Tumgik
#Captain America and the winter Soldier
sumbacky · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
when bf gives you cute aggression
275 notes · View notes
saryasy · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes being not exactly a badass in Marvel Studios: Assembled, The Making of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)
729 notes · View notes
womp-womp-chomp-chomp · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Captain America and the winter soldier as AO3 Tags
288 notes · View notes
ramen-flavored · 1 year
Text
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Him
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
haflacky · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media
Good boy
Request for my patrons 🤭
Full version on my patreon
183 notes · View notes
martianbugsbunny · 5 months
Text
You would expect it to turn out differently, wouldn't you? They wear the soulmate trope like a tailored garment. Their lives revolve around each other in a singular way that no other character can come close to matching. They have their inside jokes and their little rituals and the things only they would know about each other. It's each other's hearts they always seem to see and believe in, more than physical strength or years of brainwashing and control. Their smiles turn so much softer for each other. They were both believed to be dead, yet somehow both turned up alive the same number of years later, drawn inexorably together. They have shared life experience in two ways: they literally shared their early life, and they've gone through similar events since then separately. They're both beaten and bruised by the world in different ways, and yet their belief in each other of all things is never changed. One of their names was the other's last word.
You would expect it to turn out differently, wouldn't you?
177 notes · View notes
nerdby · 28 days
Text
I feel like Soldier Boy's PTSD and explosive blackouts might be a more realistic portrayal of the illness than what we've seen in the MCU with Bucky. Because like when you get triggered you freak out and lose control sometimes, and it can be really confusing. We haven't really seen Bucky ever get triggered. He has "trigger words" but those were used to brainwash him and it's not at all the same thing.
Like, yeah, Bucky obviously has PTSD but it's been really watered down. I guess it's also important to keep in mind that people with PTSD aren't a monolith, but you'd think it'd be a lot more severe after 70s years of torture and brainwashing. Even with Wakandan cryo-psychiatry(???).
65 notes · View notes
ramp-it-up · 8 months
Text
Bucky Barnes and the Summer Soldier- One
Tumblr media
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader
Summary: Bucky has been looking for you for a while. Is he going to destroy you before you complete your mission?
Word Count 2.2K
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT! Read at your own risk. Curate your own experience. Reader is confined in a mental health faculty, suppressed memories, Pursuit, implied former combat, kidnapping, coercion, mind control, dub con. Raw s ex, hair pulling, rough s ex, cream pie, c um play/oral (m receiving), a ssault. Google translate Hausa and Russian. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.
A/N: This is a result of this ask from @flordeamatista. I have taken great liberties with the MCU cannon and timeline. This is fiction! As always, reblog if you like it!
I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
Tumblr media
You ran for your life, lungs burning, feet flying.
You looked behind you to see that the one pursuing you was not far off. You ducked down a hallway and into an open door. 
Your chest heaved as you leaned against the wall and looked around for a hiding space.
Fragmented memories were coming back to you during this pursuit, and at this moment, the sense of running barefoot through tall reeds on the banks of a river overwhelmed you. 
You shook it off, although you couldn’t help yourself from looking to the air for your favorite brightly colored water fowl. Your heart dropped when you looked around to register an empty room with a solitary gurney. The fact that you were trapped in a mental hospital and not outside it sucked the air out of you. 
And then you heard his footsteps.
Bucky slowed his pace as his ears perked up, and he opened the same door you did moments before. He’d come for you an hour ago and you’d managed to evade him ever since. Typical for one who’d taken the serum. You were a hard target to acquire, but he was determined.
He scanned the empty room, checking for trap doors or hidden panels. He walked over to the windows, which were sealed shut. He looked down on the courtyard that patients weren’t allowed to use and shook his head, then, he made his way out of the door again.
You waited three minutes after you heard his footsteps retreating before you moved the ceiling tile and dropped down from where you’d been hiding.
For some reason, the man you were hiding from you terrified you. Ever since you saw his face weeks ago when you fought him on a mission, you’d been plagued with strange memories. Which made your Master have to reset you again and again. You resented that. 
Despite the fact that you felt impelled destroy him, you did not want to face the dark-haired man in black with the piercing blue eyes again. You may not know your own name, but you knew that man had some mysterious power over you. Even more so than the Power Broker.
Just as you reached for the doorknob, the door jerked open, the man in black returning your stare with a rueful grin. You’d been too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of his presence.
“Daga karshe na sameki masoyiyata.”
Your ears perked up at the language that the man spoke. You understood it, although you’d spoken French for as long as you could remember, which wasn’t long. Maybe this horrible institution wasn’t your home.
“Why did you call me that?”
Your eyes widened when English came out of your mouth. It seemed a natural response to this man. You were very confused, more than you normally were, which was always.
The man was inching closer to you now.
“Because that is who you are, Soyayya ta.”
“No! That’s not true!”
You hurled yourself at the man, climbing up his body and winding up with your legs around his neck. You squeezed,  hoping to choke him out while he grinned up at you.
“Yes it is.” 
His voice was weak, as if he was gasping for breath. For an unknown reason, you let up on his windpipe.
Suddenly, you were sat on the gurney, your right leg in his left hand. You could not get out of his grip and you two stared at each while he held your legs apart. When he licked his lips was when you kicked him in the sternum. Clearly, he was surprised at the force, which caused him to double over, but he quickly recovered and caught you before you moved two feet, grabbing your bicep and bringing your arm behind your back, placing you none too gently against the wall.
You grunted as you felt all of him, including his manhood, pressed hard and insistent upon your back. 
Was he going to violate you? 
Did you want him to?
Yet another language flowed out of his mouth, which was close to the shell of your ear. You suppressed a shiver as you heard his velvet voice. 
“Sygrayem v nashu malen'kuyu igru, kukolka?”
He snaked his left arm around your neck and pressed you back further into him as his gloved hand turned your face to his. He leaned around, as if he was going to kiss you, and opened his mouth. His breath fanned your face as he bared his teeth and bit the pointer finger of the black leather glove he was wearing. He used his mouth to tear the glove off to reveal a black and golden hand. You were mesmerized by it until it was quickly clamped over your mouth.
The sensation was familiar and when you tasted the metal; it was nearly orgasmic. Your eyes rolled baack into your head and you  all but ignored the man’s other hand roaming your body.
“I’m just checking you to see if you’re okay, Doll.”
The hand tasted like home, like warm air and smells of your favorite foods. It tasted like beautiful people and excellence and safety and…Wakanda. Your eyes flew open when you realized.
Vibranium. 
You sobbed as memories came flooding to your mind. The pathetic sounds were muffled by the vibranium hand.
Your mother. Your father. The river that was your home. Your weapons. Your money. The vow you took when you became a Dora Milaje and Shuri’s personal guard. The same vow that you broke when you fell in love with Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier…
“Farar kerkecina.…James…”
“Shhhh Doll. I’m here now.” 
Bucky pulled you into his arms from behind, and you held on to the limbs that were wrapped around you as you cried, one human and one created by the Princess, Shuri.
Finally, you turned around and looked up at the love of your life. He peered back at you, eyes full of concern, but also a mixture of relief, love, and yes, need.
“Are you okay?”
You didn’t answer him, instead, you asked your own question.
“How long, James? How long have we been apart?��
Bucky brought his hand up to your face, thumb tracing your chin and fingers in your dense curls.
“A little over two years.”
You gasped and tears fell again fresh and new. 
“I searched for you every day. I promise, Doll. And you’ve been right under my nose…”
Your heart melted.
“I know you did. The Power Broker is devious. She did horrible things. Made me do…”
And then he kissed you. His lips were the softest and strongest you’d ever tasted. You licked into his mouth and fisted his t shirt between you. 
“You don’t have to tell me. I know. And I’m going to find her and bring her to justice.” 
Bucky was panting as your hand strayed to touch the bare skin and the metal under his shirt. He smirked when you pinched his nipple.
“She is mine to destroy.”
Bucky’s smirk turned into a full fledged grin when you glared up at him and opened his pants. He shivered when you fisted him.
“There’s my girl.”
You separated from him as you pulled your shirt over your head. Next went your pants and underwear as Bucky’s eyes roamed your body. He licked his chops, just as the White Wolf would.
“You sure you don’t wanna leave, Doll? Need to check you out. Need to get you an examination… get you safe…”
You backed away from him toward the gurney.
“I need to have you James. Please. I remember. It’s been so long. I need some control back. Please.”
Bucky couldn’t stop himself from moving toward your upturned ass as you bent over the gurney and looked over your shoulder at him.
“You told me the serum heightened everything. But I didn’t understand before. I need you now, James.”
Bucky was drawn to you as if on a string.
“I get it, Doll. Everything is so much. You sure you alright, Doll?”
You hadn’t said that you were before, but you avoided the topic again.
“See for yourself, farar kerkecina.”
Bucky rubbed your ass, eyes glazed over, lust flowing through his veins. It had been a long 26 months and visions of you clouded not only his dreams, but every spare waking moment. He couldn’t help it.
His metal hand quickly undid his belt and pants while his right, his flesh, dipped into you, feeling the wetness between your legs. You reached back to the arm that shined, incrementally trying to bring him into you. He held you off, but he did slowly start to swipe his cockhead through your neglected folds.
“Oh…”
Bucky watched and drooled as he took in the vision of your mouth and that wide open, perfect O of those perfect lips.
“So gorgeous… Soyayya ta..”
He slowly breached your tight hole, and your mouth widened impossibly even more as the stretch almost took you out. It hurt, but it hurt so good, the only positive sensation you’d had in over two years. 
This time, Bucky let you reach back to grasp the base of him, slowing down as he saw the difficulty with which you were having taking him. You adjusted his aim, and he paused, hand on your hip as you spread your cheeks so that he could get inside you. Your eyes met in surprised sensation as he was finally able to slide all the way home. 
“Feel so damn good, White Wolf!”
You started moving faster on his cock as his hands slid up your wiast to your tits, squeezing, groping, making up for lost time.
He was stroking a slow, steady, deep pace, as his metal fingers made their way into your open mouth, pressing down your throat as your tongue swirled around your native metal. 
“So goood….”
You were gagging around his fingers, partly because of his actions, and partly because he felt so good inside you. You reached back and grabbed his shirt, pulling on it as you took his thick cock inside you, looking back at him stretching your tiny hole with awe. You looked into each other’s eyes as you felt him swelling impossibly.
“Love your bald head, but I like this hair, Doll. I can do this…”
And Bucky grabbed your curls, pulling on your roots deliciously and stretching your neck so that he could engage you in a filthy kiss while he drove into you. You separated, gasping for breath.
“Bast! James, is your cock made of vibranium too?”
He laughed at the old joke, which made the rounds of the Dora until you found out the truth.
“You make me feel like it is, soyayya ta.”
Bucky let you go so that you could hold on to the gurney and fuck yourself on his cock.
He grabbed your breasts again and the look of surprised lust came was mirrored on both of your faces as you felt yourself squeezing him with your impending orgasm.
“C’mon, Soyayya ta. Give it to me.”
“James, oh James. Oh….!”
“Good god!”
You bent fully over the gurney when you came, and Bucky had a clear view of your beautiful cream on his cock. That’s when he started pounding you out properly, using you to reach his end. Your senses were so alive that you felt each stream and splash of his cum inside you, and it caused your sensitive cunt to shudder. You lay there under him as he collapsed on top of you, relishing the feel of him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Bucky kissed your shoulder and down your back as he looked around for something to clean up with. You looked back at him, and stood up, Bucky’s spend leaking down your legs.
“Let me.”
You gave him that look as you bent over, taking his still semi-hard cock in your hand. You stared at him straight on as you took him in your mouth and cleaned him off.
“That mouth, those eyes… you’re killing me here…”
You smiled around his girth and then opened your mouth to let him see the effects of your handiwork.
 “On my life, Doll. I will never get enough of you.”
He pulled you up to standing and leaned down to give you a filthy kiss.
“So glad to have you back in my arms.”
Bucky turned around and leaned on the gurney as he held you. You leaned into him, tears pricking your eyes as you felt the same emotions, but knowing what you had to do. 
“I love you, farar kerkecina…”
You gave him a tender kiss on the lips before you delivered a blow to his vagus nerve. Bucky went out immediately, and you gently laid him on the gurney before you got dressed again.
“I have to finish this with the Power Broker, and I know you will try to stop me.”
You tucked the underwear that you’d cleaned up with into his jeans pocket, trading them for the keys to this asylum.
“We will be together soon, my love.”
You gave him a kiss on his perfect lips before you quickly made your out of the hospital, on your way to kill Sharon Carter for making you the Summer Soldier and taking the child from your belly.
Tumblr media
Daga karshe na sameki masoyiyata (Hausa)– "I finally found you my love"
Soyayya ta (Hausa)— My Love
Sygrayem v nashu malen'kuyu igru, kukolka? (Russian)-- "Shall we play our little game, Doll?"
Farar kerkecina (Hausa).… "My white wolf"
295 notes · View notes
yourdailymarvelmemes · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
117 notes · View notes
plantswithme · 1 year
Text
sambucky have been married for two years now congratulations to them
303 notes · View notes
littleflyingbitch · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
I drew them being happy again cuz I rll cant deal w the pain
106 notes · View notes
sumbacky · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
stuck in a tight space during a mission etc etc cue the sexual tension/feelings realisation etc y'all know how it goezzz
630 notes · View notes
saryasy · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Anthony Mackie as Sam Wilson being a complete goof in Marvel Studios: Assembled, The Making of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)
311 notes · View notes
rqgnarok · 8 months
Text
catalogue - sam wilson
fandom: marvel, the falcon & the winter soldier
wc: 4,368
warnings: implied smut, mentions of injuries and scars, blood and bruises. neutral pronouns, no use of (y/n).
summary: you and sam don’t get to see each other often, but when you do, there’s a ritual you insist on going through to deal with your time apart. 
masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi
Tumblr media
You’re a sight for Sam’s sore eyes. 
He hasn’t seen you in over six months. It’s an occupational hazard, he knows, but it’s the worst. Being the Falcon made his personal life take a step back in his list of priorities, and becoming Captain America meant setting the list on fire and declaring Sam Wilson’s downtime practically nonexistent. As far as he’s aware, Sarah and the boys are the only exceptions to the rule.
It’s not all on him. You’re an Avenger, too, even if you’re semi-retired. Semi, because the new kids still look for guidance as much as they can and you still keep a room at the Avengers compound because of it, even if scarcely decorated. 
You make your entrance by scaring the shit out of him because of course, you have to. 
“Is this what you call watching your six?”
Sam puffs out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. It’s always an interesting mix of emotions with you, Sam has never felt so safe and yet unbalanced than when he’s in your presence. It creates a sort of vacuum in his belly that has him feeling like a kid with a crush, but he’ll die before he ever admits that to anyone. Especially you.
“You know you don’t have to sneak up on me every time.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” you quip, raising your brows and extending a hand that Sam takes to haul himself back on his feet. You click your tongue. “Gotta say, though, it’s a little less charming now that you’re Captain America. Where does that leave national security?”
Sam rolls his eyes so hard he’s about to give himself a headache, dusting off his ass and giving you a quick once-over, taking advantage of your sudden closeness to do so freely. “Thank Jesus the world still has you, then.”
“Only half time,” you shrug, unaware that Sam knows you’ve spent more time at the Avengers compound than your own apartment lately. If he has a few eyes that check up on you when you’re there, well. It’s only cause he worries. “You and Barnes playing in the Big Leagues leaves a lot of unfinished business for little guys like us.”
“Says the little guy who’s been to space,” Sam uses the same argument he always does when you try to downplay your importance in the job you do. It’s like a script, these meetings of yours, always under the excuse of responsibility until it’s not– until the conversation flows into what Sam has been aching for since the last time he saw you. 
You roll your eyes like he knew you would. You’ve been an Avenger since before they had the name for it, so if anyone deserves the semi-retirement, Sam concedes, it’s gotta be you. He won’t pretend it won’t be a big hit when you choose to walk away completely, though. Whether that’s to the business or Sam’s life, well. That’s another conversation.
He misses you. It’s hardly a crime. 
“And they’ve still got us doing intel like we’re rookies,” you shrug, lessening your significance anyway. As if you weren’t up there in the cosmos chasing after freaking Thanos, but Sam won’t argue with you about this. You already spend so little time together to waste it building conflicts between you.
“Please,” Sam’s a professional, so he doesn’t make a bitchface and say girl with disbelief coating his tone, but judging from the amusement that glints in your eyes, you read through the lines with ease. “Like we’d let the children anywhere near this.”
“Okay, Dad,” you snort. “How are Torres and Barnes anyway?”
“The kid and his grandpa are fine,” he goes for annoyed but his grin is boyish and unrestrained. “Jealous they weren’t authorized to drop by. This is practically a vacation, you know.”
You shake your head, but all in good fun. “If your bosses have you thinking that then you desperately need some real downtime.”
“This is as close as it gets, these days.” 
Torres had flown him all the way to Switzerland just so Sam could go and spend a few weeks in a rustic, semi-abandoned town on the outskirts of the city where an old SHIELD safehouse still stood against all odds. 
Why he had to go to the other side of the world for some intel, he asked and got no answer. Now it comes to mind how he has no idea where you– his contact– have been stationed lately nor what kind of work you’ve been pulling for whoever it is you answer to these days.
You don’t tell him about it, and he’s quit on trying to ask. Whether it’s because you don’t think he’ll approve of what you’re doing or because it’s strictly classified, Sam doesn’t know. 
“Blink twice if they’re holding you hostage,” you say in all seriousness, and he peels his eyes at you without blinking, getting close to your face. You laugh, pushing him away. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re one with the nation. Let me show you these files and see what Mr. America makes of ‘em.”
The physical files you actually bring with you are minimal, and most of the data you’ve been ordered to skim through is kept in a USB you hand to Sam as soon as the coffee has kicked in. Neither of you are exactly sure what it is you’re looking for so you’re stuck in the studio of the tiny, look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-crumble safe house for over three whole days before you finally start gathering some worthy intel.
“I was told we’d known when we found it,” you shrug, not visibly bothered by the fact that you’ve most likely been sent on a wild goose chase. “Or if we didn’t. We might go back empty-handed after all.”
It’s not encouraging but it’s what you’ve got, even if Sam isn’t sure he’s able to be out of commission for that long. He’s realized people get antsy when Captain America isn’t seen somewhere in the world after a few days, but despite how hard he tries he’s not able to be in two places at once.
“Yet,” he tells you when you take a food break and you allow him to rant about these troubles. “Haven’t figured it out yet, but Steve kind of managed it after a few years, right?”
“Steve was superhuman,” you remind him helpfully behind your coffee cup. You’d found some old whiskey at the back of a cabinet and doused your drink with it, so you make a face when it goes down. 
“You don’t think I’m super?”
“I think you’re something, alright.”
“Aw. That was almost a compliment.”
“Can’t let it get to your head, hotshot. Ego’s already too big for your body.”
It’s so fucking domestic Sam feels the ache of it in his teeth. You, sitting at the table in your tiny kitchen while he sits on the counter, each drinking your coffee how you like it as the sun sets through the window above the sink. Talking for hours until you realize you’re practically sitting in the dark as the afternoon flew by while you were taken with each other’s company. 
But then you go back to looking at intel until your eyes are burning and you excuse yourself to pass out on the couch. You do it almost half an hour to the dot before Sam gives up himself, and he’s pretty sure you know enough of his tells to know when he’s getting tired and make an early escape so he doesn’t take the couch himself. 
“You take the bed,” he’d offered the first night, having a little trouble not making it sound like an order. By how you’d raised your eyebrow, he’d failed by a mile. “God knows where you’re sleeping these days. It’s the least I can do after dragging you all the way out here.”
“You’re the one who keeps saying he’s on vacation,” you take your bags from his hands and drop them unceremoniously on the coffee table, marking the living room territory as yours. “And I’m sure the US government will kill me if I bring you back with a fucked up back.”
He almost suggested you could share. You have before, both out of necessity and leisure, but Sam’s sure that topic’s on the list of Things Not To Talk To You About. It might be the first one up there, in all caps and underlined with bright red. 
Sam has both held you down to fuck your brains out and held your bleeding body in his hands, pressing against a gunshot wound to keep blood flow to a minimum. It’s a fucked up type of intimacy he doesn’t share with anyone else, but he’s still hesitant to bring it up. Somehow both events keep happening whether he intends for them or not. 
It’s like he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, and it finally does on the fifth day of your assignment. 
You ultimately get a lead from the USB. It guides you to search for a random code you insist it’s on a file you’d read through already. You make a noise of victory under your breath when you spot it across the table and when you shift to reach for it, your breath hitches.
It’s a quiet thing Sam wouldn’t be able to acknowledge if he weren’t good at his job, but he is. 
“What is it?” he asks, suddenly alert, fingers twitching with the urge to hover over you worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you shake your head. Whatever shadow of hesitance had fallen over you is pulled back into place, tucked away for Sam to blissfully ignore. 
You both know that shit won’t fly, but Sam thinks it’s cute you try anyway.
He stares at you and you avoid his eye long enough, face buried in the file, to know you know he’s noticed. It’s a silent request to let it pass. 
Tough fucking luck. Sam calls your name, admonishing.
“Sam,” you say right back at him in the same tone, still not looking at him. Sam grinds his teeth in annoyance, jaw tight. 
“Are you hurt?”
You shake your head. “I’m fine. You know how it is.”
It’s not a no. 
“I do know,” Sam agrees, but his mood’s a short fuse. “Are you grounded? Is that why you’re here? Because you’re hurt?”
Fucking jackpot. You exhale through your nose and tighten your jaw at the question but refuse to answer. You’re a couple of feet apart, divided by the desk filled with files and information, but somehow this is the closest he’s felt to you since you got here. 
You’d been hiding something since the beginning; taking the couch when you could’ve been sharing the bed from the start, touching him less than usual so things wouldn’t go further, and moving around the house with rigid, calculated movements.
“Manning the desk,” he says with a little too much bite, and he can physically watch your hackles rise; the annoyance in your eyes when they finally meet his, the biting of your cheek to stop yourself from rising to his sudden passive-aggressive hostility. “Handing me files, giving me intel. You’re flying halfway across the world to keep yourself out of the field.”
“Sam,” you say through gritted teeth. 
“You’re hurt,” he replies, not a question, nodding at your torso. It’s all suddenly painstakingly clear, the past week flashing through his mind like a movie from a different point of view. “And you’re hiding it from me, for some reason.”
“Is that all, Captain?” you ask, creating distance with the use of his new title in a way he despises and you know he does. You’re good at that, finding where it hurts and pressing methodically until the skin gives. Sam’s just not used to the trick being used on him. “Or is there something else about my person that you’ve figured out and have yet to enlighten me about?”
“Let me see,” he ignores you. It's easier than trying to match your level of cruel cleverness.  He stands to cross over to your side of the desk, staring down at you expectantly with arms crossed. “Come on, show me.”
“No,” you deadpan, but the way you wrap your arms carefully around yourself shows the defensiveness underneath your nonchalance. “Sam, come on, what the hell are you doing?”
“If you’re not hurt, then show me,” he insists but doesn’t reach to touch you without your permission. It’s a line he won’t cross. 
“Is that an order, sir?” you snap.
“I’m not your superior,” he replies, even though he is, technically, but not when you’re alone. Not when you’re hurt. “I’m your friend. And right now my friend is in pain, I’d like to be able to do something about it.”
“Like what?” you ask, and it’s as exhausted as it is conflictive. Thunder rumbles outside the house and inside Sam’s chest, two storms coming in. “Huh, Sam? What are you gonna do? It’s part of the damned job. Don’t tell me you’re injury-free right now.”
Sam isn’t. Both old and newer scars put a heaviness on his body he’s not supposed to carry, but he’s not the one hiding right now. 
“I can hold you,” he offers and watches the way you look away, imagining the sting in your eyes as they glisten with sudden tears. You very visibly refuse to shed them, tightening your jaw and passing saliva like it’s gravel. “If you’d let me. Let’s not pretend we haven’t done it before.”
“It’s different now.”
“Why?” he wonders, brow furrowing. He does his best to relax his stance and reaches to touch your tight fists where they lay on your lap. With his fingertips barely there on your skin, the tension bleeds out of them like magic almost against your will. “Because I’m Captain America? Because you won’t tell me where you’re stationed half the time?”
“It’s–”
“Classified,” he finishes for you, unmoved. “But you’re still you, and I’m still me. As far as I’m aware, that doesn’t change a damned thing.”
You close your eyes like the words pain you, resolve crumbling right before Sam’s eyes. “I don’t wanna fight with you.”
“Then don’t,” from Sam’s perspective, it’s as simple as that. “Let me see. Let me be with you, please. The last week has been torture.”
You let out a breath of a laugh that’s a little too miserable. “You’re telling me,” you say, and the slope of your shoulders falls from its tense, defensive curve. Sam takes it as the green light it is.   
You stand straighter as he kneels in front of you, his hands hovering over the hem of your shirt. He looks to you for permission and you give him a tight nod, staring at the wall instead of him, gulping down your anxieties.
Sam’s breath catches when he lifts your shirt and sees your torso, skin showered in black, blue, purple, and green bruises. “Jesus.”
“It’s worse than it looks,” you say automatically. Sam can’t see how that’s true. It looks like it hurts to even breathe, it’s unbelievable how you were able to hide it from him for so long. “Nothing’s broken, I swear.”
“What the hell happened?” he asks even if he knows you can’t– or won’t– answer. You sigh, and he watches blemished skin shake with the effort it takes. 
“I’m alright,” you say instead of the answer he wants, but your voice has softened and lost all fight response. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve been with him since you arrived and it has nothing to do with showing your skin. “Hey, I’m okay. That assignment’s over for good. I’m not going back there, I promise.”
The sigh of relief Sam lets out is shaky and doesn’t relinquish all the tension he’s been carrying. The possibilities of what must’ve happened are gonna haunt him long after this mission’s over. 
“I hate it,” he says, and he knows you know what he means. Not knowing where you are, spending more than half the year apart with zero contact, this unease between you that doesn’t let you be honest. 
You say, tired. “I know. Sam–”
Sam isn’t touching you– not yet. He’s careful so there’s no skin-to-skin contact, and you look at him with guarded eyes when he lowers your shirt back into place, standing up and towering over you. 
“What?”
You breathe air out of your nose, frustrated. “You know.”
A beat. “You sure?” he says, as plainly as he can with the tension that’s grown between you pulling him forward.
“Yes.”
He hums.
“Oh. You gonna let me touch you now, then?” he asks, still under the excuse of medical purposes only. But Sam can’t help the way his voice deepens, molten like honey. His eyes trail over skin that isn’t blemished: the curve of your neck, the lines of your arms, the slope of your fingers. 
You shiver under the attention, helpless to hide such a reaction to his voice. “Mmm? Honey?”
“Fuck you,” you say automatically, already opening your legs slightly for Sam to slip in between them, reaching for your jaw. You close your eyes at the touch, sighing away whatever tension remained in you. 
You’re too fucking easy, despite the fight you insisted on going through before letting yourself be touched, and something in Sam’s belly tightens at the idea of it being just for him.
Sam’s hands remain on your jaw and throat as he tilts your head up for a kiss, slow and deep, lingering. It’s not long before you open up for him, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it was always meant to be there, coaxing a whine from you while you search for steadiness and settle your hands on his belt. Not pulling, not searching for more– not yet– but keeping him close. 
The storm comes and goes and the files in the studio remain forgotten. Sam finally gets you on the bed and, better yet, with him in it. 
He’s a little too careful, hands cupping your ribs with extreme caution after finally getting rid of your shirt for good and laying you down against the sheets. You roll your eyes fondly and grab onto his wrists to direct him where you want him. 
He doesn’t complain as he takes your directions. The man will greedily take anything you give him in calloused, expert hands as he does his best to pull sounds out of you that are music to his ears. 
After it’s over, you both lay in bed, naked and breathless. You find a new scar on him and trace the ragged line of skin gently with your fingertip, touch featherlight, almost nonexistent. It’s been over half a year since you last did this, but only a couple of months since he got himself injured and stitched up by Bucky in the Brazilian jungle. “This one’s new.”
It had been a quick job, good enough considering the circumstances, which is to say Sam now has an ugly, uneven scar a couple of inches above his hipbone that saved him from bleeding out on his partner.
The memory holds no gentleness, but your fingers do. The haze of his previous orgasm leaves Sam pliant under your touch, melted against the sheets and uncaring of your scrutiny. “Barnes?”
Sam makes an affirmative noise, a valid enough question since sometimes he’s admitted to doing patchwork on himself for the sake of the mission, uncaring of how bad it hurts as long as it’s quick and efficient.
“Did it hurt?”
“Like hell,” he admits, feeling safe enough to do so in the cocoon you’ve built for yourselves. Sam runs a hand up and down your naked back as if trying to soothe the brunt of the memory. “Did the job, though. Got us out alive.”
At that, you lean to kiss the skin, only slipping a bit of tongue into it. Sam sighs, ignoring the prick of discomfort that’s trying to crawl up his spine and leaning towards the softer, more tender sentiment that takes over him whenever you get like this. It’s not easy for him to accept such gentleness, to let himself be cared for and lay there, unable to give something back.
He will, in a minute. But he knows you like him like this, and that alone pins him down in his place to let you work. It’d be hypocritical of him, he thinks as his hips twitch with renowned interest, to not let you fret after him when his own worry is what got you here in the first place.
After you’re satisfied, you trail the path Sam’s grown accustomed to, the very same you follow every time you sleep together after a terribly long amount of time: 
The knife scar under his pec from when they were chasing after Bucky, still the Winter Solider, superficial enough not to have caused concern at the time. The mark from when he got his appendix out, thinking nothing of the stabbing aches to his belly until he was doubling over in his bed and waking up half his platoon as he retched in the bathroom.
The dot on his finger where Riley accidentally stabbed him with a pencil once, sleep deprived and with two shots of whiskey on him. The wound had healed with ease but the mark made a permanent home on his skin, barely visible unless you leaned in close enough to look for it.
The scab on his knee from falling off his bike when he was six. Sarah had screeched bloody murder until their parents came out of the house to see what all the fuss was about. The scar left behind by a bullet on his right shoulder during his second tour in Afghanistan. 
The cut on his lip he got shaving for the first time is always last on your list. Sam has long stopped calling you out on it, how convenient it was that the cataloging of his scars always ended with a thorough, slow kiss to his mouth that usually bloomed into a second round. 
He found that you got skittish when he did so, pulling back into yourself and laying tensely in bed for a couple more minutes before you started looking around for your clothes, called out.
Now Sam only cups your jaw, tugs a little so it opens your mouth and he can slip in his tongue and steal a taste of your sigh. He wants you like this for as long as possible; vulnerable, unguarded, desperate to touch him and be touched back. Safe enough to know that you never have to ask for something he wants to give you so willingly. 
You always forget. The second you meet again, you have to start the whole dance over. Fish for excuses to meet each other in the middle, hoping for new scars to lengthen your time together. 
Sam isn’t a masochist by any means, and he’s not an adrenaline junkie asshat who chases the danger just to have proof on his skin that he can take all the grievances life throws at him.
But. But–
“We’re alright,” you say against his mouth, body warm and seeking on top of his. He’s mindful of your injuries but can’t help himself, the urge to touch you overrules any other instinct he owns. It makes him weak, on the field, but happy off of it. “Aren’t we? We’re gonna be alright.”
“‘Course we are, honey,” his southern charm pops out and you’re both parts equally pleased and unamused, a funny expression on your face that has him laughing as he cups the back of your neck to bring you in for another kiss. “What? What’s with the face?”
“Nothin’, pumpkin,” you imitate his accent and Sam focuses his ministrations on your jaw and neck, trying to get you to break character. “We’re gonna be just fine, sugar plum. You’re sure lookin’ very pretty tonight, peach fuzz.”
Sam splutters out a laugh. “Peach fuzz?”
“That’s what you sound like!”
“See if I ever call you something nice ever again.”
“You can’t resist me,” you say seriously, though a smile keeps trying to break your facade. “You literally lasted five days before taking me to bed. That’s on being weak, Wilson.”
“Some might say it’s a world record for me, baby,” he says, poking at your face until you show teeth, happy and at ease in his arms. “The six months before that were a little bit of a stretch, too.”
Your mood dampens a little but Sam won’t let it, nudging his nose against yours to catch your attention again. “Hey. What did I just say? We’re gonna be alright. Five days, six months, five years, it’s nothing. They mean shit when I get to see you again.”
The mention of the Snap unguards you further. He’d been gone while you tried to keep your life together, ignoring the Sam-shaped void in your surroundings. The first time you got together after he came back had been tainted by the grief of losing three of the best people you’d ever known, and he’d done his own reconnaissance of your skin as he took in new scars, new hurts that had happened and healed while he was gone.
You smile again, but it’s softer, fonder, a tender tilt of the lips for the man you managed to find in this chaotic line of work that became your whole life.
In another five days, you’ll once more be on opposite ends of the world without any idea of when you’ll see each other again or what new marks you’ll have on your skin that describe your time apart. You haven’t even put a name to this– this relationship that both of you are still too hesitant to define as such, but that’s okay. 
It’s okay. It’s more than enough. The path of scars will be there to take when you meet again, permanent proof that you’ve survived to find the way to each other over and over and over again. The map that leads to you, every goddamn time.
___
hi!!!
hope you like this one! i’ve been putting this fic on the back burner for almost a month now, but i’m so glad to finally have finished it! i hope to put out the tommy miller sequel for dial drunk next week before school starts :)
thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, etc.!
<3
96 notes · View notes
majaloveschris · 1 year
Text
No comment...😩😏
375 notes · View notes
haflacky · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
Bucky Barnes in Wakanda
2K notes · View notes