Chasing the Light
A/N: wow, it’s me again, writing? isn’t that crazy? i legit can’t believe i finished this lmao. like i said in my last post i’ve basically moved on from DP&W (😞) and my current fixation is on Bucky and the rest of the Avengers—but mostly Bucky lol. i wanted to try writing again, so here’s something kinda short i tried to put together to get my brain juices flowing again.
Summary: Sam thinks it is an absolute crime that Bucky doesn’t smile more now that he’s seen it, and takes it upon himself to find a new way to get it out of him—and perhaps helps Bucky along his healing journey in the process. (side note: this is set after the events of TFATWS).
this is a sfw tickle fic and includes a hint of romance between Sam and Bucky. if you don’t like it, don’t read it. 🫶
There were a few things that were capable of illuminating dark spaces. You know, the normal things—lightbulbs, sunlight, perhaps a flashlight—but if you were to ask Sam, he would have said Bucky’s smile.
It was an incredibly rare sight to see, and if you did happen to be around when Bucky relaxed enough to do so, you should consider yourself extremely lucky. Not one of those halfhearted smirks, either—his real smile was like seeing a spring flower open its petals to the sunlight after keeping itself hidden and protected for so long.
But Sam could count on one hand how many times he’d seen that expression on Bucky’s face, and that, in his mind, was absolutely unacceptable. Bucky was a part of his family now, and he had been through so much. He deserved to free himself of the protective walls he’d built up, but Sam knew that getting through to him was much easier said than done. Maybe there was a way that was guaranteed to make Bucky crack a grin? But that seemed nearly impossible. He barely even saw his lips twitch when he told any jokes, even when he thought they were genius! Maybe—
“Earth to Sam?” Came Bucky’s deadpan voice, his steel blue eyes fixed skeptically on Sam’s daydreaming expression. He blinked out of his thoughts and looked toward the super soldier who was sitting on the couch next to him, TV remote in hand that had just paused the show they were watching in the living room of Sam’s house.
“You practically begged me to watch this, and you’re not even watching it yourself.”
Sam adjusted himself on the couch, crossing one leg over the other before he replied.
“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking was all.”
Bucky raised a brow. Sam wasn’t really one to be quiet—that was his job. Him being so zoned out like that was abnormal for him.
“About what? I said your name three times and you didn’t even hear me.”
Sam gave a light shrug, his gaze more on the TV than on Bucky now that he’d reached over to unpause it.
“Just you. Your staring problem. That and the fact you never smile.”
Bucky gave a light scoff, leaning back against the couch cushions. He knew about the staring problem, but he smiled. Right?
…Well, he couldn’t really remember when he’d last smiled genuinely, but whatever. He still did it. Occasionally.
“What? I smile.”
Sam turned his head to look over at Bucky with a look on his face that said ‘are you serious?’
“No, you don’t. Sure, you’ve smiled, like, once or twice in the entire time I’ve known you, but that’s not nearly enough. You gotta let go of yourself, man.”
Bucky huffed through his nose, turning toward the TV, not particularly wanting to hold eye contact with Sam at the current moment.
“Whatever. Doesn’t matter if I smile or not.”
Sam gave a scoff of his own. Bucky was always so closed off—with good reason, to be fair—but it was irritating to Sam. He wasn’t irritated at Bucky, necessarily, but more so at himself for not being able to coax the super soldier out of his shell. He supposed he just needed time and patience, but Sam wasn’t feeling all that patient. He just wanted him to crack a smile, that was all!
“It matters to me. And Sarah, because apparently your stupid ass flirting made her soften up toward you. I told you to quit trying to charm my sister.”
Bucky’s lips twitched just a little at the mention of Sarah. Her boys loved him the second they met him for some reason. He supposed he did allow himself to smile just a bit when he played with them.
“See? Why don’t you do that more often?” Sam asked, gesturing to the very slight quirk of Bucky’s lips that was on his face with a wild wave of his hand, which disappeared as soon as Sam pointed it out. Bucky was like a turtle—you moved too quickly, and he shrunk back into his shell.
“I’m gonna make you smile. I know I can. I’m the king of comedy. Here, listen to this…”
——— An exorbitant amount of time later… ———
Bucky sat, his stupid expression still as stony as it was thirty minutes ago. Sam had told literally every joke he could possibly think of, and Bucky hadn’t even let out so much as a huff. Sam was at his wits’ end. Maybe he’d never be able to get it out of him—not by forcing it, anyway.
“God, you’re impossible.” Sam groaned, leaning back against the couch in defeat.
Bucky simply shrugged. He knew that Sam wouldn’t be able to make him smile—not for real, anyway. But he’d wanted to let him try anyway, just to see him get frustrated. He was a bit of a little shit like that.
“Guess you’re not as funny as you think you are.”
Sam scoffed, throwing an offended look in Bucky’s direction. He could feel the smugness radiating off of him, even if he didn’t show it in his face.
“I am hilarious, actually. You’re just made of stone. Seriously, is there just concrete in there?” Sam huffed, reaching over to jab at Bucky’s side a couple times, expecting a slap and an irritated mutter for him to knock it off.
And—well—he did receive that, but not entirely in the way he was expecting.
Bucky tensed underneath Sam’s fingers, letting out an odd sort of choke mixed with a grumble. He smacked his hand away, shooting a glare at him—but it was weak. Sam had finally caught Bucky off guard.
“Don’t touch me like that.”
Sam raised his brows, a smirk beginning to form on his face. He knew what was going on—after all, being the tickle monster was one of his favorite ways to play with his nephews.
“Like what? Like this?” Sam asked, his hand darting out to poke into Bucky’s side while he still could, a shit-eating grin on his face now.
Bucky kept his lips stubbornly shut this time, as he was more prepared for Sam’s mischief.
“Shut up. Get your hand off me.”
Sam only chuckled, and Bucky could tell from the change in his body language that he was planning something—but that something wasn’t all that mysterious.
“You wanna know what I was really thinking about? How I could finally get your ass to smile for once. How convenient that the best method just walked right up into my arms…”
Bucky shifted where he was sitting, and Sam knew he didn’t have a lot of time before his friend bolted. He had to be fast—Bucky was always far too on guard to be able to ambush him.
“Don’t you even think about it.”
Sam huffed, eyes narrowing, smile still in place.
“I’m thinking about it.”
He lunged forward and tackled Bucky down onto the couch before the super soldier had time to react. He managed to get his human arm pinned down, knowing that he probably wouldn’t be able to keep his vibranium arm in place despite his best efforts.
Bucky’s expression was something between flabbergasted and a weird sort of offense—like the fact that Sam was able to catch him off guard and pin him was a personal attack. He struggled against Sam’s grasp, feeling color rise to his cheeks at the position they were in. He was about to shout at him to get the hell off, but he didn’t have the time for that. Sam’s free hand was already finding its way to Bucky’s waist and giving it an experimental squeeze.
Bucky immediately went silent, his breath held in his lungs, resisting the giggles that he felt rising in his chest—warm, fizzy, unfamiliar. He didn’t know what to do with the feeling—the only thing he knew right now was that he didn’t want it escaping.
But Sam was insistent. His fingers crawled from Bucky’s side to his stomach, vibrating into his belly through his shirt, squeezing into it with his thumb when he found a particularly ticklish spot near his hip.
“S-Sam—!” Bucky managed, his eyes squeezing shut before he was unable to hold his laughter in any longer. Sam pressing his thumb into his hipbone was too much. “I’m gohonna kill yohohou—stohop!”
Sam blinked as he listened to Bucky’s quiet but very real giggling. He hadn’t heard this sound ever before out of him.
It was warm and surprisingly bright for a man like Bucky—Sam found it akin to being bathed in warm sunlight after a very long day. He should do this more often, he found himself thinking—though he didn’t really think about the implications of that.
“I’m really scared,” Sam chuckled, his hand squeezing into his hip and drilling his fingertips into the skin of his stomach above it. “You’re a big tough guy, huh? Big ticklish super soldier?”
“Shh—shuhuhut uhup! Get ohohoff!” Bucky laughed, kicking out his legs to try and push himself out from underneath Sam’s weight. His vibranium hand grabbed at the wrist of Sam’s hand that was tickling him, trying to pull him away—but then he found himself thinking about it.
The last time he’d been pinned underneath another person, he had been stuck with HYDRA. He didn’t get to make choices then, didn’t get to have autonomy then. He was constantly being pinned, held down, reminded that he was under control.
Now, being in that position once again, Bucky’s first instinct was to fight. To beat off the person holding power over him. To make sure he never allowed himself to be that weak again.
But this wasn’t like that. Sam was his friend, someone he trusted greatly and had opened up to so much lately. He was playing around, not trying to make him feel weak or overpowered. Besides, he’d outright told him why he was doing this—he wanted to see Bucky smile. Laugh. That was the purest form of affection that one could show to another—making them happy because they cared about them.
Maybe he shouldn’t resist so much. Maybe… he could let go, even if only a little bit.
So Bucky’s hold on Sam’s wrist loosened. Now, he was only holding onto it for the sake of keeping himself grounded in something while the rest of him got lost in laughter he never really allowed himself to experience.
Sam noticed. He softened at the way Bucky’s expression went from tense to a little more relaxed—like he was trying to stop fighting that smile that made him look so joyous, so bright. His own mischievous smile softened into one of affection as he continued to squeeze along his waist.
Experimentally, Sam released Bucky’s human arm, bringing it down to begin tickling along his ribcage on that side. He expected to be immediately pushed off, but he was surprised.
Bucky grabbed onto his wrist, like he did with his other arm, but didn’t really push him. He just sputtered out empty threats, his laughter increasing in volume when Sam’s other hand dug into his ribs.
“Sahaham! You piece of shihit! I’ll—“
“What, shoot me?” Sam said, raising his brows down at the super soldier underneath him. “You need to come up with some better threats. They’re too predictable. Makes me think you don’t actually mean them.”
Bucky didn’t answer, because he knew Sam was right. He didn’t mean any of them.
“Just—just stohohop it! You’re suhuch a—AH!”
Bucky’s laughter heightened once more when Sam’s left hand crawled up his ribcage into his remaining underarm area, prodding into the soft skin that usually remained protected.
“WILSON!” Bucky exclaimed, giving a particularly hard thrash that nearly threw Sam off. Sam beamed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep Bucky down for much longer, but he enjoyed the sound of his friend’s unrestrained laughs too much to quit just yet.
“Wow, last-naming me? I must have really pissed you off. Let me help you with that,” Sam mischievously offered, his fingers wiggling deeper into the muscles of Bucky’s underarm and making throw his head back with a cackle.
Bucky finally managed to gather enough strength to buck his hips which tossed Sam off, causing him to land on the floor next to the couch in a laughing heap.
The super soldier pushed himself up to rub at his face, realizing that it was sore from smiling. The last time he’d felt that was… back in the 40s, before his military draft… before everything. Sam was the one who had brought that feeling back to him, after so many years of nothing but cold and pain and suffering.
And now Bucky looked toward the floor, where Sam was still giggling to himself while he pulled himself up to stand. He couldn’t help the thought that popped into his head while he gazed at the smile on Sam’s face.
I love that moron.
In fact, Bucky loved him enough to stand up himself and crack his knuckles in a playfully threatening way—he’d gathered his composure incredibly quickly.
“You’re dead, Sam.”
Sam found himself letting out a nervous chuckle, knowing he couldn’t talk himself out of this. He just took off and jumped over the couch with incredible agility and a burst of giddy energy, Bucky thundering after him immediately after.
For the first time in 70 years, Bucky wasn’t chasing a target. He was chasing the light—his light.
