There's a hesitancy that dies the moment you slip your eyes shut and Bucky knows you're being honest. You don't care. You want this — you want him, you've wanted him, you've stayed. You always stay. You're his foundation, his rock, his everything. He sweeps his cap off his head and wraps his arms tightly around your waist. There's no intention of ending this moment for anything, not even—

"Barnes! Santa's waiting on you for a photo!"

—Not even that. All Bucky does is offer Sam and Sarah Wilson a vibranium middle finger as he dips you a bit lower, the kiss unbroken.

Because this is important . It's about you two.

[megamindsecretlair]

It Started With a Whisper - Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Some sentences are intentional AAVE. Cursing, Angst, phone smut. Dom Sam, some fluff. Sorry if I missed some!

Summary: You are the front desk clerk who started a few months ago and you have a major crush on Sam Wilson, the handsome and sweet trauma counselor. Sam is off with Captain America, leaving you to question if this is the path you want to choose.

Word Count: 2,373k

Masterlist

A/N: Sam make me SICK!!!! He's so hot, like for why. And so adorable. LOL. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @multiversefanfics @chaos-4baby @hidden-treasures21 @leahnicole1219 @wanniiieeee @targaryenvampireslayer

“If you or someone you know has information on the fugitive Steve Rogers, please contact…”

You stared at the news program in disbelief. The news channels focused entirely on Steve as a criminal mastermind. They wouldn’t say what they thought he did. He was just guilty. The idiots online were having a field day, turning on him. You had been arguing with some of them to use common sense. If Steve risked his life to save everyone from aliens, literal aliens, then why would he suddenly turn? 

Your stomach had been in knots the past few days. Sam texted you every night to let you know that he was at least alive. The news hadn’t mentioned anything about him, but it was only a matter of time. A Black man traveling with a fugitive celebrity would be newsworthy. It didn’t stop you from worrying constantly about him.

With Sam being gone, you hadn’t realized how quickly you’d gotten used to his presence. His jokes. His constant teasing. 

Not to mention, a night of incredible bliss. This morning, you had woken up in a feverish sweat reliving everything he had done to you in bed. There were times where you were flitting around work or home and you had to stop and take a breath. 

Ariel thought something was wrong with you. Where did you even begin to describe how incredible sex with Sam was? A Sam fiend for real. More than that. You just missed him. You missed being around him. Missed hearing his voice. 

The news didn’t have any information so they were just spouting nonsense. They always went back to Steve’s military record and how he had a history of disobeying orders. The idiots. If he hadn’t disobeyed orders, he’d still be America’s poster child for the war. Then, they went into his psychology as if they knew anything about his state of mind. 

You only met Steve twice and yet you knew he was a good person, just by his actions alone. You wanted to turn off the TV, but you were anxiously waiting for news about Sam. 

Your phone rang and Ariel frantically told you to turn to a different news channel. You did and your heart sank.

“No, no, no!” 

Soldiers surrounded Steve, Natasha, and Sam. The soldiers were dressed in all black, carrying high powered guns, and had them trained on them. All three were on the ground with their hands around their heads. Sam looked like a criminal. 

You didn’t pay attention to the bullshit the news was reporting. In record time, they were splashing Sam’s name across the screen. They lumped him into this grand conspiracy against the US. 

“This is some crazy shit! Are you okay?” Ariel asked.

“He’s not–” Tears pricked your eyes. You usually wiped your tears as quickly as possible. But you were alone in your room and it was only Ariel. You sniffled a bit as tears fell. You couldn’t talk around the lump in your throat but you tried anyway.

“He’s not like that! They’re lying!” 

“You ain’t got to tell me, I know. The news always lie. They’re gonna do whatever they can to increase viewers,” Ariel said. 

You knew this. And yet you still wanted to hit something. Or call the news station to tell them to have some fucking integrity. You couldn’t get involved. You were just a lowly desk clerk. Sam wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger unnecessarily. He was a trained soldier. They all were. 

The only thing you could do was sit there and twiddle your thumbs. Your mind raced with all of the bad things that could happen. He could get shot. Your arm came protectively around your middle as if you could imagine it affecting you. He could be thrown in jail, unreachable to you. 

Would you stick by Sam if he were in jail? What kind of relationship would that even be? Putting money on his books and driving up to see him every week? Your life would be on hold. Your life would be frozen. Spent in stolen moments you could visit him with bars in between you. And that’s if they even allowed visitors. 

Ariel was still trying to talk to you but you were focused on Sam’s face. The soldiers were yelling at them and Sam knelt there without saying a word. He looked pissed. He had cuts on his face but didn’t look too worse for wear. 

Your chest ached and felt caved in. You didn’t know what you were going to do about Sam. You didn’t want to end this. The knowledge hit you like a ton of bricks. Sam felt right. He felt like you belonged with him. You also had to realize how dangerous his type of life was. Did you really want to take that on, on top of the other burdens in your life? Were you strong enough?  

The soldiers marched Steve, Natasha, and Sam into the back of a giant truck. They peeled out of the area while the news chopper continued to report on the overturned trucks, the blood bath, and the war zone. You turned off the TV and sat there while Ariel filled the space with weak platitudes. 

“It’s going to work out, babe,” she said. 

“I’m scared,” you told her. 

“I know. Do you want me to come over?” She asked.

Your immediate response was to say no. You were a big girl. However, this was too big even for you. “Yeah,” you said. 

Ariel agreed and hung up the phone. She didn’t live far so it wouldn’t take her long to get there. You sat there looking at your fuzzy reflection on your TV. Emotions and questions swirled around in your head. You couldn’t move, paralyzed by feeling helpless. 

Soon after, the doorbell rang. You went downstairs to let Ariel in. She came prepared with snacks and movies. “We’re gonna get sugar high and pass out!” 

You laughed and shook your head at her. She was dressed in sweats and a tank top. You spent the rest of the afternoon in your room, pigging out, and finally telling her everything that happened with Sam. You left out some of the more raunchy details. She didn’t need to know absolutely everything. It felt good getting things off of your chest. Having someone else to bounce ideas or thoughts off of made you not feel so crazy. 

“I feel really connected to him already. But what if that was it? One night of…passion and I never see him again?” You asked Ariel. 

She ate some popcorn and really thought about your answer. That’s what you appreciated about her. She told the truth whether you liked it or not. 

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he’s been looking at you for the past few months. He will do everything in his power to see you again. Especially if he put in work like you described. You don’t just give up that kind of chemistry, you know?” 

“Ariel, they arrested him. This is black ops level shit. How do we know that they’re not going to throw him into a locked room for the rest of his life?” 

Ariel sat up in your bed and leveled you with a stare. “You don’t know what they’re going to do. He was arrested on live TV. If he suddenly turned up missing or dead, someone would look into it. They’re not gonna risk something like that.” 

“But–”

“You’re starting to sound like your mom.”

Your jaw clicked shut with an audible pop. She was right. You were spiraling just like your mom did. Times like these were when you understood her most. There were too many scenarios. Too many disastrous things to conjure up. But you didn’t want to be like her. You didn’t want to make up things and make yourself sick. 

You nodded and focused on your breathing. Focused on calming your racing thoughts. To combat the panic, you thought of things you did know. Sam was a specially trained soldier and survived two tours overseas. Steve was the literal Captain America. He fought in a world war, frozen for seventy years, and came back out swinging against aliens. Natasha was a freakin’ super spy. They were capable of taking care of themselves.

It was natural to worry. It was natural to fear for Sam’s safety. But he didn’t owe you anything. You haven’t had that talk yet. And there was no reason to be fatalistic. 

Your phone rang. It was a number you didn’t recognize but something moved you to answer it. 

“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Sam!” You leapt off of the bed as if you could jump through the phone and hug him. You were still in your room, still far away from him. 

“I saw on the news…what are ya’ll up to? What happened? How are you not six feet under the jail right now?” 

Sam chuckled as you fired questions at him. “I missed you too, little one.” 

“Don’t be cute right now, Sam. Please,” you said. 

Sam sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s been…a hell of a few days. I can’t say much right now. But I wanted to make sure you knew I was safe,” he said. 

“Thank you. I know you didn’t have to,” you told him.

“Yes, I do. I owe you a giant apology when I get home. This thing with Steve…it’s important. But you’re important to me. I want you to know that. If you’re not already planning to kick my ass to the curb after this,” he said.

You chuckled. His voice brought a deep sense of calm with it. It made you curl your toes and you felt lightheaded. “I don’t know. The jury is still out. You are a wanted man right now,” you said. 

He laughed at your joke and sighed. “I want to tell you everything right now, but we’re still in it. It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better. Just…don’t stop believing in me, okay? You’re the only thing that’s been on my mind throughout this,” he said. 

You were dimly aware of Ariel waving to get your attention. You glanced at her. She was making googly eyes and kissy faces at you. And mouthing that she told you so. You flipped her off and she silently cackled behind you. 

You motioned towards the door to kick her out. She stuck her tongue out at you and grabbed her empty cup. She left the room and you sat down on your bed, pulling your legs closer to you as much as you could. 

“I’ll always believe in you, Sam,” you told him. 

“Thank God,” he said and you both shared a laugh. You sensed that your conversation was coming to a close. He was right, whatever he was into he was still in it. You wanted to ask a million questions. You wanted to drive to him so that you could put eyes on him. To see that he was okay. It wasn’t enough to hear his voice. You just had to be patient. Not one of your strong suits.

Sam shuffled and you heard him moving. His voice got quieter. “In that case, I have to tell you that the other night was incredible. I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you and all the faces you were making. I’m dyin’ to get back in between your legs,” he said.

“Sam!” You said and gasped. Heat flooded your core and you shifted on your bed. 

“Tell me you’ve been thinking of me too,” he said. 

You checked to make sure that Ariel wasn’t lurking around the corner. “I’ve been thinking of you too. You need to hurry and get back here. I can’t keep drying my panties,” you admitted.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and released it slowly. “You haven’t been touching yourself, have you? I know you need it deeper than what your fingers can reach,” he said. 

“I need some kind of relief. I’ve got needs, Sam,” you told him. 

“But it’s not enough. Keep your hands off of what’s mine,” he said.

You laughed and pulled the phone away from your ear. He was going to be the death of you. You were sure of it. You were going to die from horniness and embarrassment. You could just picture your tombstone and funeral now. 

“Since when is it yours? That sounds like you need to come back and stake your claim the right way,” you said. 

Sam chuckled. “I just want you to remember you said this.” 

Your pussy clenched at the dark promise in his voice. “I hear you talking a big game but uh…” 

Sam chuckled again. “You let me worry about what’s mine. What’s going to get me through this is imagining you coming with my name on your lips,” he said. 

“Sam…” you said. 

“I’ll be home to take care of you and I’m going to be pissed if I find out you touched what’s mine,” he said. 

You giggled. “Yes, sir,” you said.

“Don’t say that,” he said with a soft groan. “I don’t need to go back in there with a hard on.” 

“It’s your own fault. You started this,” you said.

“I know. I miss you,” he said. 

“I miss you.” 

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear to speak to someone. You couldn’t hear what he said or what the other person said in return. His voice came back on with a sigh.

“I gotta go. I’ll call you when I can,” he said.

“You better.” 

Sam chuckled and you hung up the phone. You flopped back onto your bed replaying his words and his tone of voice. A Sam fiend. That was the only way to describe it. 

“Ya’ll so fuckin’ nasty!” Ariel called out and headed into the room. 

“You so fuckin’ nosy!” You said and threw a pillow at her. She laughed as she made you recount what Sam’s side of the conversation was. You were still worried about him, but at least you had this to hold you over. 

You only hoped it was enough.

Masterlist | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Put A Little Love on Me - Sam Wilson x OC

warnings: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, air force friends, soft smut, 18+

word count: 8.4k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1437355323-put-a-little-love-on-me-lane

vibe: "That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress.

Sam shook his head and stepped closer to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "No it's not, but it's all I had. We promised we'd always have each other no matter what happened. After everything you helped me through when Riley -" his words cut off and her let out a breath, keeping his dark eyes on hers, "I just wanted to be able to help you the way you helped me," he finished

Masterlist

A few raps sounded at his bedroom door as he changed his tie once more. 

“Mr. Wilson, sir?” Sam smiled  at Peter’s voice coming from the other side. “I don’t mean to rush you but Barnes-”

“Completely means to!” 

Bucky’s exasperated voice boomed through the first floor of the compound interrupting him causing Sam to snort out a laugh as he tightened his tie and looked over himself quickly in the mirror. The soft pink tie he had finally landed on looked great  against the crisp navy suit he had chosen for tonight. 

They had been invited to a spring gala in honor of the Armed Forces tonight and they’d asked him, as Captain America and former Air Force, to say a few words. 

“Looking good Wilson, looking good.” He winked at himself before pocketing his phone and wallet to head out the door. 

Sam made his way over to where Bucky was sitting alongside Peter in the common room, looking like he was going to burst into flames as the youngest showed him something on his phone excitedly. 

“Don’t scare him off Parker, he might bail on us.”  

His partner rolled his eyes and cleared his throat before standing and running a hand through his hair. 

Sam whistled, “You know for a person who didn’t wanna go you clean up real nice Buckaroo.” 

“Don’t push your luck Sam,” he replied pointedly. 

“But where’s the fun in that?” Sam grinned as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Are you guys coming?” He asked innocently, just catching the way Bucky glowered, unimpressed, as he followed with a heavy trudge. 

The car waited outside, tinted windows and a security detail that felt entirely unnecessary and did little to ease Sam’s nerves. It’s not that he hated public speaking, it was a given now, but the cause for tonight was important. It sat close to his heart, in both pride and heartbreak, and he just hoped the small speech he had prepared did it justice.

As the cavalcade approached the Plaza, Bucky looked through the tinted glass and whistled. "Very fancy Sammy boy." The car pulled up in front of the huge double doors, the red carpet lined with press and reporters. "And they're all here for you." As the door opened Bucky held his arm out, "After you, I insist," he smirked to Sam, "Me and the boy will just hang here until the heat dies down." 

"So much for moral support, " Sam complained, over his shoulder as he stepped out of the car. The camera flashes and the cacophony of voices that greeted him confirmed that Bucky had the right idea.

He took a breath and transformed his face into the friendly, all-American grin that he knew the public loved and stepped forward. He held his arms out slightly, as if he were about to give the crowd a hug, and then waved. Here, there, up to the right, wherever he heard his name called as he slowly but resolutely made his way towards the doors of the building.

His right hand went to the watch on his left wrist and he surreptitiously fingered the tiny control panel. Gasps of delight came from the crowd as Redwing swooped down and performed some aerial acrobatics, guiding Sam the rest of the way to the doors through a chorus of cheers and applause.

Once inside, he took a moment to steel himself with a breath as everyone in attendance bustled around the room; taking pictures, grabbing glasses of champagne from trays. He took his phone out quickly typing out a text to Bucky and Peter letting them know he’d find their table. As soon as Bucky responded, he pocketed his phone and made sure his speech paper was still  safely tucked inside his jacket pocket before making his way through the crowd of attendees.

He scanned the room until he found the seating chart by the bar — open, he hoped — and found their names under table number one, right front and centre. 

The table was still empty when he arrived, eight exquisitely laid places and a beautifully crafted centrepiece. Sam wandered around the table, searching out his name and slid into his seat, just taking a moment of calm before he would inevitably be thrown into the fray. 

Bucky and Peter’s voices mingled with the music as they bustled over behind him. 

“I was waiting for a text so we could sneak in, Wilson. Do you know how many hands I had to shake tryin’ to find you?” Bucky grumbled, slumping into the chair beside him.

Sam cocked an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips, "Poor little super soldier, having to mingle and get appreciated"

The small stifled laugh from Peter caused a chuckle to bubble from his lips as Bucky rolled his eyes. Sam knew the spotlight was something Bucky was still getting used to and for the most part he always supported his friend's decision to hide in the shadows but with their recent successes and their new team growing, he'd have to accept the supportive attention, even if it was just for one night.

"To be fair Bucky, you were the one who insisted every man for himself," Peter started to explain, before seeing the look Bucky was sending him and pulling himself short. "I know, shut up kid, " he finished, pushing his chair backwards, he stood and suggested, "should I to go see if they have any Asgardian Mead?"

"Good idea, kid," Bucky replied, "I've a feeling I'm going to need it."

"You need to go easy tonight Buck," Sam advised.

"I know how to behave in polite society," Bucky shook his head at Sam, "I was brought up by a lady and know how to treat the dames."

“Rule number one,” Sam countered, “don’t call ‘em dames. They don’t like that anymore.” 

“Aw, shucks! That’s why I can’t get a date.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the rest of the room. It was probably time to get this show on the road, be the man of the people and shake some hands. 

“I’m gonna go mingle, hold down the fort and don’t let Parker drink.” He pointed a finger at Bucky as he stood. Brushing his hands down his suit, he took a deep breath and headed towards Rhodey, the first face he’d recognised since he walked in.

Clapping his friend on the back, Sam grinned his signature grin and extended his hand to the two council members that Rhodey was talking too, "Gentleman, I hope my friend here isn't boring you with his tank story, again," 

"That story is a classic and always kills," Rhodey defended as the men with him laughed, shaking their heads. 

"Only to people who haven't heard it ten times," one of them retorted with a booming laugh. 

Sam nudged his shoulder into his friends with a smirk as the conversation moved on to the recent PR that was needed for their growing team and how it was going to be handled. They wanted Kate and Yelena to make appearance's at schools and Peter needed to do tech presentations, stepping into the shoes that Tony had left for him. But something caught Sam's attention, and the councilman's words drifted out to a dull whisper. 

A girl with soft brunette waves stood by the bar in a navy blue satin gown, her deep chocolate brown eyes trained on his with a soft smile playing on her lips as she took a sip from her wine glass. Sam's chest squeezed as his mind jolted to the last time he'd laid eyes on the girl in front of him. The soft goodbye she'd whispered into his ear, and the press of her lips to his cheek before she'd walked out for her last mission. The day she'd walked out the door, taking his heart with her. 

"Yeah, yeah that sounds good, we'll talk about it Monday," Sam mumbled, squeezing Rhodey's shoulder, "Will you excuse me?" He didn't wait for an answer before he walked away, his tunnel vision setting in as the rest of the room faded.

His heart rate picked up with each step he took towards her. Sam slowed to a stop in front of her, those eyes he'd fallen into time and time again trail up and down the navy suit he wore. "Lanie?" Sam breathed out her name like an unanswered prayer and her smile only grew. 

"I'm a little disappointed you didn't wear the wings." She quipped, taking a sip of her drink. 

He was too busy admiring just how much more beautiful she had gotten since the last time he saw her for her words to register and when they did he couldn't help but chuckle. "Shoot, I left them in the car." 

Lane laughed and the sound hit deep in his core. The feelings he had bottled up and tucked away started to bubble in his chest as her laughter slowed and it was just the two of them. 

"You look good, Sam," Lane said softly.

"This old thing," he gulped, trying to get his racing heart under control.

 Lane had always had this effect on him, even before the feeling was mutual. Just a look from her in his direction or a parting of her lips sent his pulse through the roof. Lane had been so weary of the guys in their squadron, conscious that they were a bunch of entitled A-holes, who made a female pilot work twice as hard for the privilege of wearing the wings.

 She'd finished in the top 5%  of their class, proving herself and nabbing a commission most of the other flyers could only dream of. When Sam had transferred to Dulles Air Force base a year after graduating he'd been delighted to discover not only was Lane still there but had blossomed into a confident, pack up your shit and take a hike, no-nonsense lady. Well-liked and respected by her squad, she had remembered Sam fondly and had been happy to show him the ropes and eventually allowed him to take her out for a drink.

“You, uh… you look good too, Lanie,” Sam murmured softly, taking her in properly. She’d always been beautiful, even with her hair in the regulation bun, slicked back and shining with gel and a fresh face. Now though, he wasn’t sure he could be in her vicinity much longer without a drink in his hand. 

“Thanks, big shot,” she smiled, that heart-stopping, flirty thing that always sent his heart a flutter. “How is that going? Being Cap?” 

Sam sucked in a breath. “Big shoes to fill,” he chuckled as Lane caught his elbow gently, leading him towards the bar. 

“And yet they fit you so well, Sam,” she replied, “I certainly had no doubt they would.”

A familiar fluttering filled his chest as Sam felt a blush creeping up his neck, “Thanks Lanie, that uh, means a lot coming from you” 

She smiled again, that smile that was seared into his brain from the first moment they met at training camp. A smile that brightened the room and dulled away all the worries that plagued his heart since taking up the mantle. 

“And you,” Sam cleared his throat, as his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, “I hear you’re basically running the program now, but not flying anymore what’s that about?” 

A flash of a pained expression crossed her face, before she covered it with a soft smirk and shook her head, “you keeping tabs on me, Wilson?” She questioned, teasingly.

His heart flipped at the question. He had been keeping tabs on her, a small obsession and mainly just to make sure she was still kicking. "You know how airmen and women are." 

Lane raised a brow, "and what about you? Any new aliens I should know about." 

Sam chuckled and shook his head thankful for the change of subject. If she knew just how much he had been following her career on his own it would open that can of worms they decided to close a long time ago. "Androids maybe, aliens..." he shook his head, "not as of late."

"Good to know the world's in safe hands." She turned to the bartender. "Can I get an Old Fashioned and...?"

"Just a beer for me," Sam ordered. The area around the bar was getting crazy busy, with other attendees pressing against them trying to get served. 

Lane passed him his beer and stepped away from the bar, taking a gulp of her drink, she then motioned her glass towards the balcony doors. "I need to get some air, it's a little warm in here." She turned away from him and took another couple of steps. "It really is lovely to see you Sam," she smiled, a shy smile which reminded him so much of their first time together. "Maybe we don't leave it so long next  time."

He wanted to say something else, to follow after her. To continue the conversation that he craved so desperately but he could see she needed out. She had never quite fit in events like these. She was beautiful and good at pretending she was social but Sam could see the obligatory scowl flicker to her face when the important people weren't looking. Same old Lane. Wanted to be anywhere else than where she had to be. 

Sam spent the night fielding questions from politicians, and making sure his overgrown, chaotic dates, Bucky and Peter, stayed out of the mead. It wasn't until he was sitting alone with his third beer in the wind and the band started to play the after dinner music that he realized his mind had been on Lane all night. She floated around the room, avoiding the big crowds and speaking directly to a few important people but it never lasted long and she disappeared as quickly as she appeared. 

"Why don't you ask her to dance?" Peter slumped down into the chair beside Sam. "I've been watching you, watching her all night." 

"I haven't been watching no-one, Squirt." Sam brushed him off but his eyes found her again, slender curves and bright, fake smile as she awkwardly shook hands with another man. 

"She looks like she needs saving," Peter shrugged. 

But Lane had never needed saving, not really. 

"Chicken," Peter resorted to name calling and as soon as he turned on him the squawking stopped.

“I will put you on mission laundry duty,” Sam threatened, “and I know for a fact Barnes leaves his go-bag far longer than he should between washes. Every. Single. Time.”

Peter shuddered and Sam cackled as the younger man scurried away to the bar. 

“No mead!” Sam called after him before his gaze fell back to Lane. She was holding her own against the man, a Sergeant in full dress who was pushing his luck with how close he was standing. It wasn’t until his hand skimmed across the small of Lane’s back and she stepped out of his reach that Sam chugged back the rest of his beer and heaved himself up. 

“Not saving her, just deterring the creep,” he muttered to himself as he headed in their direction.

"Sergeant, I think it's important to remember we are in the company of many of our superiors." Lane reminded the man with that sickly sweet smile that to others seemed just polite, but Sam knew the venom around it. 

The man was just about to part his lips to counter when Sam stepped to her side, "Sir I believe Rhodey was looking for you." 

He frowned and shook his head walking away from them. 

"I didn't need saving Cap." Lane said after a moment when the man was out of earshot.

"No you didn't, but he did. I remember when you almost roundhoused a guy who thought touching you was a god given right." Sam responded, "And as you say, we're surrounded by superiors."

"That was a lifetime ago Sam, the new me doesn't get violent, I just get even. Unfinished business and all that." She bit her lower lip and looked like she wanted to say more, but took another sip of her drink instead.

Sam watched as another uniform approached her from behind and instead of leaving her to the dogs like she so clearly wanted to be Sam extended his hand. 

"How about a dance?" He asked. 

Lane eyed his hand, thoughts swirled around behind those pretty eyes and then she downed her drink and set it aside and slid her hand into his. 

"You still step on toes?" She teased and Sam huffed. "I'll take that as a yes."

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Sam quipped, leading her onto the dance floor and Lane laughed lightly. 

“I’m a risk taker, Wilson. It’s like you don’t know me at all.” 

The music grew louder the closer they got to the band, big brass swelling around the crooning of the singer they’d hired. Sam pulled Lane closer, holding her slender frame against his body as they began to sway gently. 

“Now, I don’t know about that, Lanie. You’ve never hidden yourself from me.”

"That you know of." Lane smirked up at him, her long hair cascading down her back as her chin lifted to look up at him. Those dark eyes finding his, "I'm pretty good at keeping secrets." 

Sam raised a brow, "you can't keep a secret for the life of you." 

She grinned up at him again, a mischievous look behind her eyes, "that you know of."

Sam led Lane around the dance floor, the two of them in comfortable silence, but he was sure she could see the words brewing in his eyes, something he had been dying to offload ever since they parted ways. 

He cleared his throat, pulling her closer to him so that their cheeks met, entwining their fingers so that there was no escaping his nearness. "Before, when you mentioned unfinished business, did you mean us? Is that what we are?"

"What do you think, Sam?" she asked softly, "Are we unfinished or was this over a long time ago?"

Sam felt his breath catch in his throat before speaking, "You tell me, Lane. I wasn't the one who took a mission and didn't come home."

"That's unfair Sam," She said, "you know what it's like on those missions..." She trailed off. Her hands tight in Sam's as they spun in a lazy circle. 

"Out there, sure," Sam answered, "but you came home, all I expected was a phone call." 

"Phone calls can still be hard when you don't know what to say," She hummed and let him spin her out and away from him, before gently bringing her back against his chest. Her back molded to his front as their cheeks pressed together as they silently worked through all those hard unspoken emotions. 

"We were never very good at talking anyways, Lanie."

Sam felt the reverberation of her hum through his chest and he turned his head, letting his lips graze lightly over her jaw. 

“Sam,” she said softly, her breath hitching. 

“Tell me you didn’t want it to be over,” he whispered lowly, “because I know I didn’t.” 

Lane tensed in his arms and Sam sighed. He should have known. 

“Sam, you have a speech to make soon. Let’s not do this now, please? Just dance with me a little longer.”

"Give me something, Lane," he was battling to keep his voice neutral. He was sure that once he left her to make his speech, she'd take off again. 

"I can't do this here, tonight Sam. Just for now let's pretend that we're a couple," she rested her head against his shoulder and Sam tightened his hold on her slightly as she turned her face and rubbed her nose up and down his neck. If Sam  closed her eyes, he could imagine that he was her wingman, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, making her shudder with want. 

When she spun away this time, her fingers slipped from his and just like before she slipped into the crowd and away from him. 

He made to go after her when the crowd parted and the mic screeched over the heads of everyone, "everyone please welcome to the stage our very own Captain America, Sam Wilson!" 

Sam nodded, turning on his heal and painting a smile on his face and raised his hand in the air making his way to the stage to do his speech but his mind wandered to his Lanie, where she would have run off to and how far he'd have to go to chase her down this time.

Jogging up the steps to the microphone, Sam squinted against the lights and gathered his wit, feeling a little out of sorts now. 

Under the attention of literally everyone in the room, he cleared his throat and patted down his pocket for his speech as his eyes settled on Bucky and Peter, the two of them lounging at their table with tumblers that were definitely filled with the Agardian mead he told them to steer clear of. Bucky grinned up at him and flashed two over-enthusiastic thumbs up and Peter cupped his hands around his mouth, whooping and cheering far too loudly for such a dignified gala. 

Still, it settled something within him and he dragged his eyes across the room, telling himself he wasn’t searching for her as he unfolded the piece of paper in his hand.

His entire speech felt distant, like he was on autopilot as he said the words and the crowd laughed from time to time. When the applause started and he folded the paper back up his heart raced with one last scan of the crowd. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of navy satin disappearing out onto one of the balconies that he finally took a breath and followed her outside.

As he tried to make his way through the crowd, people clapped him on the back and stepped in front of him to comment on his speech. His eyes stayed trained on the balcony door, politely and professionally stepping around everyone who got in his way. He'd fight his way through an alien battlefield if it meant Lane was waiting for him on the other side. The glimmer of hope that clung to his chest drew him forward, through everything. 

Stepping out into the fresh spring breeze, Sam felt his breath catch in his throat once more as the moonlight shimmered on across her gown and illuminated her eyes, "Leaving me again so soon, Lanie?" he commented. 

"That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress. 

Sam shook his head and stepped closer to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "No it's not, but it's all I had. We promised we'd always have each other no matter what happened. After everything you helped me through when Riley -" his words cut off and her let out a breath, keeping his dark eyes on hers, "I just wanted to be able to help you the way you helped me," he finished.

She stood there, throat bobbing. 

"Listen, I don't want to spend anymore time here and I don't think you do either. I did my speech, I paid my dues," Sam stepped forward, "why don't we go home?" 

Sam watched as her whole body tensed at his use of the word. He knew what he was doing, they had never lived together but home was less of a place for the two of them, more of a feeling. "You can talk," Sam said quietly but firmly as he reached out to her, "I can listen."

He watched the tears pool in her eyes as they darted softly across his face, almost like she was looking for the man he was all those years ago. Trying so hard to ground herself before putting her hand in his. Lane never did like showing her feelings, she always felt like she couldn’t and he could only hope to make her feel as safe as she did for him.

"Damn you, Sam Wilson," she muttered, but there was a soft, tentative smile on her face as she threaded her fingers with his. "If we're gonna do this, I need the greasiest, cheesiest burger you can get around here."

"I'll do you one better. You come back to the compound with me and I'll cook you up somethin' special, maybe somethin' from my Mama's secret recipe stash." 

"You mean Sarah finally shared them with you?" Lane chuckled, her eyes still glistening. "God, I used to love going home with you for that cooking." 

"Just for the cooking?" Sam replied, flashing her his best smile as Lane rolled her eyes. "What do you say, Lanie? We're both here, now, and if this is the only chance we get..."

"Take me home, bird boy," Lane smirked playfully, squeezing his hand gently. 

Another swarm of butterflies fluttered against Sam's rib cage at the familiar nickname he'd earned from his friends back on base. He let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back, "Oh that's what we're doing now?" 

Smiling brightly, Lane hummed and nodded once, bumping her shoulder into his as she dragged him back towards the door. Sam shook his head once more as he followed, tucking the two of them close to the wall as they snuck through the crowded room. Only a few people tried to catch his attention but there was nothing that was going to take him away from escaping with his girl.

The car was waiting out front and when he finally had her in the back seat it was like a tidal wave of relief had washed over him. He always knew how much he missed her, but seeing her here, ready and finally willing to just talk to him. It was different. He couldn't explain how real it all felt. So he kept his hand tucked in hers, craving the sensation of her skin until he could get her alone. 

Lane was nervous, he could feel it in her touch when she squeezed his hand with worry. He couldn't even remember the last time she had gone home with him. 

God he had missed her. "We're almost there," he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

Lane smiled, small and tight, when the car pulled in through the security gate and she peered out the window at the sprawling compound. Once parked up, Sam helped her out, tucking her under his arm as they headed through the front door and through to the common room. 

The place was in relative darkness, the soft lighting usually set for night time, and Sam caught the way Lane’s shoulders fell, tension physically oozing out of her. 

“Take a seat,” he murmured softly, “I’ll open a bottle of red.”

He wandered over to the small wine storage, searching for the bottle of Lane’s favourite he knew he kept for memory’s sake, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Sliding it out, he was met with a selfie of Bucky the idiot took when Sam wasn’t looking — Peter’s doing really, he’s sure — and he brushed his thumb across the screen to quickly take the call. 

“Are you allowed to bail on your own gala?”Bucky asked immediately, “at least tell me you’re alive.”

Sam breathed out a short laugh, "Alive and well, Buck. Just something I need to take care of," he smiled softly, grabbing the wine bottle off the shelf and turning it over in his hands. 

"Something or someone?" Bucky pressed, the hint of a joke in his grumpy voice, "If I have to stay here, I don't think it's fair that you got to leave, even the kid is leaving with Kate and Yelena, something about playing Kings" he grumbled, "but there's no royalty visiting the city,"

With a shake of his head, Sam couldn't help the roll of his eyes, "It's just a game Buck and you can leave too, just give the kitchen and common floor some space, I'll talk to you later" 

Letting out another laugh as he hung up his phone, Sam sauntered back into the living room presenting the wine bottle to Lane, with a proud smile, "Rippon Pinot Noir, just the way you like it,"

"Almost like you kept that sitting around in case I showed up," Lane teased but her voice was tight. 

"Better to be prepared than empty handed," Sam uncorked the wine. 

"Don't," Lane covered her glass with her hand, "straight out of the bottle or not at all," she smiled.

"Just like the good old days?" Sam nodded. 

"I wouldn't call them good, but they were days, and there was wine." Lane added, "and you."

"Then we got all we need," Sam replied softly as he took a seat beside her on the couch. Lane had kicked off her heels  and made herself comfortable, and something about that made him smile. That she could be so comfortable in his space again after so long apart. 

"So," she started, making grabby hands for the bottle and sipping it delicately. "Are you ready to listen?" 

"I'm all ears, sweetheart," he breathed, pressing his body against hers as offered him both the bottle of wine and her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently as Lane took a deep breath.

Lane turned her eyes down to their intertwined hands and swiped her tongue over her lips. Using two of his fingers, Sam lifted her gaze back up to meet his with a soft nod of his head, ensuring she knew that he was right there, whatever happened, he was with her. With a gentle smile ghosting her lips as her dark eyes skated over his face, Lane cleared her throat and began the story of her last mission. The amount of people they'd lost, and how she did everything to save as many as she could, but even the ones who came home didn't really. The emotion in her voice as she talked about her troops, the soft voice cracks and the small tear that escaped down her cheek made Sam's whole body ache. It was supposed to be a track and report mission, but it turned into a search and rescue. He'd been on difficult missions himself but this was something else all together. 

Sam wanted to gather her up in his arms and never let her go. To remind her that she was home and safe back in his arms. To tell her that he was never going to let anything bad happen to her again. 

"... I was shot out of the sky, just like Riley," she whispered, taking a small sip from the wine bottle in front of her, "My wings wrapped the wrong way and I just... fell. Shrapnel from the shot was lodged in my back with bits from my pack, if I hadn't been over water, I would've -" her voice broke again and Sam traced his thumb over her cheek, catching another tear. 

"There's a reason I didn't wear an open back dress tonight," Lane tried to joke, "The scars from surgery after surgery, it's not pretty Sam... and the - mental scars that I carry, it was too much to put on you. You were working with Steve Rogers when I got back, I wasn't about to swoop in and take that away just because I'm broken."

The words caught in Sam's throat, broken. He'd never once thought of Lane as anything but strong and fierce. Like a tidal wave. To hear her talk about herself in a way that was anything less than that, it broke down a wall inside of him.

"Show me, Lanie," He urged, knowing the chances of her saying no were high but he also knew that telling her that she was beautiful, unmarked and flawless. Those words would mean nothing to her, he needed to show her. "I'll show you mine," he added with a soft smile. 

"I've seen all your scars, Sam." She whispered, her fingers tighter around the bottle now. 

"I have some new ones," he returned the tease, trying to make her comfortable enough to give in and trust him just one more time.

"I don't know, Sam." Her voice was hushed, a quiet murmur in their little corner of the common room. 

"How about I go first?" He responded, and with the slight nod of Lane's head, Sam hopped to his feet and shrugged off his jacket, chucking it across the arm of the couch. She looked up then, her sad eyes fixed on his fingers as he worked quickly to undo his tie. Sam flashed her a grin, wiggling his eyebrows as if he were undressing for any other reason but to show off the jagged lines and mottled skin he carried with him now. And he'd do it a million times over if it meant Lane could see the beauty in the scars she carried herself. 

Once he reached the last button of his shirt, he let it hang open before he moved onto his belt, ridding himself of his clothes until he stood in nothing but his boxers and his socks and he began to point out his most recent scar, a long, freshly pink line that was a deep slit in his thigh just a few months ago. 

"Sam," Lane breathed, her breath hitching. 

"One for one?" Sam replied as he held his hand out, waiting patiently for her to take it, to trust him with her hurt like he had with her all those years ago.

Hesitantly, Lane placed her hand in his and stood, leaving a few inches between them as she spun slowly and paused with her back to him, looking over her shoulder, "could you help me?" She whispered. 

Sam trailed his fingers softly up her back until he reached the zipper of her dress, pulling it down agonizingly slowly. A long line of raised, discolored flesh ran along her spine, growing the lower he got. He stopped his fingers when he reached the end and Sam swallowed thickly, tracing his thumb over the scar that ran the entire length between her shoulder blades. 

 "Surgery number one," Lane breathed, leaning into his touch and meeting his gaze once more.

His breath caught in his throat as she let the dress slip from her hips and stepped out of it, turning around to face him. Her face was tight and every agonizing motion she felt was on display as she arched her neck and closed her eyes. "Number two," she whispered, showing him a fleshy twisted scar that spiraled over her bicep and cut into her shoulder. Sam couldn't believe the pain she must have endured from the fall. Not knowing if she was going to survive it, even worse the agony she must have felt waking up alone, completely transformed by the accident.

The strength she must have held, still held, to get through that. Sam would never know what it was like to come out the other side of something as intense as what Lane had been through, but he knew a little something about grief, about the loss of something and the heaviness you live with after as you rebuild your life. 

"I think you might be the strongest woman I know," he murmured, taking a small step closer. "but then, you always have been." 

Lane's mouth curved into a soft smile, not quite meeting her eyes as she reached for Sam's hand and brought his fingers to her stomach and around to the side of her waist. 

"Scar number three," she murmured, as she pressed the pads of Sam's fingers along the thick, raised line that stretched around to her back. "This one's from a piece of my pack that decided to embed itself in my side on impact."

"Lanie," her name came out as a breath as his fingers traced over her skin. 

Scar after scar, each and every little one a small reminder of everything she'd been through. Every moment he wasn't by her side to remind her how amazing she was to him. He didn't see the ugliness that she did, all Sam saw was a strong, incredible woman who had been through hell and stood taller because of it. He saw her. 

He used his free hand to place two fingers under her chin and bring her eyes up to meet his, "You're beautiful, Lane. Every piece of you. Inside and out. And I will show you that as many times as you need me too and more, if you'll let me," he spoke quietly, drawing her closer, pressing their bodies together.

Sam felt her tremble when he dipped his head and his lips pressed to the scar on her shoulder. Her entire body giving into the soft, slow praises in the form of kisses. A tiny moan slipped from her tired lips as Sam began to show her just how beautiful each scar was. 

"I missed you," he said, so quietly it might have been missed over the sound of their breathing but it was out there and it was true. "More than anything."

"I missed you too, Sam," she breathed, as she tilted her head back and to the side as Sam's lips trailed up her neck to her earlobe. 

His fingertips dug gently into her skin as he moved up and pressed his forehead to hers. He needed her. He needed her to understand just how much he missed her. Just how beautiful she was in his eyes. Sam swooped down, and lifted Lane into his arms, pulling a giggled from her perfect lips as she pulled back a little to look at him. 

Sam shook his head once, and rounded the couch, heading straight down the hallway to his bedroom. There was no way his first time with her was going to be on a couch or the floor of the living room. Those pesky butterflies tickled his chest once more the closer they got and he let the feeling of them wash over him just like her warm citrus scent. 

"Sam," Lane practically whined as she dipped her head and kissed a small scar he had on his collarbone.

Electricity shot down from his head to his toes as her lips touched his skin. He’d been waiting, dreaming of her back in his arms for so long and here she was, finally. His Lanie. 

He held her tighter reaching a hand out to open his door as quickly as possible, once inside he kicked the door shut and walked them over to his bed. Lane kissed a line up his neck as she ran her fingers delicately through his scalp. A shiver ran up his spine as she reached his jaw and pulled back to meet his eyes. He propped his knee on the mattress before softly laying Lanie against it. He stared at her, looking just like the angel she was to him with her hair spread out along the mattress. Her throat bobbed under his gaze, and her breaths picked up, Sam smiled at her soft and full of all the love he’d been holding onto for her. 

He pushed her legs open a bit with his leg before he settled into a hover atop her body, holding onto his weight he dipped his head and touched his nose to hers eliciting a gasp from her lips. 

“Can I kiss you Lanie, please?” He whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“If you don’t I’m definitely gonna kiss you,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Sam didn't hesitate, dipping into her soft laughter and consuming it whole. He wanted everything. Her lips felt like heaven dancing against his as he cupped her face and tangled his fingers into her hair. He missed her so much that nothing else mattered, he barely remembered to breathe. Her mouth parted and he swiped his tongue against hers, deepening their connection as her hands roamed his chest and back. 

Her fingers dragged over his shoulder blades, tickling his skin and drawing a throaty laugh from him as he broke away. 

"I'm glad we haven't forgotten everything," he winked at her as he pulled away and started to work down her throat with his teeth and lips.

Her soft laugh turned into a breathy moan as he moved over her skin, paying attention to the little scars that littered it like a story of everything she'd overcome. "My strong," he dragged his lips across her collarbone, "incredible," a soft kiss to the scar on her shoulder, "beautiful, girl" he moved down to press his lips to the large scar on her side. 

Her breath picked up pace as her fingers trailed, "Baby please," Lane whispered, as her eyes followed him down her body, "Come back to me," 

Sam obeyed, stretching his body back up and capturing her lips with his with more passion than he knew what to do with. Everything he'd ever dreamed of was laying beneath him and it was his new mission to make her understand how much she meant to him.

Sam pulled his lips from hers with a soft tug of her bottom lip, pulling a whine from her with the action. He kissed along her jaw and down her neck the soft mewls coming from her pushing him forward. He reached the curve of her breasts and breathed in her scent, smiling against her skin. 

“Sam please,” Lane whispered. 

He pressed wet  kisses along her clothed breasts, flicking his tongue lightly along her pebbled nipples. He pulled back, smiling at her and moved a hand under her lifting her gently, pressing her chest flush against his. 

“I’m taking this off now, yes?” 

Lane nodded and took his lips in his in a feverish kiss.

Sam smiled against her skin as his fingers worked deftly at her bra, unhooking it with ease and tossing it aside. He palmed her breast and brought her exposed nipple between his lips, sucking gently until her hips arched into his touch. Her hands raked over his scalp as he massaged her chest. 

"What do you want?" He asked her, not knowing where to start himself. His touch was fuzzy against her warm skin and all he wanted to do was kiss her until she begged him to stop.

"You... just you," Lane breathed, moving her hips up into his, "touch me, baby, please" 

Sam groaned into her skin at her words, kissing his way down her body and stopping at the edge of her panties, "Can I take these off, beautiful?" he hummed. 

It still felt surreal to him that she was here, allowing him to explore her body and take in each and every sound she made for him. He wanted to savour the moment, remember every movement but his own body betrayed him. It ached to touch her and drink her in, to keep her skin pressed against his and make her whine his name over and over. 

With a nod of her head, Sam hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled them down her legs, pressing soft kisses along the way until he flung her panties across his room, landing them over a picture of him and Steve, making Lane giggle softly.

He sat back and admired her taking his time to commit every single inch of her body to memory. He wrapped his fingers delicately around her ankle lifting her leg up and pressing his lips to her calf with a teasing smile as she writhed under his touch. 

“Really, all this time and you wanna tease me now?” 

Sam breathed a laugh against her skin, pressing more kisses along her leg, inching closer to her center painfully slow even for himself. 

“I’m savoring you,” he hummed. “Two very different things, your cute little scowl is just a bonus.”

"This cute little scowl is impatient," Lane cooed at him but her words were swallowed by a sharp gasp. 

Sam's tongue flickered out over Lane, already so wet and sweet. He couldn't stop himself as his hand roamed over her hip and pressed against her stomach. He peered up at her, drinking in how euphoric she had become under his touch. He worked in slow circles that drew the sweetest sounds from her lips as he quickened in pace, chasing the sounds of her pleasure.

Lane’s hands ground him in place, soft but firm as her hips moved in sync with his tongue. Her moans filling the room as she whispered his name over and over like a prayer as she chased her high. Sam felt her tense up beneath him before he fingers reached for his cheek, calling his attention to her. 

“Sam please, I need to feel you,” She panted and he smiled pressing a kiss to her thigh, “Come here handsome.”

Despite wanting to please her, Sam took his time, kissing his way back up her body, paying specific attention to each scar that littered her torso. A soft whine escaped her lips and her soft hands found his cheeks as she gently tried to pull him back to her. 

"So impatient," Sam whispered, ghosting his lips up her throat and capturing her with his before she could say anything, tangling their tongues together and letting her taste her sweetness. 

He settled himself between her legs and teased her entrance with the head of his cock, ignoring his own throbbing to take in more of her beautiful pleading sounds. He hoped to any god listening that they would have many more moments like this, just the two of them enjoying each other, but he also knew that life could be reckless and unpredictable, their scars telling that exact story to one another. It just made this moment with his girl all that more important to him. 

Lane's hand travelled down and cupped his ass, urging him forward, "Sammy," she breathed against his lips.

Nothing else mattered in that moment as he slipped into her entrance with a soft, silky thrust that melted their bodies together. She was so tight that it took him an moment to adjust, gently rocking his hips back and forth until she was a puddle of breathless moans and tiny huffs. His lips found hers again, needy and hungry for more. He wanted to be closer than ever before and he accomplished that mission with each thrust forward. 

"You're so beautiful," he hummed when he parted, cupping her face with his hand and admiring the soft freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose. Her lips partially open and her eyes searching his as they rocked together at a delicious pace chasing their high in unison.

His fingers danced along her skin trailing from her cheek down her side. Her scarred skin was soft and smooth under his touch while he mapped a constellation of scars on her side. Lane wriggled beneath him, her moans bringing a smile to his face. There were so many times that he felt an incredible pang in his chest with every moment he ached for her and now having her so close feeling the way her body molds to his, Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let her go after this. 

“Lanie,” he breathed, dipping his head and pressing soft chaste kisses along her collar bone to the spot on her neck that always makes her squirm. His hands traveled down her sides to the outside of her thighs, pulled her even closer and hiked her hips off of the bed in a new angle, one that dragged a delicious moan from her lips.

Lane's head lifted as she pressed a kiss to the scar on his collarbone, gasping into his skin as he thrust forward and hit her sensitive spot. A shiver of pleasure shot down his spine as she gripped his length tighter and fluttered around him, her orgasm growing within her. They're soft sounds echoed through his room as his pace became quick and needy, chasing their highs together. 

"Sammy," she whined, moving her hips in tandem with his, craving the same closeness that he was as her head fell back into his pillow and pressed backwards. 

The pressure grew deep within his stomach but Sam needed her to reach her climax first. He needed to give that to her, to feel her pleasure erupt around him.

Her nails dug into his skin as her breathing became ragged and her body tensed in his arms. He felt the cord snap within her as his name danced off her lips in a series of breathless moans that made him heavy dizzy with pride. 

"That's my girl, keeping going," he praised both verbally and physically as he picked up the pace, his rhythm growing sloppy as he chased her orgasm in search of his own.  Her lips on his skin was enough to drive him crazy as her cunt fluttered around him, dragging him inch for inch closer to the edge.

She felt like heaven around him, gripping his length and still fluttering. Warmth spread through his veins and pleasure curled around his lower back the further he pushed himself. Lane’s moans turned into soft whimpers as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, whispering soft praises as his hips snapped against hers, out of rhythm until it was too much. He felt her nails dig into his back, her legs hooked around his waist as he came. 

His hips slowed, rocking lazily as he trailed kisses along the inside of her neck.

Her fingers trailed up his spine and scraped into his scalp as she did her best to catch her breath. The overwhelming sense of comfort drifted over Sam as he kept his lips pressing into her skin, relishing in the moment of their bodies together. The sound of a hitch in her breath made him sit up slightly, catching her soft brown eyes with his own as he furrowed his brow. 

"Lanie, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He asked, his hand coming up to cup her cheek gently. 

She shook her head with a ghost of a smile and placed her hand over his, "I just - I missed you so much, Sam" 

With a small breath of relief, Sam returned the smile, leaning his forehead down against hers and brushing their noses together, "I missed you too, Lanie. More than you know"

[drabbles-mc]

It's Not Brooklyn

Sam Wilson & Sarah Wilson & Steve Rogers

Written for the Gen Freeform Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, fluff, found family

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I wrote this for an exchange a little while back and i finally get to post it here! this was such fun to write so i hope y'all enjoy this little glimpse of Steve getting to meet Sam's family 🥰

It hadn’t taken Sam very long to put the offer out there once he started spending more time with Steve. He knew that Steve wasn’t going to go for it right away, but Sam wasn’t going to let that stop him from continuing to make the offer. He knew, even without Steve coming right out and saying it, that he was in need of someone to lean on.

Sam hadn’t been able to get Steve to show up and participate in group, even though Sam stood by the belief that it would be helpful for him on multiple fronts. Steve hadn’t caved to that idea just yet. Even though Steve hadn’t come around to that just yet, it wasn’t as though he’d boxed Sam out completely. The two of them had met up a couple times—coffee, lunch, whatever place was closest to both of them during any given conversation. Eventually Sam invited Steve over, and after that Steve figured it was only right that he return the favor.

The first time that Sam went over to Steve’s apartment was the first time that he brought up New Orleans.

He hadn’t gone into the evening with the intention of bringing any of it up, his hometown, his family. But when he got to Steve’s place, when he looked around while Steve kept himself busy cooking in the kitchen, he couldn’t help but notice the fact that Steve’s apartment might’ve been neat and tidy but it didn’t quite feel like a home. It made sense—Steve’s entire life was about seventy years in the past and he hadn’t been able to bring any of it with him.

“You do any traveling?” Sam asked as he sat at the counter that separated Steve’s kitchen from his living room. He already had a vague idea of the answer. He saw the look Steve tossed his way from where he stood at the stove and he chuckled. “For fun, I mean. Not, you know, not Saving America-related.”

Steve laughed quietly as he turned his attention back to the meal he was trying to pull together. “No, I haven’t.”

“Too busy?”

“That too.” There was a pause, and Steve knew Sam well enough by that point to know that if he didn’t speak up and elaborate, Sam would be perfectly content to sit there in silence for the rest of the night until Steve changed his mind about it. “Wouldn’t even know where to start, where to go.” He fiddled with the heat on the stove. “Feels like I barely got my bearings here.”

Sam nodded even though Steve wasn’t facing him. “It’s not Brooklyn.”

Steve had to laugh at that. “No, it’s not Brooklyn. It’s also,” he set the spoon down and turned completely around so that he was facing Sam head-on, “not the forties anymore.”

Sam’s smile was full of empathy. “That’s true too.”

There was a beat before Steve righted his expression. “Were you about to recommend a travel agent to me?”

“No, no.” Sam toyed with the beer bottle in front of him. “You ever make it to New Orleans?”

Steve shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Never had a reason to. Why? Recommend it?”

His smile was blinding. “That’s my town, man! Where I’m from!”

Steve chuckled, tension melting out of him. “That right?”

“Yeah. If you ever wanna go, let me know. I’m due for a trip back home anyway.”

“Your family still there?”

He nodded. “Yeah—my sister and nephews. Little punks, all of ‘em.”

Steve was smiling but there was a small twinge of sadness in it that he tried his best to hide. “That’s good.”

Sam saw it all, watching as Steve turned back around to the stove and continued cooking. He was aware that what he was going to say next might push it a little too far. But he also felt like he and Steve were at a point where they could come back from a little pushing. It wasn’t going to send anyone flying over the edge.

“I bet they’d really love to meet Captain America,” he threw out casually.

Steve’s shoulders shook slightly as he laughed. “Would they?”

Sam was laughing a little harder than Steve was, taking a sip of his beer before he said, “They would. And, I mean, since you never did come around to help me get the number of the girl at the front desk, least you could do is come on down to NoLa and let my nephews try to throw your shield around.”

Steve smiled over his shoulder at Sam before stepping away to grab plates and silverware for both of them. “That’s how that works, huh? That’s the trade?”

Sam nodded. “That’s the trade.”

He walked by Sam, over to the small table just outside his kitchen. He was setting up the plates and silverware as Sam pushed his stool back from the counter and walked over. Steve looked over at him, giving him a tiny nod. “I’ll think about it.”

It was hard to tell by his tone how much he really meant it. Sam could hear the humor in his voice but at the same time he saw the wistful look in Steve’s eyes, too. Everyone needed someone, needed family. Even though Sam hadn’t lived in New Orleans in years he still always knew that his sister was a phone call or a plane ticket away, no questions asked. Everyone deserved that, and it’d been a long time since Steve had had that.

“Think about it, yeah,” Sam said as he took a seat.

~*~

Steve found himself thinking about it more than he thought he would. It was an offer made in an attempt to be kind, something that was just a product of where their conversation had gone. Steve knew that, tried not to put more stock in the thought of it all than he really should. He was being honest when he said that he’d never been to New Orleans. It wasn’t even a place that had really even crossed his mind as a travel destination. He didn’t really know much about what was down there, really—aside from Sam’s family at least. But maybe that would be enough.

He wasn’t planning on bringing it up again. The last thing he wanted to do was put Sam in an awkward position, because what if he really was just saying it just to have something to talk about? What if there was no real backbone to the offer? Steve didn’t want to go through whatever that conversation would turn out to be, didn’t want to make Sam have to try and muddle his way through that either.

It was a topic that neither of them broached until about a month later when Steve was going over to Sam’s. He waited on the man’s steps after knocking on the door. When Sam answered a few seconds later it was holding his phone off to the side, clearly talking to someone, although it didn’t stop him from greeting Steve with a grin as he waved him inside.

“Hey, come on in.” He saw the apologetic smile on Steve’s face as he crossed the threshold, the man gesturing wordlessly to Sam’s phone. Recognition flashed across Sam’s face. “Oh, this?” He pointed at his phone. “Don’t feel bad. It’s just my sister. Should’ve hung up on her about five min—”

“Better watch what you say next,” she said with a laugh.

Steve was trying to figure out if he should introduce himself, or apologize, or remain silent the way that he had been. What resulted in the process was just him standing there quietly with his mouth slightly open like he was almost about to say something but no words were coming out. The two seconds that passed felt like hours to him before Sam stepped in and kept things moving along the way that he always did.

“Sarah, excuse me, I’m trying to have a conversation with Captain America here—please be respectful,” he joked.

Sarah was laughing on the other end of the line, and it was only then that Steve realized that the two of them were on a video call, not just a regular phone call, and that they could all see each other. Sam shifted the angle on the phone so that both he and Steve were in the frame now for her to see.

“So, my brother really hasn’t been lying, huh? He actually hangs out with Captain America.”

Steve smiled sheepishly. “You can, uh, you can just call me Steve.”

Sam chuckled, looking back and forth between Steve and his sister. “Right, right. Sorry. Should probably introduce you guys. Sarah,” he gestured to Steve, “this is Steve.” He looked over at Steve. “Steve, this is my pain in the—”

“Watch it,” Sarah cut him off, smiling without any malice in her voice.

“This is my sister Sarah,” Sam dramatically corrected himself.

Steve couldn’t fully hide the traces of awkwardness that he was still feeling about it. “N-nice to meet you.”

Sam was perfectly unbothered by all of it. “Sarah, you know this man has never been to New Orleans?”

She raised her eyebrows, appearing to study Steve’s face for a moment before returning her attention back to her brother. “I could see that.”

“I told him that he should go.”

She was still smiling as she shrugged. “He should.” She returned her attention to Steve. “Sorry, did you wanna be part of this conversation about your travel plans?”

It got Steve to laugh. “Sam mentioned—”

He was cut off by a loud clattering and crashing sound on Sarah’s end of the line. Her facial expression immediately changed. She looked exasperated, like she knew exactly what had just happened and why—whatever it was, it wasn’t the first time. “I gotta go, sorry. But hey, Steve, if you can get Sam to come back down here you should definitely come with him, alright?” She continued on before either of them could say anything about that one way or the other. “I’ll talk to you later, Sam. Stay outta trouble.”

She hung up on them before Sam could try and come back with something witty. The screen blinked out and Sam was laughing as he locked his phone and put it back into his pocket. He turned back around to Steve, the smile on his face stretching farther when he saw the slightly flustered expression on the super soldier’s face.

“So that’s Sarah,” Sam said, like it wasn’t painfully obvious.

The comment got Steve to laugh and relax a little bit more. “She seems nice.”

“She will be to you, sure,” he joked.

The two of them exchanged a brief look as they made their way into Sam’s kitchen. Sam could see it on Steve’s face that there was something he wanted to say, to ask, but he didn’t. Whatever the question was died before it reached the tip of Steve’s tongue. Sam let the topic drop for the moment, but he knew that it wasn’t going to be the end of it. Even if he hadn’t been determined about it on his own, he knew that he wasn’t ever going to hear the end of it from Sarah now.

~*~

“Don’t get mad,” Sam said as they started walking into the airport.

Steve’s exhaustion quickly shifted to confusion. He didn’t consider himself the type to need that kind of a warning, although his concern faded a little bit when he saw the smirk on Sam’s face. “Okay. I won’t get mad.”

He handed the plane ticket over to Steve. “I changed the flight home.”

The statement didn’t do anything but worsen Steve’s overall sense of confusion. He started to speak as he unfolded the ticket, “Are we still leaving tod—” He stopped himself short when he read where their changed flight pattern was going to land them.

“I already called her,” he said as they made their way to their new departure gate, “and she’s super excited that we’re gonna be there. So you can’t change it back now.”

“Sam—”

“You change it, she won’t just have a problem with me—she’ll have a problem with you too. And,” he chuckled, “that’s a problem that you don’t want.”

Sam’s statement got a laugh out of him. Steve wasn’t mad—he was far from it, actually. Sure, their trip had been tiring and a little futile thus far, but the unexpected change in flight plans made Steve feel like the trip wasn’t a waste anymore. If he’d had more energy in that moment, he would’ve tried to come back with something witty to say anyway, but he didn’t have it in him. After a nap on the plane maybe he’d be a little quicker on his feet. And, if what Sam had been saying about his sister all this time had been at all true, Steve was going to need to be as on his game as he could manage.

Tapping the ticket against the palm of his hand, Steve smiled and finally said, “I’m not looking for anymore problems.”

Sam’s smile was beaming as he affectionately clapped one hand against Steve’s shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “That’s right.” Checking the time on his watch, he cleared his throat and said, “Flight down is earlier than our other flight though, so we gotta get moving.”

Steve was shaking his head as he picked up the speed of his stride to match Sam’s. He muttered a quiet, “Of course,” under his breath, but there was no malice to it. There was still a tiny grin on his face.

Steve meant to ask Sam more questions about his sister, about his entire family really, on the flight. He’d talked about them in the past, of course, but now that Steve was going to be meeting them, he felt like he should know a little more. He felt it was a courtesy he owed them.

However anything that Steve was planning on asking fell by the wayside mere minutes after their plane took off. Once they reached altitude, Steve was out like a light. He hadn’t slept very well since they left for their mission, and even though the previous night they had been, technically, done and off-duty, he still hadn’t been able to rest in the hotel that they were staying in. Steve knew a lot of people who wouldn’t be able to sleep on a plane to save their lives, but he didn’t share that sentiment. It wasn’t something he ever really thought about much in the past, but when he was being nudged awake by Sam as they were getting ready to start their descent into New Orleans, he was almost wishing that sleep hadn’t decided to come so easily to him in that moment.

Shaking his head to get himself back to a presentable level of consciousness, Steve tried to get himself some reassurance from Sam. “You’re sure she won’t mind me just—”

“It’s not just you, man,” Sam cut him off with a grin. “It’s both of us. And yes, I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Both he and Steve winced slightly as the plane put wheels back on the ground, the pilot not doing it with a whole lot of grace but it obviously wasn’t the worst thing the two of them had been through. Sam silently shook his head once the plane smoothed out and was taxing on the pavement. Steve looked out the window for a moment before turning his attention back to Sam again.

He tried to make up for the time he lost by sleeping on the plane. “Anything I should know? Things I should say? Things I shouldn’t?”

Sam chuckled at Steve’s apparent nerves. He should’ve been expecting it but he still found it amusing. “What you should say is that her brother is the best guy to work with and that you don’t know what you’d do without me. You know, play up that whole I’m Captain America’s right hand man thing.”

It got Steve to laugh. “Sam.”

“It wouldn’t even be a lie!”

“It wouldn’t be a lie,” he repeated, but the humor in his voice got Sam to give him a look of mock offense.

Once they got off the plane and got their bags, it didn’t take long for Sam to locate his sister. She was waiting right out front by her car, going back and forth between looking down at her phone, and scanning the crowd for Steve and her brother.

“And she’s here early,” Sam said with a laugh as he walked up to her.

He dropped his bag so that he could give her a proper hug. She gave him a light punch to the arm on the way in but it didn’t stop her from hugging him tightly. “Didn’t want to give you any reason to take off and not come back for another—”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed as he picked his bag up off the ground again.

When the laughter had died down, Steve made a point to introduce himself, since it was a skill Sam just didn’t seem to possess. “Nice to officially meet you,” Steve said as he held his hand out for her to shake.

For a moment, Sarah contemplated just pulling him into a hug anyway, but she figured she would do him the kindness of easing him into it. Shaking his hand, she flashed him a smile. “Nice to meet you too.” She nodded towards Sam as her hand dropped back by her side. “Sam told me this was a bit of a surprise for you?”

Steve chuckled, hand resting on the back of his neck for a moment. “Little bit.”

She waved for them to start putting their bags in the car. “Sorry about that. We’re a fun time though, I think. Or at least the rest of us are—I don’t know about Sam.”

Sam threw his hands up. “I didn’t even say anything!”

Sarah was laughing as she walked around to the driver’s door. “You will, though.”

Once their bags were loaded into the back of her car, both Sam and Steve got in. Steve didn’t hesitate to slide into the back seat. Sam getting to ride shotgun next to his sister was a given. He was looking out the window at all the other cars and taxis passing them by when Sam turned around to face him from the passenger seat.

“I’d put your seatbelt on.” He nodded towards Sarah who was looking back over her shoulder before pulling out into traffic. “Can’t trust this one’s driving.”

Steve was smiling and shaking his head as he strapped himself in, something that he was going to do whether Sam had spoken up or not. Sarah was about to say something to come to her own defense when Steve spoke up instead.

“I’ve survived driving with you, so I think I’ll be okay.”

Sarah’s laughter hit the air at the same time as Sam’s sound of mock offense. “Not even gonna have my back in front of my own sister?” He shook his head as he faced forward again. “Can’t believe this.”

Sarah was still laughing as they got back out onto the main road. “And to think that this was all your idea.”

“Don’t make me reach over and grab that steering wheel.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead. See what happens.”

Steve sat in the back and watched the two of them banter and bicker back and forth. It was impossible not to find it at least a little amusing. The comfort between them was instant and Steve couldn’t deny that it helped soothe some of his own anxieties about it all. His nerves weren’t gone completely, but there was something to be said about Sarah pulling him in on her side of the little fake arguments they were getting into on the drive back to her house.

~*~

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sarah said as she pulled into her driveway, “but this might be the only place where you’re not the most popular one out of the two of you.”

Steve was smiling as he shook his head. “That’s perf—”

Sam cut him off, looking at his sister indignantly. “The only place?”

“What?” she asked, pretending not to know why Sam was reacting that way. “AJ and Cass are your biggest fans.”

“Could’a just said that,” Sam muttered as he tried not to laugh.

Sarah was proven right within the next sixty seconds. They were getting their bags out of the car when they heard the house door being flung open. It smacked against the side of the house but neither of the young boys charging outside and down the walkway paid any mind to it. They were too busy excitedly yelling and cheering for their uncle as they sprinted out to the car. Sam was pretending not to hear either of them until the last minute when he turned around and scooped both of them up at the same time.

Sam was laughing almost as hard as his nephews as he whisked them off onto the lawn. It took no time at all for it to turn into a tumbling match with the three of them. Steve was still mid-reach for his suitcase when Sarah popped up beside him.

“I’ll help you bring these in—they might be a minute.”

Steve laughed as Sarah pulled the last bag out of the car. He reached up and pulled the trunk door down. “You weren’t kidding,” he said as they made their way up the driveway to the house.

She shook her head as she pulled the door open for the two of them to get through. He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “Not about that.”

Steve dutifully followed Sarah into the house. The second he stepped through the door he could sense that her house was really and truly a home. He was caught between feeling comforted and slightly out of place all at once. There was the slightly muffled sound of the television in the living room. It didn’t take much to put together that the boys had been watching it until they realized who had pulled into the driveway. Steve listened as Sarah pointed out different rooms as they went along, taking in all the photos and small pockets of trinkets and clutter that let the world know a family was living there.  It made his apartment back home seem almost clinical in comparison.

Sarah’s voice kept him from thinking about it too much. “I banned Sam to the couch by the way.” She stopped by the door to one of the bedrooms at the far end of the hallway. “You can have the guest room.”

Steve was shaking his head even as he set his suitcase down in the doorway. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine on the couch.”

She smiled as she motioned for him to go into the room. “Go ahead. Guarantee the three of them will be staying up late and camping out out there anyway.”

“You’re sure.”

“Positive.” They stood there in the doorway for a few seconds longer before Steve finally caved and went into the room. Sarah watched him with a satisfied grin on her face. “Get some rest if you want. I’m gonna start dinner in a little bit.”

“I can help,” he offered as he dropped his bags beside the bed.

“I’ll let you do that,” she joked before turning and heading back towards the kitchen.

Steve didn’t unpack too much. He and Sam were staying for a few days but not long enough to constitute taking everything out of his bags. When he was done taking out what he’d need, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. He could hear the footsteps and laughter coming from down the hall and he allowed himself to soak it all in. There had been a couple times when he was getting his things settled that he’d seen one of the boys go sprinting by the doorway in a flash.

He got to formally meet Sam’s nephews when Sam had captured both of them and told them, “Not even Captain America can save you now!” Then of course Steve had to step in and save them. It was only fair. It resulted in both Cass and AJ quickly taking off after Sam again, Steve following behind but not quite as determined.

“I’m stealing my cook back from you!” Sarah yelling to the rest of them as she motioned for Steve to join her in the kitchen.

That seemed to bring the commotion to a stop. Or it at least brought Sam’s commotion to a stop—it didn’t stop his nephews from eagerly trailing after him. Sam stopped at the edge of the kitchen and watched Steve as he listened to the instructions Sarah was giving him.

Sam chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re gonna let this guy cook for—"

“Cook with,” Sarah corrected.

“Still.”

Steve looked at Sam with an expression that was supposed to read as hurt but he started laughing too quickly for it to work. “I can cook.”

He shook his head knowingly. “There’s a reason I always invite you over.” He saw that Steve was getting ready to debate about it, so Sam held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, man, I get it. We got a lot more spices and stuff now than we did in the forties. It’s a lot to keep up with.”

Sarah rolled her eyes at her brother before turning to Steve. “Don’t let him push you around.” She gestured towards Sam with the spoon in her hand. “Like he would know anything about anything if Mom hadn’t made him pull up a stool right where you’re standing when we were kids.”

“Psh,” Sam laughed as he casually pulled AJ into a headlock since the boy was trying to push him into the kitchen, “I don’t remember any of that.”

“’Course you don’t,” Sarah joked back at him. She was looking at Sam while she was pointing at Steve. “This whole time you could’ve been teaching him.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to cross his arms over his chest as he looked over at Sam. “Yeah. This whole time.”

Sam shook his head as he felt Cass starting to try and climb up onto his back. “I knew I was gonna regret putting you two in the same house together. I knew it.”

Sarah laughed as she returned her attention to the stove. “Too late now.”

Sam and Steve looked at each other for a split second longer even with all the chaos happening around them. Even with Sarah still giving instructions, even with Sam’s nephews clamoring all over him. They looked at each other and there was a smile on Steve’s face and an ease about him that Sam hadn’t seen in a long time, if ever. The small nod that Steve gave him was a thank you he would be sure to get around to saying out loud at some point before the trip was out. For now, though, Sam just nodded in return, glad to be able to share his family.

(divider by @silkholland 💞)

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon @late-to-the-party-81 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know! xo)

[americasass81]

No Good Deed

Warnings:- Dark Themes Mentioned or Implied Include Consensual Non-Consensual Sex, Fingering, M & F Smut, Implied Breeding, Political Violence and Betrayal, Mentions of Nightmares and Trauma. Do not read if any of these warnings are upsetting. Feedback is welcomed.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Author’s Note:- This is for @saiyanprincessswanienie 3.5k Followers Writing Challenge (Damn but this was a hard one). Congratulations Missy, you continue to amaze me with the kindness and friendship you so easily extend to any of us lucky enough to interact with you.  Forever grateful for all you do for this community and fandom, here’s to your next big follower milestone.  No one deserves it more than you. lyl💞💞

Challenge Prompt 24:- I miss your warmth.

Author’s Note 2:- As always, all images have been found through google search.

Pairing:- soft/dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Synopsis:- Crossing paths with a recovering super soldier, just how much is your life likely to change?

Word Count:- 4,871

Walking carefully through the corridors so as not to impede the doctors, nurses and orderlies milling around the place while performing their life-saving duties, you nodded politely to the two heroes sitting talking together outside the bustling hospital room as you passed by to begin your daily visits.

Like most people in this particular hospital, you too had witnessed the chaos and upheaval caused by recent events.  But you had tried to steer clear of it.  Nothing against the agents, heroes or government law enforcement officers that had spent the last few weeks disturbing the peace of these sterile halls, but patients who ended up here had usually been through enough and the S.T.R.I.K.E. agents especially didn't give off a feeling of peace and safety.  Quite the opposite really.  Still this was neither your problem to solve then or apparently anyone else's to solve now.

Back now to what passed for a busy, yet smoothly running hospital, Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff were now the only reminder of the extraordinary events that had taken place within these walls.  At least outside of that particular hospital room anyway.  Behind the closed door where doctors finished up making Steve Rogers as comfortable as possible, the anticipation for news of his condition and the fallout from his actions still lingered in the air while his friends waited to finally be granted access to him.  But that was two days ago. 

Taking up residence now in the chair on the right side of the bed as Marvin Gaye's Trouble Man emanated from what looked like an ipod, Sam had hated to leave him alone.  The thought of Steve Rogers waking up alone once again without a human face to greet him for the second time in his short life didn't sit well with him, but his choices were sadly limited.  Given what had happened at the Potomac and the idiots in Washington baying for blood, his attention was currently needed to back up Natasha, which is how you ended up here.

Being a volunteer who gave up her free time to just sit with patients who had no one in this world to visit with them or simply give a few hours relief to a family member that had an errand they had to run or just needed a decent shower and nap in their own bed, the food, drinks and magazines you brought Sam had been greatly appreciated.  But nowhere near as appreciated as your attitude.  Having read about and admired Captain America since you were a child, you unlike most other people, were able to set aside the fan girl persona and see the fragile human buried beneath the cuts, bruises, wires and hospital bedding.  Sitting haphazardly on the other chair some orderly had procured as the super soldier still slept next to you, your mind had trouble focusing now on the book in your hands as you wondered what he must be going through.

Having woken up in a time no longer his own to discover only fragments of the world he once knew, he had set aside his own pain and given this new world the hero it deserved.  Throwing himself back into service by working tirelessly to fulfill Erskine's legacy and honor Bucky's sacrifice, the last few months had shattered the illusion that this new time was any different than the one he had left behind.

Beginning with the revelation that the United States government still believed in ending wars before they had even begun, this time through advanced weaponry, the hits just kept on coming when an attempt to assassinate S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury before his eyes had revealed that the World War II criminal group known as HYDRA still functioned and with the help of his newly discovered friend James Buchanan Barnes, now operating under the moniker of The Winter Soldier, had successfully infiltrated various levels of government and was finally ready to seize control of this new world.

Standing up to their tyranny once again as he always had and fighting his one time friend in a brutal battle which landed him here and left a massive wreck in the middle of the Potomac river, not to mention the Black Widow's dumping of every U.S. secret intelligence file, both S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA alike, your heart couldn't help but go out to him and wonder what now lay ahead for the First Avenger.  Could he rally once more and continue being the hero he always was?  Would the government even let him?  Or would this be the final act of betrayal that broke him and revealed that in the end all he really was is human?

Closing your book as your eyes now lingered over the monitors recording every aspect of his condition, this train of thought was easily lost to you however when Sam Wilson returned and thanked you for watching over his friend as he sank into his usual spot beside Steve's bed.  Smiling tenderly at him as you tried to figure out how he too was not currently occupying one of the hospital rooms like his friend, you quickly shook the thought away as you stifled a yawn while handing Sam a piece of paper with your phone number and told him to call you anytime if he needed anything.  Thanking you once again before saying goodbye, you then left the heroes behind and headed off to the next patient who needed a friendly smile and a kind word.

And so that's how the first few days of this extraordinary adventure had begun.  Stopping by throughout the day between your regulars, as you liked to call them, you'd drop off a few welcome items for Sam or Natasha before asking after Steve and then moving on to those who were without friends or family.  But nights however were spent by his side when even earth's mightiest heroes couldn't circumvent the ban on visitors staying overnight.  It was only after all your years of carefully cultivating relationships within the hospital hierarchy that got you around that particular obstacle.  Which is why you were the one there when it happened.

Resting in your now usual chair as comfortably as possible, having been told by Sam that the patient had briefly awakened, your fitful sleep was interrupted by noises and shuffling from the room’s other occupant.  Waking suddenly as the noises grew louder, you opened your bleary eyes to find the blond avenger caught in the grip of a nightmare you couldn't even dare to imagine.  Rising from the chair and laying your hand carefully upon his massive chest, you bent closer to try and soothe his troubled mind.

"Mr. Rogers?  Steve.  If you can hear me, I need you to relax," you coaxed as your hand moved across his chest and trailed down his arm to grab a hold of his.  Lacing your fingers through his as a means of being his anchor, your breath caught in your throat momentarily as he opened his eyes before you found your voice again and continued, "you're going to be all right.  I'm here with you and you are not alone."

Turning his head now in acknowledgement of your presence, your eyes met briefly before he closed them again and fell back into the abyss from whence he had just emerged.  And that became the pattern for the next two nights.  Talking him down when he woke up calling for Bucky or just rambling some other incoherent mumbo jumbo while you waited until morning to relay the news to the doctors in the hopes that they would be able to help, your concern for him only grew with each new ray of morning sunshine as doctors confirmed that only time and perhaps therapy would alleviate these particular issues.  And for that he would have to remain conscious.

And so it was that this became a secret that seemed to exist solely between you and Steve as the hospital fell into relative slumber and the closed blinds hid your comforting actions from the world outside.  Which you suspected was part of the reason you now woke up during another visiting with him to find your head laying on his shoulder and your body flush against his.  Embarrassing and unwelcome as that had been however, it paled in comparison to the revelation of Steve's position.

Opening your eyes to find his left hand resting on your ass while his right held yours over his crotch, feeling the warmth of the muscle beneath your palm was enough for you to search back through your mind for the particular memory of how this highly intimate yet wholly inappropriate situation had come to be.  Remembering how once again his trauma had woken him to find you calming his inner storm, this time however he found his sane voice just long enough to beg you to lay beside him while he drifted back to sleep.

Hesitating long enough to see the pleading cloud his features, you quickly slipped off your boots and climbing carefully into the bed beside him, gingerly snuggled next to him as his breathing relaxed and both of you slowly returned to peaceful slumber.  Now however morning had arrived and if you didn't want to be found in this compromising position, action needed to be taken.  Carefully and successfully freeing yourself from his grasp, though his left hand proved a tad harder to release, you had just sat upright on the side of the bed when a strong palm settled on your back and alerted you to his ever improving condition.

"Hey there, is everything okay?" he asked, still somewhat hoarsely as his hand moved tenderly up and down the outline of your spine.

"Sure," you answered, turning your head slightly to look back at the rapidly healing super soldier.  "I guess we just fell asleep again.  Anyway, Sam will be here soon and I have a few other patients to visit with today," you replied as you moved from the bed to the chair on his other side and began lacing up your boots.  A task that kept you so preoccupied that you failed to notice the despondent look that settled on the super soldier's features at the mention of you leaving him.

Reaching out his hand to you however as you finished this task, you took it and should have wondered what precisely he was thinking at the next words to leave his lips.  "You were tired.  You work too hard sweetheart.  Promise me you won't stay here with other patients all day," he asked as he ran his fingers along the back of his hand.  "I miss your warmth when you're not here," and kissing the back of your hand softly, you just had enough time to pull it away and compose yourself once more before Sam entered the room with what you suspected was some food and more magazines.

"Hey Steve.  Pretty volunteer," he smiled as he moved past your now standing figure to sit himself in the chair you had only recently vacated.  "How's our super soldier today, nurse?" he asked with a wink before pulling out a styrofoam cup and handing it to you.

"Thank you for this," you answered, taking the offered cup and bringing it carefully to your lips in the hopes the hot beverage inside would settle your nerves before continuing, "and you know I'm no nurse, Sam Wilson.  Still," you said, turning your gaze now back to Steve, "he does appear to be improving every day.  Hopefully in a few days he'll be able to go home," you smiled while failing once again to notice the dark cloud that settled on his features.

Giving Sam a quick note on things you felt the incoming doctor's should be aware of, at least as much as you were comfortable with, you then said your goodbyes to the two heroes, reminded Sam he could reach you on your phone if he needed anything and with a tender smile at Steve promised to be there again when Sam had to leave for the evening.  Then heading down to your car, a quick trip home for a shower and breakfast had you back at the hospital in record time to try and distract yourself from the nightly events.  A task which didn't go as smoothly as you hoped however..

Joining some of your favorite patients in the activity room for some games and a chat upon your return, it seemed word of the new celebrity had traveled far within these walls but unlike most youngsters, age had given the elderly residents a different perspective on the man who now refused to leave your thoughts even as he rested a couple of floors beneath your feet.

"I heard his speech was inspiring," Matilda mentioned to Audrey as you concentrated on the Scrabble letters before you and tried to ignore their conversation and the tugging on your heart.

"Well now that's hardly surprising," Jake interrupted from his spot by the window, "a fellow of his character and experience is bound to know words matter every bit as much as deeds.  Mark my words, the man who takes up the shield after him will be made of the same grit and integrity."

"Wait Jake, what do you mean the man after him?  Who said Steve is giving up the shield?" you interrupted as his words stole your attention from the game before you.

"Steve?" Matilda and Audrey both asked in unison with inquisitive glances you knew all too well would have you answering some awkward questions later but for now your full focus was reserved solely for the army veteran preparing to pass on some secret insight.

"Oh young one," Jake laughed, looking at you now and the other interested ladies with eyes filled with years of knowledge one could only acquire from all the life he had observed around him, "no one can carry on forever, not even a super soldier.  And would we even want him to?  Surely he has given enough and the man deserves to rest."

Turning back around to his jigsaw puzzle as your gaze returned to Matilda and Audrey's nodding heads, a part of you wondered what a world without the super soldier would look like but as the memory of his bruised body resting beside yours called out to you, you realized the old man was right.  Steve had given more than one man ever should and deserved to find peace before he lost even more of himself.  And it was still with this thought occupying your mind that you opened the door to Steve's room later that evening to find him sleeping soundly as the cares of the world currently seemed to have left him in peace.

Standing in the doorway noticing now for the first time the changes these past few days had brought, the conversations with your regulars made you realize something had to change.  Looking more closely now to see the cuts and bruises all but gone you knew that unless Steve voluntarily walked away there was nothing much that could stop him.  And that thought frightened you now more than any other.

Thinking back on what he had looked like the first day you saw him lying here all stitched up and shuddering at the nightmares that held him prisoner most nights as his consciousness slowly returned, a part of you wondered could Steve even walk away.  What would it take for him to even contemplate passing on that burden to another person?  It was a question that would have to await an answer however as a hand closed on your shoulder and a gentle "hi" brought you back to the present and all but gave you a heart attack at the same time.

"Shit Sam warn a girl before you sneak up on her," you replied quietly as you turned to face his now familiar presence while your hand rested on your heaving chest in an effort to calm your racing heartbeat.

"Sorry," he smiled and he couldn't help but notice the way your eyes flicked back to Steve and your body relaxed slightly upon noticing that sleep still held him in its embrace.  Giving one last glance over at his friend, he then gently took you by the elbow and leading you outside, closed the door silently before sitting both of you on the empty seats he and Natasha had occupied the first time you saw them.

Handing you a drink as now seemed to be his other customary greeting, enough time had been spent in his and Natasha's presence now to know that something was bothering him.  Reaching out your hand to grip his and reassure him that he could confide anything in you, you had to admit to being taken aback when Sam told you S.H.I.E.L.D. had suggested moving Steve to one of their own facilities to oversee his continued recovery and for added safety.

Furiously rising from the chair and reminding Sam in a less than favorable voice of all the pain S.H.I.E.L.D. had caused him, the eerie silence now descending on this bustling corridor was enough to tell you that your particular outburst was no longer a private matter between those who cared most for Steve Rogers.

"Sorry Sam," you replied somewhat calmer now while looking around and raising your hand slightly to let the ward nurses know all was well before continuing, "I know I'm just an ordinary civilian and I know they're not all bad, but surely you don't want a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anywhere near him?" you asked, looking back once more towards the door that hid his resting form.  Hearing his phone buzz once more and sighing as he looked at the caller ID, you knew from his resigned features that the conversation was over for now.  Sam was needed elsewhere and you were now more determined than ever to somehow do what you could to shield Steve from any more harm.  But what could someone like you possibly do?

Saying good night to Sam and closing the door between you, Steve and the outside world, your mind worried with what Sam had told you and the uneasy feeling taking root in your gut.  Starting by once again shutting all the blinds that now made up your nightly routine, you took one look at Steve's sleeping form before walking back towards the door.  Knowing in your heart it was not your place or within hospital protocol to lock the door and acknowledging that nothing you did would really be able to prevent determined S.H.I.E.L.D. agents from forcing their way inside, your instincts still told you that something was better than nothing.

Heading back to Steve's bedside and checking through his charts, machines and vitals, all the information practically confirmed the same thing ... he was now much closer to being recovered than he had been previously.  Nodding your head and straightening your shoulders, you determined your course of action and set about putting it in motion.  Picking up the spare chair that usually cradled your sleeping body when not soothing Steve through a nightmare, you walked back towards the door and turning the lock then placed the back of said chair under the handle for good measure.  Then removing your shoes, you gingerly climbed up into the bed beside Steve and watched the door until sleep finally claimed you.  But given recent events S.H.I.E.L.D. really should have been the least of your concerns.

Waking sometime later in the night to find yourself no longer clothed, Steve's fingers playing with your hardening nipples brought your current predicament into sharp focus.  Calling out his name and squirming against him, Steve stopped what he was doing and laid you on your back before speaking.

"Hey sweetheart, if you want me to stop just say so," he whispered as your eyes now locked on his wandering hand and his eyes so blue and full of life for the time since arriving here flicked up to gauge your reaction.

Unable to think clearly or form any tangible words in that moment, his hand moving further down your body was the catalyst you needed however to spring into action.  Bringing your hand up to his and thereby stopping it from reaching your now exposed pussy, you found your voice long enough to ask him what exactly he was doing and how you had ended up in your current state of undress.

"I'm sorry," he replied with a child-like smirk, twisting his hand up to face yours and locking your fingers together before continuing, "it's just that I woke up to find you lying next to me again and I guess in my addled state I yearned to feel your flesh against my palm.  I find it oddly soothing," he finished and the look in his eyes reminded you of that first night he had begged you to lay beside him until he fell asleep.  Focusing on this memory as his fingers flexed against yours, you now acknowledged that that may very well have been the beginning of your downfall.

Sighing deeply then as you thought of all the women the world over who would give anything to be in your current position, his lips beginning to explore your neck and shoulders appeared to be doing wonders at lowering your defenses as a moan you barely recognised as yours left your lips.  Grinning now as his wet tongue joined his skillful lips and your hand felt looser in his grasp, the resulting "oh fuck, god" that next bubbled forth from your throat told him that perhaps you were more responsive to him than you were willing to admit and it only spurred him on more.

Continuing to suck and nibble along your neck as his hand left yours and made its way between your thighs, he was actually shocked when his digits came in contact with the wetness waiting there.  But if you were honest with yourself it didn’t really throw you for a loop.  Thinking back now to all the concern that had slowly started to creep into your thoughts of him, his fingers making their home within your channel now had you thinking totally different thoughts and as they somehow found a particular spot that had you clamping hard around him, you knew you were done for.

Begging now for him to apply more pressure and make you come, Steve proved himself every bit the gentleman you suspected him to be as he moved between your legs and tilted his hand at just the right angle to have you seeing stars.  Writhing beneath him now as his fingers continued to caress your walls, his thumb moving up to press against your clit was the final stimulation you needed to lose yourself to the waves of pleasure assaulting your body as your release gushed out around him.  Bending down then to lap it up as your ragged breathing made you fearful of passing out, the now impressive tool between Steve's legs that caught your eye told your night was far from over.

Flipping you over and laying you on your stomach, your blissed out state still didn't make you confused enough to not realize what was about to happen however.  Feeling Steve's heavy weight pressing down upon you met the memory of exactly where you were and your senses snapped into sharp focus just as his warm breath ghosted by your ear.

"Now that I've shown you what my fingers can do are you ready to let my meat invade your pussy and drive you to heights you never dared imagine?"

Hiding your face in his pillow and trying not to laugh at this ridiculous question as the super soldier flexed his hips and ran his hard length against your still dripping folds, your squirming body gave him that extra confirmation he required.  You weren't rejecting him.  Bending forwards more now to rest his lips against your ear, your body froze momentarily as the words he murmured confirmed the situation you found yourself in.

"So glad you seem to be on board sweetheart, but if you really want us to continue you're gonna have to use your words," and taking the "yes please" that left your lips as his cue, the super soldier caught his head on your entrance and thrust home.

Crying out as he entered you, he kissed your hair and shushed your whimpers as he buried his massive length within you while still being kind enough to let you adjust to his intrusion.  Murmuring words of comfort and encouragement in your ear, he didn't have long to wait before your body responded and he felt your hips squirm beneath him.  Easing some of his considerable bulk off your smaller frame then while still reminding you of the power he held over you, the slapping of his hips against your ass as his powerful tool stretched you beyond your limits was enough to have your body coming around his cock for the first time while your constricting walls forced him to add his own release moments later.

Remaining painfully hard within you as his hips continued their punishing pace, you tried to reach back and slow his pace only to have Steve yank your hands behind your back and now pull you towards him in a way your body was most definitely not meant to bend.  Pleading with him to remember that you weren't enhanced like he was, sanity prevailed thankfully as he eased up on his thrusts while still bringing your back flat against his chest so his phallus now hit you at a sharper angle that had you hurtling towards another orgasm even as the aftershocks of the first one still assaulted your trembling frame.

Coaxing you through your ongoing high as you now felt more of his cum flood your core, you might have thought about the consequences of his actions had he not been so bold as to paint a picture of the future he envisioned with you.  Continuing to fuck you over and over and over again as one orgasm ended and another began, you thought you might pass out again but Steve telling you about finding Bucky and the three of you raising a massive family together coupled with him stopping just long enough to allow you regain some sense of self, proved enough to keep you fully aware of just how much thought he had put into your future together.

Finally feeling the change in his length that signaled him fucking you was just about over, Steve Rogers at last erased any doubts you had about his intentions as he laid both of you back on your sides while slipping a set of keys and a piece of paper into your hands.  Looking down at what appeared to be an address that wasn't your home, you thought now that perhaps the doctors had been right about his trauma and resulting need for therapy, but his hands coming to circle your waist and rest against your tummy told you that despite your fears, you had agreed to most of this.  Kissing you tenderly then as he drifted off to sleep, these same arms held firm which was exactly how morning's rays found you once again.

Opening your eyes to now find Steve wide awake, he kissed your hair and released you before sitting up in bed and telling you to get dressed.  Moving gingerly as every part of your body ached, Steve continued to remind you of the life he had planned and whom you could turn to for assistance in his absence as he carefully began to remove any remaining bits of hospital equipment from his body.

Righting the room then back to its usual state before opening the blinds and unlocking the door, you had just about composed yourself when Sam appeared and was surprised to find Steve up and about and apparently all ready to head back out into the world.  Informing his friend that he just needed a few minutes to say goodbye to you, pulling you gently into his arms as his forehead rested tenderly against yours, it was with a heart weighed down by the task ahead that Steve held your gaze and uttered the words you would carry with you until your paths would converge once more.

"Knowing you'll be here waiting guarantees I'm coming back to you.  Now please, be my good girl and head to that address to protect the package I'm hoping we've created.  I’ll be back as soon as Sam and I track down my friend," he finished before kissing you softly, turning to Sam and walking out the door leaving you to wonder just how good he was at keeping his word and whether or not your random act of kindness had landed you with more trouble than you possibly knew how to handle.

Tagging:- @saiyanprincessswanie

[ao3feed-sambucky]

Spicy SamBucky

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/K1jkvNb by Siancore A Place for my Spicy Fanart of SamBucky Words: 18, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Captain America (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson Additional Tags: Fanart, NSFW Art read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/K1jkvNb

[braveclementine]

Chapter 15

Warnings: None. (Will however be a 18+ reader book)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

The next few minutes seemed to pass in a blur. Maybe that was because of the adrenaline of trying to outrun these military-type men. Maybe it was because the Bahaman sun was glaring off all the water and sand. Or maybe it was because of all the tears that were dropping down your face in streams.

You felt terrible for so many reasons. You felt like there was something you should've been able to do. What? No idea. But something. For another, you felt guilty for having misjudged him and so harshly. It was hard for parents to love other children of different soulmate parentage, unless you were already blood related or soul related. Like if Maria had Fury's kid, Coulson would still love the kid.

It was why adoption was so rare in this world. It was just to hard.

So now, your feet pounded down the sidewalk, aware that the men behind you were shouting for you to stop with heavy accents. So they probably wanted you alive. That was both comforting and terrifying.

You turned the corner and found half of the Avengers running up towards you. Of course, with tears in your eyes, you misjudged the distance and ran flat into Steve's chest.

"Y/N, are you hurt?" Steve and Bucky were the only ones that stopped running to make sure you were alright while the others descended upon the soldiers that had just come around the corner.

"T-they killed my d-dad." You hiccupped.

"Oh doll." Bucky said softly, pulling you into a hug before shooting his gun over your shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Steve flung his shield out, "Take her back to the hotel Buck."

Bucky nodded, scooping you up with his metal arm, shooting at anyone that came at the two of you with his flesh hand. You hiked it back to the hotel where Loki and Thor were just about to head out, apparently only just now hearing about the fight. Nat was also there, loading up on guns and knives while Bruce was slowly, but surely turning green.

"Y/N?" Loki asked carefully as Thor flew out the hotel with his flying hammer to join the fight.

"She's physically fine." Bucky told Loki, "But she watched her father die."

"Poor thing." Loki murmured, pulling you into his arms, "I'll take her back up to her room and run her a hot bath."

"Good idea." Bucky murmured, kissing the top of your head, "Are you going to be okay, doll?"

You nodded, feeling a bit dazed. "I'm o-okay."

Bucky smiled a bit sympathetically, running his thumb over your cheek tenderly before running back out of the hotel again.

Loki teleported up to your bedroom, laying you down on the bed, going into the bathroom. You could hear him running the bath in the other room, the steady rushing of pounding water against ceramic echoing through your ears.

Finally, you heard the tap being slammed off. Loki came back. "You okay about taking it by yourself?"

You kind've just stared at him. You couldn't remember if you'd ever seen anyone die before.

Loki decided to take your silence for 'no'. He picked you up in his slender, yet muscular arms, carrying you into the bathroom. He settled you into the bubble bath, which smelt like mint and chamomile. Two very calming scents.

After a few moments, you came back down to Earth, realizing that you were still in your bathing suit.

You looked at Loki, "I'm still dressed?"

Loki smiled a little, "Well, I wasn't going to undress you without your consent pet."

You smiled a little and then it dropped off your face, "He. . . he told me the truth. About the prophesy surrounding me and how after I get married, I can't be used to end the soulmate bond. And he told me that he isn't my biological father, he is an FBI agent. And that my adopted mother died taking a bullet for me without me even knowing."

Loki's face was sympathetic and sweet as he rubbed your arms softly with the bar of soap. "I'm sorry My Queen."

"Did you know about the prophesy?"

"I'm sure I've read about it somewhere." Loki said nonchalantly. "Especially now that you've brought it up. But it wasn't something that popped in my mind upon meeting you or spending time with you."

You just nodded. "Did any of them know?"

Loki thought about it for a moment, "Perhaps the wizard? He reads just as much as I do. I'm not really sure about any of the others. Thor definitely does not, he isn't a big reader."

"I don't understand. Why would the ones who want soulmate bonds to stay try to kill me? Why wouldn't they just push me to get married faster?"

Loki shrugged, "Midgardians- and most species out there- don't ever make any sense when it comes to things that scare them. In three days this is all over pet. You don't have to worry. Although, we would all understand if you wanted to postpone the wedding for a funeral for your father."

Postponing the wedding sounded good. You weren't sure how you were supposed to act like you were happy when your father wasn't going to be there. It was so strange how quickly your attitude towards him had changed. Or maybe. . . maybe you'd just loved him all along.

On the other hand, postponing would give those on both sides more time to either attempt to kidnap you to use you, or attempt to kill you. What if it wasn't your father next time? What if it was one of your soulmates instead? Or your sister?

"No, I want to go through with the wedding. If we could speed it up, I would." You answered.

Loki dipped his head slightly.

"Loki?"

"Yes my Queen?"

"Can you untie the back of the bathing suit top?"

"Of course."

You leaned forward a little bit so that he could untie the stretchy strings that were holding the bathing suit top up. His fingers were nimble, deftly pulling out the knot that would probably have taken you a solid five minutes to get out. He pulled the strings free, letting them fall against your back when he was done.

You slid off the top and then pulled the bottoms off, soaking more fully in the tub. Your body didn't show as the bubbles from the bath covered most of your body up.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked as he clipped your wet swimsuit to hangers, hanging them up so that they could dry. How was he so good at home chores?

Loki summoned that book of poetry that he had read to you in the library. He read lots of different poems. The last one, he liked so much, that he tried to explain why he loved it so much. It went something like this:

One fine morning in the middle of the night,

two dead boys got up to fight.

Back to back they faced each other

draw out the swords and shot each other.

A deaf policemen heard this noise

and shot the two dead boys.

If you don't believe my lies to be true,

ask the blind man, he saw it too!

"I mean, the entire thing is a paradox." Loki said with absolute delight. "I mean, cause morning in the middle of the night, and back to back they faced each other! I mean, they're complete opposites in the same sentence."

You giggled, feeling a little lighter. "Loki, I heard the poem too."

"Sorry, it's just such good writing. And humorous as well." Loki said, delight in his eyes. You watched how passionately he spoke about writing that he liked.

After you finally felt a little better, you drained the bathtub. Loki put the book away, fetching you a fluffy towel that he wrapped around your bodice, helping you out of the tub so you didn't slip.

He let you dry off and get dressed while he kept his back to you. "Hey Loki, do you think we can have the second soulmate dinner up here? I don't know, just some random food or something. . . I don't really want to leave tonight."

"Of course, I'll let Tony know." Loki said softly. You could hear his fingers tapping on the phone.

After a half hour, the others came up with a lot of Chinese food. You all sat on the floor in the living room section, a few of them on the one couch. You leaned against Bucky's legs, sitting with Clint on one side of you and Thor on the other.

Dinner started with the heavy conversation. All of the soldiers were either dead, or they had been taken into custody to be questioned. Then you had provided with what your father had told you. You knew your sister was the one who needed to hear this, but you were still torn about whether or not you should tell her.

Most of them had heard about the prophesy, but the only one that had really connected me to it was Fury. Even Stephen hadn't, something he looked rather embarrassed to admit.

I was also made aware that my father's body was on ice until after the wedding. Now that they all knew exactly why people were coming after me, they all adamantly agreed on having the wedding as it was planned. Steve and Bucky even wanted to know if it was possible to speed up the process.

It was decided that there would always be at least one of them at all times. Which was fine with me. It was decided that I would be hanging out with Tony, Stephen, Wong, and Rhodey tomorrow.

Things came to a close quickly before everyone started to file out after wishing you a good night with some sort of affectionate hug or kiss on the forehead, cheek, or even lips.

Bucky was the last one and you suddenly felt the urge to grab his arm and say, "Bucky."

Bucky looked down at you, Steve and Sam pausing. You wanted to ask him to stay with you tonight. You didn't want to be left alone in this room, although Fury had promised that no one would be able to get in.

Then you realized that it might look like favoritism to the others and you let go of his arm and said, "Good night."

"Night Doll." Bucky said, kissing your cheek before walking down the hallway with Steve and Sam, throwing his arm over either of their shoulders.

Even though they were your soulmates, in that moment, it felt like they were something you could never be a part of.

----------------

You tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. Suddenly, there was a ding on your phone.

🪣🦾❤️: You still awake?

Y/N 🍸: Yes

🪣🦾❤️: One second

Three minutes later there was a knock on your door. You slid out of bed, peeping through the hole to see Bucky standing there. You opened up the door, "What are you doing here Buck?"

He held out his hand, "Come on. Let's go see some wild cats."

You smiled, taking his hand. The two of you walked through the semi empty hallways before going downstairs. Though it was past midnight and all the stores and shops were closed, there were still couples milling about.

Bucky led the two of you outside, and you guys walked for a bit. You could see lots of different cats that just looked like normal house cats walking around, drinking water from puddles or little bowls of milk that had been left outside of certain shops.

Bucky and you sat down on some steps by one of the pools. He put his arm around you and after a while, a white cat approached the two of you. It put its' paws on Bucky's knee, pushing up on its back legs to get closer to his face.

Bucky smiled before revealing a bunch of fish that he had in a little baggy. They were dead, but still in water to keep them fresh. He must've gone fishing at one point.

He held one of the fish out to the cat. The cat picked it up daintily, before promptly deciding to eat it right there. You looked away, staring up at the galaxy instead while you listened to Bucky absolutely adore the cat.

"Aww, you're so adorable. Yes, eat the fishy like a good little kitty. There you go, that's it. Awww~"

You smiled a bit. Yes, you should definitely get a cat when you guys went back.

Eventually, a few other cats wandered over, either because you were the most interesting thing around, or because they could smell the fish on Bucky. He gave all of them away and the cats were immediately curling up around us.

You scratched one behind the ears, loving how smooth, though slightly coarse the fur of the cat was. "We should get a cat or two when we get back home. Loki wants one too."

"Really?" Bucky sounded both surprised and excited.

"Yep. Black cats especially." You said with a slight smirk.

"Ah yes. A witches cat." Bucky said with a grin.

You laughed again and then yawned. The hot air was suddenly making you rather tired and you laid your head down on his shoulder. "That's alright doll, you can fall asleep. I'll carry you back up to your room."

"Don't wanna be alone." You mumbled.

"Okay. You don't have to be." Bucky whispered. You could hear him saying sad good-byes to the cats, before there was a sweeping motion and you snuggled into his arms.

"I love you Buckaroo." You mumbled, "So much."

"I love you too Y/N." He said and you could feel his lips lightly press to the temple of your head. "Gonna take care of you forever, I promise."

You smiled, feeling one tear slip down your cheek, though you weren't entirely sure why. All you knew, was that you were happy, content, and loved.

You fell asleep before you even reached the hotel.

[samsseptember]

September  18 - Western AU | Cowboy  

[fever-daydream]

Fever-Daydream Request Rules and Information

1. At this time, I will not write smut. I am okay writing more suggestive topics and may be open to writing smut in the future, but not right now.

2. Along with smut, I will not write large age gaps, extreme gore or violence, abuse of any kind, or any stories involving hateful rhetorics towards any group of people.

3. Though I will write stories about real life people, I won’t write about ships between real life people (ex. Joshler, Frerard, etc.). I am all for shipping, but it is just not something I personally am comfortable writing.

4. All “x Reader” pairings will be “x Fem! Reader” unless a gender neutral reader is explicitly asked for. I will not write “x Masc! Reader”. This is due to the fact that I am a cis female and do not feel like I can accurately do so.

5. If you request a romantic pairing between two characters, they must both be canonically legal adults (18+). In all requests that are x reader, the reader will be at least 18 years old, even if the pairing is platonic.

6. I am a graduate student. Though I will strive to get requests done as fast as possible, I have no specific timeline that can be expected. I ask that you give me grace. Constant asking about when I will fulfill a request will result in the request being denied. If this happens multiple times, you will be blocked.

7. I have the right to deny any request if I feel uncomfortable with the subject matter and/or it does not follow the above stated rules.

These rules may be updated at any time and are not all encompassing.

Who I Write For

Movies and TV Shows

Top Gun/Top Gun: Maverick

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky

Nick “Goose” Bradshaw

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Robert “Bob” Floyd

Javy “Coyote” Machado

Twisters

Tyler Owens

Boone

Scott

Javi

Mission: Impossible (Movie Series)

Ethan Hunt

William Brandt

Star Wars Universe

Poe Dameron

Cassian Andor

Anakin Skywalker

Luke Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo

Han Solo

Finn

Bodhi Rook

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Steve Rodgers (Captain America)

Sam Wilson (Falcon/Captain America)

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

Tony Stark (Iron Man)

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Peter Quill (Starlord)

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

Scott Lang (Antman)

T’Challa (Black Panther)

Grant Ward (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D)

Howard Stark (Agent Carter/Captain America: The First Avenger)

Loki

Thor

American Satan/Paradise City

Johnny Faust

Vic Lakota

Leo Donovan

Dylan James

Bands

Twenty One Pilots

Tyler Joseph/Clancy

Josh Dun/Torchbearer

Black Veil Brides

Andy Biersack/The Prophet

CC/The Destroyer

Lonny Eagleton/The Redeemer

Jake Pitts/The Mourner

Jinxx/The Mystic

My Chemical Romance

Gerard Way/Party Poison

Mikey Way/Kobra Kid

Frank Iero/Fun Ghoul

Ray Toro/Jet Star

Palaye Royale

Remington Leith/Aldous Blackwell

Emerson Barrett/Alan Blackwell

Sebastian Danzig/Fredrick Blackwell

If you do not see a person or character on this list, feel free to message or send me an ask! I am a fan of many things!

[phoenixlionme]

Marvel Black Superheroes Part 1

1. T’challa aka Black Panther

2. Shuri

3. Okoye

4. Nakia

5. Ayo

6. Aneka

7. Eric Brooks aka Blade

8. Silhouette Chord aka Silhouette - biracial; half Cambodian

9. Miles Morales aka Spider Man - biracial; half Puerto Rican

10. Eli Bradley aka Patriot

11. Rayshaun Lucas aka Patriot II

12. Victor Alvarez aka Power Man - biracial; Afro-Dominican

13. Sam Wilson aka Falcon/Captain America II

14. Ororo Munroe aka Storm -  American born but noted to be of Kenyan descendant

15. Armando Munoz aka Darwin - biracial; Afro-Latino

16. Eden Fesi aka Manifold - biracial; Australian aboriginal

17. Isaiah Bradley aka Captain America

18. Josiah X aka Captain America

19. Lucas Bishop - biracial; Australian aboriginal

20. Tyrone Johnson aka Cloak

21. Shard Bishop - biracial; Australian aboriginal 

22. Cecelia Reyes - Afro Puerto Rican and depicted with dark-skinned complexion

23. Jesse Aaronson aka Bedlam

24. Roberto da Costa aka Sunspot - biracial; Afro-Brazilian 

25. Nick Fury

26. Monica Rambeau aka Spectrum

27. James Rhodey aka War Machine

28. Riri Williams aka Ironheart

29. America Chavez aka Miss America - biracial; Afro-Puerto Rican Caribbean 

30. Ramone Watts aka Alloy

[paarthurnax59]

Cast for "Always her Hero."

Book 1 cast (more will be added later)

Clark Kent/Superman portrayed by Henry Cavill

Hope Parker/Fang Portrayed by Jessica Rothe

Steve Rogers/Captain America portrayed by Chris Evans

Sharon Carter/Agent 18 portrayed by Emily VanCamp

Peter Parker/Spiderman portrayed by Tom Holland

Bruce Wayne/Batman portrayed by Christian Bale

Today Stark/Iron man portrayed by Robert Downey Jr

Bucky Barns/ Winter Soldier portrayed by Sebastian Stan

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow portrayed by Scarlett johansson

Alfred Pennyworth portrayed by Micheal Kane

Ra's al Ghul/ the Demon Head Portrayed by Liam Neeson

Sam Wilson/ The Falcon Portrayed by Anthony Mackie

Gail Richards Portrayed by Hilarie Burton Morgan

Betty Ross Portrayed by Sophia Bush

Gwen Stacy Portrayed by Emma Stone

Selena Kyle/Catwoman portrayed by Anne Hathaway

Talia Al Ghul portrayed by Katie Mcgrath

Harley Quinn Portrayed by Margot Robbie

Animals

Voice of Beowulf (German Shepherd): Hugh Jackman

Voice of Zelda (Blonde tabby): Amanda Seyfried

voice of Link (Brown Tabby): Elijah Wood

Voice of Alpine (White Angora) : Emma Watson

Voice of Krypto (kryptonian Labrador retriever): Tom Welling

Voice of Tallon (Falcon): Micheal Keaton

[kaitlinamberxo]

Kaitlin's 100 Favorite Male Muses Masterlist

Documenting some of my fictional crushes over the years. Some are justified, some not so much, and in no particular order.

There are many that I attempted, but I couldn't do them justice.

1: Nate Archibald

2: Tyler Lockwood

3: Robb Stark

4: Bellamy Blake

5: Peter Pevensie

6: Din Djarin

7: Percy Jackson

8: Anthony Bridgerton

9: Bucky Barnes

10: Sirius Black

11: Cedric Diggory

12: Tony Stark

13: Aladdin

14: Prince Naveen

15: Leo Valdez

16: Newt Scamander

17: Flynn Rider

18: Scott McCall

19: Elijah Mikaelson

20: Benedict Bridgerton

21: Luke Castellan

22: Fred Jones

23: Conrad Fisher

24: Derek Hale

25: Fred & George Weasley

26: Bruce Wayne

27: Ron Weasley

28: Nathan Scott

29: Dick Grayson

30: Lucas Scott

31: Jaime Lannister

32: Oliver Wood

33: Clark Kent

34: Obi-Wan Kenobi

35: Jon Snow

36: Jamie Tartt

37: Joel Miller

38: Alec Lightwood

39: Poe Dameron

40: Klaus Mikaelson

41: Evan "Buck" Buckley

42: JJ Maybank

43: Anakin Skywalker

44: Sam Winchester

45: Steve Rogers / Captain America

46: Jacob Black

47: Reggie Mantle

48: Hobie Brown / Spider-Punk

49: Diego Hargreeves

50: Lincoln Kom Trikru

51: Simon Lewis

52: Hernan "Shades" Alvarez

53: Enzo St. John

54: Edmund Pevensie

55: Jake Fitzgerald

56: Raphael Santiago

57: John B. Routledge

58: Art Donaldson

59: Klaus Hargreeves

60: Daryl Dixon

61: Simon Basset

62: Tobias "Four" Eaton

63: James "Jim" Gordon

64: Dean Forester

65: Matthias Helvar

66: Isaac Lahey

67: Prince Charming / Kit

68: Thomas "Tommy" Shelby

69: Oberyn Martell

70: Dean Winchester

71: Chad Meeks-Martin

72: Jim Hopper

73: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

74: Dan Humphrey

75: Peter Quill / Star-Lord

76: Colin Bridgerton

77: Forsythe Pendleton "Jughead" Jones III

78: Wade Wilson / Deadpool

79: Kaz Brekker

80: Draco Malfoy

81: Sodapop Curtis

82: Peter Maximoff / Quicksilver

83: Phil Dunphy

84: Scott Summers / Cyclops

85: Haymitch Abernathy

86: Finnick Odair

87: Damon Salvatore

88: Johnny Storm / Human Torch

89: Harry Potter

90: Matthew Murdock / Daredevil

91: Jeremiah Fisher

92: Peeta Mellark

93: Remus Lupin

94: Stiles Stilinski

95: Aleksander Morozova / The Darkling

96: Prince Eric

97: Nikolai Lantsov / Sturmhond

98: Regulus Black

99: Peter Parker / Spider-Man

100: Alexios / Deimos

[megamindsecretlair]

It Started With a Whisper - Masterlist

Sam Wilson x Black!Fem!Reader

A/N: There's a real lack of Sam Wilson fics, I think. He deserves better. So, while I'm not perfect and the writers on here are FIRE, I just wanted to humbly contribute. It will likely follow the events from Winter Soldier through to Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I hope my brain cooperates LOL. There will be some angst, some smut, an all-around good time. Likes are awesome, please consider commenting and reblogging to support writers! Don't be shy :)

MINORS DNI 18+, DO NOT BE IN A RUSH TO GROW UP. THIS SERIES IS EXPLICIT.

Summary: You are the front desk clerk Sam mentioned in Winter Soldier. He has been flirting with you for months, but you take care of your family and don't think it's fair to start something you can't finish. Even though you drool over him every chance you get. But that all changes when he meets Captain America, and his life is forever changed. Have you missed your chance? Can you find your way towards each other?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11