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[sarahowritesostucky]

Re-uploading my library with only the fluffier🌺 pieces, because fiction⛔reality, but nobody told the 🧌🧌 that

If you used to follow me at sarah-writes-stucky, this is the reboot of that blog, so please give a follow and a re-blog! I miss y'all!

📖It Started with Helga the Lunch Lady

Rated T

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: Dom/sub au, sub Steve, subdrop, humor, Sam Wilson is a good bro

Summary: After a slight collapse at work, Steve is forced to admit his status as a high needs submissive. A prequel starting point for "Wet Dream"

"So."

"So."

"SO, I'm gonna assume you lied on your paperwork," Sam says, asking and yet somehow stating at the same time. He's looking at Steve from across the shiny top of the conference table with his big googly eyes - his "don't bullshit me" eyes - and Steve's plans to lie through his teeth dissolve into dust and float away.

"Yeah," he mumbles, unhappy about having to fess up. But it's pretty obvious at this point, since he's just come from the mess - where he'd collapsed.

All the lunch lady had to do was tell him a little too authoritatively that she wanted to see him "be a good boy and clean [his] plate today," and the next thing Steve knows, Sam's scraping him off the floor and walking him to the nearest vacant room, dumping him into a conference chair and complaining about how heavy he is.

"It's not a problem," Steve hurries to say, though his speech is still noticeably clumsy from the lunchroom incident.

Sam scowls. "Rogers, just, I mean - well look at yourself!"

What used to be a tuna sandwich is smeared down the front of Steve's shirt and the crotch of his pants, like damning evidence, a metaphor for his shitty and unfulfilling dating life. Steve frowns down at it, feeling miserable. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I did. Lie."

"Uh-huh."

"I didn't think I'd get the job if I- "

"YOU wrote down that you were a one," Sam interrupts harshly. "That's what you said when I interviewed your ass." He folds his arms across his chest, eyes flicking up and down disdainfully at Steve's ruined clothes. "And over my dead Titi's grave are you a one. So, what level are you?"

Steve winces. "It's really not that big of a d- "

"What. level?"

Steve's shoulders slump and he glumly admits, "... six."

Sam jerks away from the table with a 'what the fucking hell!' gesture.

"I'm sorry! okay?"

"What the fucking hell, Rogers?"

"I know, I know."

"You could get in big trouble for this, Steve!" Sam jabs a finger in his direction, then turns it on himself. "Hell, I'm gonna get in trouble."

"Nobody's gonna get in trouble," Steve insists, some of his fire coming back at the idea of everybody at his work knowing. "Cause you're not gonna tell anybody. Sam? Sam!"

"Shut up." Sam's not even looking at him. He's pulled his phone out, is looking something up, muttering under his breath about how he's sick and tired of dealing with 'too many goddamn cocky dumbass Army grunt jarheads' until he finds what it is he's been searching for. He taps on the screen and puts the phone to his ear, pointing at Steve with big, wide, angry googly eyes when he sees Steve's mouth open to argue again. "Ah! Not a word."

Steve can only sit there helplessly as he hears Sam's call being picked up, and then he has to suffer through the small torture of not interrupting while his manager has a clipped conversation with somebody on the other end of the line about his "high needs employee."

"Sam," he tries again, once Sam's hung up from the call. "I don't need that, seriously,"

"No, you do, seriously," Sam says tersely, glaring across the table for another second before his angry expression gives way to that of a worried friend. He sighs and stands up, rounding the table to stand next to Steve. "Look, man, I get it. You don't want to tell people, that's your business. But you can't go without getting dropped. Not for however long I know your stubborn ass's probably gone. Falling apart just cause Hilda looks at you sideways?"

"... it's Helga," Steve mumbles. "And hey, you don't know: she can be really intimidating." It's a weak argument that holds up about as well as Steve had, back in the mess. Sam doesn't even dignify it with an answer. "What're you gonna do?" Steve worries.

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. He pats him. "Nothing, if you take care of yourself." He removes the hand and heads for the door just behind and to Steve's left. "I'll text you the place. You're off on personal leave the rest of this week- "

"Sam!" Steve starts to twist around towards the door but Sam's already out in the hallway.

"You've got that, plus the weekend to handle it. And I'll know if you lie about going!"

Steve turns back around, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenches his teeth. A moment later, there's a 'buzz' against his leg. He maneuvers past a glob of mayonnaise to pull his phone out of his pocket. As promised, there's one new text.

[11:59 AM] Sam Wilson (VA job):

"Safe Haven Respite Services, LLC"

1472 Halifax St., Ste. C.

--ask for "Bucky" (and don't be an ass!)

Steve purses his lips, knowing that he's going to have to do it if he wants to keep his job. Feeling both tired and grumpy, he lets his hands fall into his lap and scowls down at the phone.

What the hell kind of simp-ass Dom even calls themself something stupid like "Bucky," anyway?

Masterlist

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