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[blows dust off blog] Oh hey I wrote some mindless fluffy Samsteve instead of working on my other fic
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@matcha-chocolate
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
[blows dust off blog] Oh hey I wrote some mindless fluffy Samsteve instead of working on my other fic
une goutte de miel
I wrote this ficlet way back in April! Just realized it shoulda been on my writing blog maybe haha. Prompt: Gabe/Steve
Gabe and Bucky had always been close, elbowing each other hard and muttering in hushed voices whenever Steve made a fool of himself in front of Peggy (so, often.) Gabe noticed when Bucky ate less and less and quietly told him he’d share his chocolate ration if he ate properly. Bucky went and sat next to Gabe when the other man was staring into space a little too long. “Ma wrote me another letter,” Gabe had said once. “Said her church got... ugly shit painted on the doors. You know... again.” Bucky frowned at the fire. He knew why. Gabe had told him. He didn’t know what to say, so he held out his last pack of cigarettes. “Thanks, Buck,” Gabe had murmured. “I’ll tell you ‘bout the next chapter in the book I’m readin’, hey?” Bucky (and Steve, when he had time) sometimes listened to Gabe read from one of the handful of French novels that had survived their long trek. He translated the plot as best he could, Bucky added disturbingly filthy jokes, and Steve drew hurried little sketches of the scenes that Gabe described. Sometimes all they had was 20 minutes before lights out. It was enough. Gabe never got to tell Bucky about the second chapter.
Prompt: “Your choice of samsteve, sambucky or all caps and adopting! A kitty cat!” by @spooky-redwing ! I know this prompt is literally months old, but I’m going through every single prompt (except “green zucchini” because FUCK THAT.) The upside of me taking ages to do prompts? People forget all about them and they’re like fun surprise gifts!! Or something!
Their apartment made magazine spreads look like a joke. True, everything was second-hand, because Steve was cheap against being wasteful; and there were several huge bookshelves groaning under the strain of Sam and Bucky’s books; and the kitchen had a truly baffling number of wooden cutting boards, wooden spoons, wooden cups-- because Bucky had a thing for hand-made wooden utensils; and they’d had to change from light to dark decor after Steve’s paint spatters and charcoal smudges made Bucky pitch a fit; and Sam had a whole two shelves just for his records and god help you if you touched them without asking... But if you “pulled up the Googles” (Steve’s words) to look up “eclectic hipster apartment on a budget,” their home would have popped up first. It was a Pinterest addict’s wet dream. It would get dozens of “OMG GOALS” comments on Instagram. It was cozy, it was nicely furnished, and it perfectly reflected the three occupants. And then someone (Bucky. It was Bucky.) left the goddamn window open when all three of them were out on separate missions for a few weeks.
like the sunset
Bucky couldn’t say why he did it, not exactly. He just knew that that was how you got to be friendly with someone. You teased ‘em. Right? And Wilson hadn’t exactly been averse to a little friendly ribbing. Mostly friendly. Usually. “Don’t do it, Buck,” Steve said without looking up from his morning paper. Bucky scowled at his friend, bristling at the tone. He wasn’t a dog or a damn child, he was a grown man. If he wanted to put salt in Sam’s coffee, he was gonna. Almost as if Steve sensed Bucky’s quiet defiance, he tapped on his paper and raised an eyebrow, still not looking away from his coupons for oatmeal or whatever it was the man was reading. “All right, but don’t come running to me if he gets mad. Sam loves his coffee.” Bucky wasn’t one for talking much first thing in the morning, but he figured the energy he was about to expend was worth it. “Hey, Steve...” Steve finally glanced up, both eyebrows raised in question now. Bucky maintained eye contact as he poured a generous helping of salt from the box into Sam’s precious coffee, using the spoon to stir it in. Steve heaved a huge sigh and went back to his paper.
bam n sucky
Anon: Sambucky - "shipname: sucky" I know who sent this ask 😘 (Okay, honestly? I’ve been sitting on this one for almost 2 weeks and I’m still not happy with it. But ... here it is. Sorry.)
People can bond in the weirdest ways when they have screaming nightmares in common. Neither of them literally screamed anymore, mind you. Bucky would start, an awful strangled sound-- but he would muffle it, biting down on his hand instead. Not quite enough to break the skin. He’d gotten past doing that. Progress. Kinda. Sam, though. Sam woke not with a yell or a scream but an awful, ragged intake of breath that had his chest tightening and his eyes fluttering wildly before he could wake up. He didn’t talk to anyone about it. Definitely not progress.
my dads can beat your dad up
@samwichwilson asked: Can you talk to us about Three Men and a Spiderbaby?
Oh my god hahahaha okay let’s do this
Steve Rogers Captain America “Call Me Steve” is A Lot. His smile is wholesome, his muscles are quietly humming ‘America the Beautiful,’ and his whole aura is somewhere between Mr. Rogers riding a tank through a wall and a Golden Lab that has been taught to use a rifle somehow. Peter had made a kind of weird squeak when Captain America “Call Me Steve” had casually offered to have him over for dinner (as a gesture of good will, he’d said. No hard feelings about that brawl in the airport, right?), which the man had graciously ignored. “Dinner?” “Yeah, you interested?” Captain America “Call Me Steve” asked, leaned casually against the wall as though Peter didn’t have literal colouring books with his image at home (they were from when he was a kid, okay?) “….like, at your house-place?” The words fell from his mouth before he could stop them, and he wondered if he could convince Mr. Stark to fling him directly into the sun. He was sure the man had some invention that could handle such a task. Or maybe Peter could work on one? Captain America “Call Me Steve” looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For @buckyskillingme , for the @beefybuckyswap Beefy Bucky Exchange! BAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUCKY! I hope you enjoy your fic. It’s barbershop quarter fluff featuring animals! ANIMALS!!!!!
looee tooshay
@samwichwilson - sambucky headcanon: him touch penis Honestly, you’re the worst person i’ve ever met -------------- Sam didn’t care what Steve said about Bucky having been a suave ladykiller* in the past; the man was terrible at flirting. *considering recent events, perhaps that word ought not be used to describe an ex-assassin He didn’t even have the ‘sullen, scowling bad boy with a sad past’ thing going any more. No, he’d found himself in the modern world, all right. He was a fucking dork. “Sam, what happened to the Spice Girls?” Sam concentrated really hard on his Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He had a few choice words for whoever it was that introduced Steve to sugary breakfast cereals, because it was all the man ever bought now. “Sam.” Sam was deeply engrossed in how loudly he could chew until Barnes’ voice was drowned out. So far, no such luck. “Sam.”
Sam: We shouldn't do this. Steve (his Heroic Jaw of Justice™ protruding with Annoying Inconvenient Righteousness™): We have to. - the demanding lovely @imafuckingreverseracist Okay, that prompt was already like an entire fic, how the fuck am I supposed to... hhhh OKAY HERE WE GO Sam wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly. “Sorry, Director-- you want me to what?” Fury was already holding out the folder to Sam, and he waved it irritably. “You’re going to be partnering with Rogers on this assignment. Black tie. Subtle profile, no need for shadow conditions. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”
Sam looked at Steve standing at attention beside him, his own folder held primly behind his back. He was definitely a little pink in the face, though.
“And... St-- Commander Rogers requested me specifically, you said?” Sam said slowly, taking the folder from Fury. Fury didn’t even spare Steve a second glance, merely nodding. “Rogers says you two are a good team. Isn’t that right?” “That’s right, sir,” Steve said gravely. There was an uncomfortable pause as the three of them ignored Steve’s pink cheeks. He coughed once, twice, awkwardly. “Well?” Fury said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Sir?” Sam asked, straightening his stance. Something about Nick Fury made you never want to slouch. “Why are you two still here? Don’t you have an assignment to prepare for?” Fury said dryly, dismissing them by turning his computer and clacking away at the keys. Sam waited until they were in the elevator to turn to Steve and hiss “What the fuck, Rogers?” “I know, I know--” “We said we’d keep our personal lives and work lives separate! That means you don’t request me for missions.” “We did say that, but ... I dunno, when I got the mission parameters, I kinda panicked and uhm. Asked for you.” Sam allowed himself a moment to be touched that Steve’s first thought in a moment of crisis was to reach for Sam. Then he got pissy all over again. “What could have made you so jumpy, Steve? Honestly.” “Let’s... just go over our folders tonight, okay?” “Fine. It’s your turn to cook, which means--” “I know. Takeout.” They exchanged a fond smile, and then straightened up and moved apart subtly as the elevator doors slid open and a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents got on with them.
“Alexander and Rory Phillips,” Sam read aloud, glancing between the two folders. “This is why you freaked out?” “I didn’t freak out.” “It’s just a role, Steve. You’ve gone undercover as a couple before...” “Not since we started seeing each other,” Steve mumbled, looking frankly ridiculous in his shower cap. They were going undercover, and Steve was becoming a brunet to fit the part. He also dreaded putting in the contacts that would tint his eyes green, but it was all for the good of the mission. Sam, for his part, grumbled considerably because he’d had to shave off his goatee and wear glasses, as well as a small silver hoop in one ear. (”It makes me look like I’m an undergrad again,” he groaned.) Steve raised a hand to scratch under the shower cap, but Sam gently caught him, stopping him. “Hey,” he said, more seriously, “is that what’s bothering you? Pretending to date someone else? It’s just acting.” Steve shrugged miserably. “I’m no good at acting,” he sighed. “I’d just be missing you the whole time, wishing it was you on my arm.” Sam shook his head, disbelieving. “You are genuinely the corniest man on the face of the planet.” “You love it.” “Eehhhh...” Ignoring Steve’s pretend outrage, Sam continued, “I don’t know why Fury went along with this. We shouldn’t do this.” Steve tilted his head, all righteousness and bravery. “We have to, Sam.” The effect was rather ruined by the soft pfffff of air squeezing out from under his shower cap.
“Can I get you another drink, Alex?” Steve asked, leaning in so that his lips almost brushed Sam’s ear. For all Steve opined his poor acting, he was playing the part of the lovestruck newlywed to perfection. He’d barely kept his hands off Sam-- or rather, ‘Alexander’-- all night. “Oh my god, Rory, are you trying to get me drunk?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. The other couple they were standing with chuckled indulgently, their arms around each other. They were a striking pair, the woman almost ethereally beautiful with sleek blonde hair, the man... much the same. Surprise, surprise, they were the undercover Hydra agents that Fury had sent Sam and Steve to suss out. The woman kept giving Sam the once-over in a way that made his skin crawl, but he grit his teeth and hoped it looked like a smile. “So, Alexander,” the woman said, “how is it that you know the Senator?” “I did some freelance work for her a few years ago,” Sam said breezily. “We kept in touch, and since Roro and I just moved nearby...” Sam didn’t have to worry about the Senator corroborating his cover story; she’d been the one to get in contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place. Steve’s mouth twitched a little at the nickname Sam had given him, but he continued to play his role well. He even snaked his arm around Sam’s waist during one of the woman’s lingering looks, which Sam thought was a little... much. “And how about you, Rory?” the man asked Steve, tipping his glass in recognition. Steve cleared his throat and Sam steeled himself to save Steve from an awkward lie. “I just go where he goes,” Steve laughs. “A little like a lost puppy, if you will. I’d follow him anywhere.” Sam was impressed; Steve sounded absolutely sincere, and the hand on his hip squeezed lightly. The blond couple cooed over them again, warming to them. Sam and Steve played along, and it was surprisingly easy to play the married couple. Sure, they had been casually dating for a couple of years, but... Who ‘casually’ dates for a couple of years, actually? Plus, they lived together. Hmm. Sam... felt like he was missing a puzzle piece. Before Sam could ponder much longer about that, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Smiling apologetically, he pulled it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen and sighed as though put-upon. “Sorry,” he murmured, holding up the phone and pointing. His screen showed a picture of an older black man with the contact name “[Dad]” underneath. “He’ll want to know how to move went, I didn’t call him last weekend...” “He’s gonna blame me for that one, I bet,” Steve sighed, chuckling. Sam rolled his eyes and answered the phone, moving away from the group. “Dad? Hi, what’s up?” “You and Rory can’t call an old man?” Fury asked, using their agreed-upon code. (Update?) “Sorry, pops. We had a lot of stuff to unpack in the new place, you know? Almost done, though!” (Gathering intel. Marks close to trusting us.) “When can I come see y’all? Your mama worries you’re getting skinny without her cooking.” (Anything usable? S.H.I.E.L.D. agents ready for backup.) “Hmmm. You and ma free on the 5th? Me and Rory were gonna try a new restaurant-- we keep hearing they do a mean squid stew.” (5 minutes. We’ll try to get them to mention Hydra.) “All right, Alex. Don’t you cancel on us, now.” (Exactly 5 minutes. Get it done.) “’Course not, pops.” (Roger that.) As soon as Sam rejoined Steve and the other couple, he could tell that the 5 minutes weren’t even needed. Steve’s body language was tight, radiating fury in the way that only a certain evil organization could bring about. “Alex, honey,” Steve said, his jaw tight, “Trigg and Steph were just telling us about another event.” Uh-oh. “Were they?” Sam asked, the warning in his tone evident to only Steve. “Oh-- dad and mom are dropping by on the ... 4th,” he amended, mentally calculating how much time had passed since he’d spoken to Fury. “Ah, okay. We’d better get the place ready before then,” Steve murmured, relaxing significantly when Sam looped his arm through Steve’s. “So-- what’s this about a party?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows playfully at the blonds. They looked slightly uncomfortable -- which wasn’t surprising, since they weren’t keen on inviting a Black man to join their little squid Nazi club. But then Trigg smiled sharkishly. “Yes. Well, we have an exclusive little club here in town; we were so hoping that you’d join us. We were going to join them in a few minutes, in fact.” For some reason, his eyes kept darting down to Steve’s chest -- which would usually be understandable (have you seen Steve’s chest?), but Trigg hadn’t shown much interest in either of them until just now. Sam chanced a glance at Steve’s suit jacket, and with a sick lurch in his stomach, he saw it. A green contact was stuck to the dark material, which meant that Steve had one blue eye, and based on his size and the way he’d undoubtedly stiffened up at the word ‘Hydra’ while Sam was away, the two blonds had put two and two together. They weren’t inviting them to a party, so much as they were trying to lure Steve and Sam to their deaths. “Looks like you dropped something, Rogers,” the woman hissed. Steve’s hands balled into fists immediately, blowing any kind of cover they might have had left. Sam often said he wasn’t a spy, but Steve really, really wasn’t a spy. He was pretty good at punching, though, so he lay the man out with a clean sock to the jaw. Sam, never being keen on punching women, settled for sweeping her legs from under her, even as she scrabbled in her small purse for her pistol. “All right, that’s enough,” Fury said, pushing his way through the crowd. “Not bad, Wilson. Rogers, you did... about as well as expected.” Steve took no offence, merely shrugging as he bent over to haul the groggy Trigg to his feet.
“That was pretty good, Steve. At least until your damn contact fell out,” Sam said later, stretching his aching back as Steve pored over the new folders Fury had handed them. “That whole ... I’ll follow him anywhere thing. Cute. Convincing.” Steve looked up, his dark hair still offputting. “Convincing? It was true.” “Mhm.” “Sam, hang on-- look at me, c’mon. What do you think this is?” Sam looked up from the yoga mat where he was awkwardly tilted forward, working the kinks out of his lower back. “What what is?” “This. Us.” Sam frowned. “What? I mean... we’re. Dating? No?” “Yeah, but-- Sam, I’m in this. I meant it, I’ll follow you anywhere. As long as you’ll have me.” Sam didn’t know what to say to that, and after a pause, Steve came to kneel next to him on the mat. “I’m gonna be corny.” “Noooo...” “Yes. Having you on my arm felt right. Being able to kiss you, dance with you and not worry about anyone judging me, felt right. I don’t care about work knowing any more. I just want to be with you, in any and every way you’ll have me.” “Pervert.” “Wh-- not like that! Well. Yes, also like that, but... I’m trying to say I love you, Sam.” “Wow.” “And I want to be with you.” “I’m...” “And I think I want to get married.” “You what?” “And adopt 3 kids.” “Wait wait wait stop stop. How long you been ... I dunno, writing ‘Mr. Steve Wilson’ all over your binder?” “How long we known each other?” “Okay, I need a moment. You gave me a lot of things to respond to, man. Run them by me again.” Sam smiled slowly and Steve rolled his eyes, knowing that Sam was just fishing now. “Fine. First: I love you.” “Right. Me too. Next?” “I want to be with you.” “Done. Moving on?” “I... I want to get married.” “Okay. Next?” “Wait, really?” “Yeah, sure. You gotta ask more romantic, though. And get ma’s permission.” “Of course, Sam. I can call her n--” “Sit down, Rogers. It’s 11 at night. What’s next on the list?” “Kids.” “Can I talk you down to one to start with?” “One, and a dog?” “One, and a cat.” “I hate cats.” “But you love me. You said. You a liar, Rogers?” “No! Of course I’m n--” “I can’t believe I’m getting a cat,” Sam said excitedly, yelling in surprise when Steve suddenly pulled him down on the mat, covering his face and neck with overjoyed kisses. ( “Contact me when you have news that me ‘n’ the entirety of the team hasn’t known for 4 years, Rogers,” Fury would drawl boredly when Steve finally worked up the nerve to tell the Director about himself and Sam.)
SamBucky + sigh - @sarsaparillaswords “Barnes, you’re increasing the carbon dioxide in here by like 80%,” Sam muttered, not even looking up from his newspaper. The ex-assassin had been staring off into space for the last 20 minutes, occasionally heaving the loudest, most put-upon sighs. “What’s your problem, man? Miss Steve? He’ll be back in a few months...” Bucky made a face. “He keeps texting me. ‘Remember to be nice to Sam, Buck,’ and ‘Are you eating? You should try sushi!’ -- like I haven’t been out in the world longer’n him--” “So why the dramatic sighing, Barnes?” Bucky didn’t say Because I was just remembering how your eyes look in the sun. Instead, he said “Was thinking about cats.”
“Cats?” “Yeah. You know when they stare at the air all creepy-like?” “...yeah?” “What if they’re seeing ghosts?” Sam took his coffee out on the balcony, trying hard not to react to Bucky’s stupid snorting laugh.
“Jesus Christ, Bucky, sigh any more and we’ll get condensation on the windows.” Bucky risked a sideways at Sam, taking in the muscles of his arms as he moved his hand from the gearstick to the steering wheel. That purple t-shirt was going to be the death of him. He unconsciously sighed again. The way you smiled at me when I made you coffee makes me want to be the one to make it for you every morning for the rest of our lives. “Barnes. What is it?” “If mermaids are half-human--” “Bucky, what the fuck--” “Wouldn’t their skin get all wrinkly and like... slough off?” “Barnes, that’s disgusting.” Sam wrinkled his nose as he glanced over his shoulder, signalling to change lanes. He frowned a little. Dammit, why didn’t mermaid skin get all fucked up? “We can google it.”
“What’s with the sigh now?” It had become a sort of game by now; since Bucky wasn’t becoming any less enamoured with Sam, his pining and sighing wasn’t going anywhere. At least it was fun to make up a new reason each time, trying to draw a laugh out of Sam. You loaned me your hoodie last week and it smelled like you and now I don’t want to give it back. Also, I stretched the hell out of it. “In my day, this was a luxury,” Bucky said, gesturing to the bowl of microwave popcorn that they were sharing. Sam hummed thoughtfully. “Because it was expensive?” “Nah, because we only had enough heat to pop one kernel at a time.” “Shut the fuck up, Barnes.” “A bowl this size would take days.” Sam pelted Bucky with a handful of popcorn. “That’s hours and hours of labour, Sam. Ungrateful whippersnapper.” It was the ‘whippersnapper’ that made Sam lose it, leaning against Bucky for support as he shook with laughter. Bucky’s shoulder felt warm long after Sam moved his hand.
Bucky closed his eyes against the bright sun, enjoying the warmth of the grass beneath him. Sam had insisted that they go to a nearby park and get some fresh air, fearing that they were becoming antisocial shut-ins. He heaved a huge, happy(ish) sigh. “Yeah?” Sam asked from beside him, the amusement apparent in his voice. He enjoyed the silly shit that Bucky came up with to hide whatever was really bothering him. It wasn’t the worst way for him to cope, so Sam didn’t press too much. I thought I heard you crying last night and it took every fibre of my being not to come hold you. “Do you think the first ever human to try cow’s milk was shunned by his tribe?” Sam laughed, rich and happy. Bucky’s heart hurt a little. “Okay, I’ll bite. What the fuck are you talking about?” “Just imagine-- they go over and start sucking on the cow’s udders--” “The rest of the tribe is saying ‘Oog is a freak, man,’” Sam added, making Bucky sputter with surprised laughter. He has a terrible sense of humour. Upgrade this infatuation to love. Shit.
Bucky wasn’t sure how to react when Sam called him to join him on a date. Not like that-- not quite. Sam’s date had stood him up (Bucky seethed at the very idea), and since there was a reservation at a nice restaurant going to waste, Sam had invited him to have dinner.
“Just come eat some pricey steak and don’t think too much about it,” Sam had said breezily. Bucky had swallowed hard. “Oh...okay.” Now, Bucky was seated across from Sam, and the candlelight was doing wonders for his already attractive features, bringing out his cheekbones and expressive brown eyes. “Damn, not even some good wine and steak can stop the melancholy, Barnes?” Sam said, his smile a little bit forced. Bucky sat up, painfully aware that he’d been staring woefully at Sam and, yes, sighing. “What’s wrong, man? I know you brush it off with jokes, but... something’s bothering you.” It’s you. “It’s you.” Dammit. “I mean-- not like that.” “Then explain, ‘cause that was kind of a shitty thing to say,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t stop thinking about you. And your stupid annoying laugh. And your loud music. And your ugly handsome face.” “My ugly handsome face,” Sam repeated, laughing a little. “I dunno, this is hard for me. Cut me a break.” Sam smiled. “Now, why would I do that?” He signalled to the waiter and Bucky’s heart sank. Sam was eager to leave, and he’d fucked up a perfectly good friendship-- “Can you bring another bottle of wine and... hmm, some garlic bread? And -- Barnes?” Bucky made an inquisitive sound, feeling wrong-footed. Sam’s smile was slow but certain, his eyes holding some mischief in them even by the dim candlelight. “Wanna order dessert? We’re gonna be here a while.”
Bucky sighed, his mouth hot against Sam’s neck. Breathless, Sam laughed softly. “Thought we took care of the sad sighs,” he murmured, his fingers busy undoing Bucky’s shirt buttons. “Mm-mm,” Bucky hummed. “Wasn’t a sad one.” Soon enough, he had Sam sighing in an entirely different way.
I’m combining prompts again! These are from @samwichwilson Sam + cooking and samsteve + vodka
“It’ll be good for our spirits,” Steve had said. “I read that it’s good for forming closer bonds,” Steve had mentioned not-at-all-casually over breakfast. “Don’t you want some fresh air?” Steve had called loudly on one of their runs, as he lapped Sam. “We both have some time off coming up, don’t we?” Steve mused as he did chin-ups, barely sweating. Sam, breathing hard through his 64th pushup, finally snapped. “I’m not going camping, Steve. Shut. Up. About it.” Steve just grinned sheepishly. Sam groaned, because he knew a ‘I’ll drop it... for about 2 days’ look when he saw it.
I decided to combine two prompts from Anons: Sambucky + domestic and Sambucky and "you weren't supposed to hear that" This one will probably be a little shorter than the others, because I’m dying of exhaustion tired but I’m determined to do as many of these as I can, while I’ve got the inspiration 😩 “Dun, dun dun... another one bites the dust,” Sam sang, watching Bucky scowl at the potted plant. The poor thing had finally died, refusing to be revived with water, sun, or plant food. It was the 5th plant Bucky had killed in the last 2 months.
“Shut it, Wilson.” “You’re right. I don’t want to enrage the plant murderer.” "Yeah, that’s right. I’m comin’ for your mint.” “Don’t touch my fucking herbs, Bucky Barnes.” Sam knelt next to Bucky, using his shoulder to nudge him playfully. “You can’t just murder my plants because yours keep committing seppuku.” “Oh, haha. I dunno what I’m doing wrong... these are supposed to be easy, right?” “Yeah, man. Super easy, my ma used to grow them and they were fine with just about anything.” “Shit.” “Don’t worry about it, Barnes. Your lemon tree is doing real good...” Sam stood and offered Bucky a hand up. “I’m even using one of the lemons for dinner, huh?” “Great, yeah,” Bucky murmured. He looked sadly at the anthurium’s shrivelled leaves and sighed.
“C’mon, baby, please please... just one little flower for me,” Bucky was muttering to the droopy plant. He startled as Sam cleared his throat behind him. "You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he groaned, drawing a laugh from the other man. “Like I’m not used to you bein’ a weirdo. Another anthurium? Why you so obsessed with these plants, anyway? Your peace lily is fine, the succulents are doing great--” “Just... I want this one to bloom.” “Why?” “What, a guy can’t like flowers?” Sam just laughed, kissing Bucky’s smiling mouth. “You’re weird, Barnes.” “And yet you’re with me.” “Never said I wasn’t weird too.”
Bucky used his hip to nudge the fridge closed, his arm full of ingredients. It was his turn to cook, and although Sam usually insisted on helping, Bucky had put his foot down. Sam had had a long week, and he wasn’t going to let the man run himself ragged when Bucky was perfectly capable of making a good dinner. Well. A decent dinner. He apparently went a little heavy with the salt. “You sure you don’t want help?” Sam asked, poking his head into the kitchen. “Been cookin’ dinner with one arm all my damn life, Sam,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. Sam scowled; his boyfriend had been born with one arm, and Sam knew that that had nothing to do with what a bad cook he was. “You know damn well I didn’t mean that. Last time you tried to make coconut rice you used an entire-ass tin for one cup of rice.” “Well... you could taste the coconut, right?” Sam shook his head, silently resolving himself to make a good show of eating whatever over-seasoned dish Bucky presented for dinner. You’d think that a white guy from the 30s would under-season food, but no. “Where’d anthurium #5 go, Bucky? Croaked?” Bucky carefully repressed his urge to look furtive. The plant was far from dead, but he didn’t want Sam to know that yet. It’d ruin the surprise. “Yeah,” he lied easily. “Threw it out. Hey, come taste this?” Sam allowed Bucky to feed him a spoonful of the sauce that he was mixing together for their chicken. “Damn, Barnes. This is really goo-- Bucky, no!” “What? What’d I do?” Bucky asked, having just added about 3 tablespoons of salt to the sauce, effectively ruining it.
Sam cracked an eye open, groaning faintly as the bright morning sun shone through a slit in the blinds. He was mildly hungover, courtesy of Bucky and Steve taking him out for pre-birthday drinks the night before. Red wine was the devil. Sam rolled over in the bed, sighing when he saw that Bucky wasn’t there-- and based on how cold his spot was, he’d been gone a while. It’s not that Sam was being bratty or anything; it just sucked to wake up on his birthday in an empty bed. A loud thud-thud-thud came from the front door, making Sam sit up. That had to be Bucky, and if he was kicking the door instead of knocking, it meant that his arm was occupied. Maybe with cake, Sam allowed himself to hope. “Happy birthday. You look like shit,” Bucky greeted him. Sam grabbed the large box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts from his hand, slapped him upside the head, and pretended to close the door behind him-- but Bucky slipped inside the apartment easily. It was a well-worn routine by now. “I feel like shit, but some angel brought me fresh doughnuts,” Sam sighed, breathing in the warm sweet scent. He quirked an eyebrow at Bucky. “If you see him, tell him thanks. He’ll be easy to spot-- he’s the guy who doesn’t tell his boyfriend that he looks like shit on his damn birthday.” “Mhmmm,” Bucky hummed, kissing Sam’s neck as Sam bit into a doughnut and groaned with pleasure. “Happy birthday, Sam.” The smile Sam turned on him was pure sunshine, and it never failed to make Bucky smile softly in return. “Thank you, baby.” It wasn’t that often that they used cutesy nicknames for each other, preferring Wilson and Barnes for their teasing, but it was a special occasion. “One minute, I got somethin’ for you,” Bucky murmured before pulling the front door open and disappearing for a few minutes. Sam busied himself eating far more doughnuts than could have been healthy (it was his birthday, dammit), content to sip at the tea that Bucky had thoughtfully set to brew as Sam slept. “Okay. Uhm... happy birthday. Again.” Sam stared at the large, heart-shaped flower perched delicately among the healthy-looking green of the plant’s leaves. “You got it to flower? How...?” “I asked Cynthia across the hall to take care of it for me. I... I know these were your ma’s favourites, and she... she wanted me to try to grow ‘em for you after she-- you know.” Sam’s mother had been sick for a long time, passing away a few years ago. Sam’s smile was decidedly watery. “Sh-she used to say giving an anthurium was giving someone your heart.” “I remember,” Bucky said quietly. Sam looked momentarily nonplussed before his face softened. He took the plant from Bucky, fondly running a finger over the waxy red flower before setting down the pot. Then he was kissing Bucky-- his forehead, his nose, his mouth; he even raised his hand to his mouth and pressed little kisses to his knuckles. “What’s all that for?” Bucky asked, red-faced and gruff. Sam smirked. “You loooove me.” “I take it back.” “You just gave me your heart because you’re in love with me, Barnes.” Bucky opened his mouth to retort, but then just shrugged, laughing. “Yeah, so? What, a guy can’t be in love?”
Samsteve and honey!! Bc they're so good!!! :* - @permashift (Apologies to Brampton and CBC for teasing ya. It’s with love.) I’ve been instructed to make this prompt smutty too! Ohhh lord. [initiate flustered blushing protocol] “It’s all they had left.” Sam crossed his arms, defensive. “And whose idea was it to wait until the last minute to get liquor?” “And whose fault was it that we were on mission until the last minute?” “Fuckin’ Ross, that’s who,” Steve muttered, heaving a sigh as he surveyed the sad selection of snacks and booze that he and Sam had managed to procure on December 31st at 7 in the evening. Most stores were cleared out, people stocking up for their New Year’s Eve parties. “Okay... forget it. I’m just glad we have something to eat,” he amended, smiling a little. Sam looked slightly less mulish and flopped onto his hotel bed.
“I gotta tell you, I didn’t predict spending the new year in a shitty motel in -- where are we?” “Brampton, Ontario.” “Canada. What are we doing in Canada, Steve?” Sam moodily picked up a pack of Starburst, tugging at the thick wrapping. “Well, Alpha Flight had a situatio--” “It-was-rhetorical-I-know-why-we’re-here-we-just-finished-the-damn-mission,” Sam snapped. Steve grinned wanly as he nudged his glasses up his nose, knowing that Sam was just irritable because of the alcohol situation. “I mean... honey whiskey,” Sam muttered. “Wanna open one? A toast to my first ever serum-free mission?” Steve’s voice caught a little, but his smile was genuine. Ever since the incident that had stripped him of his powers, Steve had had to work hard to earn his spot running missions along Sam again. On the plus side, he could get drunk again. Sam was watching him closely, sucking on a pink Starburst. “Yeah, okay,” he said thickly around the candy. Steve busied himself opening the whiskey and pouring a healthy measure into two styrofoam cups while Sam fiddled with his phone, looking for music to play. (They’d already tried the television. Whatever ‘CBC’ was, it fucking sucked.) “Classy,” Sam grinned when Steve pressed his drink into his hand. “All right, well... here’s to a good first mission with your new and improved bony ass.” Steve choked on his drink -- partially from laughing at what Sam had said, partially because the whiskey was gross, sickly sweet and cloying. Sam made a face as he swallowed his own drink, his expression mirroring Steve’s. “Told you, Rogers. This shit is disgusting.” “Yeah, no kiddin’,” Steve muttered. He paused. “Want another?” “......yeah, okay.”
“Naaaaah nah nah, if you wan’ set the mood, you play this kinda stuff,” Sam said, gesturing his phone. A woman’s sultry voice snaked from the tiny speakers, seeming to fill the small hotel room. “I gotta take your word for it,” Steve guffawed. “Stuff I’d’ve used is-- what-- oldies now?” He paused thoughtfully, his cheeks pink from the alcohol. Well. Partially from the alcohol. “Not that I... not that I really had any ladies to set the mood for. Fellas, yeah, but--” Sam’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t comment on this revelation. Steve, however, had different ideas. “Never told anybody that. Huh.” “Did you want to? Tell people?” “No... well... not everybody.” “Worried it’d taint your reputation?” Sam grinned, taking another swig of whiskey. They’d long stopped caring about the sickening taste, focusing instead on its effect. Steve was thrilled to be able to feel the buzz of alcohol again, and it had loosened his tongue considerably. “Taint my reputation? As what?” Sam bit the inside of his cheeks, trying not to laugh. Steve noticed, and his eyes narrowed. “Sam, taint my reputation?” “Weeeeeeeellllllll,” Sam drawled, turning to look at Steve, “people have this kind of. Idea. That you’re, y’know. A virgin.” Steve blinked a few times. “Oh.” “Just, ‘oh’?” “Well, geeze, you made it sound like it was somethin’ bad. Nothin’ wrong with virgins.” “Course not. I didn’t mean--” “Oh I know you didn’t mean, Sam. But nah, ‘course I’m not.” “You’re-- what? Not?” “Nah, not for ages. Doubt they put that in the history books, though. ‘Steve Rogers liked baseball, painting, and fuckin’ men twice his size.’ Not ‘xactly family-friendly.” Sam’s eyes widened ever so slightly. This definitely hadn’t been the way he’d seen the conversation going, but he couldn’t ignore the uptick in his heartbeat. Steve liked to... hmmmm. “How ‘bout you, Sam?” “Me?” “Yeah, we’re spillin’ all the secrets tonight, ain’t we?” Steve looked intensely interested, his glasses long discarded on the bedside table. His blue eyes were dark, half-lidded as he gazed at Sam. Sam felt himself blushing furiously. “Uhhhhh.” “Shit, sorry-- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable...” “No, it’s fine. I just. Not-- I guess I am? Uh. With men. I’ve never-- yeah. No.” Steve rested his chin on his hands, humming thoughtfully. “Okay. Nothin’ wrong with that,” he teased, winking. Sam huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “Almost -- I almost kissed Riley once. I, uh... wanted to.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “Still want to try?” No one had ever accused Steve Rogers of being a coward. Sam found he’d been more than half hoping to get such an invitation, because he was nodding vigorously, putting his drink aside. The closeness of their bodies, the soft mood music, the way that Steve tended to bite his lip when he looked at Sam-- a lot of things slotted neatly into place in an instant. Oh. Ohhhh. “Look, we’re both... pretty wasted, so-- just a kiss. Okay?” Steve was saying, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Sam nodded, heart pounding. “If this doesn’t, uhm, if I don’t like--” “We’ll stop. Are you sure you want to...?” Sam leaned forward, his lips slightly parted, and Steve could see the flush of red under his brown skin, across his high cheekbones. His eyes were dark as rich earth, framed by thick curling lashes. Sam had never looked more beautiful. Steve pressed a cautious kiss to Sam’s warm lips, leaving enough room for the other man to pull back-- but all that happened was that Sam sucked in a sharp breath and pressed closer to Steve. The taste of honey was thick on Steve’s tongue, but Sam... Sam tasted of honey and the Starburst he’d been eating all night, his mouth hot against Steve’s. When Steve eased his tongue past Sam’s lips, licking his way into a deeper kiss, Sam knew there was no question left to answer. “St-- okay. Wait. Fuck.” Steve was pulling back, his lips kiss-bitten and pink. Sam was breathing a little heavily, the alcohol making his head swim pleasantly. He wanted more. He wanted Steve’s lips again, wanted his hands on him, wanted-- “Fuck, Sam. I ... we shouldn’t have...” Sam felt as though he’d been slapped. “What?” “No-- no no, not like that. Sam. That was amazing. It’s just... hell, I want you. Real bad. But not like... this.” Steve gestured to the empty liquor bottle on the floor, and the half-empty one standing precariously on the edge of the nightstand. They were drunk. Sam let out a frustrated sigh, knowing Steve was right. “Okay. You’re right.” “Ain’t I always?” “Shut the fuck up, Rogers.” Sam moved to go get a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and cringed. “Goddammit, I’m hard. Ow.” “Same here,” Steve muttered, shifting awkwardly on the bed. He grinned. “Well, there’s a perfectly good shower. We take the edge off-- seperately -- and watch cruddy movies until we pass out?” “Ah... yeah, sure.” Steve got up and made his way over to Sam, tilting his head up slightly. Sam, taking the hint, leaned down to kiss him, slow and hot. “Happy New Year,” he murmured against Steve’s lips.
There were worse ways to start off the first morning of the new year than slowly working himself onto Steve’s dick, Sam thought. “Sam, how-- fuck,” Steve rasped, his hands gripping Sam’s hips as the other man straddled him. “How,” he started again, “the fuck are you doing th-- god--” “I never... skip... leg day,” Sam said breathlessly, a tiny frown on his face as he adjusted to the stretch. Steve had spent what felt like hours slowly kissing, licking, and opening Sam up, to the point where he’d all but demanded to be fucked. Steve would usually have retorted with a smartass comment, but Sam gave an cautious, experimental roll of his hips, groaning low with pleasure. Steve was rather preoccupied from there on out. The new year is for learning new things. Sam learned that one of his new favourite things was riding Steve until they were both trembling and moaning and swearing and grabbing mindlessly at each other-- --Steve learned that the crush he’d been harbouring on Sam was a lot bigger than he thought, and... in fact, on their third go (January 2, 3:18am), Sam’s back arched, he sighed Steve’s name like a prayer, and Steve realized he loved him. “Excellent choice,” Sam would say later when Steve quietly murmured it into his ear. “I’m very lovable.” He laughed breathlessly as Steve kissed down his neck. “Okay, okay, I love you too. Christ, Rogers...” They didn’t drink any more of that awful honey whiskey, but their kisses were still sweet, still intoxicating.
stevesam + steve is an ass eating champ - @clayappuzzo [TYPES WHILE AGGRESSIVELY BLUSHING]
The man was infuriating. He out-ran Sam, he always won Scrabble with some bullshit word that had fallen out of use decades ago, he charmed Mama Wilson on the first go, he took to technology as fast as Sam could show it to him, his paintings were hanging proudly in their living room -- not because they were his, but because they were actually that good, and even fucking Redwing, the world’s most irritable cat (don’t ask, Sam’s 2 year old niece had named it) took to Steve immediately. Sam didn’t feel jealous or inferior, it was just... kind of annoying. Steve had even smugly said “Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know,” before proceeding to make Sam honest to god worry that the neighbours would think he was being murdered. Steve Rogers was good at everything (except singing. Yikes.) Sam wasn’t complaining. Not now, anyway.
SamSteve, word: appreciate - @backtozain
“It’s fine,” Sam said as he eased himself onto the worn couch. Steve could afford expensive, luxurious furniture if he’d been so inclined, but it seemed wasteful when there was perfectly comfortable second-hand stuff to be had for much less. “It’s not fine, you took a direct hit. I should’ve been there--” “Me and my ribs know where I got hit, Steve,” Sam scoffed, wincing as he moved the wrong way. The bandages around his midsection were stiff, stark white against his brown skin. The angry red of his injury was just barely visible at the edges of the bandage, and Steve fought every instinct not to go haring after the A.I.M. agent who’d blasted Sam point-blank with some experimental laser. He wanted to murder the coward. Instead, he poured his anxiety into fussing over Sam.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A little thang for my Samsteve lovers on Discount Chocolate Valentine’s Day! It wasn’t that Sam was bored. They were just… comfortable. That tended to happen when you’d been dating for almost 5-- no, 6 years (that had been a source of a huge argument; Steve counted ‘On your left’ from Sam’s Car Gets Fucking Wrecked [And Other Adventures] as their anniversary, whereas Sam counted from ‘Home is home, you know?’ from Tony’s Murderbot Fuck-up-apalooza.) That was also 5 years of disastrous Valentine’s Days.
Read the rest here!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I can’t believe it. It’s done. I’m finished. I started this in May 2016 and I’m finally finished and it ended up at 80K and I’m in shock, how did I write so much????
And people read it??? How why I’m
Anyway, here are the last two chapters! Y’all. 80,000 words.
KSHAJKHSAKJHA AND NOW IT’S PASSED 500 KUDOS listen I know that’s a small number for the big fanfic names out there and they can get like 800 kudos on a 5K fic within a week and a half but this means a LOT to me Dang! Wow! Whoa. And it’s not even my best writing tbh