#sambucky wips

[towboats]

perchance making sambucky animation meme/pmv..... but itll take me 14 yrs

[con-artist-dj]

Hugs between the Thunderbolts update: Finished Yelena and Bob, I love these cuties <3

And a bonus WIP of Avengers tower movie night with Bucky going through a divorce in the background

[shimiyass]

Rewatching divorced couple

[43alska]

Since I can't post on twitter rn i'm gonna be real annoying with wips here

sugar baby bucky because i'm obsessed sorry

I want to make the robe sheer but idk how without making it look like a shit transparent layer bear with me

[ribs0]

cozy soldiers <3

[samuelwilsonbarnes]

one thing I'm gonna do is have Bucky lose his mind every time he touches Sam. second thing I'm gonna do is put Bucky in situations where he ends up touching Sam as much as possible

[cannibalforum]

sambucky yayyy

[logicheartsoul]

Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes in Marvel Studios’ Assembled: The Making of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier (2021)

[irontinystar]

i’m 15k words in in a sambucky wip eheh :P stay tuned I’m editing atm and I can’t wait to post it

[buckys-sam]

[Post TFATWS pre BNW]

--

Bucky had been to Louisiana before.

He’d helped fix up a boat there, sat on the dock with a beer in hand, laughed at Sam arguing with his nephews, eaten his fill of home-cooked food, even let the warmth of the place settle into his bones just a little.

But this time? This time was different. This time, there was no skirting around whatever this thing between himself and Sam had grown into.

There would be no pretending. No excuses.

Before, it had been easy to hide behind the work, to let the warmth of the sun and the ripples of the water mask the fact that something had already been pulling them together.

But now? Now everyone was gonna see it written all over him and that... that made something in Bucky’s stomach twist in a way he wasn’t used to.

He wasn't ashamed. He truly wasn’t - he’d made his choice. Sam was his choice, his only choice.

But Bucky hadn’t belonged anywhere in a long, long time.... and Louisiana? Louisiana wasn’t just some place. It was Sam’s place. His home - a place full of people who loved him, knew him and cared about him.

And Bucky? Bucky was walking straight into it with his heart on full display.

--

The plane finally touched down and Bucky sat silent, staring out the window as the marshes and open sky stretched beyond the runway.

Sam nudged him gently with his elbow. “You good?”

Bucky grunted, shifting in his seat. “Yeah.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, that was real convincing.”

Bucky shot him a look. Butterflies raked iron claws along his insides but he ignored them. “I said I’m fine.”

Sam arched a brow, clearly disbelieving that response. Then his lips curved into that infuriating smirk Bucky loved so much. “You always get this tense before vacations?”

Bucky huffed, rolling his shoulders like he could shake it all off. It didn't work.

Sam’s grin widened. “Oh, damn. You’re nervous.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “I am not nervous.”

Sam grinned harder. “You totally are.”

Bucky sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I fought in a world war, I got brainwashed for seventy years, I've taken on entire armies with my bare hands, and now I gotta—what? Worry about meeting your family like some kind of high school boyfriend?”

Sam bit his lip, trying hard to hide his amusement but his voice dropped and his eyes sparkled in an infuriating way. “You wanna hold my hand through it, Barnes?”

Bucky glared. “I swear to God, Wilson-”

Sam laughed, clapping a hand on his knee. “C’mon, man. It’s just Louisiana. You already survived it once.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah, but last time, we weren’t... Ya know-”

He cut himself off, lips pressing into a thin line.

Sam’s expression softened just slightly. “Weren’t what?” he prompted, voice low, even and knowing.

Bucky didn’t look at him.

He didn’t need to. Sam knew what he was getting at.

Before, they’d been dancing around it - now there was no dancing. No hiding. No pretending they were just friends... Just a pair of men who happened to share space and time and nothing unspoken inbetween.

Now.... Everyone was gonna see it - Sarah. The boys. The locals who’d already given Bucky side-eyes last time, wondering who the hell he was to be hanging around Sam Wilson’s dock, and what the hell was up with that metal arm.

This time, there’d be no question.

This time, Bucky wasn’t just some guy helping to fix a boat.

This time, Bucky was Sam’s.

Sam must have seen it. The way Bucky was chewing on the inside of his cheek, the way his fingers curled tight against his thigh because he didn’t tease this time. He didn’t push. He just reached over, slid a warm hand over Bucky’s, steady and sure.

Bucky stared at it.

At their hands, right there in the open, no hesitation, no fear.

And Sam -damn him- just held on.

“You know,” Sam mused, casual as hell as he leaned close, “We could turn right back around, catch the next flight to New York, never leave this airport.”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’d be real subtle. Besides, Sarah would kill us."

"She would," Sam grinned, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “You got this, Barnes. Louisiana ain’t gonna bite.”

Bucky exhaled, letting the tension in his shoulders loosen just a little.

Sam was right.

It was just a place.

Just people.

Just a home Bucky was stepping into, not running from.

And when Sam led the way off the plane, walking ahead with his bag slung over his shoulder, Bucky didn’t hesitate to follow.

[hornymotionalcookie]

WIP Whenever

Thanks fer the tag, @glittercake.

Bucky finally got his shit together enough to stick his hand out, "I'm Bucky. And you are – besides impressive, that is?"

"Nice to meet you, Bucky. I'm Sam." He both beamed over the compliment while his full cheeks appled. Bucky was failing to not think of all the manner of ways he wanted Sam flushed and noisy beneath him, above him, beside him. He just wanted. Bucky used the grip of Sam's calloused yet softened skin to ground himself again, holding onto it as he held eye contact with Sam.

"And I'm – gonna go... Somewhere. Else?"

"Yeah, see ya." Bucky tossed in the direction of the voice, not sure who it belonged to distracted as he was. The fading laughter did break through his haze but was ignored in favor of propositioning Sam: "You must've worked up a mighty thirst with that win, Sam." Yeah. Mine. "Care to join me at the refreshments?" He asked of Sam, the thumb of his hand still clasping Sam's, brushing delicately over the pulse point. Sam inhaled subtly, the quickening of his pulse clocked by Bucky before he slid his hand away, heading towards the drinks setup.

They cut through the throng of bodies single-filed with Sam taking the lead, giving Bucky the chance to watch Sam's purposeful gait. Sam cast a playful look over his shoulder at Bucky before bending over to snag a drink out of the deep cooler. It didn't seem like an accident that Sam's shirt just happened to ride up while doing so. Nor did it seem like much of an accident when Sam's pants fell a tad when he squatted before another cooler when he came up empty handed with the first.

"You want?" Sam mouthed at him from the cooler, waving his cold can. Bucky nodded, not particularly thirsty but not above watching Sam's hunched form. Sam smirked over at him knowingly, somehow deepening his squat and the pull of his pants over his ample ass. Bucky quietly eyed Sam from his position against the wall, drawing a mental map of places he'd like to mark on Sam's back given the chance.

A successful Sam strided over, handing Bucky an opened can before baring his throat as he took a few long pulls from his. Thirst quenched, while only ratcheting Bucky's up, Sam mirrored Bucky's stance against the wall.

"If I knew I'd get to meet you at one of Steve's parties, I'd have left my hermit hole at the shop long ago." Bucky blurted to Sam, aware it was a total line, but unable to help the truthful outburst. He took a sip of the cool drink in his hand to both cool his heating face as well as keep the word vomit at bay. He pulls a few slow sips before sitting it on the shelf next to them.

Sam smiled that sweet smile from earlier again, shy from the pickup line but loving it all the same. A guy as gorgeous as him had to be used to compliments. If not, Bucky had a secondary goal to get Sam as accustomed to hearing them as often as he could before the night's end.

"Shop? You work at the parlor with Steve?"

"Yeah. I'm actually kind of his partner, more on the silent side. I do a lot of digging into local talents online and traveling artists. Speaking of..." Bucky motioned towards Sam's back, "Noticed your ink while you were outlasting the fellas outside. Was it a local artist? We're always on the lookout to host those with great skill. Whoever chose the color palette for your work has an excellent eye."

Sam's smile was a little sad this time, "Thanks. It was a guy back home, Riley." Bucky nodded, not missing the past tense or the reverence in the mentioned name.

"Riley really had a great eye for detail, too. The feather tips are awesome." Sam's smile brightened, nodding at the compliment and tickled by Bucky's busting himself out.

"Just how good a look did you get when you were spotting me?"

"Uh... Well, a good spotter should notice even the smallest hint of distress in the body, wherever it may appear. I was just trying to be diligent."

Sam threw his head back and cackled, the force of it pushing him forward, chest meeting Bucky's. Bucky easily caught him, hand dropping down to Sam's waist, steadying him. His thumb burned at the contact it made with Sam's skin, itching to trace over it all, wanting to feel that burn over the rest of his hand, his tongue, his teeth.

Sam's fading laughter vibrated through Bucky's chest, neither moving to put space between them again. Sam's right hand came up to rest at Bucky's shoulder, tapping the button of his folded up sleeve with the tip of his fingernail. He glided light as a feather across it, leaving trails of gooseflesh in its wake. Bucky wasn't hyperventilating per se, but one could make an argument for it. Bucky's face drained of color as his blood rushed to the head below his shoulders. Sam at a distance was gorgeous – up close like this, head tilted as he studied Bucky, he was literally breathtaking.

"D'you wanna see it?" It could be a multitude of things, all garnering an immediate yes in Bucky's mind. But Sam brought him back to the topic at hand, "My tat?" Oh yeah, they were talking about tattoos. How long ago was that again?

"Yeah, I'd love to."

No pressure taggging: @wiccamoody, @thatmexisaurusrexmexi and anyone else who wants to join!

[sunsetmaidenwrites]

WIP Wednesday (on, uh, Thursday...)

Fun! Thanks for the tag @a-hopeful-romantic-blog

I haven't had a chance to work on this for a bit, so it may be kinda rough, but here is a snippet from the next chapter of my current SamBucky wip, "On My Way to You" --

*****

“Kid said I’d find you here.”

Sam looked up, wondering how long Bucky had been standing at the half-open door, hand raised as if he’d knocked and Sam just hadn’t heard. He probably had. Bucky had a habit of barging into Sam’s life and space, but he usually gave at least a few seconds warning first. “Yeah. I…uh…was drafting an email. Lost track of time.”

“Drafting it over here, huh? Sam, your desk and laptop is over there.” He let himself in, moving to stand beside Sam. Not saying a word as they gazed in silence at Riley’s flag. Sam clutched Riley’s class ring in his palm, not sure if he was hiding a treasure or a secret, just knowing he didn’t want Bucky to guess how broken he really was.

“It’s okay, Sam. I know. It’s his birthday, right?”

“How…” Sam blinked back tears. “How did you know that?”

“You stopped by his marker that one time. When we were on that mission an hour out from his people, remember?”

Sam flinched. Marker. Not a grave. They hadn’t recovered enough of him for that. “You didn’t get out though. I…I went alone.”

“I came back later that night.” He shrugged as if that wasn’t weird as hell.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he was your best friend. Because he was your everything. Because you became my best friend, and I wanted to know everyone who mattered to you. That was as close as I could get. I put a penny on his headstone, and I promised him I’d always look out for you. I promised him I’d do whatever it took to keep you alive.”

*****

No Pressure Tagging, but @abarbaricyalp @questinwitchface @siancore Anyone else who might like to participate, consider yourself tagged (or send me an ask, and I'll add you in.🥰)

[starrylol]

hello winterfalcon nation.

(Ps I’ve never drawn either of them omg 😭)

[lesbiancaptnamerica]

snippet of the sambucky detective au i recently started working on 👀

[homoeroticfisticuffs]

WIP Wednesday - Sambucky Sickfic

Been working on this one on and off for a few weeks now whenever I've had the free time and I keep forgetting to post a WIP!! So here it is finally lol... working title is "There's No Need to Be Brave," from I Will by Mitski :] Once this is finished I'd like it to be maybe closer to/over 10k like the rest of my more recent fics, and I will only be posting the finished version to my AO3 because I just prefer to only post WIPs on here ;w; anyway Sambucky

Word count: 4.1k

He hadn’t even spent two weeks back in Brooklyn before he got the text; not from Sam, no, from Sarah, which made this whole situation all the more hilarious.

“Hey Bucky, I really hate to ask you for yet another favor after all you’ve done for my family, but my stubborn jackass of a brother got himself real sick with a bad cold somehow and I just don’t have the time to take care of both him and the boys. Would you mind maybe coming back down here to stay and watch over him for a bit? I think you’re the only other person he’d let see him like this.”

(The fact that he was actually checking and responding to his texts now was a new development for him, one he was glad Dr. Raynor wasn’t around to see. He really didn’t need to see her sarcastic grin or hear her smug ass voice giving him an “I told you so” or “see how easy it is” or whatever the hell she’d have to say.)

He smirked to himself as he saw Sarah’s text; it was timestamped at 6:47 AM, probably sent out of exasperation while trying to get the boys ready for school and also having to deal with taking care of Sam. The thought of Sam Wilson, the famous Falcon and now the brand new Captain America, lying helpless and miserable in bed was admittedly a little funny. He was probably wrapped up in a bunch of blankets right now with a bulky ice bag sitting atop his head and a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. It really was comical when he thought about it.

“No worries, Sarah. I can come help out.”

He genuinely didn’t mind going back down there to offer his help, and he would have done it either way to help the people he cares about, but he also loved being a little sweet on Sarah because of how mad it made Sam.

He also needed to get out of Brooklyn, as much as he hated it. After offering closure to Yori, things just hadn’t felt the same. It didn’t really feel like home anymore. Part of him wished he could just stay in Louisiana; and maybe he could. The thought wasn’t so bad. 

He sighed for a moment, looking down at his duffle bag that he never really got around to fully unpacking in the first place from his last trip. He could use the travel, really; it’s not like he had any other plans anyway, and it was always a nice treat to visit the Wilsons. Plus, this would give him a lot of ammunition and blackmail to hold over Sam’s head for a good long while. He smiled at the thought of bantering and bickering with him as he packed, looking forward to getting to see him again, though he’d never in a million years admit it out loud.

-

The sun was starting to set over the water in Delacroix, the last few rays of sunlight beaming in through the windows and casting a warm glow over the living room. Sam laid exhausted on the couch, hopelessly flipping through different TV channels in hopes of finding something other than the countless shitty movies and reality shows that litter the guide on the screen. He sighed in defeat before giving up and leaving it on a channel showing a cheesy eighties action flick, tossing the remote aside and curling further into his blanket.

“You feeling any better today?” Sarah asked from the kitchen, starting to cut up some vegetables to prepare dinner for the night: a nice and hearty vegetable stew.

“No,” Sam groaned softly, his voice weak from illness. “If anything, today’s been worse.”

She sighed, and he felt a stab of guilt at the sound. He hated putting all this on her. “Well, we’ve just gotta make sure you’re taking meds at the right times then and try and stay on top of that fever. Plenty of rest and fluids, it’ll be gone in no time. Can’t keep Captain America down for too long.”

He chuckled, knowing she was giving him shit for his new title. It was still taking some time for everyone to get used to, especially himself. No one had exactly seen it coming. 

He hated this, all of it. He hated feeling this sick and miserable, and he hated being so useless and unable to help Sarah out around the house and with the boys. He knew she managed just fine on her own in the years that he was gone, but part of him will always feel a need to help and protect her whenever he can. She had gotten used to having him around lately, and had shared some of her responsibilities with him so that she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed with the workload. Now that he was unable to help take some of that weight off her shoulders, she’s been a lot more noticeably stressed out since he got sick.

His phone rang then, and he lifted it to see that it was Joaquin video calling him. He reluctantly hit the accept button; not because he didn’t enjoy talking to Joaquin, just that it was a little difficult to talk at all in his current state.

“Hey man!” Joaquin greeted him through the phone. “Oh, shit, you don’t look so good. You alright?”

“Yeah, just got a cold,” Sam responded quietly. It hurt his throat a little to speak, but he was fairly sure he could handle a brief phone call for now. “What’s up?”

“I was just checking in to say hey. You mentioned not feeling so hot so I just wanted to see how you were doing. Anything I can do to help? I could DoorDash you some soup or medicine or something.”

It earned a good laugh from Sam, possibly being the only real smile he had cracked yet today. “Nah, man, I’m alright. I doubt any sane Dasher would come this far out, anyways.”

“Well, offer’s still on the table if you end up changing your mind,” Joaquin said earnestly. “I’ll let you go for now, though. Rest up buddy, and take care! I’ll be thinking of you. Hope you heal up fast!”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam replied, exhaustion clear in his voice. He was on day three of the cold now, with no sign of it improving. He was starting to get really tired of it. “I’ll keep in touch. Thanks for checking in.”

“No problem, man. And seriously, rest up, you sound like shit,” Joaquin laughed. “Okay bye, talk soon.”

“Seeya.”

Once the call had ended, Sam finally let out a couple of coughs that he had been holding in and took a big long sip of his water; engaging that much in a conversation, even if it was short, had rendered him a little worse off than he was before he took the call. Saying a couple short sentences a day was one thing, but his throat was seriously sore, and he sounded absolutely miserable with how nasally his voice was from being so congested. He let out a deep sigh before unwrapping yet another cough drop and tossing it in his mouth, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the couch.

Suddenly Sam heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching the house. He was a little too fatigued and feverish to connect the dots immediately, but he lifted his head and squinted his eyes at Sarah in confusion, wondering who or what the hell it could be before it finally clicked in his head after a few too many moments.

“You didn’t,” he said around the cough drop, unable to believe what he thought might have happened without him knowing.

“I had to!” she responded, her hands going up to defend herself from Sam’s criticism that she could already tell was coming. She moved quickly around the kitchen, trying her best to get dinner done in a timely manner and avoid getting any more grief from her brother. Sam noticed now that she was preparing five bowls instead of four, and he heard the motorcycle outside turn off.

“You really didn’t,” he said, exhausted. He tried to stand up slowly, grumbling to himself in the process. “Now I’ve gotta deal with his ass. Can’t just have my damn stew in peace.”

“Would you calm down? This is a good thing,” Sarah chastised him, getting irritated with his attitude. “Having an extra set of hands around here will be a big help. Not that you’d know what accepting help feels like,” she added, the last sentence being said under her breath, but still loud enough for Sam to hear.

Dumbfounded, Sam opened his mouth to hit her with another smartass reply, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Sarah quickly dumped a chopped up onion into the pot of broth on the stove before going over to the door, unlocking it and opening it for none other than the one and only James Buchanan Barnes to enter the house with a bag slung over his shoulder. He moved his sunglasses to rest on top of his head before he smiled at Sarah, and she went in for a hug. Sam could feel his fever rising as his blood boiled at the sight of it.

“Welcome back!” she said excitedly, looking him over. “I’m glad you could make it! Do you need help with your bag or anything?”

“I am too,” Bucky replied through a smile, his voice dropping lower than it needed to. “And no, I should be alright, thanks. Whatever’s cookin’ smells real good, what’s for dinner?” He freely carried himself throughout the space as he responded, and his familiarity and comfortability with the house made Sam feel a little funny.

“Just some stew, nothing fancy,” she said as she went back to stirring the pot and starting to chop up more ingredients. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Bucky drawled casually, walking over to where Sam was standing by the couch. He set his bag down and got a good look at him, head to toe. “Not looking so hot, Cap. Feeling a little under the weather?”

“Something like that,” Sam rasped before a cough broke through involuntarily. He sat back down on the cushions, grabbing for his water bottle, but Bucky was faster; he handed it to him gently, and Sam eyed him, annoyed, before reluctantly taking it from his hand. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Bucky responded a little quietly, pursing his lips. Sam knew his annoyance with the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re welcome.”

A door opened down the hall, and Bucky heard them before he saw them. “Is that uncle Bucky?!” Cass yelled excitedly, and both boys ran towards him as fast as they could.

“It sure is!” Bucky beamed back, reaching down a little to meet them halfway, picking them both up in each arm and swinging them around the living room with a big smile. Bucky had always been a natural when it came to the boys, and Sam found himself feeling a tinge of fondness seeing them all get along so well. Bucky used his vibranium arm to lift AJ up onto his shoulders, still swinging Cass around in a circle. “I’m playing doctor for uncle Sammy this week, if you can believe it.”

“No way!! A whole week? That’ll be so awesome!!” Cass exclaimed, as Bucky started to set them both back down on their feet.

“Yeah,” Sam groaned, barely audible. His voice dripped with sarcasm and with dread. “So awesome.”

“Could you pick me up from school one day this week so that everyone will see that I’m friends with the Winter Soldier and think I’m super cool?” AJ asked quickly, looking up at him expectantly. 

Bucky laughed nervously, looking over towards Sam for help. Seeing him look so lost and unsure what to say was endearing and funny enough to make Sam crack a bit of a smile.

“Actually yeah,” he said. “I’m usually the one who picks them up. They’ve had to carpool the past couple days.”

“Well, uh,” Bucky started, “my bike can only really fit two, and I don’t wanna try and stick ‘em both on there. Could I borrow your car?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just get ‘em on time.”

“Alright boys,” Sarah interrupted from the kitchen, stirring the stew and turning the stove down. “Dinner’s ready, come get it.”

Sam went to stand, but Bucky gently put his hand up to stop him.

“Stay put,” he said, “I’ll get you some.”

Sam found the charity somewhat irritating at first; but he couldn’t deny that he really did not want to get up to get his own bowl. So to have Bucky bring one over to him was… nice.

The boys both ran over to the kitchen, grabbing their bowls and waiting patiently for Sarah to be done serving herself before they stepped in to get their own stew. As they did, Bucky moved to the other side of the kitchen and got out four glasses from the cabinet, opening up the fridge to get out the pitcher of sweet tea, filling them all up with ice before pouring the tea in. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion; he remembered Bucky being obsessed with Sarah’s sweet tea the first time he tried it. Why wasn’t he having a glass?

He set three of the teas at the table, then brought the last one over to the couch. He then, though, set the tea down on the coffee table, not in front of Sam but a good ways beside his water bottle, right in front of the other seat on the couch. 

“You don’t need the sugar,” Bucky deadpanned preemptively, already seeing Sam’s glare and knowing he was about to complain. He picked up Sam’s water bottle, making his way back to the kitchen.

“I don’t remember you being a doctor,” he shot back anyway, challenging him with an angry stare.

“Sam,” Sarah firmly chastised from her seat at the table. “Quit it.”

Bucky chuckled, and looked back over to him with a mischievous grin. “Yeah Sam,” he said with raised eyebrows, continuing his trek to the kitchen to get their dinner and fill up Sam’s water.

Sam grumbled to himself, wanting to argue yet again but choosing instead to just grind his jaw and crunch up the remains of his cough drop so that he could eat. With the way things were already going, he swore to himself that he’d kill Bucky before the week was over.

-

Like every night before, Sam’s symptoms got worse once night fell. Blowing his nose every ten minutes and barely able to speak, he was popping cough drops constantly, putting in a new one almost as soon as the last one faded away. He didn’t feel up to doing anything other than laying his sorry ass on the couch with his blankets and flipping through the channels on TV, and he really, really just wanted to be alone; but that wasn’t an option right now, seeing as Bucky had to be here, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He was at the very least thankful that he was being silent (it was easier that way to pretend he wasn’t even there), just reading one of his books while Sam lounged comfortably though unable to engage in conversation. He doubted he would want to even if he could.

He was tired, exhausted even, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night. He never could when he was sick; each night he’d fall asleep, rest for an hour or two, wake up coughing or choking on his own spit, stay awake for an hour, fall asleep for another two hours or so, and repeat until he gave up on sleeping once the sun finally rose. It was miserable, and after several days, he was starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation as well as the cold.

An alarm went off on Bucky’s phone then, startling Sam out of his thoughts.

“What’s that for?” he croaked, instantly regretting it when he felt the dull swollen ache in his throat and heard how pitiful his voice sounded.

Bucky looked at him with pursed lips. “Your medicine,” he said. “It helps to keep you on a schedule.”

Sam huffed in annoyance, but he was too tired to argue.

Bucky put a bookmark in his book and stood from his spot at the couch, taking Sam’s lack of protest as acceptance. Wordlessly he made his way into the kitchen, sorting through the medicine cabinet because he knew just where everything was, and Sam decided to ignore yet again the way that made him feel. He was tired, that was all. That’s why he was overthinking the way Bucky occupied the space like he belonged there, surely. That was all it was.

Sam turned his attention back to the TV, choosing to focus instead on the rerun of Bar Rescue that was currently playing, even though he had been watching this same damn show for hours now and he had kind of lost interest in how much alcohol this particular bar was wasting every month.

Bucky returned after a few minutes, longer than Sam expected it to take to pour out a little dose of cough syrup, but when he did he saw it was because he was also holding a steaming hot mug in his other hand.

“Made you some tea,” he said, setting the mug down on the coffee table in front of Sam. “Should help you sleep.”

Sam just stared up at him, feeling frustration bubbling up in him at the feeling of being constantly coddled like this, but he was too exhausted to put up too much of a fight. He could manage a little bit though.

“I don’t like tea.”

Bucky sighed, irritated but not surprised by Sam’s resistance. “Just drink it.”

Still glaring, he wordlessly reached for the medicine in Bucky’s hand and downed it like a shot, not wanting the taste to linger. His nose scrunched up at the flavor anyway and he reluctantly reached for the tea, blowing on it for a moment before giving it a sip. It actually wasn’t too bad; he could taste the lemon, honey, ginger, and…

“Is that whiskey?”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky replied, beginning to walk back over to the kitchen to put the medicine back up. “It’s a hot toddy. You’ve never had one?”

“No. Sounds old.”

Bucky chuckled a bit in response. “I guess it is. I used to make ‘em a lot back in the day, they work real well, trust me.” He then came back over to stand by the couch, looking down at where Sam was laying.  He thought for a moment, and his eyes squinted just a bit. “Do you wanna sleep out here or in the bedroom?”

“I’m fine here,” Sam replied, his voice barely registering above a whisper. The drink was helping, though, as much as he hated to admit it. “You can take the bed.”

Bucky nodded, sitting back down in his spot at the end of the couch and picking his book back up. “‘Kay.”

Sam kept sipping on his mug, drinking on it slowly until the last of it was barely warm. He felt his eyes slowly getting heavier as well, also due to the nighttime medicine making him drowsy and sleepy. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t fight to stay awake any longer, finally letting his eyelids fall shut and stay that way, curled up into his blankets.

-

He woke up with a sharp and fearful intake of breath, sitting up straight as quick as a bullet and immediately starting to cough up the phlegm that had tried to choke him in his sleep. As soon as he did, Bucky was at his side in a moment’s notice, kneeling beside the bed and gently rubbing his back while he held Sam’s water bottle in his other hand. It took Sam a few tries, but once he properly cleared his airways, he took several heavy and labored breaths to try and recover from the anxiety of it all and to return his breathing to normal as much as he could. Having Bucky there was definitely a help; whenever this would happen while he was alone, it took him a lot longer to calm himself down, nerves running rampant with the fact that he could have almost died from asphyxiation (or so he convinced himself).

With one last deep breath, he looked over at Bucky, who was closer to him than he expected him to be. He squinted in confusion as he huffed, and looked over to see a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor opposite the coffee table.

“You slept on the floor?” he whispered.

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I sleep better that way.”

Sam understood the sentiment; he remembered having a talk with Steve about it when they first met. Sam also understood but didn’t comment on the fact that it was probably also so that Bucky could keep a better eye on him this way. He decided yet another time that he didn’t want to explore how he felt about it.

Bucky handed him his water bottle, and he drank greedily. He needed to clear some of the thicker saliva out of his mouth so that he wouldn’t choke on it again, at least not for a while. The coolness of the ice-cold water made him sigh with relief as it eased some of the pain in his throat on the way down.

“Lean up a bit,” Bucky spoke softly, his hand leaving Sam’s back as he stood to grab another pillow from the other end of the couch. He slotted it behind Sam, stacking it with the pillows that were already there. “You gotta stay upright.”

Sam leaned back into the new pillow arrangement, and it felt all wrong. He didn’t know if he could sleep sitting up, and when he tried to rest his head, his neck bent at an awkward angle. He scowled and scooted down the cough enough to get comfortable, trying his best to stay as vertical as he could.

“There,” Bucky said, standing up and stepping back. Sam noticed he was only wearing a pair of lounge shorts, his dog tags dangling over his bare chest. “That should help.”

“Why are you doing all this?” he heard himself say, not entirely intending to speak his thoughts aloud. His voice was soft and slow with sleep as the question fell out. “Going through all this trouble just for me?”

Bucky took in a breath before responding. “Because you’re my friend, and I care about you.”

Sam would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat at that; getting Bucky to admit literally anything about his feelings (in any form other than a complaint) was no small feat. He smiled a little at the thought of being the reason for it. “Thank you, Buck. It’s mutual.”

“Good,” Bucky huffed, his discomfort palpable. He clearly was not used to this kind of talk. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Sam huffed out a small laugh. “Of course. Can’t have people knowing the Winter Soldier’s gone all soft.”

“Exactly. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

Sam laughed again and pulled his blankets tighter to him, getting as comfortable as he could in his new sleeping position. He turned his head to the side and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. “Aren’t you nervous about getting sick, though?”

“Perk of the serum. Haven’t been sick since the thirties.”

“What makes you so good at all this then?” Sam asked, his voice becoming less and less audible as he felt himself start to get sleepy again. “The caring stuff.”

Bucky paused and looked down at the floor for a moment before gathering himself. “I used to care for Steve a lot when he’d get sick. Which was pretty much all the time, so I learned a few tricks along the way. Glad they’re coming in handy.”

“Me too,” Sam mumbled, the words barely coming out. “He was… real lucky.”

Sam didn’t stay awake long enough to hear the way Bucky’s breath hitched at the comment, or see the way his eyes watered ever-so-slightly; but when he fell back asleep, he slept through the night for the first time all week, knowing that Bucky was right there next to him.

Would love initial opinions/critique on this if you have any !! And again this is only a WIP, I'll probably keep posting more WIPs as I work on it and I'll make a little announcement post whenever I finish it and post it on my AO3. Just wanted to get a little bit of it out there after talking about it for so long. Anyway thank you for reading I hope you have a nice day :]

[flaminandgooo]

Wip wednesthursday

(ft. Sam coming home black and blue from his fight with Ross and Bucky's there with soup.)

"Who knew you were such mother hen?"

It got a huff out of Bucky and Sam reveled in it, the familiarity of there banter a soothing balm after the last few days' events.

"Three younger sisters, Sam," Bucky reminded him, undeterred and unperturbed in his quest to find whatever he was looking for in Sam's kitchen cabinet. "And do I need to remind you how many health problems Steve had before the serum?"

"Touché."

“Yeah. Now go take a shower-”

“Way to make a guy feel welcomed, Buck. Just say I reek.”

But Bucky just ignored him and carried on, his back turned to Sam as he reached for the cabinet above the sink where he kept his mugs.

“I'll warm up the soup and make some tea while you're in there.”

Sam's ears perked up. As much as he still wanted to bicker with Bucky, the mention of soup overrode it and he finally noticed the pot on his stovetop.

Shuffling towards it while the other man was still busy rummaging around his kitchen like it was his own, Sam leaned over the pot and peeked at what was inside, aromas hitting his nose, familiar and comforting. It brought him back to his childhood and Delacroix, the ghost of his mother’s hand running gently over his head.

“Did you make this?” he asked, peering to the side to see Bucky had stopped his fussing in favor of watching him apprehensively.

“Yeah? It's the recipe Sarah gave me.”

Huh, Sam thought. It did smell suspiciously like the chicken noodle soup his Mama used to make for him and Sarah when they were children and their stomach wouldn't settle because of sickness. She had a peculiar way of making it, using chicken thighs slowly cooked in the broth with the vegetables instead of adding shredded meat from an already cooked rotisserie chicken. ‘It's the bones that make it more delicious, mo tite perl’ she used to tell him. That was the way she’d always made it and the way both he and Sarah had learned to make it.

That soup had gotten him through colds and bad nights over the years. Something so simple yet so comforting to him.

“Does it smell bad?”

Sam blinked, the sound of Bucky’s slightly hesitant voice cutting through his reminiscing. Not harsh, just a gentle beckoning back to the present.

“No,” he said after a while, eyes meeting Bucky’s uncertain ones. “Pretty much the same as my Mama’s actually.”

The relieved sigh Bucky let out at the words would have been pretty damn hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that his friend making this specific soup made Sam feel unexpectedly warm inside.