#even after he moves to delacroix

[xxlittle0birdxx]

Bucky is a little indifferent about most holidays. And by a little indifferent, he means he can take or leave most of them after spending a good portion of his life as Popsicle Assassin.

And Valentine’s Day? No, thank you.

Enter one human sunflower named Sam Wilson.

Sam loves holidays. Bucky’s indifference makes him want to go all out. He starts sending presents a week in advance.

It starts with a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons. Bucky entertains the idea of using them for target practice with his favourite knife, but his upstairs neighbour has been ultra-snarky about noise ever since New Year’s Eve, and Sam and Bucky got a little enthusiastic about ringing in the new year. (She left a note on Bucky’s door telling him she didn’t mind if he watched those movies, but could he please turn the volume down?)

Next is a Wallace and Gromit style sheep plushie. It’s soft and fluffy. Bucky puts it in the middle of his bed, telling it it’s only for a little while, and don’t expect to stay there. (It’s still there at Thanksgiving…)

A bag of coffee beans from the place Bucky likes with a note to “Try the French press, old man.’ Bucky proceeds to make it in his old school percolator.

A box of chocolates. The ones that made Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head when they tried them a few months ago.

A bottle of ink for his fountain pen. And a box of fancy stationery. Because Bucky doesn’t do phone calls. But he writes letters to Sam.

On February 13, someone arrives with a grocery order. It’s all the ingredients for dishes that Bucky loves, especially when Sam cooks them.

On February 14, before Bucky even had his first cup of coffee, there’s a knock on the door. He answers the door dressed in his boxers and a pair of socks and nothing else.

It’s Sam.

He makes Bucky a dozen heart-shaped pancakes. The kind of mac and cheese that makes Bucky moan when he eats the first bite. His grandma’s gumbo. His mother’s red beans and rice. His titi’s cornbread.

Not once do the words, “I love you” cross his lips.

But Bucky knows.

And that’s how Valentine’s Day became his favourite holiday.

[fayes-fics]

Wisteria

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Even wallflowers bloom, and Benedict sees it.

Warnings: none... this is just fluff

Word Count: 0.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon HERE, who wanted Benedict and a young, wallflower reader. Just a short little scene. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy this. <3

You sigh as you once again find yourself wishing to be swallowed up by the wall behind you. And this is only your third-ever ball. The room is somehow both too hot and too cold all at once—a clamminess that has the applique of your dress itching and uncomfortable. You idly wonder if you took a wallpaper pattern to Ms Delacroix if she might be able to fashion a dress so similar you would not be visible at all…

It's not that you hate the idea of finding a match. Having a husband is most appealing. What is not so is the Ton’s preferred method—the awful parade and, indeed, inspection that comes with being a young lady taking part in the Season. You would much prefer to find someone with whom you could bond, away from all of this pageantry and artifice.

“Miss y/l/n…”

The rumbed, polite greeting instantly has butterflies twitching behind your ribs, your head swivelling with almost comedic speed as a tall gentleman pulls up next to you.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Quite the most handsome, eligible bachelor there is. Especially now that his brother, the Viscount, is so happily matched.

“Oh… Mr Bridgerton…!” You cringe at the squeak in your voice as you return his greeting, certain your cheeks are heating. “H-how is your evening?” Your query is polite, but you steadfastly keep your eyes averted, instead observing the swirl of dresses brushing the polished wood in front of you, the dancefloor filled with your fellow debutantes.

“It is better now…”��

“How so?” You can't help your bubble of curiosity, looking up at him. Well, a spot on his lapel—you feel unable to look properly upon him, knowing it may make you far too tongue-tied. 

“Present company,” he breezes, taking a sip of his champagne.

You turn left and right but quickly realise you are the only person nearby. Perhaps unsurprising given this spot is not optimal for anyone seeking attention, tucked as you are between a fireplace and a drinks table.

“Yes, you, Miss y/l/n,” he chuckles, his brow knitting bemusedly at your reaction.

Your cheeks are definitely aflame now. Why he would seek out your company, you have no idea. Yes, he has been a friend to your older brother for many years now, but you honestly did not believe he held you in any regard.

“After all,” he continues, “how could I not enjoy the company of a y/l/n?”

“But… I am so very different to my brother,” you frown slightly, thinking of how effortlessly your brother moves through the echelons of society, so at ease in any room, in any crowd. Not one to cling to a wall in any circumstance.

Benedict laughs, his face crinkling most attractively as he does so. “Indeed you are. But that is a good thing,” he remarks, “for I do not wish to court him.”

At first you are sure you misheard, but as you finally meet his gaze, you feel a burst of something warm and soft in your chest. His mein is warm and hope-filled but burning with a quiet intensity that steals your breath.

“Me?” you sound almost stupified. “But… I am a wallflower…” you blurt, wincing as you realise you have spoken aloud the word your parents have gently chastised you for being.

“Have you not spied the walls of Bridgerton House?” His tone is light and cheerful, a hint of amiable tease there that is so very him, a beguiling twinkle in those hazy eyes.

“Yes, of course….” you hesitate, not following his seeming change in topic, but unable to look away.

“Then surely you have seen how resplendent they are with wisteria?” He pauses as you nod, your attention wholly absorbed in him now, something so magnetic pulling you inexorably into him, almost alchemy. “Sometimes the most enchanting of flowers spend their lives clinging to a wall. Even when they finally blossom… And yet, their location does not diminish their beauty. Or their ability to attract admirers.” A crooked grin tugs charmingly at the corner of his mouth as he leans in a fraction closer. “So yes, you may indeed be a wallflower, Miss y/l/n, but you should know, I happen to think wisteria quite the most wonderful flower of all….” 

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[plussizefantasia]

More Body, More Money

Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

warnings: Allusion to smut towards the end, references to a female body and that body being bigger

an: holy shit sorry for disappearing for so long. I make no promises as to when I'll come back as I seem to have a habit of breaking those. I've been in a Bridgerton mood recently though and typed this on my phone in like an hour so no promises that it's all that good. I will say though that I've been working on a request recently and it's currently at 4k and counting which is by far the longest fic I've ever written and I'm not even to the good part yet. I've also finished outlining the rest of the parts for my Kili x reader fic. I think that's it though, thanks for reading this far if you did and for putting up with my bs.

“Darling, could you come here a moment?” Your husband called from his desk. Recently you had taken to reading while lounging on the couch in his study. It was a great way to spend time with your busy husband while also letting him get his work done. 

You didn’t exactly know what he was working on at the moment but apparently, your presence was needed to solve whatever issue he had stumbled upon. It wasn’t until you got closer to his desk that you noticed the receipts and ledgers sprawled across his desk. He was updating the families' books and tracking the spending that you and the rest of his family had done that month. 

“Yes, my love?” You moved to rest your hand on his back and traced it across his shoulders and on his neck. It was as if you two were magnets, unable to keep apart for very long. If you were close enough then you would feel your hands gravitating towards him. And if the way his arm moved to rest on your back as well, he had the same urges when in proximity to you. 

“I’ve noticed something odd in the charges from the modiste.” Anthony handed you the papers. Both you and Eloise had gone to the modiste at the beginning of the month to be fitted for some new gowns to prepare for her second season in the marriage mart and your first season as the Viscountess. 

“I’ll admit to not being the most knowledgeable about gowns and other frivolities my love, but is it normal for the cost difference to be this large? I mean when Ben and I get new suits the price is almost always similar.” He pointed to the two prices listed on the bill from Madame Delacroix. 

You didn’t know how to respond to this, you knew the reason behind the price difference between yours and Elioises dresses, of course, it was something that you had thought of already. After all, it was the same reason that your younger sister always got more gowns than you every season that the two of you attended growing up. You were larger, and as the modiste you had gone to grow up with had said “More body means more fabric means more money.” more money that your father had deemed unnecessary so you had only ever gotten one or two new dresses while your sister would be fitted for five or six of the newest and most flattering styles.

But how could you explain this to Anthony? That your dresses cost more than his sisters because you were bigger, and that meant more money.

You knew Anthony loved your body, he worshiped it often in fact but there was a difference between getting lost in the softness of your embrace and seeing the real-life sometimes the financial consequences of living in a bigger body.

“Oh, Anthony, it is uh- just a matter of resources I suppose.” 

He raised a brow at you. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean by resources?”

“Well dear husband, you and your brother are very similar in height and build which means the two of you have very similar resource usage, whereas myself and your sister are quite different in the… resource usage department.”

“My love, I need you to speak to me as if I am an idiot.” 

You deeply sighed and prepared yourself to have the conversation that you had been trying and failing to get out of. “Eloise is small, therefore it does not take as much fabric to make her dresses, whereas I am quite well endowed and my dresses require more material. More body means more fabric means more money it is as simple as that.” 

“That is preposterous, are you both not getting dresses?” His tone was getting more defensive, and it warmed your heart to know that he was willing to get upset at the simple fact that Madame Delacroix had charged you more because your dress was bigger. You had expected him to be embarrassed, and deep down somewhat afraid that he would realize that he had signed himself up for these extra expenses for the rest of his life by marrying you. 

“Well darling, think about it, would you expect to pay the same amount for a child as you would for yourself? Do you not pay more for your suits than you do Greg’s?”

“No, I see your point darling.”

“That is all this is my love, different sizes of clothing cost different amounts. If it is a problem I can just see about getting some of my old gowns altered to make them somewhat nicer for the new season, that way you would not have to spend as much.”

“What? No. Darling, this is not about the money, I was merely worried that that woman had tried to take advantage of you, charging you far more than Eloise for the same thing. I couldn’t care less about the money. In fact, I think you should get ten more gowns made, show everyone in the Ton that I am married to the most voluptuous, sensual, and desirable woman in the world.” He pulled you closer to him so that you were standing in between his spread knees, you still standing over him as he leaned back in his chair.

Anthony began training kisses up and down the arm that he had grasped within his hand. Turning your wrist over so that he could place one at the center of your palm. 

“I do not need ten new gowns, Anthony, that is far too much.” You giggled and protested, feeling more enamored with the man you married with every word out of his mouth.

“Perhaps I shall buy you ten diamond necklaces then so that I can have an excuse to stare at your chest as often as I’d like.” You snorted and gently smacked the back of his head. “Anthony Bridgerton, that is scandalous talk and you know it.”

“Nothing is scandalous between husband and wife, especially when the two are alone.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and lifted the corners of his lips into a sultry grin, one that had your knees feeling weaker by the second. 

“All I really need, dear husband, is you.”

A smile that you could only consider adoring spread across your husband's face.

“And I you, my love.”

“No Anthony, I need you.”

His grin turned to a full-blown smirk spreading across his face, “Well, what the Viscountess needs she gets…” 

;)

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Mirror

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f! reader

summary: Y/N delights in showing Benedict her new gowns, leading to an intimate and passionate evening.

warning: 18+, sexual content

Madam Delacroix’s boutique was a whirlwind of silks and lace as Y/N perused the new gowns for the upcoming season. The air buzzed with excitement as the French modiste personally attended to her, offering opinions and making adjustments to ensure the perfect fit. After several hours, Y/N left the shop with an array of stunning dresses, each one carefully wrapped and ready to be admired.

Upon returning to Bridgerton House, Y/N could scarcely contain her eagerness to present her selections to her husband, Benedict. She found him in the library, engrossed in a sketch. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he set aside his pencil immediately.

“Darling, you have returned,” Benedict said, his smile widening as he stood to greet her.

“Yes, and I have something to show you,” Y/N replied, excitement evident in her voice.

They made their way to their bedchamber, where Y/N began to unveil the dresses one by one. Benedict watched attentively, offering compliments and admiring each gown. But when Y/N held up the navy blue dress, his breath caught in his throat.

“Try this one on,” he suggested, his voice low and thick with anticipation.

Y/N smiled, sensing the change in his demeanor. She slipped into the dress and stepped in front of the mirror. The navy blue fabric hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating her glowing complexion. The neckline framed her beautifully, making her breasts sit just right in the dress. Benedict could not take his eyes off her.

“You look… stunning,” he murmured, his gaze darkening with desire.

Y/N turned to face him, her cheeks flushing under his intense scrutiny. “Do you truly like it?”

“Like it?” he repeated, stepping closer until he was inches away. “I love it. You look absolutely divine.”

His hands found her waist, pulling her against him. “You drive me wild, my love. I cannot take my eyes off you.”

She shivered at his words, feeling his breath hot against her ear. “Benedict…”

“Turn around,” he whispered, guiding her to face the mirror.

Y/N obeyed, her pulse quickening as she met his gaze in the reflection. Benedict’s hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves accentuated by the dress. He pressed a kiss to her neck, his lips trailing fire along her skin.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice husky. “I want you to see what I see.”

His hands slipped under the fabric, lifting the hem of the dress slowly. Y/N gasped as his fingers brushed against her thighs, his touch igniting a burning need within her. Benedict’s eyes never left hers in the mirror, his expression one of pure, unrestrained desire.

“Benedict, please…” she begged, her voice trembling.

He smirked, his hands moving higher. “I wish to make you feel as beautiful as you look.”

In one swift motion, he had her dress bunched around her waist, his fingers slipping between her thighs. Y/N’s breath hitched as he found her most sensitive spot, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her.

“Watch yourself,” he commanded softly. “See how beautiful you are when you come apart.”

Y/N’s eyes remained locked on the mirror, her body arching into his touch. Benedict knelt behind her, his lips trailing kisses along her thighs before settling between her legs. His tongue teased her, eliciting a moan from deep within her chest.

“Benedict…” she whimpered, her fingers gripping the edge of the vanity for support.

He responded with a growl, his mouth working her skillfully. Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. Just as she was about to tip over the edge, he pulled away, leaving her gasping.

“Not yet,” he murmured, standing and turning her to face him. “I want to see you come undone while I am inside you.”

He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed her against the mirror. Y/N’s eyes flew open, meeting his intense gaze as he entered her slowly. The sensation was overwhelming, each movement drawing them closer to the brink.

“Look at us,” Benedict whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to the mirror, her reflection showing a woman lost in pleasure, held securely in the arms of the man she loved. Benedict’s eyes were dark with passion, his every thrust bringing them closer to release.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice strained.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

With a final, powerful thrust, they both shattered, their cries echoing through the room. Benedict held her tightly, his forehead resting against hers as they came down from their high.

“You are always beautiful to me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. “But seeing you like this, it is beyond words.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with love and contentment. “And you, my dear husband, make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.”

As they slowly returned to reality, Y/N reluctantly disentangled herself from Benedict’s embrace. They shared a tender kiss, their lips still tingling from the passion they had just shared. Benedict helped her adjust the navy blue dress back into place, his fingers lingering on her skin as he did.

“We should head down to dinner,” Y/N said softly, though a part of her wished they could stay in their intimate bubble forever.

Benedict smirked, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Yes, but not before one more thing.”

He guided her to the bed and gently helped her out of the dress, laying it carefully aside. Y/N shivered as he caressed her thighs, spreading her legs slightly. He reached for a soft towel, cleaning her tenderly before scooping up his seed and pushing it back inside her.

“Benedict!” Y/N gasped, her eyes widening in surprise.

He looked up at her, his gaze smoldering. “I want you to remember this moment all through dinner. To feel me inside you, even when we are surrounded by family.”

A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine as she nodded, speechless. Benedict helped her into a more modest dinner dress, his hands lingering on her waist before leading her downstairs.

The dining room was filled with the usual lively chatter of the Bridgerton family. Benedict and Y/N took their seats, sharing a secret smile. Throughout the meal, Y/N could not help but be acutely aware of the warmth and fullness within her, a delicious reminder of their earlier passion.

Benedict occasionally brushed his fingers against hers, his eyes filled with unspoken promises. Every touch, every glance sent a thrill through Y/N, making her pulse quicken. She could barely focus on the conversation around her, her mind constantly drifting back to the feeling of Benedict’s hands and lips on her body.

As the meal progressed, Y/N shifted slightly in her seat, feeling the subtle drip of Benedict’s seed inside her. It was a heady sensation, a secret only they shared amidst the bustling family dinner.

Benedict leaned over, his lips brushing against her ear. “How are you feeling, my love?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushing. “I feel… wonderful.”

“Good,” he whispered, his voice a low growl. “Because after dinner, I plan to show you just how much more I can make you feel.”

Y/N bit her lip, a wave of desire washing over her. She managed to maintain her composure through the rest of the meal, though her mind was already racing ahead to what awaited them.

As the family began to disperse, Benedict took her hand, leading her back upstairs. Once inside their bedroom, he closed the door behind them, turning to her with a look of pure, unrestrained hunger.

“Now, let us see how much more pleasure we can find together,” he murmured, his hands already working to undress her.

Y/N’s heart pounded in anticipation, knowing that this night was far from over. With Benedict, every moment was an adventure, and she was ready to explore every bit of passion they could discover together in hopes to create an heir.

[moirindeclermont]

Bonus Polin Week, Day 7: Favorite Kinks (story on ao3 here)

Please, please, please, mind the tags

Understanding

How many hours can exist in the space of a minute? And if such a thing was possible, how many days had passed since they started this session? Or maybe, coherence was starting to slip off Penelope, after being brought to the edge for what seemed the infinitesimal time, only to be denied, time and time and time again.

When Colin had proposed that idea, it seemed fun. Almost innocent, really. He had added that she would be tied up to the bed, which they already tried both ways: and just remembering the fun she had with him when he was the one who could not move, made her want to close her thighs in the hope of some friction, which was promptly denied but that bastard of her husband.

And at the beginning of it, it was fun. Colin had secured her with green, emerald silky ropes, the one he preferred because it made him recall her green dress. She was dressed in one of Madame Delacroix's more risqué nightgowns, also in green but so sheer it was as if she was naked. He had smirked at her, the smirk that promised her she would have the time of her life, as he had asked “Are you alright?”

She had nodded, and then Colin started to play her. In those first moments, she didn’t understand it fully yet. Oh, he had explained to her. She was aware of what they were about to do, but sometimes there is an ocean between understanding something with the mind, and truly knowing it in the heart.

He started caressing her with an agonizing pace: just the tip of his fingers going over her calf, slowly – oh so slowly – going up until he met the back of her knee, goosebumps erupting on her skin as she tried to stay still. He knew the effect he had on her and the smile that gave her told Pen he was going to enjoy himself immensely.  

Instead of going further up, he passed on the other leg, repeating the same pattern. A shiver passed through her, as she began to understand what was going to happen. What she got herself into.

After that, her hands and forearms had the same treatment, pausing for a moment as he made sure the ropes didn’t cut her circulation. Her jaw and neck were next, going as far down as to just the top of her breasts.

“You’re gorgeous, Pen”, he said to her in a whisper. The rules they chose prohibited her from speaking unless she was told she could, so she just sighed in contentment, Colin acknowledged her good behaviour with a slow, torturous kiss that left her breathless.

The pattern was repeated: calf, knee, hand, forearm; the second time around, though, it was with just the softest touch of his lips. Then his hand again but on her thighs: the front and the back. She was almost lulled into a relaxed state. Sometimes a nail or his ring made the faintest contact with her skin, making her aware once more this was just the beginning. He went up again, she never noticed how sensitive her elbows were, the soft skin of her arms, the armpits.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she nodded. She felt adored, in that moment. Worshipped even. “You’re a Goddess, Pen”, he whispered again before tracing up with his lips, thighs, elbows, arms and armpits.

Her stomach and hips were next. Every roll, every fold of the skin, her bellybutton, even just the base of her mound. First with his fingers, then with his lips. She thought her breasts were next, but no, he went for her face, tracing the shape of her lips, the chin, the ears, the nose, and even under the brows. Every place he left was tingling, demanding more. The path started again with Colin’s lips.

He knew she was already wet, just for this. He knew and it seemed like he didn’t care.

Colin finally started going down on her breasts. Started in a large circle, making sure to touch her nipple every time he passed around until the circle was so close that he stayed several seconds on that small patch of skin, until he pinched it with sudden force. Not too strong, but the juxtaposition between the soft touches from before and that action made her moan loudly. Then he did the same to the other breast, and then again with his mouth, stopping just to suck at her nipple. 

It was impossible to stay still, but nothing said she could not move, so when her hips started moving, Colin just looked at her and said, “Are you enjoying this?”, she moaned as a way of answering, and when he started exploring her core with his fingers, she moaned again.

So slow. First, the outer part, then just the tiniest graze on her clit, making her gasp, then the inner part, again a tiny contact with her pleasure, and then down again until he circled where he could enter her. Making sure she was watching him; he did the same path with the tip of his tongue. She was sweating by the time he finished… and she thought that was the end. He was giving her what she craved. Oh, if only she knew how wrong she was!

“Such a good girl for me,” he said, making her squirm under his touch on her hips as he was turning her around. Colin was not finished, not even by a long shot.

He helped her turn, unlacing the nightgown so he could remove it entirely.

Then, he started the same movements as before on her back, finishing with a gentle slap on her arse that left her panting. The lips followed, her breath speeding up with each soft touch. When he turned her around again, he asked, “Are you ready?” and while she could not say “Fuck, yes, I’ve been ready for the past half an hour”, he understood all the same because he chuckled.

He opened her legs again and started with only a finger inside of her. In contrast, he was fast to move up to two, she was sure she was going to come soon, she was starting to feel the tension, just a bit more friction, just a bit… and then he just stopped and looked at her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“My darling, I love seeing you like this,” he uttered, waiting until her breath was even, her heart slower.

-

That was just the first time.

She could do it. She totally could survive this.

She wasn’t so sure about it after the second time. He brought her to the edge with his tongue, she was moaning and writhing under him, her hips ready to snap. Then, he stopped again, praising her with words and compliments that did almost nothing to calm her down.

“So good for me. Do you know how lucky I feel to be the only one who can look at you in pleasure?”

-

The third time was the worst because that cock of his had no right to be so good inside her. He fucked her slow, tantalizing slow. She counted the second between each circle just to take her mind off: 5 seconds to go all the way in, 5 seconds to go almost out, a couple of seconds of rubbing on her most sensitive spot inside of her with a good turn of his hips, in total 12 seconds of pure, unadulterated, agony. 12 seconds, 12 hours, as if time did matter.

-

The fourth time he just stayed inside her, his thrusts minimal and only when he could not bear to move, while talking the whole time, looking at her in the eyes.

“Fuck, Pen, you’re so good. Your cunt grips me so well, when I’m inside of you I feel like I finally belong.”

She keened.

“Your tits are the stuff dreams are made off. I love watching them bounce as I fuck you deep. I love holding them, seeing how they spill out of my hands, I love sucking your nipples until you cry in pleasure.”

He did a whole minute of deep, fast fucking, while sucking at both nipples alternatively, which made her sob in pleasure. He did come inside her in pleasure because he could… and that made her angry for a moment before the next moan and the next wave of denied release hit her.

“Your thighs are my perdition. I want to grip them, I want to mark them, I want to bite them.”

He did all of that, making her whine and cry for a release that didn’t come.

-

By the fifth time, the only consolation was that he was wrecked just as much as she was.

“Fuck Pen, a couple of times more, can you do that?”

A couple of times? This man wanted to make her mad.

She knew she could stop at any time. Just a word would stop everything. The thing is, she knew at the end she would feel so good. She nodded anyway, sweating and feeling so sensitive her skin might burst into an explosion. What a way to go indeed.

He smiled at her. For that smile, she could do anything. When his fingers went past her core, titillating the skin down there to her other hole, she knew she was in deep, deep trouble.

Colin took an immense amount of time preparing her, using her wetness, his cum, and the oil they used in the past for that particular activity. Then again, he could have taken two seconds, and it would have felt like an eternity for her.

When he entered her, she was almost sure that was it, she was going to come, no way she could resist this. Somehow, she managed. Even when he was going faster and faster, never touched her where she wanted to be touched because they both knew if he touched her the game would be over.

He slowed down until he was out, painfully hard – and that was a small vindication in her mind – and he reached out to the nightstand. For a moment she was confused until she saw what he had in his hand.

Holy fuck. As understanding slowly dawned on her, she started to cry for real. She could not bear that pleasure and not come. She was going to die. No way her body could resist that.

The artefact – or plug as he called it - was shaped as a cone, the edges smooth and soft, with a flared end that could be used to extract it comfortably. Where on hell did her husband acquire such a tool he would not reveal, even if she had an idea about it.

But that was not important at the moment, because she knew what he was going to do and while they had done it before, it was impossible to resist that amount of pleasure, let alone with all the release that was stored in her body.

She started to say “no” and he stopped, even if it wasn’t their chosen word.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to talk, but that was too much. He understood. He always understood. “Shhh, good girl. I know it’s a challenge. I know, I know. But you can take it. Resist this one last time and then I’m not going to stop until you gush all around me.”

She was a bit calmer now. She asked a question with her eyes, and he nodded, “you can speak”, he said oh ever so gently.

“I don’t want to disappoint you if I can’t make it,” she confessed in a soft voice, tears running down her face.

“Never. You can never disappoint me. If you can’t resist, it means we must practise more…” and that sent a shiver down her spine that made her almost come on the spot.

Colin was caressing her cheek, drying her tears, waiting for her nod of approval. She took a couple of deep breaths, before nodding. Colin rewarded her with the sweetest kiss.

“I love you so much Pen!”

-

She was sweating so much, her moaning so loud she was sure someone had heard them, Colin looking so smug for it – his husband always so proud when he could make sure anyone could listen to how much pleasure he was giving her – but she had not come yet.

The plug inside her, Colin just teasing her with words, soft touches and pinches. Her legs were trembling for quite some time now, her hands gripping whatever they could (and how grateful she was when Colin’s hand joined her own, their fingers intertwined), her head trashing against the pillow.

Colin kissed her breasts again, rolling one nipple and then the other with his spare hand, teasing her entrance with his dick, sliding down her core. He could make her come with just that, and he knew it.

“Next time, I’ll make you come without even touching your pussy,” and that was a promise that almost undid her. Almost. Almost. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

He stopped all movements and let her recollect herself. She was whining in frustration, unable to keep still. His hands went to her hips to keep her still.

“Breath my dear, breath.”

He gave her a rhythm to follow, and after a while, she could stay still.

Colin looked at her, “Ready?”

-

She screamed when he entered her. The most exquisite pleasure she ever felt. The double stimulation was wrecking her.

“Now! Come, my Goddess,” he said to her ear while starting thrusting.

Her orgasm just tore out of her. She screamed for what seemed an eternity, wave after wave of pleasure building up and cresting until she was falling – her mind blank, her body an instrument in his hand, while he thrust and thrust until he was coming too again.  She knew she was scratching his back with her nails, but she could not care, not when the waves did not stop and wouldn’t stop coming one after the other.

-

Did she pass out? She could not remember. Pen opened her eyes and Colin was staring at her, awe on his face, as he was recollecting himself. She felt so safe in his arms. She was boneless and tired, oh so tired. Colin had already untied her, her arms sore for staying in such a position for how long they stayed. Time had lost meaning long ago.

“You’re a marvel, Penelope,” Colin said and kissed her slowly, gently.

“I know you want to sleep, my love, but first a bit of water and some snacks. I’ll clean you up, we can cuddle a bit and then I’ll change the sheets while the bath is being prepared.”

She did drink a bit and ate some savoury pastries they had brought to the bedroom beforehand. Colin was cleaning her with a wet towel, so sweet and she smiled happily at him.

Those moments were the most precious for her. She was floating, Colin bringing her slowly back into reality with kisses and praises.

Later, he would bring her to the bath, and they would stay there for quite some time, talking about it in a soft, gentle manner, that would make her fall in love with him a bit more if such a thing was possible.

But for now, she was happy to stay next to him, her limbs still sore in the best way possible. Knowing in her heart, understanding to her very soul, how much Colin loved her.

The End

[sad-girl-hours23]

Thinking about Buck,

Still not over Tommy, deeply unsatisfied being under anyone else (he's tried and lost count how many times). His best friend has moved away; he's happy Eddie's working things out with Chris, but he misses them both terribly.

Amongst every one else, he feels...not so much a divide, but maybe less enmeshed than they used to be.

Nothing's wrong with his job, but well, it's starting to feel a lot less like his whole life and purpose and more like just that: a job. He's stagnant. Stuck.

He feels an itch under his skin that he can't scratch in any of his usual ways.

He's over pouring out his love into a Kitchen aid mixer. He's done trying to bury his need for connection into hook-ups.

Realizes maybe he's not as settled as he thought he was. Maybe he's still searching; but for what, he doesn't know. Himself. His purpose. Love.

Realizes he misses not being stuck in one place.

So he takes a vacation. Spends two weeks in Japan. Tells himself he won't create a full itinerary for his time there (he spends most of his flight doing so anyway, but he compromises with himself and leaves his second week open).

He reads about the Wind Phone. How people travel from all over to talk to their late loved ones through a rotary phone.

He doesn't go his first week there, but the thought of it is never far from his mind. (He's held hands with Death, he isn't sure what he's so afraid of).

He gets to the garden of Bell Gardia.

He thinks about Red Delacroix, who warned him against making firefighting his whole life. “You can be the hero and save lives, but don’t neglect having your own. Last thing you want is to be at the end holding nothing but regrets.” So he talks to Red; tells him he hasn't quite figured it out, is scared he never will.

He comes back the next day, Thomas on his mind. Buck tells him how he found his scrapbook the other day (he had forgotten that he'd even taken it). He tells him about Tommy, the love he thought he finally found (then lost). He smiles. "I know, I know. You don't find it, you make it." He can't help the crack in his voice "I really thought we were."

Buck wonders what it says about him that he's spending his vacation talking to the dead. Knows he's not done yet

He comes back the next day, and the day after that, and the one after that. He talks to Daniel each time. He isn't quite sure how to picture him; the age he was in the last photos taken of him, the age when he died, the older Daniel that his coma dream imagined up? He talks to them all.

He gives him the abridged version of his life. Wonders if he should leave out the parts he knows would break his brother's heart, leaves them in anyway. It's cathartic; to confess of the survivor's guilt he's carried since learning of Daniel, how it all came flooding back when woke up from his coma, how it felt like he was letting him down again in the interest of his own survival.

He's certain he's out of tears, and he may not have a voice left by the end of his trip.

But he's got one more phone call to make. And he can't make it here, in this haunted phone booth. And he doesn't want to wait until it's too late.

He hasn't figured it all out. He doesn't know where him and Tommy went wrong. He knows they're both haunted by their own ghosts.

But Tommy's still here. And unlike Buck's ghosts on the other end of the phone, he can talk back.

So Buck does what he should have done months ago. He calls Tommy. He nearly sobs in relief when he hears a breath on the other end and a quiet, "Evan?"

[siancore]

A Good Fit

Came up with this because of this.

For @runzu as part of the @sambuckylibrary SamBucky Gift Event

Read on AO3

Washington DC

The slight thrumming in Sam’s head persisted a moment as he walked away from Bucky and moved towards the aircraft.

“I’m coming with you,” he had heard the other man say, and even though it was futile to do so, he protested.

They stepped aboard the plane and Sam turned around, dragging his gaze up and down Bucky’s body. His lips quirked when he saw the crimson heat creep up Bucky’s neck and cheeks.

“You’re wearing that to go and possibly get your ass beat by one of the Big Three?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow and a glint in his eyes.  

Bucky rolled his and then ran his hand over his front.

“What’s wrong with this?” he asked.

“Jeans are a bit tight for starters.”

“Yeah, yeah, “Bucky replied leaning into the teasing. “You sure never complained about the view before.”

“Of your narrow ass? Boy, please,” Sam rolled his eyes then and went to the cargo hold.

He dug around for a minute and then turned to face Bucky, who was staring at him as per usual.

“Here,” said Sam, holding out a dark garment bag. “Try this on.”

Bucky raised his brow before taking the bag; their fingers brushed and both swore that there was a flicker of a spark there.

“This better not be a clown suit, Sam,” Bucky warned, causing Sam to laugh.

“Damn, why didn’t I think of that? Look, just try it on for size.”

Bucky held the bag up and undid the zipper. He opened it and saw the dark blue leather. He ran his hand over it. The garment resembled the uniform he had worn when he was part of the Howling Commandos. It resembled the uniform he had worn in Wakanda, and then again in New York. Whomever had sought it out for him certainly knew what he liked. Sam knew what he liked.

“You like it?” asked Sam as he retrieved his own uniform and jetpack from the hold.

“I do,” Bucky replied, removing it from the bag completely. “Where’d you get it from?”

“I had it custom made for you,” Sam explained without looking in the other man’s direction.

Bucky felt something happen inside of his chest. He was touched by the gesture. He was about to say as much when Sam continued to speak.

“Didn’t think I’d get to give it to you, though,” Sam said as he turned to finally face Bucky. “Seeing as you’ve been too busy ignoring me. But, I’m glad you decided to reach out when it suited you.”

Bucky could see the hurt behind Sam’s eyes; hurt that he masked with sharp words.

“You’re welcome,” said Sam as he walked out of Bucky’s sight.

Bucky cursed under his breath and listened to the sound of Sam laughing at something the young lieutenant had said.

…

After both men had gotten changed, they sat across from one another and did not speak. Sam’s gift fit like a glove and felt like a hug. Like a warm embrace. It make Bucky feel safe and held, just like Sam made him feel.  Instead of letting Sam know that, Bucky chose to antagonize him. That was easier than admitting to the other man how his heart was fluttering at the thought of Sam taking the time to have the gift made for him.

xXxXx

Madripoor

Sam wasn’t happy with his undercover outfit, but Bucky thought he looked great.

Thought he was a nice distraction from the outright dolefulness of the Madripoor night.

Sam was like a pretty little light in a dark world, dressed in that fancy suit. He couldn’t run in those heels? Well, if he’d had asked, Bucky would have carried him happily.

xXxXx

Delacroix

They made their way up to the Wilson family home. Sam showed Bucky where everything was. Told him he could wash up in the upstairs bathroom; told him the couch was for him for as long as he needed it – or for however long he wanted it.

Sam thanked him when he carried the case for him to his bedroom; the case he had gifted him with. The case he had surprised him with.

“So, you grew up in this house?” asked Bucky as he leaned against the doorjamb of Sam’s room.

“Yep,” said Sam as he stared down at the case sitting on his bed. “Shared that other room with my older brother right up until he left for college. Sarah’s been great letting me stay a while, y’know, until I get back on my feet and figure shit out.”

Bucky nodded his head, thankful that Sam had family to take care of him. Thankful that he wasn’t alone.

“So, you any closer to figuring shit out?” asked Bucky as he took in Sam’s stoic demeanor.

Sam ran his hand over the case, looked up at Bucky, and said, “Yeah, actually. I think I am.”

…

“Here,” said Sam as he ducked his head around the open door where Bucky was getting ready for dinner. “Wear this.”

Bucky caught the light blue Henley in his hand.

“I got clothes, Sam,” he replied in protest.

“I know,” Sam replied before backing away. “But all of your clothes are dark. And I know tall, dark, handsome, and broody is your thing, but try this for me? This color will look good on you, Buck. It’ll really bring out your eyes.”

xXxXx

New York

“How is she?” asked Sam into the phone; he heard Bucky sigh on the other end.

“She’s fine,” Bucky reassured him. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Did all of the perimeter checks. Helped to get folks to where they needed to be. Spoke to the media. I’m beat.”

“Where are you? I’ll come to you,” said Bucky, sounding worried and not holding it back.

“I’m still on the ground, but what about Sharon?”

“Sharon is fine. They’ll keep her in for observations, but she’ll survive. Where are you, Sam? I hope you don’t think you’re flying back to Louisiana tonight.”

“Bucky.”

“I’m coming.”

…

“Your place is – nice. Very minimalist. Liminal, even.”

“I don’t know what any of that means, Buttercup.”

Sam laughed and then said. “I was kinda expecting to see a poster of Walker that you’d been using as a dartboard.”

Bucky laughed at that and his whole face lit up. It was a good look on him, Sam mused.

“I hope you’re not gonna agree to be on posters,” said Bucky. “All of that unnecessary hype bullshit. It doesn’t really suit you.”

“What? And not show off this awesome suit you had the Wakandans make for me? I think I look damn good, besides looking like the American flag threw up on me.”

Sam’s teasing kept the smile on Bucky’s face.

“You look good,” said Bucky as he pushed off the wall and moved towards Sam. “But, you always look good.”

The pair stared at one another a beat before Sam said, “I should probably get out of this suit.”

“You need a hand?” asked Bucky too eagerly.

“Easy tiger,” said Sam with a little laugh. They had been dancing around their attraction to one another for the longest time. There was a tension in the room that made them both feel heady. It was all about to culminate in something they could not come back from, a shift in their relationship, and both Sam and Bucky were ready.

“I just wanna help you,” said Bucky, low and soft, as he inched closer to where Sam was standing. “Let me help you, Sam.”

“Okay,” said Sam scarcely over a whisper. “Okay.”

Bucky stood in front of his partner and reached up for the goggles. He removed them from Sam’s face and then placed them aside.

“I love this design,” said Bucky as he ran his hand over Sam’s cheek. “Offers a lot of protection for you.”

Sam leaned into his touch.

“I don’t know what I’d if you ever got hurt,” Bucky added as he cupped Sam’s chin. “If anything ever happened to you.”

He then placed his hands to Sam’s broad shoulders and turned him around. He pressed a button and the cowl retracted into the neck of the suit.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” said Sam, with his voice sounding a little shaky. “Not while I’ve got you by my side.”

Bucky undid the clasp and zippers at the back of Sam’s suit and then helped him draw his arms from it. Sam shivered when he felt Bucky’s warm breath on his neck.

“Always,” said Bucky as he turned Sam around to face him. “I’ll always be by your side.”

The pair shared a small smile before leaning in and capturing each other’s lips in a languid kiss.

...

“I’m so proud of you, Sam,” said Sarah as she smiled at her brother through the FaceTime call. “The boys are so proud of you. We can’t wait for you to get home. Make sure you – hold up. Is that? Bucky’s jacket? You’re wearing his jacket? What’s going on? Oh my goodness, did you let Bucky hit?”

“Oh, lord. Goodbye, Sarah.”

xXxXx

Washington DC

“We’re ready to go, Cap,” said Torres as he walked into Sam’s office at the New Avenger’s HQ.

Sam was about to reply when Bucky came stomping into the room with a face like a cat’s ass.

“Hey, Baby,” said Sam with a sweet, knowing smile.

“Don’t hey baby me, Sweetheart,” said Bucky as he gestured towards Sam’s new Cap suit; the suit that replaced the one he had specially made for the love of his life. “What the hell is this?”

[whineandcheese24]

so I saw a post where someone was saying how Benedict Bridgerton's queer awakening was better than Buck's because Benedict actually wants to explore his sexuality and not just jump right into a relationship, and that the 911 writers need to give more explanation in s8 for why Buck is so focused on a serious relationship with Tommy. As someone who loves both Benedict and Buck this was an insane take for me to read for 3 reasons: 1. different people will have different experiences with queer awakenings, 2. as people, Benedict and Buck want different things from their love life at the moment, and 3. as characters, Benedict and Buck are at different points in their stories. So let's get into it

some background if you haven't seen Bridgerton, in the beginning of season 3, Benedict started a friends-with-benefits situation with a woman named Tilley. At the time Benedict believed he was straight, until later in the season when Tilley introduced him to a man named Paul with whom she had a similar fwb situation, and the two of them asked Benedict if he wanted to have a threesome (albeit, in more formal words). Benedict eventually agreed and the 3 of them have a casual sex relationship, but then Tilley tells Benedict that she wants more from their relationship than just casual sex. Benedict kindly tells her that as he's just discovered this new facet of himself he's not ready to settle down just yet, and the two part ways.

so back to my reasons

Sexuality is not monolithic. Buck and Benedict may both be queer men, but they aren't going to have the same relationship with their sexualities. They aren't even necessarily the same sexuality. Though Oliver, Tim, and the rest of the 911 cast and crew have referred to Buck as bi, Buck himself has yet to use that label. And though the fandom has labeled Benedict as bi, he will, by virtue of living in the 1810s, likely never use a label, and the actor Luke Thompson has described Benedict as both pansexual, but also having a sense of "label-lessness"

Buck and Benedict, as people, want different things. When we met Buck, he was nearing the end of his hoe-era. By episode 2, he's already considering having a serious relationship with Abby, and after Abby, we only ever see him wanting a serious relationship. Based on his reaction to his temporary self-imposed abstinence in season 6, he's most likely still having sex and hookups even when he's not in a serious relationship, but it's not something he wants long-term. He's ready to settle down and find his person. Benedict, on the other hand, is not there yet. Even before Tilley, Benedict has always been a casual guy when it comes to relationships. The most serious relationship we see him have is with Madame Delacroix in season 1, and even that only really lasted a couple episodes. Benedict wasn't looking for something serious when he met Tilley or Paul, so him wanting to explore this new side of himself with multiple people is in keeping with his already-established desires for his sex and love life.

Buck and Benedict, as characters, are at different points in their stories. Buck is 7 seasons into his show. He has already been through 4 serious relationships, one of which got to the point of 'i love yous' and moving in together. He is at a point where the audience wants to see him succeed in his love life, and the constant going in and out of relationships gets tedious for the viewers. As much as Buck is ready to find The One, the audience also wants him to finally be happy and in love. Plus, having him in a happy, steady relationship opens up doors for him to have other arcs relating to his job, or other people in his life, while having someone who's not exactly a part of his job or inner circle of friends that he can talk things through with. It also gives him the opportunity to face the different obstacles that come with a long-term relationship. But Benedict is not at that point yet. Bridgerton is a show where each season focuses on a different sibling's romance, so of course he's not going to want to settle down until it's his season. And while this is entirely speculation, I'm guessing his arc this season was setting up his romance for season 4 where he decides that he's finally done sleeping around. He's done what he needs to and gotten it out of his system and now he's ready to fall in love.

Buck and Benedict are 2 completely different characters so of course their personal relationships with their sexualities and their queer experiences are going to be different. And saying that one is better than the other, because he doesn't want to immediately settle down is borderline biphopia/homophobia

[pensbridge]

An Outline of the Reactions of the Bridgerton & Featherington Families walking in on Polin

ANTHONY *He is furious, but a toned down and "lighter" furious than that of what he held with Daphne. He's learned...somewhat, and significantly calmed down since marrying Kate, but "How could Colin do this and compromise Penelope Featherington?!?" [in fact he might go to Kate with these words]; eventually he acts as the older brother and after the harsh, hurtful words and unintentioned insults occur comes the sweet, heartfelt and sentimental moment where he gives advice/attempts to find a solution to any situations needing action.

BENEDICT *doesn't care/finds it amusing; proceeds with all the ammunition-> makes jokes to Colin & 100% roasts him on his cluelessness to, in fact..HELP her find a husband that is not him

ELOISE *ACTUALLY furious!; she is shocked as she never foresaw this coming; grossed out and in need of something to obscure her vision from the nightmare she just witnessed//she will question if Colin is clueless to Pen's secret, and (if she discovers them b4 her and Pen make up,) advise Colin to stay away from such a "snake;" however she will also at some point yell at him for going for her friend as her protective-mode chimes in

FRANCESCA *less severely grossed out; possibly saw it coming, because she's been extra observant the past few months; the worst person next to Benedict to be in possession of this knowledge for the fact that they are not subtle-she makes little comments and snarky remarks in front of Mama Bridgerton and the family that lets the cat out of the bag literally seconds after Colin even presents the prospect of a wedding to them

GREGORY *Shocked/surprised; he is tired of all these intelligent, beautiful women-as if they are not sunshine perfection-falling for his idiotic older brothers (makes that face like when Anthony proposed to Edwina)

HYACINTH *complete disgust, though not surprised... also a tattletale

PORTIA *I think she will be shocked/amazed that her daughter snagged a Bridgerton-and already thinking of the benefits (and plotting next moves), but also has a moment to think back on all the suspicious moments between them that she walked in on where it all just clicks!💡

PHILIPPA *shocked; later annoyed at any family gathering that she's not ½ of the only couple, and secretly jealous about how well they work

PRUDENCE *shocked and loud as hell; Portia will know immediately after she steps foot in whatever room, unless blackmail is involved

KATE *apologizes immediately; startled and unsure if she should excuse herself or take a page from Anthony to her new brother-in-law; her Anthony-like scolding turns to coy smiles and knowing looks in group settings that she walked in on the later engaged couple, that some others are completely unaware to

VIOLET *mortified (on both her end and Colin's) -> turns to reprimanding and lecturing

(+) for more fun >

SIMON *a cross between startlement and a chuckle; he lets out his laugh/smile before the door is even fully halted from opening

DAPHNE *she would be startled and surprised; would scold Colin for compromising Penelope and give him a reminder about judgment and if they were to be found out before marriage; also a heart to heart about love, because she would be the one he'd be able to open up to

non-family:

WILL *laughing all the way back to the boxing ring until he gives his genuine joy that Colin has found his own wife

MADAME DELACROIX *wide-eyed in shock, but then somehow a knowing look that all the while conveys a thought that says "of course"

LADY DANBURY *knew

[questionableratatouille00]

ʟᴏɴɢ, ꜱᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇ, ᴠᴀᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

Pairing: Sambucky (Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes) 

Summary: Maybe those vacations aren’t long or separate.

Bingo Fill: ‘Long, Separate Vacations’ on my ‘Vacation’ card for @sambuckylibrary’s sambucky summer bingo!

Warnings: none!

Bucky shut the door, fully intending to stay in his apartment for the next however many years he would be alive. He wiped at his wet eyes, then at his slightly wet nose. He’d fully ruined the only relationship he’d had—and even the potential one he could’ve had. He knew Yori would never want anything to do with him ever again. 

He wasn’t sure where the hell he stood with Leah. But it was clear nothing would ever come out of that date anyway, so why did he even care? 

He wasn’t sure about that, either.

Shaking his head and trying to pull himself together, he walked to his kitchen. The place was poorly furnished—but it had the basics. Just enough so that if police ever showed up or the government decided to stop by, he wouldn’t look insane. 

The kitchen had all the necessities. Exactly eight drinking glasses. Four plates and four bowls. Twelve knives, forks, and spoons. All of the random odds and ends you’d need in a kitchen. Wooden spoon, pasta strainer, spatula. 

The island had three barstools at it. One for him, one for his bag, and one for his jacket to hang off of. 

He even had a small square kitchen table, with four chairs. One was out of the question, two was pitiful, and three looked ridiculous. He was sure that four chairs was the most normal choice. He had a TV. He had a couch he slept next to. He had a bedroom with a dresser and a bed. He had a bathroom with toiletries in it.

That didn’t change the fact that the apartment just felt insanely empty. Maybe it was because he didn’t have any personal decorations—no plants; real or fake, no pictures or posters on the walls, no magnets on the fridge. 

And it wasn’t just his home that was lonely. He was, too. Now that he didn’t have mandatory meetings with Raynor, he really didn’t have many reasons to leave the apartment. 

He had no friends. No family. No stable job. No pets.

Well, he had Sam. 

He glanced at his phone, debating on texting Sam or not. 

Eventually, the latter won in his mind. He’d seen Sam six hours earlier, when he’d left Delacroix. Surely it was too early to text him right? Bucky wasn’t too familiar with the modern texting customs or whatever, but he was positive that there were rules to it. 

He shook his head, purposefully setting his phone down on the counter before walking into the other room.

Sam scrubbed the plate gently, comfortable in the monotony of the task. It enabled his mind to wander, and it did. 

He caught himself thinking of Bucky. He hasn’t seen the guy’s house, but based on what he knew of the man, he was sure it was a sad sight to see. 

His phone sat on the kitchen table, and he desperately wanted to walk over and text Bucky. But he didn’t want to weird him out, and knowing Bucky, he probably wasn’t even bothered by his intentional solitude. Hell, he probably loved it.

Bucky seemed to like spending time with Sam’s family, just based on how he acted and presented himself when he’d been in Delacroix. But of course, Sam knew he was an introvert. Maybe that had just been his perfect amount of human interaction, and any more of it would piss him off or something. 

So he didn’t text. 

And when he finished washing the dishes and moved on to putting them away, he didn’t stop to text Bucky then, either. 

Walking through the house, he found comfort in the familiar creaking of the floors,  and he walked up the stairs slowly as to not wake up the boys. 

Getting up and into his room, he looked out the window. His room, and the boys’ room, faced the water. Sarah’s room was across the hall, and she didn’t seem to mind the lack of the view. 

Sam spent the next couple of days like that. He wanted to reach out, he desperately did, but he suddenly never knew what to say.

Until Sarah stopped him one night after the boys went to bed. 

“Sam, I swear to God, if you don’t stop pining after that man…” she gave him a knowing look.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He looked at her. 

“Bucky. You look at that damn phone everyday as if it had the news on your dying granddaddy. I know you’re waiting for a text and it seems like it’s not coming. Just call him.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” He huffed. She looked at him as she walked out of the kitchen.

“It doesn’t work like that and you know it!” He called quietly as to not wake up his nephews.

He glanced at his damned cellular device. 

Did it work like that? 

Bucky thought about contacting Sam all week. He knew the man’s address. He could send a letter.

He mentally smacked himself. People don’t just send letters these days.

He didn’t wanna call him. He’d freeze up, or say the wrong thing. And texting just didn’t hit right. It seemed like he was between a rock and a hard place. 

He picked up his phone, typing out a paragraph.

Hey. I know I was being a real ass about the SHIELD. I’m still sorry about that, by the way. But I was

Yeah, he didn’t know where he was going with that. 

He typed out another draft.

Hey. Can we chat for a bit?

“C’mon, grow a pair.” He grumbled to himself, before pressing the send button and setting his phone on the counter, face down. 

Sam drove down the small road, focusing on the pretty scenery. Sarah suggested taking a small road trip and renting a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere with no cell service. 

He’d told her no, that he was Captain America now, that that would be too risky. He hadn’t included the part about Bucky potentially texting him or calling him.

She didn’t let him finish. She sat with him at his laptop as he booked the cabin. 

“There’s plenty of heroes,” she’d added.

And so he’d set off. 

Bucky wallowed for the next weekend when he got no response. It was then that he’d realized that he truly was alone, that he’d die with no connections, that—

Oh. Sam was calling. 

He picked up the phone, and the both of them began talking at the same time.

“Sam, I know I just saw you, but I—“

“Hey, Buck, I was thinking about—“ 

“Oh, uh, you go first.” Bucky coughed.

“No, you go ahead.” Sam said politely.

“No, you. You started talking first.” Bucky shot back. 

“No, go ahead.” Sam retorted. There was a silent battle between them for a second.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “It’s just—I’ve been thinking about talking to you all week, and I sent a few texts but you didn’t respond, so I..thought you wanted nothing to do with me.” 

“What? Bucky—no. I didn’t have cell service for a while, the texts must’ve never went through. And I do want something to do with you.” Sam explained.

“Oh.” Bucky didn’t know how to respond.

“You really thought I thought that way about you?” 

“Well—I didn’t—I don’t fuckin’ know. But now I know that you don’t think about me like that.” Bucky rambled. “I—I’m messing this up. Do you wanna..get a coffee, sometime?” 

“Sounds great, man.” Bucky could hear the smile in Sam’s voice.

Graphics by @saradika-graphics

[bingo masterlist]

[onceuponastory]

desperately seeking sam - sam wilson x reader

Plot: After meeting Sam at a festival, Y/N finds herself falling deeply and madly in love with him. When they are forced to go their separate ways, Y/N can't wait to see him again... but there's only one problem. She doesn't know his surname, or even his phone number. But Sam has the perfect idea to find her. Pairing: Sam Wilson x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. As always if I miss any triggers, let me know. Notes: Sam is not the Falcon or Captain America in this, because I figured he'd be really recognisable if he was, and I wanted to add the element of them searching for one another! I saw a poster like this the other day, and thought it would be something Sam would do, so here we are.

Joining the long queue for the bar, Y/N hums along with the music playing from behind her, the sounds of drums and guitars filling the air. Bopping her head to the beat, she steps closer and closer to the front of the line, smiling as the sun beats down on her. Y/N’s been spending the day at a music festival, and despite being alone, she’s actually having a lot of fun. But that may be because of the cocktails they have. After paying for her drink, she turns, ready to go back to the music, not really paying much attention to her surroundings. That is, however, until she collides with someone, the cold liquid of both of their drinks splashing on his chest. Y/N’s eyes widen, shame seeping through her… much like the remnants of her drink. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry.” She gasps, immediately sobering up. “I’ll pay for a new one… and for that to be dry cleaned.” She expects the person to be angry, but to her pleasant surprise, the man grins, instantly filling her with relief. His smile is so bright, and fills her with such a warm feeling, that her worries soon fade away.

“No! Not at all. It happens.” He reassures her. “I will definitely accept that drink offer, though. Can’t let a pretty lady like yourself feel bad, right?” He flirts, and Y/N chuckles. It’s been so long since someone flirted with her so openly, and she definitely wasn’t expecting to fall in love with someone at a music festival of all places. …But the man is so attractive, she doesn’t seem to mind. “Well, thank you.” She grins as they rejoin the growing queue at the bar, trying to act cool and like she definitely knows what she’s doing, and isn’t woefully inexperienced at flirting. “Can’t let a handsome guy like yourself go without, now can I?” Y/N watches him curiously, waiting to see how he reacts to the line she dropped. Thankfully, he grins. “I like your way of thinking.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She soon learns the man’s name is Sam, and he’s originally from Delacroix, but lives and works in New York now. He tells her all kinds of stories, and Y/N hangs onto his every word. He’s so interesting. So funny, so charming, so kind.

And honestly, she thinks she’s falling in love with him.

Y/N and Sam spend the rest of the day together, learning more and more about one another in between musical acts. It certainly is the most unorthodox way she’s ever met someone, but that just makes it more exciting, a funny story to tell all their friends and family. If they ever make it that far, that is. And god, she hopes they do. Thinking about their future may be moving on too quickly, but Y/N doesn’t care. She’s just so happy in the moment. That night, as the festival draws to a close, she and Sam go see the headliner, dancing and singing along at the top of their lungs. As the music pounds, almost pumping through her entire body and bloodstream, Y/N has never felt so alive. And it seems Sam feels the same. “Can I kiss you?” He calls over the music. “What?” She asks, wondering if she misheard him. But then he asks her again, and Y/N realises he’s serious. Smiling, she nods. Sam grabs her, pulling her close as the last song reaches its climax. He presses his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, grinning. Y/N cups his cheeks with her hands, pulling Sam even closer to her. Her heart pounds, and her stomach swells. As they kiss, the band turns on their confetti cannon, raining multicoloured pieces down on them, landing on their clothes, their head, their feet.

It’s perfect.

After the last act has ended, Sam walks her back to the train station with the rest of the crowd, keeping a soft, protective hold on her hand. Honestly, Y/N is glad to have it. After their kiss, she feels like she’s walking on air. Sam’s helping to bring her back down to earth again. “It was great to meet you Y/N.” Sam smiles, and Y/N nods, her smile just as wide. Hopefully this dream night lasts forever. “It was wonderful to meet you, too.” She replies. He leads her all the way down to her platform. As her train thunders into the station, he finally lets her hand go. Y/N’s heart sinks, and she reaches out for it again for a moment. Somehow, she already feels at home in his grasp. “Goodnight Sam.” Y/N whispers, pecking his cheek as the train doors open. “Goodnight Y/N.” Y/N almost considers staying there and missing her train, even if it’s just for another second of Sam’s time. As he looks over her, smiling softly. But as the doors' loud beeping, signifying they’re about to close, fills the air, Sam gently nudges her inside. “You better go before you miss your train.” He chuckles. She sits by the window, staring out at the man who changed her night and made her feel incredible. He gives her a wave, and the train slowly pulls out of the station.

But as Sam disappears from view, a horrible realisation dawns on Y/N, spoiling her cheerful mood. Like a rain cloud on a bright, sunny day. “I don’t even know his last name. Or his number. How will I ever see him again?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You kissed her? And you didn’t even get her number?!” Bucky gasps in disbelief from across the table, his eyes wide. Sam sighs, nodding. The second he woke up the day after meeting Y/N, after making sure it wasn’t a dream, he headed off to see Bucky and ask for his advice. Or at least… what Bucky classes as advice.

“Yes, I did. And no, I didn’t.” Bucky shakes his head, still in disbelief, which doesn’t make Sam feel any better. “Yes. I know I’m an idiot. But I wasn’t thinking about that sort of stuff, you know? I just was thinking about kissing her, holding her and maybe taking-” 

“Okay, I get it.” Bucky nods, cutting him off. “So, you've already searched through social media for her?" Sam nods. "Well what are you going to do? You can’t exactly camp outside of the train station until she comes back, can you?”

“Can’t I?” Sam jokes, and Bucky frowns. “I know, I know. I’m kidding.” He sighs. And then… an idea strikes. “I know what to do.” Sam grins.

Every day since the festival ended, Y/N hopes and prays that she’ll find Sam again. She scrolls through social media every day, checking for a post or message about her. But each day only brings more and more disappointment. And after a few days with no messages, Y/N just settles back into her regular, mundane existence: going to and from work each day and getting home to enjoy what little time she has to herself before doing it all again the next day.

And trying to ignore the aching feeling in her heart whenever she thinks of Sam, of course. Y/N tries to stop herself from feeling disappointed, telling herself that this is just life. It gives you the best thing in your life… and then snatches it away from you. It may be unfair, but it’s just what happens. Although it may have been foolish, she was still hoping that things for her and Sam would be different, that he’d find her again.

But as the days pass, that seems less and less likely. “You like him.” Her coworker grins, smirking at her from across her desk one day. “You should try to find him.” “How? I don’t even have his number, or his last name. Do you know how many Sams there are in New York alone?” Y/N groans, resting her head in her hands. “I can’t believe that in this world full of technology, you can’t find your true love who you met at a festival. It’s like… some modern Cinderella story or something. And you didn’t even need to lose a shoe!” “Really not helping.” Y/N groans, not even looking up. Deep down, though, she knows her coworker is right. And she’d be lying if she said that despite her disappointment, this whole experience wasn’t exciting her. To have someone searching for her, and to be searching for him just as much, trying every possible route to find one another, like some modern fairytale rom-com mashup.

It doesn’t make the longing for Sam any better, though.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that day, after her shift is finally over, Y/N joins the throngs of commuters heading home. Her mind is on other things, like what she’s going to have for dinner, and if her neighbour has actually taken his trash out.

It’s only when she arrives at her train station and notices a group of people huddled around something on the wall that she’s broken out of her thoughts. Curiously, she strains her neck, trying to see what has everyone so interested. Finally, she gets close enough to see what they were looking at. A handwritten poster is on the wall outside the station. When she sees what is written there, her eyes widen.

“To Y/N, the gorgeous woman I bonded with at the festival, yet I was stupid enough to leave without getting her number. Hopefully this works. Keep dancing and call me sometime. Love Sam.” Under the message is a phone number. Y/N smiles, taking out her phone and dialling the number.  He answers right away, of course.

“Hello? Sam?” she asks. “It’s Y/N. …Yeah, I saw your poster. …No, no. I love it! It’s wonderful. Unique for sure.” She laughs. “...Sure, I’d love to meet up for coffee.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[honeeysagee]

When Summer Comes Knocking - Endearing

Word Count: 1.354 words

The shop was closed. The night was quiet, and while the rest of Delacroix settled into their homes or found trouble elsewhere, Sam and Bucky stayed. Both lay on the garage floor, trying to figure out what to do with the car, though they hadn’t done much beyond settling onto the floor and talking.

"Then, he spent the entire night out on that boat, just drifting away," Sam said, laughing to himself as he fumbled with the tools beside him, never actually thinking to use them.

Bucky glanced over, grinning. "Sounds like a hell of a way to waste a night."

Sam shrugged, still smiling. "Mama and I spent hours looking for him." Bucky stared at his friend, the soft, warm light of the garage casting a glow over Sam, making him look almost angelic.

Or maybe he was an angel, Bucky thought. Ordinary people don’t offer broken people jobs out of nowhere. They don’t open their homes and invite them to dinner every night. They don’t call them family. Only angels do that.

"What about you?" Sam asked, breaking through Bucky’s thoughts. "Any stories you feel like are better than this moment?"

Bucky looked away finally, his mind racing. He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "There were nights when a friend and I used to climb a building and wait there until the sun came up or until someone came looking. Most of the time, we stayed until the sun came up."

"When the sun came up, what happened?"Sam frowned. He knew how stories like this ended.

Bucky blinked, unsure where to start. "We both went to the army, and we both came out with scars the other couldn’t heal like when we were kids." He ran a hand through his hair reflexively. "When we came back, everything was different. We were different. The dreams we had—those big, hopeful plans—seemed so far away. He settled down with a girl he met in the army, and I kept moving. Kept running."

"From what?" Sam asked, his voice quiet, drawing Bucky’s attention back.

Bucky blinked, momentarily stunned by Sam’s genuine interest. He hadn’t expected anyone to care that much, especially not someone as steady and grounded as Sam. He hesitated before answering, his voice softer. "I don’t know. Most people find me intimidating now... because I don’t know who I am after the war. It’s like I’ve cut off a part of myself."

Sam hummed softly, his gaze steady and warm. "I can see that, but whatever they find intimidating, I just find endearing." He reached out, meaning to touch Bucky’s arm but miscalculating and brushing his hand instead. Neither of them pulled away.

It wasn’t the touch that stopped them, but the realization that this moment was something more—something quiet, deep, and unspoken. The contact lingered, fingers barely brushing, the silence between them growing heavy with a different kind of tension.

Bucky’s breath caught, and he glanced down at their hands, the miscalculated touch suddenly feeling far more significant than either of them had expected. Sam’s hand, warm and steady, rested against his own, not gripping but not retreating either. And in that small gesture, Bucky could feel Sam’s intention, the way he wasn’t just offering comfort, but something deeper—a kind of care Bucky hadn’t known in a long time.

The air between them shifted, charged with an unspoken understanding. They didn’t need words to express the weight of this moment. It wasn’t just a simple touch; it was the quiet acknowledgment of what had been building between them for weeks, maybe longer.

"Is this okay?" Sam asked, his voice soft but steady, a simple question, but it meant the world to Bucky. Sam wasn’t rushing him, wasn’t demanding an answer. He was just asking, offering the space to step back if that’s what Bucky needed.

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest, the sincerity in Sam’s question cutting through his defenses. He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t even sure how to respond, but in that moment, with Sam’s hand resting against his, Bucky realized that maybe—just maybe—this was okay.

Sam turned and stared ahead of him, his breath catching for just a second. Maybe it was the soft glow of the garage lights playing tricks on his eyes, but when he glanced at Bucky, he noticed the tenderness in his expression—something quiet, almost vulnerable. It hit Sam like a wave, pulling him back to high school, to those nights lying on the grass with his crush, hands barely touching as they stared up at the stars. The stars weren’t out tonight, but the glow of the ceiling lights felt just as meaningful, and in this moment, it was enough.

Bucky’s soft expression hadn’t changed, his eyes still flicking up to meet Sam’s every now and then, like he was trying to make sense of what was happening between them. Sam squeezed his hand lightly, letting him know it was okay to just be here, to let things unfold without rushing.

"You don't have to say anything," Sam murmured. "We can just... stay like this."

"Stay like this," Bucky repeated softly, as though he was testing the weight of the words, unsure if they could hold everything he felt. "I don’t even know what this is."

Sam nodded, his grip on Bucky’s hand tightening just slightly, the warmth of the touch grounding them both. "Me either," he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. "But it feels nice."

Bucky’s breath evened out, his chest rising and falling in time with Sam’s. He glanced at Sam again, who was already looking at him, his lopsided smile illuminating the dim garage.

Sam shifted slightly, his fingers still brushing Bucky’s. "You know," he began, his voice low, like he was sharing a secret, "Sarah and the boys are going out of town, so they’re canceling family dinner."

Bucky turned his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do instead?"

Sam hesitated, his heart picking up speed. This wasn’t just a casual comment anymore. The way Bucky’s fingers stayed where they were, their warmth grounding him, made the moment feel like it carried a deeper meaning. Normally, when family dinner was canceled, Sam would spend the night lounging around the house in his underwear, a bundle of snacks scattered around him, just him and the TV for hours. He'd settle into the couch, lost in reruns and cheesy action flicks, trying to forget the world for a bit.

But tonight? Bucky’s touch was doing something to him. It was making him think he deserved more than a night of mindless movies and unhealthy habits. The closeness between them, the shared silence, felt like an invitation to something different. Something better.

"I was thinking," Sam continued, his voice a little quieter now, "maybe I don’t have to spend the night alone this time. Maybe… I could stick around here a little longer."

Bucky’s eyes softened, and the tension between them seemed to thicken in the warm air of the garage. "You could," Bucky murmured, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I wouldn’t mind the company."

They stayed like that for a moment, neither saying anything, but the silence was full of meaning. Sam could feel the weight of the night settling in around them, the quiet hum of the garage, the soft glow of the lights above casting long shadows on the floor. And in the middle of it all, there was just the two of them—Sam and Bucky—figuring out what this was and whether it could be more.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Season (Get It?) Coming Soon!

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

My OCs Majour Historical Figures

Part 3 of my world building posts! I'm gonna arrange these guys in order of their importance to the Plot™, and how much I dote on them.

So, without further ado,

The Godhuntress, Ina

She's literally my PFP :)

Lived: 2000-4050AC

Height: 3.5m (11'6 for Americans)

Pronouns: She/Her

Race: Angel of Nature (her halo is just flowers)

Was completely loyal to the Gods until her husband got killed for abandoning his post to pluck some flowers for her

Then she went completely apeshit and genocided the gods

Possessed a secret Voidic ritual to drain magic from others, which gave her the power to defeat the Gods

Killed her daughter, Isobel, in a fit of rage after Iz tried to stop her from killing the last goddess, the Goddess of Dreams, who was just a child

Massacred the Fae, elves, and forest spirits

Jumped into the Void out of grief when she realised she had become a monster like the gods (see it here)

Speaks like she came out of the bible

Basically the biggest deity in modern Triworld

Been living rent free in my head since I was 6

2. The Spirit Emperor, Hans-el

Obsessive midgeted psycho

Lived: 3595- AC

Height: 130cm/4'3 (145/4'9 in his high shoes)

Pronouns: He/Him (caps included)

Race: Forest Spirit

Has an everlasting grudge against Ina for killing his best friend, the Goddess of Dreams, in front of him

Knows her power ritual because he saw her do it, and used it to gain enough power to become Emperor for vengeance

After she died, he set all the souls of the gods free for the heck of it

Like Ina, is power-corrupt and evil. Unlike her, he doesn't give a shit about it

Bastard has his little fingers in every bit of the Plot™

No seriously, if the story's set after Ina, it's events are probably his fault

You'll find him cameoing as either Hans or just 'the spirit'

Will murder you if you call him short (he is, even by spirit standards)

Inexplicably in love with Hash

3. Hash Brown

Nobody knows her real name

Lived: 1998- AC

Height: ? (145/4'9 in his favourite form)

Pronouns: she/he (and never it)

Race: Shapeshifter

Possibly the oldest being alive in Modern Triworld, not that she'd let anyone know it

Wears an elf body because that's what she pretended to be during the Runic Wars

Goes by Hash Brown because the Lich-Queen said it would be cool, and he's possibly forgotten his own name by this point

Actually pretty smart but pretends to be a ditz

Pathological trickster who feels bad getting people in trouble

Moved into Hans' castle one day, became his partner in crime (and everything else) and never left

Feels bad for deserting his people during the Ruinic War (cos he couldn't accept genociding humanity) and as such looks after the remaining shapeshifters

Drinking buddies with the Luxatian Exorcists, who all actually believe she's an elf

Fakes an incredibly strong Paliodaen accent

Secretly, deep within his heart, a good person

4. The Lich-Queen, Iraela Foundling

Cracker of bad quips

Lived: 2800-4003

Height: 165cm/5'5

Race: Human turned Lich

Found in the End of the World along with her sister, Ramaeria, and brought into Ceredellian Royal society

She showed no powers so she stayed hidden away while her sister, an Oracle, danced with nobles

Met and fell in love with a minor duke

When she discovered she was a necromancer of epic proportions, she tore Ceredell apart and remade it into the Deadlands

Has a god-awful inferiority complex and deep rooted jealousy

Still somehow trying to live up to her dead sister's image

Cannot stop cracking jokes at the worst possible timing

Thought it was funny to tell a young shifter to name himself Hashbrown

Main proponent of the Ruinic War, because she hates humanity (she doesn't want to be reminded that she was one)

Bonus: Luna Iverius Delacroix, Mind-mage

Absolute tech boomer

Age: 6012-

Height: 150cm

Race: Human

Actually pretty important to the Plot™

Main character syndrome in every meaning of the word

Make-up fiend

Ran away from home at age 11 and made herself a cult of personality

Cannot drive, cook, use a phone or take care of herself

Insanely lazy, but skilled enough at magic to make up for it

Does not know the meaning of playing fair

Neither booksmart nor streetsmart, but a secret third option (not smart)

By the way, all the images were made on picrew.me ! Go check it out, it's super fun to play with!

[livingincolorsagain]

greetinsg

…where it hurts. from that thing. u know

There were more upsides to living in Delacroix than Bucky could count.

Being close to Sam and his family, a welcoming community, glistening water and gentle breeze in the early hours of the morning, the warm kiss of a waking sun after a long, chilly night.

The warm kiss of loving lips, tasting like mint and smelling like coffee. A place to call home and a love to call his own.

And winters that didn’t gnaw at Bucky’s skin and bones with coldness that seemed infinite.

Right now, in a cabin so far away from home, the cold was almost a physical presence, surrounding them, biting despite the several layers of clothing and the burning fire, and Bucky was aching for that touch of a warm rising sun.

He kept telling himself he could handle the cold, as used to it as he was. He could ignore the flair of pain where skin met metal, sharp like needles and familiar like a memory.

He kept his face neutral, keeping the fire going as he listened to Sam walking around, a distraction and a reassurance at once.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job hiding his discomfort. He was sure he didn’t wince, didn’t even bother to glance at his arm, but despite all his efforts, Sam still noticed.

“Your arm is bothering you?” He asked, kneeling down next to Bucky, leaning unconsciously closer to the fire.

Bucky blinked, took a deep breath. Thought of lying, deflecting, but there was no reason for it. Sam could read him like an open book, apparently.

“A little.”

Sam sighed, leaning in closer, and Bucky turned his head, thinking Sam was going in for a quick, comforting kiss.

And he was. Just not to Bucky’s lips.

Bucky couldn’t really feel it, layered up as he was, but his skin erupted into goosebumps at the gentle press all the same, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sweetness of the gesture.

Sam pulled back just a little, staring at Bucky’s shoulder then meeting his eyes.

“I got this,” he said, gesturing to the fire and wood. “You go rest.”

Bucky almost scoffed, but he changed his mind at the last minute.

“How about we cuddle by the fire? It helps.”

Sam titled his head, like he was trying to make sure Bucky wasn’t just saying that, then he sighed, standing up to go grab some pillows and blankets.

Bucky stripped off his sweaters, moving his fingers in a familiar pattern until the vibranium arm came off.

By the time Sam was back, Bucky was in his undershirt and a single sweater. He let Sam arrange the blankets and pillows as he pleased, and once he was satisfied and lying down, he made grabby hands at Bucky.

Bucky lied down, Sam’s heart beating steadily under his cheek, his eyes falling shut as fingers ran through his hair and lips pressed into his shoulder.

Sam’s lips didn’t even actually touch his skin, but Bucky knew with certainty that it was that warm touch he was aching for.

[tllgrrl]

Sweet Potato Pie by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

SarahBucky Fleur De Louve Month 2023 - Week 1, Day 2 Prompt: “Sweet Potato Pie” | SFW

Sarah Wilson/Bucky Barnes, and Special Guest Cameo: Sam Wilson

* * * * * * * * * *

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Sarah’s boys were already at the grandparents in Atlanta, and the original plan was that Sam would be in NYC with Misty, the restaurant would be closed until Friday, and Bucky would be home with her for a nice, quiet (maybe not so quiet) Wednesday, then the two of them would make a Thanksgiving Day drive to Atlanta to stay until Sunday, when the boys would come back with them to Delacroix.

That was the plan.

Then came the phone call, and there she was hearing about how some shit had popped off on the other side of the world in a place that she wasn’t privy to know for her own safety, and in the blink of an eye she was on the front porch, kissing Bucky goodbye before dawn…again.

“I’m sorry, nandi,” he said softly, his forehead touching hers.

“I know, baby. It is what it is,” she answered, pulling his dog tags over her head and onto his neck. “Just come back to me in one piece.”

“I will.”

“You better.”

“Save me some Sweet Potato Pie,” he says over his shoulder, walking toward the van.

“Me too!” someone yelled from the passenger seat.

“Ha! I’ll think about it, Cap.”

“You’re the meanest sister ever!”

“No she isn’t.”

“Yes, she is.”

“It’s called Tough Love, Samuel.”

“Just get in the car. You and that Tough Love bullsh—“

“Language!”

“What?!?”

She’s used to it by now. It’s sort of The Other Family Business: Superheroes.

This time, however, when the SUV drove off with her brother and her lover, the second the vehicle made that turn out of the driveway, she sat on the front step, and had a good, angry cry.

After a few minutes, she dried her eyes on her (on Bucky’s) t-shirt, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Enough of that…”

She got up, went into the house, picked up her cellphone, a notepad and pencil, pressed a speed dial number, and started making plans.

Evening, on the Other Side of the World…

Bucky dragged himself into the tiny old hotel room, dropped his backpack on the dresser, closed the curtains, checked the room for bugs...and bugs, then he turned on the old school TV set (complete with rabbit ears) and clicked the old remote until he found a futbol match.

He could still smell the light fragrance of Sarah’s hair conditioner, and feel her body against his when he kissed her goodbye.

“Damn…” he mumbled, reaching deep into his backpack and pulling out a small brown bag of plums.

“Happy Thanksg—“

Someone knocked on the door.

He retrieved one of his fixed blade knives from a compartment in the backpack, and waited.

Another knock, this time in a familiar pattern.

“Yo, Buck?”

Bucky opened the door to find Sam standing there with what looked like a box wrapped in a thermal blanket. There was also a smaller flat box sitting on top of it.

“Hey, come in. What’s all that?”

“It’s a special delivery. This goes with it.”

Sam handed him a six pack of a local beer, and pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket.

“I got one too. Seems like we weren’t going to be spending the holiday away from…well, go’on open your envelope. I’m heading back to my room for mine.”

“What—?”

“Don’t ask me. Just open this envelope. Have a good evening, Buck.”

“Um…Thanks?”

“You’re welcome, Cyborg Man.”

Bucky heard Sam chuckle as he closed the door.

He moved his laptop to the bed and placed the boxes on the small table in the corner, opened the envelope, and picked up his cellphone, smiling as he dialed the encrypted number on the StarkTech phone.

“Hey, nandi.”

“Hey yourself, mthandi.”

“Can I see you?”

“Of course. Hold on…”

Their screens both go black, then they see each other.

He gently touches her cheek on his screen, and she touches his cheek on hers.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Wait. Have you…? James. Open the boxes.”

“Boxes? Oh!!”

Bucky unwrapped the large box first and when he opened the seal, steam wafted out, and delicious aromas filled the room.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, or his nose.

It was a whole meal of turkey, dressing, greens, cornbread and slices of his favorite: Sarah’s meatloaf. There was even a separate container of a serving of gumbo.

“Baby…” he chuckled, eyes beginning to brim, “what…what did you—?”

“I figured, since we couldn’t be together like we planned, we could at least…well… shoot, I wasn’t gonna cry…”

Bucky was wiping his eyes as well.

“Sarah…this is just…did Sam get—should I go get—?“

“No. He’s good. Probably on the phone with Misty right about now. The two of us got together. She arranged to have a QuinnJet bring me to New York not long after you left. She knew the team’s prep schedule, so we did our shopping, spent a day cooking, and had the boxes loaded onto the transport before departure.

I asked Torres to make sure neither of you knew about the boxes until you were at your destination. Misty and I made him a combo plate from both of us.”

“I don’t know what to…Thank you, intanda. This is…”

“Close the box, put the heat blanket back on it, get cleaned up and comfy. I’ll wait, so we can have dinner together. Okay?”

Bucky wiped his eyes and picked up the small brown bag, showing her what was inside, “I was gonna have these plums.”

“Have them for breakfast. Your dessert is in the pie box.”

“My dessert is in Delacroix, where I should be right now,” he says in that tone that makes her toes curl in that good way.

“Boy, stop!” she giggles.

He hears Sarah giggle and it makes him want to run all the way back to Louisiana, Secret Empire wannabees and the Atlantic Ocean be damned.

He opened the box and she watched him bite his lip in anticipation. Bites his lip in that way.

She sees him bite his lip and she wants to run to him, Louisiana swamps and the Atlantic Ocean be damned.

“You’re still saving me a slice for when I get home, right?”

“Of course! I brought you over to Team Sweet Potato Pie. No way I’m letting you backslide back to pumpkin! Not as long as we’re—“

“Come’ere, you,” he laughs, walking the phone into the bathroom.

“Where are we going?”

“Getting ready for a quick shower.”

She can see his metal hand and the bathroom ceiling, then the phone tips forward and now she can see him. Most of him. He repositions the phone again and now she can see a goodly amount of him.

He reached into the shower, turned on the tap, then faced the camera, took off his shirt, and started unbuttoning his jeans.

“Want to tell me what you’re doing, mthandi?” Sarah said, before draining her entire glass of sweet tea because The Thirst was real.

“Taking a shower so I can get ready for dinner with my intanda,” he smiled. “Care to join me?”

“Are you taking your phone into the—“

“Sure am. What! It’s waterproof.”

* * * * * * * * * *

@fleurdelouvemonth 2023 - Week 1: “Food” - Day 2: “Sweet Potato Pie”

Also posted on The AO3.

Thanks for reading!

[themculibrary]

Post-FATWS Masterlist

A thing with feathers (ao3) - Em_Jaye bucky/sarah M, 48k

Summary: “What if you had someone else to help you run the boat?” he asks finally.

Sam laughs and looks at him sideways. “What? Like you?”

Bucky shrugs like it just occurred to him. Maybe it did. But it feels good. It feels like the kind of decision that’s just his. Not shiny around the edges, letting him know it was grown in someone else’s mind before being dropped into his. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Sam repeats. “Because you don’t know shit about fishing.”

“Well, from the sounds of it, neither do you.”

A Three Part Plan (ao3) - GrannyUnicorn T, 12k

Summary: Bucky was bored.

He’d been staying in Delacroix for nearly a month now that not much was happening since the flag smasher business. Turned out Sam was actually serious about that ‘long vacation’ thing, though the ‘separate’ part seemed to have slipped his mind. Which was fine. This was nice. In the beginning. But Bucky wasn’t used to sitting still, so after one and a half day of sleeping, reading, and looking out over the docks, he had started to get restless, latching onto any opportunity to distract himself.

And then John Walker mysteriously shows up on a boat and asks for his help. This can't go wrong, right?

(I mean, you've seen the tags and the answer is: yes it can)

A Visit From A Friend (ao3) - NovemberMurray G, 2k

Summary: Ayo visits Bucky in New York to deliver a message, a package, and-- most importantly-- an apology. She wasn't expecting him to have company when she knocked on his door, but it proves entertaining.

Beads On A String (ao3) - Sholio T, 14k

Summary: When Wakanda pulls Zemo out of the Raft and sends him on a mission, Ayo is tasked with being his handler. But there is more to it than either of them knows.

becoming a resident of the wilson household (ao3) - orphan_account sam/bucky T, 2k

Summary: Sam wiped his forehead after they set down the box on the floor; it was already hot outside, and moving boxes in and out didn’t help. “Wait a minute, you’re a super soldier with a metal arm. Can’t you carry all this yourself?”

“Technically yes, but that doesn’t mean that your help doesn’t make it easier.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’d hope so, since we’re sharing a room now.”

-

months after the events of tfatws, boyfriends sam and bucky are officially moving in together.

Captains and Crawfish (ao3) - StarlightDreamer21 G, 1k

Summary:

After the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, everyone needs some downtime. Sam decides that a true New Orleans crawfish boil is called for.

~

An introspective look into the mind of Sam Wilson and his many friendships.

Electric Love (ao3) - pouringinsheet sam/bucky T, 1k

Summary: “Listen, Shuri, you know I love the wings, right?”

“The wings that make most major publications refer to you as the Angel of America?” Now she just sounded smug. Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Is there anything else you maybe should have told me about them?”

When Sam realizes that his wings low-key read his mind, he starts reflecting on things. If this had slipped by his attention for so long, what else had changed while Sam wasn’t looking? One of those changes might be how he looks at Bucky. Another might be how Bucky looks at him.

everybody talks (ao3) - SuburbanSun sam/bucky G, 1k

Summary: As Sam spends a Saturday running errands across town, he starts to get the sense that his neighbors—and maybe even his sister—know something about his relationship with Bucky that he doesn't.

golden light lies ahead (it's just around the bend) (ao3) - sunflowergolden sam/bucky G, 2k

Summary: “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sam wasn’t sure what his face looked like, but he was willing to bet he didn’t look very happy.

Bucky just looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows, just a little bit. “Many things, Samuel, you know this. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

or, the one where Sam and Bucky haven't spoken in weeks and Bucky suddenly turns up at the cookout. Sam is finding it very hard to be mad.

Joining a Family You're Already Part Of (ao3) - r_n_g_are_dead bucky/sarah T, 7k

Summary: Bucky never really thought he’d ever get married. He also never thought he’d be part of a family again. Plans change, though. Post-TFATWS Bucky/Sarah, but mostly Bucky & Sam being bros.

One Last Name (ao3) - MiraculouslyTrashy G, 3k

Summary: “But I am no longer The Winter Soldier, I’m James Bucky Barnes, and you’re part of my efforts to make amends” he recites for the last time. So why doesn't he feel the relief he was hoping for?

“What does that mean?” Morgan’s nose scrunches, turning to him now, “What’s ‘amends’?”

(In which Bucky has one last name in his notebook: Tony Stark)

Power Broker Is Watching (ao3) - a_boy_and_his_dog T, 27k

Summary: “What the hell? You guys took forever,” a voice said from somewhere in front of a blindfolded Sam as the men holding him forced him to a stop. “We’re kind of on a schedule here, it’d be nice if you followed it. Let’s go.”

He was once again shoved forward, this time being led down a staircase. Sam almost tripped down the first one, but one of the hands gripping him kept him on his feet. Fifteen steps, Sam counted. Fifteen steps down into… wherever he was.

Someone groaned as he was brought forward, and the voice from before said, “You can shut it.”

“Hmph, and you… you can fuck off."

Yeah, Sam was pretty sure that was Bucky.

the rain never came (ao3) - last_honey minor sam/bucky T, 1k

Summary: Against her better judgement, Yelena meets with James. The conversation doesn't go how she wants it to.

The Same River, Twice (The Man Is Still Left with His Hands) (ao3) - amoneth, dorian_burberrycanary steve/bucky G, 4k

Summary: Steve had meant to stay forever and didn’t last a year. He meant to return right back to when he left, but that doesn’t work out the way he planned either.

Turns out a lot can happen in nine months.

—

Steve didn’t need his first month back to make him aware of just how many degrees forgiveness comes in, but some lessons feel new each time. Getting a text from Sam asking him to Delacroix for the weekend feels like one tick closer and Steve’ll take it.

He’s texting back when Sam adds, Bucky will be there.

And Steve? Steve’ll take that, too.

A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky Endgame fix-it where a lot needs fixing.

the wires for empathy (ao3) - napricot sam/bucky T, 90k

Summary: “I feel like literally, actually saving the world has given you unrealistic expectations. Most folks don’t need you to save the entire world on the regular, Sam," said Sarah.

“I hear you,” said Sam, rueful. He sighed and tipped his head back, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “But I still kind of feel like I have to save the entire world, if I’m carrying this shield.”

“Sam,” said Bucky, and Sam lowered his hands and opened his eyes to look at him, only to find himself the subject of Bucky’s staring problem yet again. “Let’s just go out there. See who we can help, how."

Taking on the Captain America mantle is all well and good, but unfortunately, it quickly becomes pretty obvious to Sam that carrying the shield doesn't guarantee a paying gig as a superhero—at least, not any kind of job that fits with the kind of Cap Sam wants to be. But when it comes down to it, all Sam wants to do is use the shield to help people, so paying gig or not, he and Bucky set out on the road to do just that, and to figure out what kind of superheroes they want to be. Slowly but surely, they figure out just what kind of partners they want to be too. (Hint: it is not 'just a couple of guys.')

Trouble Man (ao3) - s_solo sam/bucky M, 34k

Summary: Sam’s in love. Bucky’s in denial. The Power Broker’s on the loose. What could go wrong?

unsung melody (ao3) - ace_oroes N/R, 2k

Summary: "What’s up?”

Bucky’s shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Just thinking.”

“Really? It’s gonna be that kind of night?” Sam teases, partly to give Bucky a hard time and partly to take his mind off the unpleasant sensation of mud seeping into the creases of his body.

Bucky doesn’t reply right away. Sam can almost guarantee he’s making some sort of face, because what else would an appropriate response from a one-hundred-and-six-year-old supersoldier?

“Just appreciating the irony,” Bucky says, like that clears things up. He correctly interprets Sam’s silence as confusion and adds, “Eighty years and halfway around the world and here I am on my ass in the mud. Again.”

During a stakeout some ten thousand miles away from Delacroix, Bucky remembers, Sam has plenty of thoughts of his own, and they maybe even learn a thing or two... and everything ends up okay for once.

Where The Heart Is (ao3) - The_Buzz sam/bucky T, 8k

Summary: When Bucky is made to believe he's the Winter Soldier again, Sam has to find a way to bring him home.

Winters Return (ao3) - TinyTiredWriter sam/bucky T, 4k

Summary: “It means he’s still in there.”

Those words haven’t left Sam’s head since Bucky said them in the backyard throwing the shield around. It’s been some months since then, a lot has changed since they’ve had that heart-to-heart.

~ ~ ~

Basically, Sam and Torres get captured, Bucky turns into the Winter Soldier to rescue them.

You Were A Gun (ao3) - qodarkness G, 2k

Summary: “All I can tell you is how he was different from Steve.”

After everything is over, Bucky and Dr Raynor have a conversation by the riverside.