@kennethchoi_: Happy 15th anniversary Captain America: The First Avenger. What an experience! When are we doing The Howling Commandoes movie @marvelstudios @marvel 😉
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sambucky + "switching on a lamp in the middle of the night" if you're still taking action prompts? ❣️
shoutout to Jules for giving me an alt when it turned out that I'd already gotten this one
19. unzipping a tent at dawn
It's not the zipper that wakes Sam up, ultimately. The zipper is the first sound that he's fully conscious enough to hear, but Sam caught plenty of noise through the haze of sleep, years of missions and safe houses leaving his ears attuned to the sound of Bucky moving through a space even when he's not cursing up a storm and clattering tent poles as he moves around.
He hits the switch on the base of the lantern, pushing himself up on one arm just as Bucky's face appears in the doorway, nose red and hair plastered to his forehead. At first, the total darkness behind him is confusing, and then Sam hears the sound of rain pattering against a tarp and he realizes that Bucky's holding it over his head like a makeshift umbrella.
He doesn't wait for an explanation, just scoots himself and Cass's abandoned sleeping bag out of the way with a sigh and gestures Bucky forward.
"Get in already," he says. "But leave that tarp outside; we don't both need to be soaked."
Bucky grumbles, but it sounds like his default kvetching and not a specific complaint, so Sam just shakes his head and zips the tent back up once Bucky is in. He waits and watches as Bucky takes off his shoes and puts them at the far corner of the tent, then does the same with his sweatshirt. There's raindrops on his sweatpants, too, but thankfully, those stay on.
"Should I ask you where AJ is right now?" asks Sam, once Bucky is settled atop Cass's sleeping bag. "If you managed to lose him, Sarah's going to kill us both, you know that?"
Bucky makes a face at him. "Where would I even lose him, Samuel? We're in my back yard. There's a fence."
Sam shrugs. "How should I know? He's crafty."
There might be a smile dancing around the corners of Bucky's mouth, but he presses his lips together then, so Sam can't quite tell.
"He couldn't sleep," Bucky says after a moment. "Said he hurt his side at soccer practice the other day and sleeping on the ground wasn't helping, so I took him back inside the house. He's up in the guest room, cuddling with Alpine and Fig."
"You're such a sucker," says Sam, but even he can hear how fond it is.
"Oh, is it just me?" asks Bucky, eyebrows raised. "Should I just pretend that I didn't see Cass reading on the couch when I took AJ in?"
"That's different; he was just being polite because he didn't want to turn the lantern on and keep me up."
"Sure, Sam," Bucky says, grinning now. "That's what happened."
"It is," lies Sam. "So how did all that end in you showing up at my tent, huh? Are you here to ask permission to sleep inside, too?"
"Nope. Just needed a sleeping bag that wasn't waterlogged."
He raises his eyebrows. "Waterlogged? What did you do, cut a skylight in your tent?"
Bucky clears his throat, looking away from Sam. "Someone, uh, may have forgotten to zip up the tent when AJ and I went back into the house."
Sam lets out a laugh before he can stop himself. "So you flooded your own tent and now you're here taking advantage of my hospitality?"
"I don't know how hospitable you've been, Sam. So far, you've mostly just made fun of me," says Bucky, but he's smiling.
"That's part of the hospitality package."
Bucky snorts. "Very generous of you."
"I try," Sam says, as he sits up, beginning to unzip his sleeping bag. He lays the sleeping bag out so it's flat, scooting to the side and waving Bucky over. "Here, unzip Cass's, too, and we'll put them side by side."
Bucky's eyebrows furrow, but he does as he's told, laying Cass's sleeping bag out so it overlaps with Sam's. It's only once they've made one continuous sleeping surface that it occurs to Sam that Bucky could've just...slept inside Cass's sleeping bag. His shoulders may be broad, but it's not like they would've ripped the sides open, and it would've probably have been more normal than Sam essentially making them share a bed.
Before Sam can fret too much over it, though, Bucky is talking.
"You're not gonna get cold like this?" he asks, gesturing to the flattened sleeping bags. "I thought your southern bones didn't tolerate anything below sixty-five and sunny?"
"They don't," says Sam, reaching behind him to reveal not one but two rolled-up blankets. "But for some reason, I keep choosing to live in places that get cold, so I came prepared."
They're both still sitting up, and it's only when they both go to shake out their blankets that Sam realizes how close together they are. They shift when they bump elbows and then their shoulders knock into each other instead. Sam tries to angle himself to make more space, but then his knee is nudging Bucky's thigh, their calves pressed together, and all that Sam can feel is the heat radiating from Bucky, the kind of warmth that leaves Sam with the embarrassing impulse to curl up close against him and stay there.
He ignores that impulse, obviously, and makes himself lie down instead, pulling up the blanket just so he has something to do with his hands. For half a second, he lets himself think that this might not be so bad, and then Bucky lies down, too, his shoulder touching Sam's, and Sam has to bite his lip to hold back the noise that wants to spill out of his mouth.
They stay like that in the space for a moment, close and quiet but for the patter of rain coming down on the tent. Sam lets himself think that maybe this is it, that now Bucky will just roll over and go to sleep and he can stay awake regretting all of his choices.
Naturally, that's not how it goes.
Naturally, Bucky reaches up to turn off the lantern and then turns to look at Sam, the weight of his gaze palpable even in the dark.
"Do you have enough space?" he asks, hushed even though there's no one around but them. "Do you need me to move?"
Sam shakes his head, then realizes Bucky might not be able to see it. "I'm okay," he says, just as soft. "You?"
"I'm sleeping in the dirt and I got played by a twelve year old earlier tonight," Bucky says, his voice dry. Then: "But yeah. I'm okay. Better than okay, actually."
Finally turning his gaze from the arched top of the tent, Sam looks back at Bucky. "Really?"
He feels more than sees Bucky's shoulder lift into a shrug. "Really. I've been in a lot of places a lot worse than this, you know."
"Okay, so it's not a Siberian gulag, but we are still sleeping in the dirt, Buck."
“We have blankets,” says Bucky. Then, as if he can sense Sam’s look if pure skepticism, he shrugs again. “I’m just saying, we ate a good meal tonight and it's warm in here and I've got you with me. Not a lot to complain about."
Sam feels his face get warm, but he tries to shake it off, infusing enough teasing into his voice that he hopes it covers up the longing there. "That's all you need for a better-than-okay kind of night? Food and a blanket and me?"
At first, there's no reply. Then, he feels Bucky shrug again, and when he speaks, Sam thinks he can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm not that hung up about the food and the blanket, honestly."
The flush feels like it suffuses Sam's whole body this time, his breath catching in his chest. He can't think what to say, terrified that it might ruin this moment, so instead he just slowly slides his hand over until his fingers brush against Bucky's.
For a moment, Sam feels pure terror, worried that even this was too much for the fragile thing between them. Then Bucky's hand shifts just a touch, his fingers tangling with Sam's own.
It's the tiniest amount of contact. They've had more during sparring sessions, or while hugging, or while patching each other up, but this is different somehow, a tiny fire of its own burning bright and miraculous where the two of them are connected.
Neither of them says anything. They don't need to. They just stay where they are, breathing together in the quiet closeness: warm, fed, and together.
you have a problem with red hulk and the new avengerz? shhhh. quiet luxury. keep it to yourself. because what are you going to do when doomsday comes out in imax and sam wilson and bucky barnes are onscreen together for the first time since last valentines day and then act three takes a sexually explicit turn and you have to pretend to be surprised by that turn?
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gotta go for a classic with 25 (kisses in the rain) for… whatever pairing you like! ☂️🌧️☂️
25. kisses in the rain
It's entirely possible that Sam should have waited.
There's a world where he tells this story to his old friends, the ones from his VA days, and they roast him mercilessly for finding a way to take terrifying leaps without ever needing to clear sea level. Sarah would, too, probably, and Natasha if she was still around.
He has all of that in his head, knows it for a fact, but there are other things that he knows, too.
He knows that they only barely survived that first clash with Doctor Doom. He knows that they're stretched thin, that this is nothing short of a last stand, them and whatever allies they've managed to cobble together from the far reaches of their universe.
He knows that yesterday, both he and Bucky had actively been bleeding and for all the jibes they'd been exchanging all day, they'd refused to stop clutching at each other's hands. He knows that he's capable of going this alone, and he knows that he's tired of doing that when he doesn't have to.
He knows that royals have a whole lot of powers that everyday people never bother to think about, and one of those powers is the ability to solemnize a union between two people.
He knows that of all the people he has ever had the joy of knowing and loving, the one who he wants to spend his life with is the cantankerous moron peering into the open side panel of a spaceship like it's the Wilson family truck and not highly advanced alien technology
He only makes one stop before ducking out of the ship, pulling Valkyrie aside to ask her a favor that has her beaming delightedly and clasping his shoulder. When Sam hurries down the gangway, the drizzle of the morning has intensified to a heavy, rhythmic patter, rain settling against grass and damp earth and smelling like home even though he's so many miles away. He has to shield his eyes with his hand as he rounds to the side of the ship, narrowly avoiding tripping over the raccoon who once tried to buy Bucky's arm, but with whom he now seems to be on at least cordial terms.
"Hey," Sam calls out, raising his voice as the rain gets heavier. "You got a second, or will the whole ship fall apart without you?"
Bucky turns and gives Sam an unimpressed look that belies how quickly he moves to Sam's side. "What do you need?" he asks, as he gets closer. "How's your side? Are the stitches holding?"
"The stitches are fine," says Sam, though Bucky's concern makes something warm pulse through his veins all the same. "Just come here. I have something to ask you."
For once, Bucky seems inclined to listen without arguing, immediately closing the distance between them. He hesitates for half a second as he reaches out, and Sam grabs Bucky's hand and settles it on his waist. Instantly, part of Bucky relaxes, both of his arms coming up around Sam as he pulls him closer.
"Tell me you didn't come out here in the rain just to ask for a hug, Cap."
"Not exactly," says Sam. "I should probably be kneeling, actually, but there's mud everywhere, and also some kind of fuel that maybe shouldn't mix with the vibranium in the suit, and..."
Bucky furrows his eyebrows. "What? Why would you be kneeling? What's happening?"
"It's just tradition, mostly," says Sam. "But you like a little tradition sometimes, so I thought I'd explain why I wasn't-"
"Tradition for what, Sam?"
Sam reaches down and settles his hands over Bucky's, interlacing their fingers and raising their joined hands to rest over his heart. "For, uh...for proposals. It's traditional for proposals."
Bucky's eyes go wide and he leans closer like maybe he misheard. "Sam?" is all he manages to croak.
In response, Sam raises their hands to his lips so he can kiss Bucky's knuckles, first on his left hand, then his right.
"I love you, Buck," he says. "I love you, and we have never not found our way back to each other, but I kind of think it might be nice if we stopped counting on the universe to keep throwing us together and just...decided to stick around instead.
"Sweetheart..." breathes Bucky.
"I know things could go bad pretty soon over here," says Sam, his voice hoarse. "So maybe the timing could be better, but baby, however long the rest of my life is, I want to spend it with you."
"You don't have to ask," blurts Bucky. "You know that, right? You know I'll follow you anywhere regardless."
"I know," says Sam, smiling at him through the rain. "I'm asking anyway. Will you marry me, Bucky?"
Even the sound of the rain can't disguise the tear-filled laugh that spills out of Bucky's mouth. "Right now?" he asks.
"What, you have somewhere else to be?" asks Sam, like he isn't holding his entire goddamn heart in his hands here.
Bucky laughs again. "Good point," he says, leaning his forehead against Sam's. "Then yeah, sweetheart. Yeah, I'll marry you."
"You're such an idiot," Sam mumbles, tipping his chin up just enough to catch Bucky's lips with his own. He feels more than hears Bucky laugh against his mouth.
"Your idiot now, though. For keeps."
Sam hums in acknowledgment, leans in for another kiss. "For keeps," he echoes, and that's something that he knows now, too.
If I had a nickel for every time I read a contemporary romance novel and developed the strong suspicion one (1) chapter in that it was secretly Roy Kent fanfiction, only to have that confirmed by a visit to the author's social media, I would have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.
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What they don't tell you about dating a guy who's a hundred and ten is that, in spite of a literal century's worth of life experience, sometimes that guy will act like a teenager, and there's just no way around it.
"You can stop playing that clip now," Sam calls out, as he opens his moisturizer. "Watching it a hundred times isn't going to prove your theory."
"It's not a theory, Samuel," says Bucky, appearing in the bathroom doorway with his arms crossed. From the bedroom, Sam can hear the same video that he found Bucky glaring at when he got home today, the recording of the bombastically popular podcast that the Avengers PR team convinced him to appear on. "It's a fact. That woman is clearly interested in you."
"Some people are just friendly, Buck. It's rare, but it happens. It doesn't mean she's coming onto me."
"Oh, yeah? And how often do people who are 'just friendly' touch your arms over the course of a conversation, hm?"
Sam can't argue that part. The interviewer had reached around the table to touch him so many times over the course of the hour that he'd started to worry that there was something on his sleeve that she was trying to knock off. (There hadn't been, for the record. Sam has always been a meticulous lint-roller.)
Instead, he just shakes his head and says, "She's getting married, Buck. Her fiancée is in the NFL and he bought her a ring that cost like half a million dollars; everyone knows that."
As Sam starts to moisturize his face, Bucky comes up behind him, arms snaking around his waist as he rests his chin on Sam's bare shoulder.
"You didn't notice it, did you?" asks Bucky, catching Sam's eye in the mirror.
"Notice what?"
Bucky's smirking now, which is how Sam knows he's in trouble. "Her ring. You didn't notice."
"There was nothing to notice," says Sam, but he thinks back to last week anyway, tries to remember if he'd noticed anything weird about her jewelry.
"Exactly," says Bucky. "There was nothing to notice because she took off her engagement ring."
"No, she didn-" But Sam cuts himself off, thinking about all the times that she reached over to touch him, all the times he should've been blinded by an obnoxiously big diamond reflecting the studio lights.
"Well?" asks Bucky, his grin triumphant. "Who's imagining things now, Samuel?"
"Still you," says Sam. "She could've taken her ring off for any reason. That thing's huge; it probably gets in the way of her note cards or her mic or something. This has nothing to do with me."
"That's weird," says Bucky, "because the comments are pretty sure that you're the only guest she's taken it off for in the year that she's been engaged."
He takes a half-step back then, grabbing the jar of scar balm off the counter and steadying Sam with one hand as he begins applying it. Sam lets his eyes drop closed for a moment, savoring the firm press of Bucky's fingers against the sore muscles in his back, the practiced swoops that they make along old and new scars from a lifetime of flying.
"That's on you for reading the comments," says Sam. "You know no one in the history of the world has ever been right in the comments section."
"I don't know about that," Bucky murmurs. "Sometimes they get it right."
Sam snorts. "You sure about that?"
"Didn't the people in your Instagram comments figure out that you weren't single from the background of a selfie?"
"Who said they were right, though?"
Bucky narrows his eyes. "Very funny."
"I am, aren't I?" asks Sam, blinking innocently at a scowling Bucky in the mirror. "Maybe it'll help me find a boyfriend one of these days."
"I'm breaking up with you," Bucky says flatly, before turning on his heel and heading back into the bedroom.
"You could just get me my own engagement ring instead," Sam calls out after him, grinning when Bucky stops in his tracks. "I promise to keep it on during podcasts and everything."
(It really is impressive, Sam reflects as he finds himself in bed a second later, how goddamn fast Bucky moves when he's motivated.)
No joke you guys NEED to get more comfortable blocking people. No more insulting people in public over different blorbo opinions no more making 2k long posts on how whatever ship you don't like shouldn't exist we've grown past that shit. Consistent posts about shit that make you uncomfortable? Block. Rancid blorbo opinions? Block. Is mildly annoying in your replies? Block. Pisses you off for reasons so petty you could never admit it publicly? Block. YOUR mental health will improve from not being upset 24/7, THEIR mental health will not be at risk of you lashing out because you happened to catch their posts on a bad day, and EVERYONE ELSE will benefit from not seeing the most embarrassing arguments known to man on their dash. "Oooh but they didn't deserve it-" dude you're presumably running a personal blog as a hobby not a public service. Who fucking cares.
Well… I'm gonna steal as many bagels as I can fit in this box. With you as my partner, there's no telling when I'll be able to afford a real meal again.
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Thank you to the nine of you who validated my highly specific foolishness and congratulations to that one anon who asked me if I would ever write any more pre-canon stuff from the F1 AU; I hope you feel well fed in this proverbial Chili’s tonight.
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