#until wilson finally barks at him to sit down. house drops to the couch so fast it twinges his leg

[marc--chilton]

(mgv) wilson being very on top of his cycle, but house also knowing his cycle and sending him into pre-rut for laughs (and also in the vain hope one of these days wilson'll just take him like an animal but yknow. that desire goes unspoken) like he'll just check his little mental calendar and get Devious Ideas

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

Hello you told me not to hold back so I’m gonna be ANNOYING feel free to ignore indefinitely until you’re feeling it but I’m gonna send you like a bunch of prompts cause I can’t sleep and am stalling finishing my own fic.

First one: Bobby (obviously), Reggie or Luke or friends I don’t even care, tea and blankets

lol hi have a rebuke cuddle-puddle disaster, also available on ao3 here. warning for swearing and very vague allusions to physical child abuse.

i guess we belong to each other | reggielukebobby | 1.8k words

--

Luke has his guitar in his lap and his writing notebook by his side even though it's late at night. He's playing his acoustic, so that he has no chance of stirring Bobby's parents from where he's sat in their studio, and though he'd never admit it to anyone, it's cold enough that he's found one of Alex's hoodies in the back of the studio, a black one Alex never wears any more, and he's bundled up in it to try to fight off the chills. He regrets storming out earlier this evening — not because his parents might be worried, he's still too mad at them for that, but because he misses his own warm bed in a house with central heating.

But it's late, and he doesn't want to bother Bobby, who's already been generous enough as it is (and is exceptionally grumpy when he's woken in the middle of the night). So Alex's old hoodie, smelling vaguely of the dusty studio and distantly of Alex, will have to do.

A noise distracts Luke from his writing. Something outside the studio, maybe an animal, but it sounded like footsteps. Cautiously, he draws his guitar closer, running through what he could say if it's Bobby's parents, his heart suddenly rabbit-fast in his chest.

A head pokes through the door.

Luke's shoulders drop with relief.

It's Reggie.

He looks a little scruffy, not like himself, because usually Reggie pays such close attention to his appearance, fusses over his hair and colour-codes his outfits and shaves with the precision of a professional painter. But he kinda looks messy, which makes Luke's stomach feel even colder than the air around him.

“Oh! Hey, man,” Reggie laughs, putting on a big smile, and it'd fool anyone else — Reggie's too experienced at this for his own good. “I didn't know you'd be here!”

“Hi, Reg,” says Luke, sounding a little distracted even to his own ears as he carefully looks Reggie over. He's not walking like he's been hurt, and there are no visible injuries. So that's something. Jesus, Luke wouldn't know what to do if Reggie turned up here with a fresh version of the bruises Luke sometimes catches him trying to hide. “You, uh — you good?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Reggie agrees easily, saunters into the studio and slumps down on the couch next to Luke. The relaxed way he moves soothes Luke's worry somewhat. “The house was just — ugh. You know how they can be.” Looking over at Luke, Reggie adds, “Hey, isn't that Alex's hoodie? I was wondering what had happened to that.”

“Hey!” Luke sputters, a little defensive. “He didn't, like, loan it to me or anything, it was just here! I found it.”

“It is cold,” Reggie concedes, pulling his flannel a little tighter around him. “Wish I'd brought my jacket, but it was in the kitchen and I didn't wanna. I dunno. Didn't wanna get in the way.”

Luke nods, puts his guitar to the side so he can press up against Reggie's side. Hip to hip, his cheek on Reggie's shoulder, links their ankles together and puts an arm over Reggie's stomach. Almost automatically, Reggie links his arms around Luke in turn.

Honestly, Luke was intending to steal some of Reggie's body heat, but after Reggie's walk outside and in such a thin layer, he thinks Reggie's probably leeching his own. Luke lets him go ahead; Reggie seems to need it more than he does.

They sit for a moment, both unusually quiet, huddling and not talking. Not so much for a lack of things to talk about, but more because any topic that comes to Luke's mind feels insurmountably complex and emotional. There’s so much stuff he can't tell Reggie — so much stuff Reggie isn't telling him. So they sit together and try to create some warmth without the need for disclosure.

Until there's another set of scuffled footsteps outside.

“Not Alex too,” Reggie sighs, at a whispered volume so that the newcomer can't hear him, “he squirms so much in his sleep, man, I can't share this pull-out with him again.”

Luke muffles a laugh with the back of his hand, but he can't help worry it's Alex, too. Things have been... okay, he thinks, with Alex's folks since he came out, but he also knows Alex hoped for better. Suspects there are things Alex isn't telling them (so they all have that in common).

But it's not Alex. Preceded by an armful of blankets that he's almost tripping on, Bobby staggers in, still in his pajamas and with his eyes almost all the way closed. “Luke? It's fucking freezing, I thought I'd—” He stops when he gets far enough in to see Reggie on the couch too. “Oh, shit.”

“Hey, Bobby,” says Reggie, voice a little nervous. “I hope it's okay that I—”

“Shut up,” Bobby grumbles, and dumps the whole pile of blankets on top of Reggie. “You guys are stupid. You're both out here, in the freezing cold, and neither of you come wake me up?”

“We didn't want—” Luke starts, at the same time as Reggie insists, “You were sleeping—!”

“Idiots,” Bobby growls, rubbing his eye with his sweater paw and yawning. He looks stupidly cute, like a little kid. “You're idiots, and I hate dealing with you. I'll be back.” Turning to leave the studio again, he turns back and adds, “Hurry up and burrito yourselves in those blankets, I swear to god. And Luke, isn’t that Alex’s hoodie?”

“He left it—!” Luke starts, but Bobby’s already gone, leaving Luke with Reggie, cackling at him.

—

By the time Bobby returns, Luke and Reggie have folded the couch out into its bed form, and are snuggling under the several blankets, giggling together as they talk about how grumpy Bobby had been.

“We should have woken him up,” Reggie snorts, “I think then he would have been less pissed.”

“I would have,” Bobby agrees, sounding somewhere between menacing and amused, as he reappears over them. His hair is all shaggy in his face. He's carrying a teapot. And cups. “Sit up.”

Luke does right away, Reggie pulling himself up a little slower. Bobby sits cross-legged at the foot of the couch-bed, tucking his socked toes under his own legs to keep warm, and pours them each a mug of what smells like peppermint tea. Suddenly, Luke can't imagine anything better in the world. When Bobby offers him a cup, he takes it eagerly, wrapping his cold hands around it and enjoying the steam wafting up to his face.

“Wow,” says Reggie softly, eyes wide, “thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luke echoes, letting out a sigh as he takes his first sip.

“Forget it,” Bobby says, a little bitey. Luke knows it's because Bobby hates being seen as nice, so he doesn't take it personally, and he knows Reggie won't either. He has his own cup, which he drinks as though it's done something to offend him, scowling off into the corner of the studio. Reggie nudges Bobby with his foot from under the layers of blankets, and a tiny smile tugs at Bobby's mouth as he nudges Reggie back with his elbow.

After the cup of tea, Luke feels better. He feels warmer on the inside, now, and sleepy too. Reggie is starting to get that dopey, slow blink that shows he's on the verge of sleep as well. Bobby clears his throat and holds out a hand, beckoning for their empty cups. Luke and Reggie hand them over.

“Okay,” says Bobby, after a pause. “G'night, guys.” He goes to stand, but Reggie leans forward and catches Bobby's sleeve.

“Would you stay?” he asks, as if he can't help himself, as if on sheer impulse, but he doesn’t look embarrassed afterwards.

“Reg!” Luke says, a little startled. “It's cold out here, he won't want—”

But he sees Bobby's face, and he stops himself. Because he can see it in Bobby's eyes. That he does want. He’s Bobby, so he won't say it, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on some point behind Luke and Reggie's heads, but Luke has known Bobby for too long to miss something this obvious, no matter what else Bobby can hide from him.

“That being said,” Luke backtracks hurriedly, “it would be warmer with you here, Wilson. I'm happy to be a leech.”

“That's all I'm good for, huh?” Bobby snorts, but he's already setting the mugs down on the floor near the side of the bed, already shuffling the teapot down there too. He hops up for a moment, and Luke wonders where he’s going, before he realises Bobby is just switching off the light. When Bobby comes back, he pauses, like he's not sure where he fits, and Luke and Reggie make eye contact for only a second before they move apart, leaving a space in the middle.

Bobby looks even less sure of himself, eyebrows knitted, jaw tight. His hands flex and one of them twists in the hem of his sweater. Luke gets it. It looks too much like it's on Bobby's behalf, like they’re doing it to make space for Bobby. Bobby’s always had trouble accepting anything that seems like it’s for his own benefit.

“I already sucked all Reggie's warmth up,” Luke explains.

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees immediately, and Luke loves him, “and you're warmer than Luke anyway, man. I wanna huddle with you. As a penguin, you would be my first-choice huddle-buddy.”

Bobby barks a laugh. “The fuck? What does that even mean?” Finally, he wriggles his way under the blankets in between them, and rolls his eyes when they both throw limbs over him right away, twining legs and arms together and resting cheeks on his chest.

“Like, if we were penguins. You know? In the winter?” Reggie says, like this is totally obvious and self-explanatory. “If I was a penguin, I'd be looking for the Bobby-penguin in the winter huddle to stick close to.”

“Aaand I'm at my capacity for dumb shit,” Bobby says, closing his eyes pointedly, but it's a scam, because his hands come to run through Luke and Reggie's hair. “Goodnight, morons.”

“Goodnight, Bobby,” they chorus. This close, Luke could almost brush noses with Reggie, has to try to focus his eyes to keep Reggie from getting blurry. Reggie sticks his tongue out at Luke just a little, and Luke grins back, links his fingers with Reggie’s over Bobby’s stomach, rubbing over Reggie’s knuckles until Reggie’s fingers don’t feel so much like icicles. When Luke uses his free hand to tug the neckline of Alex’s hoodie up over his nose, the familiar smell of the third piece of his heart soothes him right down.

The feel of Bobby’s fingernails on his scalp makes Luke’s eyelids flutter, and before he knows it he’s dopey, the world feeling blurrier and safer and cozier. Honestly, more like home than his own house would have. He no longer daydreams of returning to his own warm bed. Instead, he feels the way Bobby’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, pushing his and Reggie’s joined hands up and down. If he listens closely, Luke can hear Bobby’s heartbeat, familiar and steady.

Maybe the cold isn't all bad.

--

other prompt fills here :)

jatp taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @queenmolina @nickalicious @bi-reginald @malecacidd @burntchromas @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @cinnamonstickrayofsunlight @chickwiththepurpleguitar @fairylightsandrainydays @joyandthephantoms @fighttoshine @michelangelinda @queenofthequillandink 

[avintagekiss24]

Piper’s Creek [5/10]

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word Count: 4994

Warnings: language, smut, oral sex, anal sex

Rating: Explicit

Link: AO3

Summary: Sam Wilson is a simple man. He likes to do simple things, like going fishing on a warm summer day. Little does Sam know, this fishing trip will not only lead him to his soulmate, but into a world of ancient folklore.

Square Filled: U2 - Forgiveness for @buckybarnesbingo

O4 - "Put down your gun and step away” for @stuckybingo2019

A/N: If anyone does not want to be tagged, please, let me know! Don’t want to annoy you guys! @waltermittie is my beautiful friend, and the artist behind the chapter graphics and the portraits below. Please give her a follow :)

This is the last chapter before the weekend! Posting will resume Monday, September 23rd.

Sam glances around nervously as he rubs his palms over his thighs. He chews on his bottom lip as he stares out at the trees before him. The sun is muted by grey clouds, the air smells like rain. He can hear the rushing water of the creek. It’s calling him. His heart thumps in his chest as he stands at the edge of the woods, his mind racing. 

When he had left Natasha and Wanda’s, he was pretty clear on what had to be done. He had tried to ignore the situation, pretend it didn’t happen at all, but the pull from deep in the woods was just too strong. Bucky’s heartbeat was all he could hear. Sam locks the doors to his car and steps into the brush before he can talk himself out of it. He focuses on the sound of the creek, the birds chirping, leaves rustling as he moves. 

He pushes branches out of his face as his feet push him forward, the snapping of twigs and crunching of dried leaves adding to the natural soundtrack of the day. When he reaches the creek, he pauses. He glances down at his watch- it’s late. He’s probably been down to the creek already. Stop stalling, Wilson.

Sam moves down to the bank and steps into the water. It’s cold, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He pushes through the water slowly and carefully, setting his lead foot deliberately before moving taking the next step. The water comes hip high at its deepest, but soon, Sam is stepping on the opposite bank, his wet jeans sticking to his skin. He glances over his shoulder and then drops his head. You can go back. It’s not to late. 

He takes a step forward. 

He’s not even sure where he’s going, he just keeps walking, digging himself deeper into the Seattle landscape. There seems to be a path beaten into the ground now. Sam blinks as he breathes through his parted lips. Paw prints are scattered into the soft dirt, big ones. Bucky. He knows he’s moving in the right direction. 

He pushes through a line of trees and stops in his tracks as he comes to a clearing. There’s a small house about one hundred yards away with a beaten up old black truck parked next to it. It’s homely, the house. It was once run down, but someone has put a lot of work into bringing it back to its former glory. Vines snake up the pillars on either side of the porch, a little bit of green moss covering the concrete step.

One of the windows on the side of the house is open, the thin white curtains dancing with the soft breeze. Sam moves forward, his eyes darting back and forth, as anxiety rises in his chest. He stops when he hears movement from inside the house, soft thuds, footsteps, maybe. A twig snaps behind him and Sam whips around, pulling out the nine millimeter handgun from his waistband.

“Put down your gun, and step away,” comes a low voice behind him. Sam whirls back toward the house. 

Sam swallows hard as he adjusts his grip on his gun nervously as he points toward a tall, blond man. The man cocks the double barrel shotgun that he holds at eye level and takes a step further out onto the porch, “I mean it. Back up, now.”

Sam takes a breath and runs his tongue over his lip, “Are you Steven? Steven Rogers?”

Sam ducks quickly, throwing his hands over his ears as the man shoots up in the air. He cocks it again, the empty shells flying from the barrel and landing near his feet as he trains it back on Sam, “Next shot takes your head clean off. Leave. I won’t say it again.”

“Listen, I’m just-” Sam starts, raising his hands in the air.

“Jesus, man. What in the fuck do you not understand!” The man shouts, stepping off of the porch, “Get the fuck out of here!”

A growl is heard from behind the house, shifting Sam’s attention. The large grey wolf leaps out from the treeline, bounding towards the man with gun. It stops beside him, its head low, saliva dripping from its bared teeth as it growl grows louder. It lunges towards Sam, barking and growling as it steps back toward the gun wielding blond. Sam’s heart sinks to his feet. He’s obviously made a fuck of a mistake. 

Within seconds, the nearly black eyes of the wolf suddenly soften, the greenish blue hue returning to them. Sam blinks quickly, and then, there he is. Bucky, naked and standing next to Steve. Bucky’s eyes are wide, his lips parted as he blinks at Sam, swallowing quickly. 

“Sam?” Bucky calls quietly, causing Steve to cut his eyes toward him. Bucky reaches for Steve’s arm, pushing it down to lower the gun, “It’s okay, Steve.”

Steve keeps his hard eyes on Sam as Bucky starts moving toward him, his chest rising and falling harshly as adrenaline courses through his veins. Bucky too keeps his sights on Sam, his eyes soft and vulnerable as he keeps his breath steady. He can smell the fear emanating from Sam as he approaches. His eyes are wide and wild, darting between his and Steve’s as he takes a step back, and then another. 

“Sammy, I’m sorry.” Bucky whispers, his voice light and airy as he tries to stop Sam from fleeing again, “I’m sorry baby, you scared us. That’s all. We won’t hurt you - I won’t hurt you.”

Sam stops, his breath rushing hard and fast from through his teeth as his chest heaves. Bucky keeps his hands up so that Sam can see them and looks back at Steve, waving his hand quickly so Steve will drop the gun to his side completely, “Steve, please.”

Steve lets out a huff, dropping the gun to his side as he straightens his posture, still just a little on edge. Bucky stops once he’s within arms reach of the frightened Sam and reaches out slowly. Sam sticks the gun in his face out of fear, his hand shaking as he blinks furiously, his mind racing but still at the same time. Steve takes a step forward but Bucky raises his hand to stop him, keeping his steel blue eyes on Sam. 

He reaches forward - slowly - pushing his hand through the still air until his fingers slide along Sam’s shaking hand, “It’s okay baby.” He whispers, pushing his hand down slowly, “You’re safe. Okay? You’re safe with me.”

Tears begin to sting the back of Sam’s eyes, his chin trembling as the anxiety and fear starts to become too much. Bucky pulls him into his body, wrapping his arms around Sam’s torso and flattening his hands on his back. Sam drops his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder as his arms go limp at his sides. 

He takes a deep shaky breath as Bucky holds him tightly, swaying them gently. A sob escapes him, his face crumpling as he starts to break down. Bucky rests his large hand on the top of Sam’s head, keeping him squeezed to his chest as he tries to soothe him, “I’m sorry baby. I’m sorry. You’re okay. You’re okay, Sam.”

“Hey,” Steve says gently as he approaches and rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “Bring him inside.”

The threesome moves into the small cottage, Steve veering towards the kitchen, Bucky moving Sam toward the round table. He sits him down and rubs his back gently as he kneels beside him and pushes his forehead to Sam’s. Steve grabs a pair of sweatpants and tosses them toward Bucky, who cuts his eyes toward him in a flash of anger.

“Doesn’t seem like a time for you to be naked, Buck.”

“Really, Steve?” Bucky huffs, standing and shuffling into the grey Nike sweats before kneeling back down toward Sam, “Jesus.”

“Just sayin’. Tea? Coffee? Water?”

Bucky leans in a little, sniffing gently, “Tea.”

Steve nods and makes himself busy with the tea as Bucky drags the knitted blanket from the back of the couch and throws it over Sam’s shoulders. He rubs Sam’s back and shoulders firmly, trying to warm him up, “You’re shaking like a leaf, babe.”

Sam lowers his forehead to the table and closes his eyes as he sniffles loudly. His tears drop to his knees as he lets out a steady breath through his teeth, and another, and then another as he tries to calm himself down. What are you doing here? What are you doing?! his internal monologue screams, the words bouncing around his brain. 

Bucky leans into him again, resting his hand between Sam’s shoulder blades, “Sammy, talk to me. Please.”

Steve glances over his shoulder toward them as he sets the kettle on the iron stove. Bucky’s nervous, his voice soft and kind of shaky as tries to soothe Sam. Steve was skeptical at first, knowing that they’ve been through this very thing time and time before, only for Bucky to eventually get his heart broken over and over again. But seeing them, like this - he knows it’s real. Bucky really has finally found his Sam. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam chokes out, “I just-”

“Don’t apologize to me. I know this is a lot,” Bucky answers softly. 

Sam chuckles quickly at the absurdity of the whole thing, rolling his head slowly back and forth on the old wooden table. It grows silent again. Bucky lifts his eyes to Steve’s, worry dancing in them as Steve places the pale yellow mug on the table.

“We get it,” Steve shrugs as he crosses his arms over his chest, “It’s-”

“A lot,” Sam finishes, “Yeah, I know.”

Bucky frowns, dropping his head as he rubs his forehead,  “I’m sorry, Sam. I know you didn’t want this.”

Sam rolls his head to his left, blinking through the tears in his eyes. He stares at Bucky, who stares back at him, his eyes betraying nervousness. Sam smiles slowly as he looks over Bucky’s handsome face. Despite the whole werewolf thing, Sam landed himself a looker. 

“How did you know I prefer tea to coffee?”

Bucky lets out a breath as he runs his hand through his hair, “I can smell it on you. English Breakfast, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Wow,” Sam laughs lightly, “That’s impressive.”

Bucky reaches for him, sliding his warm hand along his face and cupping his cheek. Sam closes his eyes and lets the warmth from Bucky’s hand spread through him. Sam hums out of comfort as Bucky rubs his thumb across his cheek.

“I forgive you.” Sam whispers, leaving his eyes closed.

Bucky smiles brightly and lifts Sam’s hand to his lips. He rubs his nose along Sam’s knuckles, dragging in deep breaths of his scent before he peppers the backs of Sam’s fingers with kisses, “Thank you.” 

Steve clears his throat and nods his head toward their shared bedroom once Bucky flicks his eyes up at him. He steps into the small room, shoving his hands in his pockets as Bucky moves through the threshold.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks almost immediately.

“Nothing. Listen, I gotta head into town for some stuff. I was thinking that I could get a room for a night or two, give you two some space?”

Bucky shakes his head, “No. I don’t want you to go.”

“He needs you, Buck. You’re the only one that can help him reconcile all of this. I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be in the way,” Bucky says, resting his hands on Steve’s broad chest, “The three of us need to figure this out together. Please don’t go.”

Steve smiles at his sincerity. He cups Bucky’s face in his hands and leans in to plant a kiss on his lips, “I have my phone if you need me, okay? I’ll be here in a flash.”

“Steve,”

“You’re not changing my mind. You two need some time together, alone.” 

Bucky sticks out his bottom lip and squints as Steve chuckles lowly. He’s packed within minutes, the two men heading back out into the common area. Sam stands, his eyes sliding to bag in Steve’s hands, “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. You don’t have to leave, I can- I can go.”

“No, no, no. Please,” Steve says, outreaching his hand toward Sam’s, “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m a little jumpy when it comes to strangers.”

Sam nods, taking Steve’s hand and shaking it, “No harm, no foul, right? It’s all good.”

“I’m going to walk him out, okay?” Bucky says, “I’ll be right back.”

The two move back out into the muted day, hand in hand. Bucky keeps a hold of Steve’s arm as he opens the door and throws his duffel bag into the passenger seat. When Steve turns back to him, Bucky wraps his arms around his waist, pulling their lower halves into one another. He gazes up at Steve, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. It fades as quickly as it came, and is replaced by a worried grimace. 

“You’re okay, right?” Bucky asks softly as he starts to think about how Steve must be feeling. 

Steve nods, “I’m fine. We’ve been through this before.”

“But not like this. Not with my soulmate.”

Steve takes a deep breath and exhales harshly. He’s hurt, Bucky can read it all over him, but he’s knows that Steve will never admit it. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve smiles, “I knew this was coming.”

“This doesn’t change anything between us,” Bucks says. “You know that, right?”

Steve nods slowly, a soft smile still present, “I know.”

Steve lowers his head to Bucky’s, grabbing his lips again with his own. Steve rests his forehead on Bucky’s as Bucky wraps his hands around his neck. They breathe each other in as they rub their noses together. He kisses the bridge of Bucky’s nose, and then runs his hands through his dark hair.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers, not opening his eyes.

“I love you too, kiddo. Please be careful while I’m gone.”

“Always.”

Bucky steps away from him, watching as Steve climbs into the truck and brings it to life. He wiggles his fingers as him as Steve pulls off and watches until he can’t see the taillights anymore. He turns back toward the house and takes a breath as his nerves start to get the best of him. Just try not to scare him again, genius.

Sam watches the two men exchange words outside as he peeks through the thin curtains. He watches Bucky wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and turns away, feeling a little guilty for spying. He takes breath as his eyes scan over the living room/kitchen. The place is small but cozy. They’ve definitely made it into a home. 

Sam walks further into the room, running his fingers over the back of the couch absentmindedly as he glances around. He moves into the kitchen and eyes the dishware behind the glass panes of the cupboards. Every little piece is in its place. Each mug facing forward, the handles all pointing in the same direction. The plates are mismatched, some plain white, one or two a pale blue color, and one, only one, is decorated with vines and flowers. Sam chuckles. He just knows that’s Bucky’s favorite plate. 

He skims his fingers over the pale yellow and white hand towel thrown over the handle of the oven as he stretches his neck slightly to peer into the bedroom through the slightly ajar door. He glances back toward the window, catching a quick glimpse of the two men still conversing near the truck, and then pushes through the door. 

He steps into the room slowly, his eyes skipping around quickly as he takes in the room. It’s clean and well kept, just like the kitchen. The bed is large and is the center point of the room. A mountain of pillows sit at the headboard, more pillows than two people really need, but it makes Sam smile. 

The sheets are white with a cream colored knitted blanket thrown over top. Sam runs his hand over it as he moves deeper into the room. He peeks into the bathroom, finding the same precise order as he did in the kitchen and bedroom, and one pink towel hanging from the towel rack. Bucky certainly likes to make himself known, even when he is nowhere in sight. 

“Hey.”

Sam turns, and finds Bucky standing in the door frame, “Hey. Everything okay?”

Bucky nods, tucking his hair behind his ear, “Yeah, he’s,” his voice fades as his eyes dip toward the floor, “Everything’s okay.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble between you two.”

“You’re not, this is just,” Bucky shrugs, “Weird. He’ll be okay. We all will.”

Sam nods slowly, his mind still uncertain but his heart ready to fall, “Military guy, Steve?”

A slight smile spreads on Bucky’s lips, “How do you know that?”

“Every little thing has its place.” Sam smiles as he exhales deeply, “The plates, the pillows, the toothbrushes. Looks like my apartment.”

“Oh god, you too?”

Sam laughs genuinely, “The English Breakfast tea didn’t give it away?”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he moves into the room and plops down on the edge of the bed, “I was just hoping you’d vacationed there or something.”

“I was stationed there for like two years.”

“Well, I guess I have a type then, hmm?”

Sam laughs again, letting it fade around them until there’s just a smile on his face. The two watch each other for a few minutes, both nervous and slightly shy. Bucky pats the mattress beside him and watches as Sam ambles toward him and sits down. Sam takes a breath, biting his bottom lip as he buckles underneath Bucky’s warm stare. He picks at the blanket as he swallows quickly, his mind trying to recall the last time he was this nervous. 

He laughs nervously before glancing back up and locking eyes with Bucky. He blinks slowly and lets his gaze wander, falling to his nose, and then his lips and chin. He bites his lip again as the air begins to shift between them. Everything about Bucky Barnes is alluring and almost irresistible. The pinkness of his lips, the dark stubble splashed on his chin and cheeks. The way his hair falls in his face.

His eyes fall to Bucky’s bare chest and he reaches out suddenly, before he even realizes it, to trace a light scar that travels from his clavicle to his left peck. He continues to run his index finger along his skin, up to his shoulder, and then down his bicep. Bucky tilts his head as he keeps his eyes Sam, watching him as he explores his body. He likes his touch. It reminds him of when Steve first touched him. 

Bucky inches his fingers toward Sam’s free hand. He plays with Sam’s index finger at first, sliding his along his skin. He then snakes his fingers underneath Sam’s, lifting them from the mattress so he can link their digits together. He brings his eyes to Sam’s again as he brings their hands to his lips. He kisses the back of Sam’s hand softly, sweetly- his eyes fluttering shut as his lips graze his soft skin. 

Sam’s mouth drops open as his breath starts to shallow. His chest rises and falls harder and faster as arousal starts to build in the pit of his stomach. He swallows as his eyes drop to Bucky’s mouth, wanting those pretty pink lips on his instead of his hand. He drags his eyes back toward Bucky’s as they open again. The depth in them, those blue eyes, takes his breath away. 

He leans in without another thought, sliding his hand around Bucky’s neck to draw him closer. Their lips meet for the first time in a soft, slow, damn near perfect kiss. Sam hums gently as they both exhale and go in for another, Bucky’s head tilting to the right as he grabs Sam’s lips again. He sucks Sam’s top lip into his mouth and pulls softly as he cups his cheeks in his palms, his thumbs pushing along Sam’s jaw. 

This kiss deepens as a slight frenzy starts to build between them. Their lips smack, hands pull at articles of clothing, moans filling the small room. They separate long enough for Bucky to slip Sam’s polo shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor before he pushes Sam back on the bed. He climbs over him, resting his knees on either side of Sam’s waist as he leans over him. He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, a slow smile spreading across his face as Sam reaches up to sweep his hair out of his face. 

Bucky drops his lips to Sam’s again, stealing the air right out of his lungs with a deep, hungry kiss. Sam slides his hands along Bucky’s muscular back and into the grey sweats that cover his lower half. Bucky groans into his mouth as Sam squeezes his ass and pushes his hips into his. He breaks their kiss moments later and leans up, resting his hands on Sam’s chest as he rolls his hips into Sam’s crotch. 

Sam grabs Bucky’s hand, dragging his hand to his lips. He takes Bucky’s index finger into his mouth, keeping his eyes on him as he sucks his digit slowly. He slides his tongue along it, moaning as Bucky grinds his ass down into his crotch again before releasing his finger with a pop. 

Bucky smiles wickedly. 

He crawls down the length of Sam’s body, dragging his hands down his toned stomach until his fingers skim along his jeans. He leans down and sprinkles kisses along Sam’s stomach, lightly laughing as Sam gasps and hisses. He drags his wet tongue through the curly hair at Sam’s navel and up to his belly button as his fingers work his zipper down. He flattens his lips against Sam’s abs, kissing each one as he tugs on his jeans and boxers, pushing the material away from his hips. 

Sam’s erection springs free, bobbing back and forth as his jeans hit the floor. Bucky’s eyes widen as his mouth drops open at the beautiful sight before him. Oh, Bucky Barnes most certainly has a type. He sheds his sweatpants, his own rigid erection finally free as he climbs back onto the mattress. He takes Sam into his hand, squeezing his girth firmly before he begins pumping him slowly, biting his bottom lip as he flicks his eyes up toward Sam’s. 

Sam slams his head back on the mattress as his eyes close and his mouth drops open as warmth and passion flashes through him. Bucky licks his lips as he drops his eyes back to Sam’s hard dick. He kisses the tip, biting his lip again as he feels a shudder spread through Sam. Bucky kisses him again and then takes him fully into his mouth, closing his eyes and groaning as Sam hits the back of his throat. 

Sam lifts his hips from the mattress as Bucky sucks the life out of him. He digs his fingers into Bucky’s hair and pulls as his tongue swirls around the tip of his cock. Bucky continues to pump him, his hand twisting and turning as his mouth follows close behind. Bucky moans loudly as Sam’s hips jerk upward and he pulls harshly on his hair, pain prickling through his scalp. 

Bucky groans again as he releases Sam with a pop. He swallows the tangy precum on his tongue and sinks him mouth back down on him, taking Sam to his hilt. Sam leans up slightly, watching as Bucky releases his cock again, saliva and cum hanging from his bottom lip. Bucky locks eyes with Sam as he sweeps his tongue along his bottom lip, collecting the mess he made and swallowing it again. 

Sam reaches for him, wanting that mouth on his again, “Please.”

Bucky obliges, climbing the length of Sam’s body until they are face to face once more. Sam crashes his lips to Bucky’s in a hard kiss, his fingers twisting in his hair again. Bucky rocks his hips slowly, his cock sliding along Sam’s stomach as their lips smack against one another. Bucky forces Sam legs apart with his knees as he sits back on his thighs. He rubs Sam’s thigh, squeezing his flesh as he pushes his free hand along the length of his own cock. 

Bucky reaches for the nightstand, sliding open the small drawer and fumbles around with the contents inside. He pulls out a small tube of lube and squeezes some onto his index finger before he smooths is across his middle finger with his thumb. He rubs Sam’s thigh with his free hand as he slips his fingers between Sam’s cheeks. 

Sam moans again as Bucky gently swirls his fingers around his hole. He bucks his hips upward at the sensation, grabbing his rigid cock to stroke himself. Quick spurts of cum dribble from his slit as he sets his hooded eyes on Bucky. He rolls his hips into his hand as it slides up and down his shaft, a shiver flashing down his spine when Bucky grunts at the sight of Sam pleasuring himself. 

Bucky bites his bottom lip as he falls forward, flattening his palm on the bed to hold himself up. His hair dangles in his face as he lines himself with Sam’s puckered hole. Sam wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist, digging his heels into his ass to push him forward. He grabs Bucky’s wrist as he feels him starting to push at his entrance. He hisses as he slams his eyes closed, his mouth falling open as Bucky slides into him slowly. 

Bucky’s mouth drops open as he pushes into him, moaning as his cock disappears. Once his hips are flush against Sam’s skin, his cock bottomed out in him, he lays back down on top of him. Chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. He kisses Sam again as he wraps his arms around his neck and head before nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder. 

Sam grunts as Bucky starts to move, his hips rolling into his as he withdraws, and then pushes all the way back in. Sam tilts his head toward the ceiling, his face screwing up with pleasure as Bucky grinds into him. He snakes his hands down Bucky’s back, kneading his flesh as Bucky’s muscles flex and tighten with his thrusts. He grabs two handfuls of Bucky’s ass and squeezes as his tongue licks Bucky’s neck and shoulder. 

Bucky growls in Sam’s ear before he nibbles on his earlobe, pulling softly as Sam’s octave rises slightly. He bites down on Sam’s shoulder and thrusts into him hard, just wanted to hear him whine- and Sam doesn’t disappoint. Within minutes, frenzy seeps into their bones. Bucky’s thrusts are fast and deep as he buries his face into Sam’s neck. Sam slams his eyes shut as he holds on, his moans rushing out faster than his intake of air. 

Sam’s cum coats Bucky’s stomach and abs. His body tenses and then relaxes as Bucky pushes him closer and closer toward his climax, “Fuck, Bucky.”

Bucky could cum just hearing his name slip through Sam’s pretty lips. His hips falter as a grunt scratches at the back of his throat. Sam tenses again, “God, I’m gonna cum Bucky.”

“Come on Sammy.” Bucky growls in his ear, coaxing him on, “Cum for me, baby.”

“Fuck,” Sam pants as his toes curl. 

One more forceful thrust and Sam is a goner. He digs his nails into Bucky’s skin as he orgasm flashes through him, spreading from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Hot, long ribbons of his cum spurts from his throbbing cock, splashing against he and Bucky’s skin as he continues to grind into him. Bucky follows soon after, expletives falling from his lips as his hips pump through his orgasm. 

He fills Sam with his sticky spunk as he grunts and groans mix and mingle with Sam’s. His hips slow when he’s finally milked clean. Sam pants heavily, his eyes hooded, his mouth hanging open as the final drops of his cum leaks from his cock. Sweat prickles at Sam’s brow as he drags his hands up Bucky’s body. He flattens his palms on his shoulder blades and spreads his fingers out on Bucky’s tanned skin. 

Bucky drops quick kisses along Sam’s shoulder and neck, his hands cupping either side of Sam’s head gently. Bucky rolls them over quickly, his strength taking Sam by surprise as he effortlessly pulls his six foot, two hundred pound frame on top of him. Bucky wraps his arms around him again to hold him against him and kisses the top of his head once, twice, three times. Sam cuddles into his chest, this fingers tapping against his chest in rhythm with his strong, heavy heartbeat. 

A smile spreads on Sam lips as his eyes close from sheer exhaustion. He had been on an emotional roller coaster since he first opened his eyes that morning, and it’s all catching up with him now. Bucky fingers push along his back, skipping along his skin as he draws slow circles, further lulling the man into a peaceful darkness. 

He flattens his palm against Bucky’s chest as his breathing starts to deepen and even out. His body calms, his mind stills for the first time in weeks. As he drifts off to into the first peaceful sleep he’s had since he first encountered Bucky, he can’t help but feel like he’s finally home. For the first time in his life, Sam feels complete. If he had any doubts before, every single one of them is in the wind now. 

[sian22redux]

A Puppy in the Family

So yes fellow crazy baseball fans, I know you’ve been watching closely--have guessed that my Cleveland’s loss to Boston means @theycallmebecca gets a fic. This time I didn’t need to ask for a prompt--I know what she would like:  a sequel to He Followed Me Home.  

So here it is.. more adventures of Fenway and Dodger and Chris and Y/N..this time from a slightly different point of view. Grin. Hope you enjoy.  This is part 1 of 2.. no warnings--just tooth rotting fluff.  Shout out to Twitter’s Thoughts of Dog for inspiration.

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March 2020

 Today is a wonderful day.  

 All days are, of course-- even the ones that are wet and drizzly, forcing us to sit patiently inside watching the raindrops race down the windowpane.  But today is a particularly extra super specially wonderful day.  

Because Chris is coming home.  

Our ‘dad’, our protector, chief Frisbee tosser and best roughhouser is finally coming back.  That thing that happens in hoomans’ ‘wurk’ had come round again.  A ‘script’ arrived.   I do not know how this pile of wonderfully new smelling paper can magic Chris away, but it does.  Almost every time it arrives.  After the pats and hugs and snuffles Y/N will pour a glass of wine and mope, snuggle with us on the big white couch, marking little x’s on the calender (that evil thing with V-E-T scrawled across it) and then she will go about our usual day routine: breakfast kibble and a quick walk on Lorel drive, her leaving us to go to ‘wurk’, long snoozles for Dodger and I, then staring at the door til my eyes go wobbly; more snoozles after we play fight a bit and then finally she is back!  

Y/N is home!  Dinner kibble comes and then pats and play time and then bed.  

This has happened for three lines of x’s before this wondrous day arrived.  

Y/N is so excited.  She has primped us both.  Brushed me til my coat shone glossy black, trimmed Dodger’s nails and brushed the dust out of his fur, even sort of brushed the house.  She wiped and tidied and walked around with the noisy ‘coom so we knew it was important.

(Dodger doesn’t like it—he hates the loud whoosing noise-- but I stood and waved my tail because she said “Good boy” and “Chris is coming home” and I don’t want to look less than my best.)    

We wait while Y/N primps herself (her dress and shiny lips are nice) and then it happens.

We hear a big engine car and the door whines open and he is there!  Chris! Chris!  I am so happy I can’t help but bark and not mind that Dodger is always faster than I am.  He leaps up to put his paws on Chris’s chest, barking “Hi, Hi, Hi,” leaping like a kangaroo, and Chris is answering ‘Hey there dude,” and laughing at the licks and I am very careful not to knock them over and so proud when I get the big strong pats.  

“Good boy, Fenway.  Good boy. Missed you too. big guy!”

Chris sees me! I wiggle my whole body in ecstasy until it knocks over the umbrella stand and his suitcase.  Oopsie.  sometimes I forget that I am BIG.  

Then it is Y/N’s turn.  She gets kisses and duper hugs..the ones that lift you right off the ground because our Chris is super strong and super excited to be back with his partner once again.  

There’s a bit more of greet time for us and then it’s greet time for them, though as welcome rituals go it’s kind of odd.  There is no sniffing of tushies, or zooming around for play or licking muzzles but there is lots and lots of talking and kissing and talking and kissing and sprawling on the giant couch and glasses of wine on the low wood caw-fee table that I have to be extra careful to not bump over.

“Fenway, pal..watch out!”  

Oops—sorry.  I was only showing off my new squeaky hotdog.  

Dodger and I sit at their feet and send happy thoughts their way and eventually Chris stands up, and carries Y/N into the bedroom and I start to rise but Chris says ‘Stay.”

Whine.  

I want to be with them too.  

<No you don’t,> says Dodger, flopped over on his side and heaving a contented sigh.

<Why not?>

<They’re doing it again.>

<Doing what?>

<Mating.  They’ll be there a while.>

Oh.  Right. Dodger has explained this.  Hoomans, unlike dogs, do not usually joyously couple underneath the sun. They’re shy.  And slow.  They take ages with it and honestly sometimes I worry that it must not work because they do it all the time.  

Sometimes Chris and Y/N aren’t that shy and do it where we are.  On the couch. In the kitchen. In the swimming pool.  Dodger takes this time to snoozle more but I usually just lie there and thump my tail to be encouraging.

It must be tiring for Y/N to be in heat so much.

<You’re not a bitch.  What would you know about that?>  Dodger chuckles at me, tongue lolling and pale eyebrow raised.  

I frown, puzzling it through.  < Jenna the Bichon at the park said so.  And I think it is right because sometimes they sleep right after.>

<Good point.>  Dodger lazily scratches at his chin. <And Y/N doesn’t run around as much as Chris.  She must be tuckered all the time. 

I stare at the blond wood of the latched and bolted door (it’s firm, I checked), alert to intruders or harm but nothing seems amiss. A few high-pitched giddy squeals come from the bedroom but Dodger just rolls over and goes to sleep.

<They’re fine, Fenway.  Get some sleep yourself.>

I do, and dream of pats and empty laps and ice cream cones.

----------------------------------------  

<Gooob morning!!> I bark to Chris and Y/N the next day when they drag themselves blearily out into the super toasty sun streaming through the windows.  

Dodger as usual is silent but stretching ready for a race.  Me--my toes are a tippy tappin’ and  I am jumping, so excited to see them there, so unable to contain all the love the world inside one BIG but furry body.   All I can do is bark <I love you.>  again and again and again, while sending all the happy thoughts.  

“Hey, hey.. hold up Fenway.”  Chris opens the backyard door.  I bounce outside.  The air is clean (no fires) and the sun is warm and Chris is back! Oh happy day! I snap at a yellow moth and almost catch it; mark my tree after Dodger goes on his, and trot around the yard, sniffing all the whiffling smells—grass and pool water and leafy moldy goodness.

Y/N comes outside with sleep shirt on and two cups of coffee.  Chris tosses Dodger’s new red ball far as the fire corner  <Goob morning> I bark again hoping the ball will come to me.  Yes!! Chris notices!!  I Proudly Catch it and trot over and drop it at his feet.  Y/N comes back out with a little pot of honey, a jug of coffee cream and two cross-haunts.  Mmmmmmm. Flaky buttery goodness.  I want really bad but I am trying to be extra good, so I make myself join the chase.

We fly back and forth and back and forth until Chris says “Enough!”  and so I stretch out on the cool patio, lay my head on Y/N’s bare feet to keep them warm. This gets a tummy scritch (my mastery plan has worked) and so Dodger noses in, leans against Chris’s legs. <Pat me, please> he yips, twice, then Chris laughs and calls him jealous—scritching him perfectly behind the ears.

Chris’s big strong hands are good at scritching.

For a little while we all snoozle just there in a heap (Chris is ‘still jet-laggy’ says Y/N) but when I open one eye there is more kissing going on.  

<Dodger, do you notice it?>  I whisper quietly.

<Notice what?>

<She smells different.>

Dodger, more experienced with the world than I—he is a whole year older--turns over on his back, ear drooping crookedly, looking up to the ‘ounge chair and taking an experimental sniff.  “Nope. What does it smell like?”

I do a deep long sniff, just like when we ride in the car with the windows down and I am eating the wind. “Happy.  New kind of.  Sugary good.”

He turns toward Y/N and tries again, holding longer on the in.  <Oh,> he yips. <She’s expecting   Good nose Fenway.>

Expecting?  As in PUPPIES?!  I sit right up in shock.  <You can smell it?!>

<Of course,” says Dodger, rolling over to keep his patch of sun.  <It’s like when Suki  smelled Mrs. Wilson’s cancer.>

 Oh.   Suki is a very pretty Maltese who lives just up the street.  She knew her mom was sick and was very sad and brave before she was happy again because Mrs. Wilson is ok.

I think it was all the helping hugs that Suki gave.

I give another whiff, luxuriating in the Happy and then the kissing stops.  Chris pulls Y/N up---says the magic words ‘More BREAKFAST’ and so I leap--follow them inside- sniffing carefully toward Y/N’s back.  Happy definitely.  New and Sweet and Rainbow Magic Sprinkles.  

I excitedly wag my tail and bump her leg but she laughs, puts her hands on her hips and misunderstands.  “Fenway you are not getting another breakfast.”

<No> I bark, <Expecting!!>

I jump in my excitement, tapping my feets but she just laughs and reaches for more cross-haunts and jam (Jam!!!).  I have to be extra good behaviour and not jump up to steal. Sometimes I can’t help myself—I am technically still a puppy too: Dodger says its no big deal so long as I am mostly good.

Speaking of Good, I inch close to her chair and take another sniff, resting my snout in her lap.   Still Happy. Still New.  This is good, very good, and so I burrow deeper, thumping my tail on the floor, super happy for them both.  

“Fenway, I can’t eat with you there.”

I put a paw upon Y/N’s leg, trying to get closer to that wondrous smell!  HAPPY!   She holds her pastry high, laughing as I take another whiff, but then I’m taking too much room, too excited to remember I am BIG.   

“Fenway? What is up with you?  Go sit!”  

I don’t listen.   I am too happy (and inches from the Jam!).  I miss Dodger’s warning bark and then Chris is there, frowning down, shoving my nose away and in the hard voice he says.  “Fenway, No!! Bed!”

I have a sad.  I follow his finger to my bed and flop down on cushy foam, tucking my tail as far under as it can go.  Sorry dad. Sorry.    

Dodger comes and waits patiently until I am released.  

<I don’t think they understand,> I sigh mournfully.

<No,> says Dodger, <but they will when she changes shape.  Be patient.>

Patient!?  That is the hardest thing of all.  I sigh and watch them eat.  There is talking of parks and parties and ‘pearances, all the usual breakfast stuff.  Tick tick tick.  Finally a walk is called and I am on my best behaviour; carrying along my leash because outside is larger than you think and I don’t want them to get lost.

<Y/N is expecting puppies!>  I bark excitedly to Chris (who still doesn’t seem to hear) as we turn right at the gate.   This takes us to the Bermans.  Their little hoomans are my frens—they like to play with rainbow spheres and mark the road with chalk and give me water out of the green garden snake.  Dodgers trots at full speed and I waddle on behind,  past the scary blue mailbox (are there cats lurking there?), past the red STOP sign to the Kindle’s yard.

Oh boy.  My little brain is whirly with anxiety.  First I think hooman puppies would be good but now I wonder if they will be like Mrs. Kindle’s.  Running and shrieking and pulling tails.  Trying to jump on my back.  Yikes.

<Will the puppies be good?>  I yip to Dodger when I catch him up.  

He cocks his head and Thinks. <Puppy. Hoomans mostly only have just one. It will be busy and smelly at first but eventually it will be like being in ‘Chussets. 

My ears perk up.  ‘Chussets.  <Really?>  

I have been three times.  The plane ride is kinda scary but there are miles of trees and a giant green.  An extra Lion for Dodger and squeaky hotdog for me.  Chasing ball with cousins and extra special Pats from MomLisa.  She’s the alpha alpha female.  

Very fair and kind.  

(She didn’t even scold my excited piddling when Chris and Y/N came back from their ‘moon trip.)

<Not the moon Fenway, honeymoon,> grins Dodger, <The party after The Wedding.> 

Ah The Wedding.  I was so proud.  Y/N and her friends got cleaned and dressed and buffed all sparkly. Chris got nervous but then sleek and clean.  Even Dodger and I had a groomer come.  The feathers on my tail were so very shiny. Carly looked pretty and Shanna too.  Ethan was super proud to walk between us and hold the fancy leashes.

I was very, very good.  

I walked between all the smiley happy people remembering to not steal, not jumping up because it startles them when I put my paws upon their shoulders.  Once, in the long, boring talking part, Chris cried a little and I stood up to go rescue him but Dodger woofed <stay> and explained it all.

<Hoomans sometimes cry from happiness.>  

They do?   I think this is weird but then I think it must be like when I piddle joyously.  They can’t help it--it just leaks out.

There was music and people and Snacks.  So many, many Snacks.  Our Secret Mission worked. Dodger and I convinced nearly every single guest that we had not eaten in several weeks.

(I didn’t like the salmon.  I barfed it into a handy pot.)

Even if Chris and Y/N didn’t have a lot of time for us so many others did. Ardeejjj, Chris’s good good fren knows exactly where to scritch; Miles and Stella and Ethan chased us through the chairs and out onto the lawns.  Tara took me for a needed walk (I can only cross my legs so long).  It was perfect.

On the ‘moon afterward we stayed in ‘Chussets for 4 rows of x’s.  So long, soooo long,  but we were at Carly’s house and it was super fun as always.  Miles and Stella and Ethan made sure we weren’t too sad.  Played tag and toss and chase until I had to flop down in the sun and bake.  

(My coat shines more if I am careful to bask enough.)

I guess a new people puppy in the family will be fun but still I worry.  Y/N’s smell gets stronger and stronger but strangely they still don’t understand.  It’s xasperating.   I have a huge snootful of Happy-New and I worry if I will be good enough.  

Will the puppy like me?  Will I knock them over even when I am duper careful?  

<Relax.> says Dodger and I am sure he’s right (year older!) but this morning I feel so angsty I steal a yogurt lid from the trash.  Chris doesn’t quite understand and so I have no choice but to evade him spectacularly.  

It works.  When we are done both of us are smiling.

------------------------

Tagging: @nomadicpixel @arizonapoppy @heather-lynn @pegasusdragontiger

if you want to be added just message me.....

[avintagekiss24]

Piper’s Creek [6/10]

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word Count: 3002

Warnings: language, shape shifting/animal transformation

Rating: M (for language)

Link: AO3

Summary: Sam Wilson is a simple man. He likes to do simple things, like going fishing on a warm summer day. Little does Sam know, this fishing trip will not only lead him to his soulmate, but into a world of ancient folklore.

Square Filled: C2 - Never the fall that kills you for @buckybarnesbingo

B5 - Sam Wilson for @stuckybingo2019

A/N: 5 parts down, 5 parts to go! We’ve got a full moon in full effect in this part...

@waltermittie is responsible for the artwork! Have you guys followed her yet???

Sam rolls over onto his back and stretches out his arms and legs, letting out a breath and a groan. He drops his hands back to the bed and rolls back over on his side. He slides his hand across the sheets, expecting to feel another body, but comes up empty. He cracks open an eye, his vision blurry with sleep and finds the spot next to him vacant. He takes another breath and picks up his head to peer into the bathroom, but sees no movement. 

“Bucky?” He calls groggily, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. 

Night has fallen over the small cottage. Sam is beyond sore, his muscles aching from their vigorous session hours earlier. Bucky’s weight and strength had certainly caught the air force veteran by surprise. He’s exhausted, and feels as though he’s been hit by a semi, but Bucky has managed to check off another box on Sam’s wish list. Sam Wilson loves a strong man.

He rolls over onto his back again, sprawling his limbs out on the mattress as he opens his eyes slowly, “Bucky, come back to bed.”

A loud thud sounds through the house suddenly, followed quickly by glass shattering as it crashes to the floor. Sam springs forward, eyes wide, mouth agape as his breathing quickens. He jumps when the front door slams against the wall and is followed by quick, heavy footsteps that quickly disappear. 

Sam throws the covers off of him and shuffles into his boxer briefs. He peeks around the threshold of the bedroom door and focuses his eyes on the wide open front door as it slowly swings back closed, creaking all the while. A lamp is shattered on the floor next to the couch, the tea kettle on its side on the kitchen floor. The couch is pushed out of whack, now sitting cockeyed and right up against the small, square table that once held the lamp. 

A loud whelp comes from outside. Sam snaps his head back toward the door as fear floods through his body. A blood curdling scream follows soon after and Sam’s heart falls to his feet. Bucky. He rushes toward the door and throws it open, stopping dead in his tracks as he catches a silhouette in the moonlight. Bucky is on all fours in the dirt, his head down between his arms. His breathing is heavy and ragged between his screams as his fingers dig into the dirt beneath him.

Bucky snaps his head up suddenly as the muscles in his back flex and ripple, his body contorting in unnatural ways. He screams again as his shoulders roll with the pain and his head falls forward again. His body jerks in an awkward way as his muscles tense. Tears stain his cheeks as he cries out, his screams becoming strained as they dissolve into deep growls. His head snaps up again and that’s when Sam sees it. 

The high, full moon splashes light over Bucky’s crumpled body as he turns. His ears go from round and human to long and pointy. Fur coats his body as he jerks and stiffens. Bucky lifts his hand from the ground and Sam watches as it morphs into a large paw, long, sharp, black nails elongating from the tips. This is so different from what Sam had seen before. Within the blink of an eye, Bucky would go from human to wolf, wolf to human. No fuss. But this? This is painful. This is slow and agonizing. This is the curse. 

Sam snaps back into the present and runs from the porch to Bucky’s side. He kneels beside him, placing both hands on Bucky’s back and side, “Bucky,”

“Don’t!” Bucky shouts, scrambling away from him, “Go back inside.” He grunts as his words become strained, “Sa-am, ple-please, go.”

He screams in agony again and Sam’s eyes go wide as the man before him dissolves into pure beast. Bucky’s long, dark hair literally shrinks away, replaced by more grey and white fur. His screams morph into a howl as his head contorts, that sweet, almost boyish face turning animalistic. His teeth sharpen as he barks and growls, spit and slobber dripping from them and wetting the dirt. 

Sam watches in horror as the transformation completes underneath the bright moon. His breath is shallow and shaky as the animal bays at the moon loudly, standing on its hind legs. It falls to its front paws seconds later with a thud, its tail swishing back and forth as it sniffs at the ground. Sam stands slowly, never taking his eyes off of it, and starts to back his way toward the house, praying all the while. 

A twig snaps in the woods off to the left and they both snap their heads toward it. Sam freezes for just a second before shuffling backward, not expecting the step of the porch that soon. He slams his heel into it, losing his balance and crashes down to the wooden porch with a very loud, very noticeable thud. Fucking great. 

The animal snaps around to face him, dropping his head in an aggressive stance as it trains its eyes on the vulnerable Sam. Sam’s mouth drops open as he stares back into its empty eyes, taken aback by how different they seem. Even in wolf form, they were always deep and full of warmth, love even. But now, they were flat, dark - cold. There was no sign of Bucky left. 

Sam watches as it stalks toward him, its heavy feet thudding against the dirt and gravel as it moves. Its growl is low, rumbling through its chest as it approaches. Its ears are laid back on its head, head low as it snarls at him, snapping its jaws as it barks. Sam stands quickly and takes a defensive stance, balling his fists as his mother's words float through his mind. You can’t punch your way out of everything, Samuel Thomas! 

“I don’t know if you can hear me Bucky,” Sam starts, his breathing heavy as adrenaline flushes through his veins, “But you need to back the fuck up. I will punch the shit out of you.”

It stops, snarling and baring its teeth at Sam before standing up on its hind legs. Sam swallows harshly as his eyes slowly move up it’s towering frame, “Oh fuck.”

Loud honking comes from the forest as artificial light breaks through the trees. The werewolf falls back on all fours and turns, hunching toward the ground as the lights wash over him. A black truck screeches to a stop, gravel, dirt, and dust whipping up around it as the back end swings out from behind it. Steve swings open the door, the butt of a gun stuck in the crook of his arm, the barrel trained on the wild animal in front of him. 

“Hey!” He shouts, drawing its attention from Sam, “Beat it, Bucky.”

It starts growling again, turning from Sam and trotting slightly toward Steve. It barks loudly at him, swiping his paw in the dirt as it lowers its head and tucks its ears back again. It lunges toward Steve but he doesn’t flinch. He shoots a warning shot in the ground toward its feet causing it to retreat slightly. It lunges again and Steve shoots again, this time grazing it on his hind leg. It yelps and takes off toward the treeline, Sam watches as the shrubs and smaller trees bend and break as it runs through them. 

“Shit,” Steve mumbles under his breath as he scans the trees for any sign of the animal returning, “You okay Sam?”

Sam nods quickly, swallowing again, “Yeah, I think, I think so.”

“Head back inside. I’ll watch out for him for a few minutes.”

Sam doesn't need to be told twice. He scurries back into the safety of the house and closes the door, before moving to the window to watch Steve pull his truck up to the house. He shuts it off and moves onto the porch, standing watch for a few minutes before finally coming inside. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? He didn’t nip you or anything?” Steve asks, looking over his front before reaching out and running his hand along his arms.

“I’m good, he didn’t even get that close,” Sam says as Steve turns him around to check his back, “What did you shoot him with?”

“It’s just tranquilizer darts if he gets out of hand. Usually, he just runs off but some nights he gets… rowdy.” Steve lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hand through his long, blonde hair, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you here alone. With everything earlier, I just wanted to give you two some space. It totally slipped my mind that tonight was a full moon.”

Sam runs his hand over his head, “Jesus, I am in the middle of a movie.” 

Steve smiles as he scans Sam’s nearly naked body, “Listen, you should probably get some sleep. Sex with Bucky can really creep up on you if you’re not careful.”

Sam glances down, forgetting he’s in nothing but his boxers and throws his hands in front of his crotch. Embarrassment flushes through him, causing him to chuckle nervously, “Oh, sorry, this is probably awkward as fuck for you.”

“Not as much as you would think. I’ll keep an eye out for him, but we probably won’t see him again until the morning.”

Sam backs awkwardly toward the bedroom door, running his hand over his head again, “Oh shit,” he breathes as he stumbles into the door, “Sorry, I just… oh wait, this is your room, you wanna- I can stay on the couch, it’s really no problem. I-”

“It’s okay, just try and relax, okay?” Steve smiles, “Get some sleep.”

Sam nods quickly, “Yeah, okay. That’s… yeah. Good-good night.”

Sam backs into the room, shutting the door softly and falls back onto the mattress, covering his face with his hands. Full moons, werewolves, and hundred year old boyfriends. Sam Wilson sure knows how to pick ‘em. 

-----

The morning comes all too quickly for Sam. He cracks his eyes open as the sun spills into the room and over his heavy body. He sits up slowly, rubbing his face as he lets out a breath. His muscles are tight and still sore, his head throbbing with a sharp, pounding headache. The smell of tea overwhelms his senses and he glances to his left, finding a steaming cup sitting on the small nightstand. His clothes are washed and folded neatly in a pile on the small chair in the corner, shoes tucked right underneath. 

He grabs the cup and takes a sip, closing his eyes as the warmth of the liquid spreads through his body. He grabs his phone as he stands from the bed and scrolls through the thirteen missed texts and calls from Natasha and Wanda. He rolls his eyes before tossing the phone on the bed and heading into the bathroom.

He stops when he spots a third toothbrush in the holder, when yesterday, there were only two. A new towel and washcloth is thrown over the towel rack and a space is made on the countertop. He smiles. Steve must like him. 

Sam showers quickly and steps out of the room as he pulls his shirt over his head. Steve glances over his shoulder as he stands at the sink, washing a few random dishes, “Morning.”

“Morning,” Sam greets with a smile. “Thanks for the tea and the clean clothes. I didn’t uh, plan out my stay very well.”

Steve smiles gently, “It happens.”

“So um,” Sam starts, glancing around for Bucky, “Did he come back home or?”

Steve shakes his head, “Nope. This is the fun part after a full moon. We gotta go find him.”

Sam watches as Steve moves through the kitchen and toward the front door, “We gotta find him?” He questions as he follows the slightly taller man out into the morning.

“Yeah, he doesn’t really recognize anything when he turns like that. He just runs the woods until the sun comes up and then he falls out. He’s out here somewhere.”

“That’s why you live out here, then? Away from people?”

Steve nods as they step through the treeline behind the house, “Yep. So he doesn’t get hurt and he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

The two men move through the trees and grass, scanning the brush as they slowly make their way through the wooded area. It falls quiet between them, Sam stealing quick glances. He remembers the picture of the small person Steve used to be, versus the burly man he is now. He’s rugged now with long hair and a thick beard, the traces of the sickly man long gone. 

“So uh,” Sam starts as he glances off toward the trees, “How did you two meet?”

Steve drops his head as he kicks at the rocks below, “It was a long time ago. It was back in New York, upstate. I couldn’t sleep one night so I went for a walk and saw some naked guy in a lake.”

“Sounds familiar,” Sam laughs. “That was what, late thirties? Early forties?”

Steve smirks, “1942. How did you know that?”

“My friend Wanda, she’s an anthropologist and Sokovian, which means she is naturally drawn to the unnatural,” Sam laughs. “She uh, she’s into all of this kinda stuff. She found a little bit about you and Bucky through some message boards or something.”

“Ah,” Steve nods as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Modern technology just won’t let two hundred year old men live.”

Sam laughs, “It’s all loose information. Nobody can confirm anything, there’s like one picture of you from a few weeks ago, another from the early 2000s, and then one from like, 1940. You look like a completely different person, to be honest. Wanda had to show me the similarities between the pictures.”

“You sound close to her,” Steve starts, looking at him. “Wanda.”

“I am. I uh, I met her through her wife, Natasha. We’ve worked together for something like ten years now, so, yeah, they’re my buds.”

Steve smiles again as he drops his head, watching his feet as the push forward, “That sounds nice,” he says softly, “Bucky wishes we could have friends like that, but it’s, it’s just too dangerous.”

Sam looks over at him, catching the sudden change in his tone, “What does that mean?”

Steve takes a deep breath, expelling it through his nose, “It’s- we can’t have a bunch of people knowing about us, especially Bucky. If word gets out about him,” His words fall away as he shakes his head, “We just can’t do it.”

Sam stops, reaching out to place his hand on Steve’s shoulder to stop him, “So what are you saying? I can’t have them in my life anymore? That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Sam. Things are going to be different for you from now on, you just have to get used to it.”

“No.” Sam scoffs, shaking his head, “No, you don’t get to tell me what’s going to be different. They’re cool, okay? They’re not the kind of people who run their mouths about other people's business. We’ll be fine.”

“Oh, you think so? You think it’s not going to slip out that their best friend is mated with a hundred year old werewolf?” Steve furrows his brow as he purses his lips tightly, “If you choose to stay with us, they go. It’s that simple.”

“Ain’t shit that simple!” Sam shouts. “I have a life, a job, friends, family! I’m not going to give them up just because you say so. It’s not up to you.”

“I have protected him for seventy-seven years.” Steve says softly as he steps up to Sam, “If you think I’m going to let him get hurt over some fling-”

“Fling?” Sam repeats angrily, squaring up to him, “That’s what you think this is?”

Steve laughs, “Bucky’s taken plenty of lovers before, all named Sam, and not one of them worked out. And guess who’s been here every step of the way?”

“You know what man,” Sam starts before he’s cut off by a moan. 

They snap their heads at the sound and move toward the edge of a small hill. Bucky lays at the bottom, complete naked, curled in a ball. Sam and Steve rush toward him; Sam brushing Bucky’s tangled hair out of his face once they reach him, “Bucky? You okay?”

Bucky grunts in response as Steve glances over his battered body. He’s got a few nicks and scratches along his torso and sides, his hands and feet are covered in dirt and blood. He almost made it injury free. Steve places his hands on his thigh as he eyes a rather large, bloody wound. He squeezes gently and Bucky recoils, hissing as pain rips through him.

“Stay with him. I’m going to go back and get something to patch him up before we move him.”

Sam cuts his eyes toward him as Steve retreats and then returns his attention toward the woozy Bucky, “Sammy?” He croaks, smiling softly as he tries to roll over, “Sammy, baby.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Don’t talk, okay?” Sam whispers, sweeping more hair out of his face, “Steve will be back to stitch you up.”

“I fell,” He says as he rolls over onto his back. 

Sam tilts his head as he glances over his face. That face is back. That sweet, boyish face. His eyes are back to their piercing blue - a bit cloudy, but warm, “You fell?” He asks softly, running his hand down Bucky’s cheek.

He nods, lifting his hand slowly and pointing toward the top of the hill, “This fucking hill gets me every time.”

Sam laughs as he glances over his shoulder, “Well, it’s never the fall that kills you.”

Bucky chuckles, his voice scratchy and dry, “One day, I honestly think it will.”