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#onlysambucky
saryasy · 6 months
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requested by @livingincolorsagain insp
Bonus:
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margarethx · 1 month
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I like that a big part of the Sambucky relationship is often just Sam giving Bucky full permission to be a little fucked up. Not in the sense that he recognizes his mental problems, but also because he sometimes just shrugs and allows Bucky's worst instincts to take over. (Which is mostly a fandom thing, but a small part of canon too, since Sam went with Bucky's plan to free Zemo with very little push-back, for example..)
It gave me the idea for a story where after Hydra everyone around Bucky wants him to move on from his traumas and heal, but Sam gives him the space to also be furious and unhinged about that. Like... all the other people would say: "what they did to you was awful, but the best revenge is to live a happy life <3". And Sam's like... "no, the best revenge is to wake them up with a gun to the temple in the middle of the night and to burn down their home, actually. here's a lighter, are you free this weekend, handsome?".
I don't mean to say that other people don't understand Bucky's anger, but they believe it'd be healthier for him to deal with the pain only by finding hobbies, adopting a pet, eating nice food etc. Whereas Sam offers all those things with an extra dose of pure vengeance. One night he takes Bucky out to a nice restaurant. The next night he stands aside as Bucky beats the shit out of some doctor, who experimented on him in 1989 and then helps him cover it up.
This dynamic would probably work better in a AU with no powers where they're regular people and where Bucky's been kidnapped or integrated into a cult that ruined his life. But it could apply to the canon too, in some ways.
I just like the the idea of all the well-meaning people in Bucky life trying to put as big of a distance between him and his abusers as possible... While Sam - who everyone sees as a rational almost-pacifist with a lot of empathy - helps his boyfriend hunt these abusers for sport.
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alivedean · 1 year
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THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER that lives in my head → 44/?
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livingincolorsagain · 21 days
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It’s silly, Sam thinks.
He’s too old to be feeling butterflies fluttering around in his stomach when his crush looks at him; he’s too old to feel the growing warmth of his cheeks when his crush steps in too close.
Except, well. It’s not a crush, can’t be. It’s something much bigger, much deeper.
Bucky walks into the kitchen in the morning, hair ruffled and eyes heavy-lidded, voice deep and raspy as he says good morning, and Sam’s entire being warms at the sight of him, something vague that takes a more certain shape inside him with every look, grows and grows, until it’s all he feels, all he is.
And Sam thinks, again: it’s so silly, they’re both so old, but Bucky looks up at him as pours himself a cup of coffee, smiles softly, looks back at his cup, his cheeks reddening.
Then he leaves his cup where it is, steaming over the counter, and walks over to where Sam is, hip leaning against the sharp edge of the counter on the other side of the kitchen, right next to the window.
Bucky’s arms frame his waist, the sunlight making his eyes that much more blue and bright.
Sam takes another sip from his coffee, hides a smile as Bucky leans in closer and closer, until Sam has no choice but to place the cup down.
“Good morning,” he finally replies, sneaking his hand up to push Bucky’s hair away from his face, runs gentle fingers through it, smiles when Bucky leans into the touch, eyes falling shut.
Mornings like this are new and precious, this whole thing is new and precious. It’s something Sam never thought of having, not after everything, but here he is, running his fingers through soft hair, letting Bucky’s body warmth surround him, seep into him.
Bucky steps in even closer, until their chests are practically touching, and he tilts his head down, lips hovering over Sam’s.
Sam closes his eyes, smells the mint of their shared toothpaste, and leans in to close the gap between them for a small, gentle peck, as his hand falls to the nape of Bucky’s neck.
Bucky exhales loudly, presses even closer, deepening the kiss as his hands take hold of Sam’s waist.
And Sam’s heart flutters, again and again, as he wraps his arms around Bucky, because maybe he’s not too old to feel like this, maybe neither of them are.
Bucky hums as he pulls away, and Sam chases his lips just a little; except, he holds Sam in place, presses quick kisses to Sam’s nose, cheek, forehead, before he steps out of his arms, a smile on his face, a little cocky, as he goes to grab his coffee and plops himself down on a chair.
Sam gives him a flat look. “Just for that,” he says, “you’re making breakfast.”
Bucky smiles brightly, as if this was his plan all along, and also that this is not the punishment Sam thinks it is.
Sam rolls his eyes, takes a seat as Bucky gets right back to his feet and goes to the fridge, begins taking out ingredients.
Sam watches, gives instructions every now and then that Bucky mostly ignores, his coffee cooling down and his smile hurting his cheeks.
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bisamwilson · 1 year
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tfatws sambucky valentines
+ bonus:
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katatonicimpression · 7 months
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Samtember Day 20: Bird Telepathy/Redwing
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Based on this prompt by @thatmexisaurusrex
@samsseptember
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abarbaricyalp · 8 months
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Tell It to the Bees (and the birds)
Hi all! This is my beekeeper!Bucky birdkeeper!Sam meet ugly neighbors au. I am so enamored of this little story and I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it! There's a second snippet here as well
The way onto the roof was extremely inaccessible. Bucky was only missing an arm and could barely manage it, much less if someone was in a wheelchair or had muscle issues. Apparently the building had once housed families and, back before ADA laws, the building manager had decided cordoning off access to the roof was safer than trusting kids not to go up to it. So, every few days, Bucky had to clamber his way into a discharge closet that was barely wide enough for his shoulders, climb up a ladder he swore inclined past a 90 degree angle, shove open a hatch door that weighed more than a small child, and then lift himself onto the roof. He hadn’t figured out how to manage it without his prosthetic arm on and he was about two more attempts away from suing for access. The only thing stopping him was that he didn’t know how much weight the “Roof Access Strictly Prohibited” sign actually had.
But it was all worth it once Bucky got outside. He was not the first tenant to utilize the roof. In fact, he’d inherited his current raison du climb from one of his neighbors after he found her hard at work on it one day. When she left to move in with one of her children, she left it to Bucky to maintain.
“Guys, you will not believe what Leo said at group today,” he greeted as he walked across the roof. In the middle of the roof, far enough away from the HVAC vents and under a shade tarp that had seen better days and less extreme summers and winters, a small wooden beehive waited for him. The bees were always buzzing, but Bucky liked to think they got louder when they heard his voice.
“He clearly focused all of the topics on me and made sure to get a dig in about how group can’t help if not everyone wanted to be a group. That’s ridiculous, right? I mean, I totally consider myself part of the group. Just because I don’t talk doesn’t mean I’m not present.”
He sat down in the small wooden slatted chair that was half as comfortable as it should be but leagues above the metal folding chair. Especially in the summer. The hive was, apparently, typical sized: three boxes tall and Bucky was only allowed to mess with one of them, the honey super, it was called. One was for the bees themselves and the other was for the eggs and maturation of new bees. Each box had a glass fronting, so he got to see inside sometimes, depending on how they built the combs that year. It also probably meant that someone smarter than him could guess how many bees were in it at which point of the year, but Bucky hadn’t gotten around to memorizing all the facts and figures yet. Melinda had taught him everything about caring for them–“We maintain them, we don’t keep them”–but what Bucky knew, he knew by muscle memory, not logical thought. Now, they were just coming out of their winter easement and the lower box was full of eggs and pupae.
Mostly what Bucky and Melinda used it for–other than an ever full donation crate of honey and beeswax–was less the maintaining of the bees and more the telling of the bees. The first time Bucky had come up to the roof–after ignoring many dubious signs–was a day where he just needed to find some quiet from the noise in his head. What he found was an older woman speaking in soft dulcet tones about what fools her children were. When Bucky tracked her voice down, he found her talking to a very large beehive. And that was that. He was hooked.
Bucky had been in a dozen kinds of therapies since he’d gotten medically discharged from the army, but nothing felt the same as talking to the bees. Nothing felt as real or as safe as this.
The bees didn’t argue with him. They never did. A few flew out to greet him, buzzed around his head until they were sure he only smelt like a flower but wasn’t one. He waited patiently to pass muster before he pulled a small water bottle from his bag and poured some into his palm. It was Melinda’s sugar water concoction and the bees loved it. He wasn’t supposed to give it to them too often. He tried to limit himself to once a week. But the bees got so excited over it and he loved the way they felt walking over his hand.
A few bees had braved him to come crawl over his palm and drink the sugar and Bucky was just beginning to relax into this lovely moment when a massive hawk suddenly dove at them. Bucky made an unbecomingly high pitched screech and went sprawling backwards in the chair. The bird squawked back and startled into the air. The bees droned a frenzied buzz and disappeared.
From flat on his back, Bucky stared into the sky and wondered what the hell had just happened. His shoulder ached from where his prosthesis had jared into the skin and the air was failing to come back into his lungs. Also, he was having entirely too vivid day-terrors of his eyes being plucked out by a razor sharp beak.
The hawk circled around in the air some twenty feet higher and then swooped a little closer and glided around the HVAC system to the far side of the roof. Bucky kicked himself free of the chair and checked to make sure there were no wounded bees on the ground around him before following the bird.
Since Melinda had left, Bucky had rarely seen anyone, or anything, else up on the roof. Occasionally someone braved the absurd ladder and door, usually young people with friends, but it had been pretty quiet for the most part. So he was more than surprised to come around the HVAC to find an entire bird coop constructed and well maintained.
Granted, it had been a while since Bucky had explored other parts of the roof. It was a large complex and the roof was littered with curbs and dips and trash, so it was safer to just sit next to his bees and then go back inside. But he was certain there had been no bird coop on the roof at any point recently.
Casting a glance around before he could give further fodder to his neighbors that he was a few crayons short of a box, he leaned forward and smelled the wood of the coop. Like he expected, it was fresh. So who the hell had been up here? And how hadn’t Bucky noticed? How hadn’t the bees noticed? They hadn’t expressed any agitation. 
Within the coop, a variety of birds cooed at him and shuffled around with a scraping of talons and ruffling of feathers. It was mostly pigeons but there were a few crows, a few colorful birds, a few finches. The hawk that had swooped down at Bucky was sitting outside of the coop, on a fake branch. It stared at him in an entirely too judgemental way. When it tilted its head at Bucky, Bucky tilted his back. The bird ruffled its feathers and turned around on the branch. Bucky turned around too.
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sambambucky · 2 months
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yipee! to be good for you (would be the end of me) is finally finished!
Angel/Demon AU | 5.2k words | T a lil excerpt:
Steve takes a breath, fills his entire body with it before exhaling, slow and deliberate. He reaches out with the entirety of his soul, lets everything around him fall away, and prays, “Samuel.” Bucky stays where he is when he arrives, only tilting his head back to meet Samuel’s eyes with a hooded gaze. “I guess my alarm was not without merit,” Samuel says. “Hey angel,” Bucky says, his voice back to that syrupy drone. “Was hopin’ you’d be too busy to show up.”
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sambuckysnippets · 7 months
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Unfortunately, all of Bucky's proposal plans go out the window when they start arguing in the middle of a hallway, trying to decide whether to turn left or right. Bucky's certain that he saw the alien-ghost (they're arguing about that too, since Sam believes it's a ghost and Bucky knows there's no such thing as ghosts and therefore it's clearly some alien or interdimensional being) turn left. Sam's convinced it turned right.
Bucky is clearly right, but as usual Sam is too stubborn to acknowledge that. And maybe Bucky has been thinking about his plans to take Sam back to Delacroix this evening, and the Will You Marry Me banner he put on the boat, and how if they don't wrap this up within the next two hours they won't get there until it's too late because Sarah will take the boat out by morning, and well.
It's on his mind, that's all, and probably why he blurts out: "Would you just agree that the alien went left already so we can go home and I can fucking ask you to marry me?"
a season in a day by cm (mumblemutter)
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rosettyller · 2 years
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sambuckylibrary · 8 months
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The Complete List of Beach SamBucky Summer Bingo 2023 Pieces
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Thank you all for participating in the SamBucky Summer Bingo 2023! There were a lot of fun and wonderful pieces and we hope you all enjoyed the event. Here is the full list of everything made for the Beach Card. we hope you all had a very fun summer!
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BEACH
Body Built For Me by @cobrafantasies | Rated: G | WC: 2.2K words | Beach Day, Domestic Fluff, Mutual Pining | AO3 |
Untitled But Awesome Fic by @funsized-loser | Rated: T | WC: 1.7K words | Treasure Hunt, Beach Day, Family Vacation |
A Touch of Seafoam by @thatmexisaurusrex | Rated: E | WC: 4.9K words | Mermaid AU, Strangers to Lovers, Bucky Takes Care of Sam | AO3 |
Seal the Deal by @thatmexisaurusrex | Rated: M | WC: 1.8K words | Selkie AU, Pirate AU, Crack Treated Seriously | AO3 |
I Love When You're Singing That Song by @abarbaricyalp | Rated: G | WC: 3K words | Birthdays, Riptide, Family Feels |
Seeking Shelter from Rainfall by @enchanted-lightning-aes | Rated: T | WC: 1.1K words | Fluff, Banter, Free Space | AO3 |
(Sea) Star Spangled by @abarbaricyalp | Rated: T | WC: 2.3K words | Beach Day, Namor, Cracky |
Mermaid Love by noe3489 | Rated: G | WC: 2K words | Mermaid AU, Love Confessions, Getting Together | AO3 |
Here are the lists for:
Beach
Camp
Delacroix
Pride
We had the best time running this event and we hope you all had a great time too!
- The Mods
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saryasy · 10 months
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something you won't lose
T - No Warnings - 4.6K - Getting Together - Bucky-centric - Hurt!Sam
Summary:
Once upon a time, what feels like a thousand years ago, he told his doctor what he wanted; peace, and he wasn't lying, no matter what she thought. He said he wanted it, but didn’t think it was possible - still doesn’t. But maybe. Looking back at his life these past few months; living in DC with Sam, and going from one mission to another, a realization hits him with the force of a speeding semi-truck; there is peace in his life. It’s late-night walks after long, tiring days. It’s talking about nothing and everything when neither of them can sleep. The teasing and joking and lighthearted jabs. It’s the silent meals he shares with Sam. It’s the looks and the touches and the maybes.
It’s the feeling blossoming in his chest, too dangerous to name. OR, Bucky is in the process of taking inventory of his life and finds that retirement is what he needs. But when Sam is kidnapped, he reevaluates his choices, and comes to understand his feelings.
Read on AO3
for @livingincolorsagain happy birthday month! 💖💖💖💖💖💖
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margarethx · 2 months
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There is a strange man standing at Sam's door.
Pale, with long hair and beginnings of a thin beard; his eyes covered by a baseball cap, but glinting in the shadows in a way that suggests he's sober, or at least alert.
He stands in an ostensibly relaxed pose.
He still looks like he's one abrupt sound away from bolting.
He knocked on the door instead of ringing the bell, as if he knew Sam was home and close enough to hear the noise muffled slightly by the glove covering his hand.
There's no one around at this hour and the entrance to Sam's house is obscured from the street by a few bushes and trashcans pulled out for the garbage men to collect in the morning. If someone broke inside, no one would be able to tell if they weren't already looking directly into Sam's small garden. Which, likely, no one does.
Sam also doesn't have any friends who visit him at home and both sides of his close family live a few states away. He tries his best to keep in touch with them, but if he disappeared from the radar for a couple of days, maybe even weeks, no one would be alarmed. So... if the stranger at his door harms him, it'll take a long time for anyone to notice. Maybe a couple of people at the VA will have some questions after the weekend, but his schedule is not regular enough for anyone to think something's off when he's not there the next Monday.
With all that in mind, Sam pushes away from the peephole he's been peering through for the last minute to unlock the door.
The man outside looks a bit lost. In need of assistance. And Sam's spent way too many years risking his life to save others to back down now, just because he's what... scared? Sam's not scared. He fought with literal helicopters and won such duel multiple times. A strange man with no fashion sense visiting his home is nothing compared to that.
The guy's probably homeless, simply trying his luck in a safer neighbourhood. It's better if Sam's the one to open his door instead of some weirdo down the street, who'll chase him away with a gun.
Sam is, technically speaking, a weirdo with a gun tucked into the waistline of his sweatpants, though he's not planning on using it. And if he'll have to, he won't be excited about that. Which is a key difference in his eyes.
Sam's a couple of years removed from the initial fear and PTSD fuelled paranoia that haunted him after leaving the Air Force. He did the work. Went through therapy. Read the books. Pushed himself to go out there; to mingle with people without succumbing to the need to crawl under the nearest table at the first louder noise.
He's not removed enough, however, to answer the door completely unarmed. Which is how he ends up here. With a gun concealed on his back, opening his home for a random man, whose intentions might range from simply asking Sam for something like directions to the nearby cemetery, to making sure Sam's the one who ends up there within the next week.
The hinges screech a little as he pushes the door, which is by design. Because of the lingering paranoia of course, not because he forgot to buy a new can of WD-40 for a fifth month in a row.
The man at his porch looks up, as if alarmed by the noise. He seems surprised that Sam answered, but he smiles pleasantly right away. If Sam was listening to his aforementioned paranoia, he'd say that the smile was too quick, almost too pleasant, and too calculated to seem genuine. But he really tries to get better and not assume the worst these days.
"Hello? How can I help you?", he asks, trying to match the energy and sound just kind enough for the ghost of his mother to not appear with her disapproving face in his next dream.
The man hesitates a little, giving Sam a second to take a proper look at him.
What's most striking about him is the bulky built. Broad shoulders and strong legs, paired with a - probably - flat stomach. It's difficult to see with all the layers of clothing the guy's wearing, but overall, he seems like a naturally muscular person hidden under an ill-fitting jacket and too-baggy jeans.
There's some underlying stiffness to his pose - something that Sam's already noticed at first glance, but which is all the more evident now that he can see the full silhouette of the man
If Sam had more time to assess his guest, he's probably dwell on the fact that his face looks disturbingly familiar. Or on the fact that said face, along with the rest of the body, is very much Sam's type. But he does not have that time, so he cuts this line of thinking as quickly as it forms in his brain.
"I've...," answers the man, finally. "I know it'll sound weird, but I..." He pauses once more, looking down at his palms, as if he's a student trying to cheat by reading the answers of the inside of his hand. "A guy I met recently goes to the VA. The one you work at," the man clarifies unnecessarily. "And I've heard that you've helped a couple of his friends before, so I thought that... well."
He stops talking, losing steam by the end. Speaking seems to be taking a toll on him and he stops even looking at Sam by the end of his vague explanation.
It's enough, however, to calm Sam's nerves. He unclenches his jaw and all the other muscles his body readied for a fight that never came and the immediate relief almost startles an embarrassing moan out of him. He didn't even realize how tense he was. He hopes that the guy didn't notice too.
"It's okay, man. I get it," he replies with a smile.
And he does get it. He's been there. He knows how it feels to finally take a step in the new direction. To try staying neutral or cynical because of misplaced self-preservation instincts, but feeling the hope already filling your chest anyway.
The man lifts his head and shoots a shy smile Sam's way.
"I hoped you would," he says. "My friend said a couple of his old buddies from the army been to your groups and it helped. So I... I wanted to check for myself.
Sam's smile becomes much more genuine.
"Glad to hear that," he replies honestly. It's always good to know that his efforts actually affect the people who struggle the same way that he did. He's curious which vets his guest is referring to, but he stops himself from asking. It's not relevant right now. "And you'd like to join one of my groups too?"
The answering nod is a little unsure, but Sam can work with that.
"I'll give you some pamphlets and the schedule for my next three meetings," he offers, trying to remember where he put the pile of fliers from the VA which littered his coffee table for a few months at one point.
Before he has the time to fully move from the doorstep he's stopped by a strong and sudden grip on his wrist. Very strong. Almost crushing.
The alarm bells in his head blare, his vision narrowing, while his other hand makes a move to his back where a gun is still hidden in his sweatpants.
But then the pressure is gone from Sam's arm and the man is looking right at him, confused, then mortified. Whether he's scared of his own reaction or the gun he must sense in the vicinity, Sam cannot tell.
"I'm so, so sorry! I don't know why I did that, just... Let me..."
He stops. Sam blinks at him.
There're good ten seconds of uncomfortable silence before any of them speaks again.
"It's fine," Sam says, carefully. He wets his lips and the man's eyes track the movement. "Like I said... I get it." He tries to laugh, but it comes out a little strangled. "I don't like sudden movements too."
The guy at the door almost shrinks, his shoulders going up, as if he's trying to cover his face even more. But he seems relieved. Like it's easy to just have someone who understands, when the explanation seems too embarrassing to voice.
"Yeah..."
Sam takes a deep breath, hoping to push through the awkward moment and put the man at ease.
"Like I said, I'll go to take a pamphlet and write down my schedule for you," he says, taking a slow step inside. "I'll be back in a minute." Without waiting for a response he nods as if to silently ask the guy to stay where he is. Then looks for a pen and the fliers almost on autopilot, hoping that his porch won't be empty when he's back.
Or maybe hoping it already is.
When he steps through the door again, the man is still there. Just as shifty as before. As Sam hands him the papers, he opens his mouth, starting another apology, but Sam shushes him right away.
"It's alright. Don't worry about it." He adds a smile for reassurance. "My schedule is right here. If you can't come this month, you can always go in anyway. Ask around and find my office. We'll figure something out."
With a silent "thanks" the man starts to slowly back away from his doorstep. It seems as if he wants to stay, though. To ask for something more, but doesn't know what to say or maybe how to say it. Finally, with a small wave, he exits Sam's lawn. And then he's gone.
It takes Sam another five minutes of contemplative staring at the street to remember that his home address is not public information and neither of his former vets should know where he lives. None of them would know where to look for him outside of the VA.
Before he has the time to have a panic attack about that he finally registers the pain in his arm. He frowns and pulls up his sleeve where a set of dark, angry looking bruises form a shape of a closed palm on his skin.
He locks the door as calmly as possible, using an extra lock he hasn't taken out of the drawer since last year. He pulls the curtains over the windows, grabs his phone, and spends the rest of the day sitting on the floor with a gun between his legs, within reach.
--- ----- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----- ---
Well... I don't even know what this story is xD I just sat down and wrote the first thing that came to my mind. Now I somehow ended up with a plot outline for at least 4-5 chapters. Maybe I'll even write them one day <3
Hope you enjoyed witnessing the birth of my WiP number 2309745.
[PART 2 on tumblr is here]
[Ao3 LINK is here]
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alivedean · 1 year
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sambucky + text posts pt.3 bonus:
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livingincolorsagain · 1 month
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apparently the Still Not Funny deleted scene is about Bucky ‘bringing a treat to Sam's family gathering’, and after talking to @logicheartsoul about it, i obvs had to write something
It was a joke.
Sam’d—very casually, if he’d say so himself—invited Bucky to the cookout. He’d been trying to relax into Bucky’s lone armchair, the TV on and playing something he’d never seen before.
Bucky, who had been sitting on the ground and leaning into the side of the chair, had froze, very minutely, then relaxed, asked what he should bring.
Sam had, very dryly, said, “Ice cream cake,” because Bucky’d tried to make them breakfast that morning and almost burned the eggs to a crisp. Sam was just being cautious, and yeah, okay, maybe also a little shit, but mostly cautious.
Bucky, the biggest little shit to have ever existed, took it personally, apparently, because here he was now, sunglasses on, wearing Sam’s Henley, driving Sam’s truck and joking with Sam’s nephews, carrying a lopsided ice cream cake that was very bravely fighting for its life in the heat of the afternoon.
Sam’s stupid, stupid heart did a stupid, stupid somersault.
He went on taking pictures and joking around and filling up his plate, feeling light and happy and on the edge of something wonderful, then Bucky was close, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his—Sam’s—Henley, his cheeks a bright red from the setting sun.
“Hey,” he said, voice light and so soft.
“Hey yourself.”
“Want a piece of cake?”
Sam gave him a flat look. “You’re not funny.”
Bucky’s smile went bigger, brighter, like he immediately knew what Sam was talking about.
“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You’re full of shit,” Sam said, “and, still not funny. You’re not funny.”
“I just couldn’t come empty-handed, Samuel, I have manners.”
“You brought an ice cream cake.”
“It was a no-brainer, honestly.”
Sam rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile, then he turned back to watch the gentle waves and the sky as it changed colors.
The music was dying down, the day slowing and easing into the evening. Bucky was still standing just a step behind him, and Sam could feel his eyes on him.
His heart skipped a little as Bucky knocked his knuckles against his shoulder.
“Come on,” he said, so soft once again.
And Sam turned, gave into the urge and wrapped his arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.
Bucky came easily, his warmth seeking into Sam’s alright sun-warmed body, until it was almost too much.
He didn’t pull away.
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bisamwilson · 1 year
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Sam stands at his bathroom sink, splashing water on his face to rid his eyes of leftover slumber, and looks up into the mirror.
Every day, he finds himself older than he ever remembers getting.
Flecks of gray sprinkle his goatee, a leftover look reminiscent of his golden years, and a small roll of his tummy peeks out over the elastic of his briefs.
He stretches out his neck and his back, the cracking noises louder every day, and rubs at the spot beneath his shoulder that always seems just a little sore these days. It’s not enough to stop him from going on his morning run—even if it is more of a fast walk/jog these days on account of his poor knees—but it is enough to make him a little more careful when he stretches.
Strong hands take over the kneading at his shoulder, and Sam relaxes into his husband’s touch, groaning when he thumbs over a problem spot just right. His eyes close for just a moment, appreciating the fact that Bucky knows his body just as well as he does, before he opens them and studies Bucky’s face in the mirror.
Bucky’ll never show his true age, sure, but the weight of the years has run down his face all the same, if at a slower pace than it would anyone else’s. There’s a bit of silver in his short beard to match with Sam’s own, bits of hair near his ears that gleam against the rest.
He wonders how many of the smile lines on Bucky’s face are because of him.
finish on ao3 (M, 1k, fluff, complete)
(written for @winterfalconevents bingo square K4: not until i say so)
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