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firstelevens · 9 months

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and 22 for sambucky, perhaps?? 🍯

22. don't say yes

It is, technically speaking, Sam’s fault that he ends up where he does. Usually, there’s a little more nuance, but this time around, it’s completely on him.

His mother had been fond of saying that eavesdroppers were bound to hear things they didn’t like, and little Sam had only had to test this theory a few times before deciding that she was right. The lesson had worn off at some point, though, as high school and college came and went, and as keeping your ear to the ground made all the difference as a soldier and later as a superhero.

But Sam doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on Bucky. Not really, anyway.

He pulls up to Bucky’s newly-purchased cottage and goes around back to drop off Sarah’s spare wheelbarrow. All afternoon at the docks yesterday, Bucky had been making noises about working on the garden at the new place, setting up a vegetable patch and hauling around some of the bricks left behind by the last owners to make up a little retaining wall.

When Sam had asked just how much experience Bucky had with growing vegetables, he’d mentioned that his Ma had kept a victory garden during the war, and then gone quiet until the boys burst in and demanded his attention. Bucky had gone back home not long after, and Sam had figured that the wheelbarrow and the extra gardening tools he’d pulled from the shed might be some kind of peace offering.

He sets the trowels and gardening gloves on the back porch and leaves the wheelbarrow nearby. It’s more habit than anything else that has him stopping to examine the boards and the porch railing, checking for rot or cracks. Sam doesn’t even realize that Bucky’s bedroom window is open, not until his voice carries out of it and into the yard.

“I promise I’ll be back soon,” he’s saying. “It’s just a quick errand.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows. He’d maybe expected Bucky to be on the phone, but it sounds like he’s talking to someone who’s there with him.

“The hardware store is close,” says Bucky, and the warmth in his voice is unmistakeable, “and the nursery’s not that far, either. I’ll be an hour, tops.”

He tries not to, but Sam can’t help but strain his hearing, trying to catch the reply from whoever is up there with Bucky. He can’t make out any words, but that doesn’t make him feel better. It’s 8 AM on a Saturday; whoever it is could easily just be tired.

It’s far too easy a leap from that particular conclusion to just why someone might be at Bucky’s house in the morning and too tired to really speak. Sam feels queasy all of a sudden.

Bucky had turned down an invitation to have dinner with them last night, and he’d left the docks in the late afternoon instead of hanging out like he usually did. Sam had assumed that he was going back to work on the house while it was still light out, but maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe Bucky had gone into town, or to a bar somewhere. Maybe Bucky had brought someone home with him, and that someone had stayed the night.

Sam is just trying to convince himself that there’s a perfectly platonic, rational explanation to all this when he hears Bucky’s voice again.

“Baby,” Bucky says, somewhere between affectionate and chiding. “Sam’s gonna be here any second; you know I can’t just leave him hanging.”

That’s not how you talk to a one night stand, Sam realizes, with a sinking feeling. That’s how you talk to someone who’s been around for a little while, and who plans to stay that way.

Had he missed the signs somewhere? Had he misread all those conversations that he’d thought were moments with Bucky, even when they’d been on their own separate world-saving missions? All the text messages and the scraps of time they’d caught together in New York or DC or here in Delacroix?

Bucky shyly admitting that he’d put an offer in on a house in town had seemed like a confirmation of something, like establishing solid ground for them to take those first steps together. Now, though–now Sam can’t help but wonder if that solid ground isn’t his to tread, if Delacroix was the choice not because it’s Sam’s home but because it’s someone else’s.

“You’ve got to give me my shirt back, Sweets; I can’t go out without it,” comes Bucky’s voice again, and this time, Sam makes himself step back, intent on hustling back to the truck and booking it out of here before Bucky realizes he was there at all.

He’s already drawing up an excuse in his head, trying to strike the right balance of a reasonable last second cancelation and nothing that’ll worry Bucky too much, but the extra distraction proves to be the last thing he needs. Sam runs right into the wheelbarrow, which falls against the nearby stack of bricks with an extra-loud clang, reverberating outwards like a bell.

“Fuck,” Sam murmurs, and has just enough time to right the wheelbarrow before Bucky is calling out the window.

“Sam, is that you?” Sam doesn’t say yes at first, still trying to salvage his escape plan, and Bucky calls out again. “Sam? Are you there?”

It’s only latent self-preservation instincts that remind him it’s probably a bad idea to make the former Winter Soldier think that there’s someone skulking around his property uninvited, and he finally makes himself answer.

“Yeah,” Sam calls back. “It’s me, sorry.”

There’s no response for a moment, and then the door to the back porch opens. Bucky is smoothing down his t-shirt like he just pulled it on, and Sam’s stomach lurches just a little.

“Hey,” Bucky is saying, “sorry I’m late; I just got caught up with- wait, what’s that?”

It takes Sam a beat to realize where he’s pointing, distracted as he is by Bucky’s ruffled hair and the pillowmarks on his face. Even as part of him grapples with what he’s just learned, he can’t help but feel happy that Bucky seems to have slept through the night.

“It’s a wheelbarrow,” he finally manages to say, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. Sam clears his throat, but it does nothing to ease the sudden tightness he feels there. “Thought you might need one, for your garden and all. Plus, uh- we had some spare trowels and stuff at the house. No sense in buying new ones if you don’t need them.”

Bucky looks as surprised as he always does when he’s on the receiving end of a gesture like this, but he thanks Sam warmly. “If I supply coffee and snacks, d’you think Captain America might throw in his help along with the wheelbarrow?” he asks, grinning.

Sam smiles in spite of himself. “Maybe, but it better be some fancy coffee.”

“I think I can make that happen,” says Bucky, nodding. “You about ready to head out? Is there anything we need to take with us to the hardware store?”

“About that,” says Sam, trying to keep his breathing even, “I was thinking maybe it would be better if we rescheduled? I, uh- I know weekends can be busy, and maybe there’s stuff that needs your attention, so we can-”

“Sam, this is the stuff that needs my attention,” Bucky says. His eyebrows furrow after a second, and realization crosses his face. “Oh, wait, do you have something you need to do? Is the motor still giving you guys trouble on the boat? Because we can just head over there instead; the hardware store can wait, but Sarah can’t miss that afternoon charter.”

It would make for a good excuse, but the boat is just fine, and if Sam said otherwise, Bucky would insist on coming along to help. “It’s not that,” Sam says. “Sarah’s all set for the charter. I just didn’t want to take you away from anything important, or pressing, or, I don’t know, more enjoyable than a trip to the hardware store and the nursery. You know Hank and Lottie are going to want ten minutes of gossip for every ten minutes of shopping.”

“I’m counting on it,” Bucky says, giving Sam a slightly odd look. “I want to hear what the deal is with that new couple who just bought the flower shop.”

Sam shrugs. “Just want you to remember that it might take a while, that’s all.”

Bucky waves a hand. “I have time,” he says. “Might even be able to squeeze in a trip to the coffee place so I can put a down payment on your help with the garden.”

That, weirdly, is the final straw for Sam. He may be quietly jealous of this unknown person who’s loath to let Bucky out of bed in the mornings, but they deserve some consideration, at least. If Sam’s partner was going to spend the day gallivanting around after promising to be home as soon as possible, he’d want to know.

Just as Sam opens his mouth to finally address the elephant in the room, Bucky is continuing on, as oblivious as ever. “Let me just grab my shoes,” he’s saying. “And then we can head out.”

He turns and opens the backdoor again, but just before Bucky can step inside, they’re met with the loudest, most plaintive meow that Sam has ever heard. It’s followed by a few more: short, sharp mews of complaint, very clearly addressed at the person deemed responsible.

For a second, Sam’s brain processes ‘there is a cat in Bucky’s house and it’s mad at him’ to mean that a stray cat got in through an open window and found that it couldn’t get out. Then he looks back at Bucky and finds him sitting in the doorway, now cradling a tiny white kitten in his left arm.

The cat is mewling loudly at him, with more force than such a small animal should have, and Bucky…Bucky is nodding along to the complaints, murmuring comforting nonsense back.

“I know, I know, you told me not to go,” he says, gently petting the cat. “Sorry, baby. I should’ve taken you with me, huh?”

There’s one last meow in response, softer than the others, before the cat curls up in Bucky’s arms.

Sam, still astonished, glances from the upstairs bedroom window to Bucky and the cat and back again.

Sorry, baby, Bucky had said. You told me not to go.

“Wait, you were talking to your cat?” asks Sam.

Bucky frowns, looking confused. “That’s what this animal is called, yes. And I’m currently talking to her, so…yes to that, too?”

“No, I mean earlier,” says Sam, before he can stop himself. He feels his eyes go a little wide.

“Earlier when?”

“Uh, nothing. Never mind. Are you gonna introduce me to your cat, or what?”

But Bucky’s persistence is one of his best and most annoying qualities. “Earlier when, Sam?”

With the same consideration that he gives to a particularly risky throw of the shield, Sam makes himself answer. “Just when I got here. A few minutes ago, that’s all.”

“You heard me talking?”

“Yeah,” says Sam. “Your window was open and I was bringing the wheelbarrow around. I heard you saying you’d be home soon, and calling someone pet names, and I made an assumption. I guessed wrong, that’s all.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “So you were eavesdropping, then?”

“I was doing a favor for my friend and bringing him a wheelbarrow that’s almost as ancient as he is,” says Sam, his voice dry. “Not my fault you project like you’re on Broadway and aiming for the cheap seats.”

That gets a snort of amusement, at least. Sam steps onto the porch and takes a seat beside Bucky, holding out his hand for the cat to sniff.

“Sam, this is Alpine,” Bucky says. “Alpine, this is Sam.”

Alpine seems to deem Sam trustworthy enough, because she settles back down in Bucky’s arms and doesn’t tense when Sam runs a gentle finger along her back.

“How long have you had her?” asks Sam. “How’d I miss this cat hair on your extensively black wardrobe?”

“Two weeks,” says Bucky, “and I now own about a dozen lint rollers.”

“That’ll do it, I guess.” Sam laughs quietly. “You know the boys are going to want to meet her as soon as possible, right?”

“Sarah asked me to pick them up from school on Monday; I thought I might bring them by to see her then.”

Sam hums in acknowledgment and wonders if he’ll ever get used to the way Bucky has neatly folded himself into their lives.

He doesn’t get a chance to ponder it for very long, though, because then he feels eyes on him, a vibranium shoulder pressed into his own.

He has about two seconds to brace himself before Bucky asks, “So if you heard me talking to Alpine and didn’t realize I was talking to a cat, who did you think I was talking to?”

It’s been a long time since Sam acted or felt like a teenager, and he’s not proud to say that he defaults to a classic 16 year old response: shrugs a shoulder and says, “I don’t know,” as nonchalantly as he can,

It does not work.

“Sam,” says Bucky. “Seriously, it’s Saturday morning. Who would be at my house at 8 AM on a Saturday?”

Sam shrugs again, but this time he makes himself answer, even if he can’t take his eyes off his lap. “Someone who fell asleep here, maybe.”

“Fell asleep here? What does that even-”

“Buck, I know the aw-shucks routine was a real hit in the forties, but you don’t need to go around pretending not to know what sex is now.” Sam means for it to sound light, but the words feel sharp as he says them.

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” says Bucky, and Sam might be imagining it, but there’s something careful in his voice now. “I just didn’t think of it.”

“Right,” says Sam, flat. “Of course not.”

Because only someone with a definitely-more-than-a-crush on their friend and superhero partner would hear three sentences through an open window and immediately assume that they had a romantic rival. Normal people with normal feelings about their friend and superhero partner wouldn’t be fazed.

Part of Sam is searching for an exit strategy again, trying to figure out the best way to wriggle out of this so he can contend with the embarrassment in peace for a while before things go back to normal. He would break out an excuse to get going, except that Bucky is still talking.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t have come to mind before,” he’s saying, and Sam wants very badly for this conversation to end so he can be swallowed by the earth. “I just, um- I haven’t thought about entertaining people that way in a while, because there’s someone I’m interested in.”

It’s a medical miracle, Sam thinks, that he can feel like someone has punched him in the stomach and yet his curiosity still manages to seize control of his mouth and ask questions. “You sure you don’t have that backwards? It feels like the sort of thing that would be on your mind more, not less.”

He feels Bucky shrug beside him. “We’re taking it slow, I think.”

“Oh?” asks Sam, suddenly beset by chaste visions of Bucky sharing a milkshake with someone at the retro themed diner in Chalmette.

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “Not even any real dates or anything yet.”

Blessedly, the diner and the milkshake disappear. “No dates at all?” asks Sam, because apparently he likes pressing on bruises.

“No dates,” echoes Bucky. “But errands, sometimes.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows, finally turning to look at Bucky. “Errands?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, errands. Like, grocery store runs, or gardening,” he says, and it seems like the corners of his mouth are turning up. “Or even trips down to the hardware store and the nursery.”

Sam blinks. “Wait, what?”

There’s clearly a grin on Bucky’s face now. “I mean, I’m assuming that the hardware store doesn’t count as a date, because if it were a real date, I’d be getting flowers instead of a wheelbarrow.”

There’s a rushing in Sam’s ears as he processes Bucky’s words. For a moment, he can’t seem to make his mouth work. When he finally does, his voice is embarrassingly creaky, like he hasn’t spoken in days. “Next time,” he croaks. “Next time, it’s flowers, I promise.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, his smile widening. “Next time, then.”

“Okay,” echoes Sam. “It’s a date.”

#me: i'll stick to 500 words #me 2800 words later: oops #sambucky #sambucky fanfiction #zainab does ask meme things #taylor swift prompt fics #birdhapley #this might get cleaned up and end up on AO3 later WHO KNOWS #throw another one under the 'wrote it in one sitting in a fugue state' column #my fic

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wenellyb · 11 months

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Sambucky fans : Sam and Bucky are married, get over it.

Sambucky fans if Marvel ever confirms they're married:

#sambucky #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes

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elwenyere · 8 months

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WIP Poll Results, Part II

Hello, fam: I am back with more snips from the top choices in this WIP poll game. Last Wednesday was the Icemav second place snip, and today I bring you an excerpt from the third place Sambucky WIP, a follow-up for my Edge of Tomorrow AU, "Look Alive."

I first wrote this AU for Samtember, and I always hoped I would have a chance to come back and give it a Sambucky second half someday. Here are some next steps in that direction!

CW: references to temporary character deaths

.....

Finding the Winter Soldier turned out to be more complicated than Sam had expected.

Not quite “storm a beach that’s writhing with the murderous tentacles of a thousand pissed-off aliens” complicated, sure - but a tricky enough variation on the pattern that Sam still blew three resets trying to give Phillips and H-Squad the slip: locked up in solitary for ten hours before getting deployed to die again on the beach, shot for desertion by an overeager sergeant as he darted across the air strip, pulled under the wheels of a transport truck he tried to use for cover.

By the time he finally made it to the hangar where Barnes was training - standing in the middle of a spacious airplane bay the army had apparently refitted as a firing range for their favorite poster boy - Sam was feeling a little testy about the situation.

“You couldn’t have at least told me where to find you?” he called out.

Barnes finished firing off the final rounds from his rifle, catching three of the range’s whirling metal targets directly in their centers, and then he turned to look at Sam.

“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Following your vague-ass directions,” Sam shot back. “We meet, tomorrow, on the beach. You told me to come find you. You said I should say that it’s happening to me now, and that you shouldn’t blow another chance.”

Barnes’ eyes searched his face, his fingers flexing around the barrel of his rifle.

“The attack tomorrow,” he said. “It’s a trap?”

Sam felt his lips press together, his ears ringing with the zip and whir of Mimic arms in motion, the helpless rattle of machine-gun fire, the low thud of the missile hitting Barnes in the lower back, once, twice, a dozen times.

“It’s a massacre,” Sam confirmed.

Barnes swore, taking a slow breath before he slung his rifle over his back.

“Come with me.”

#mcu #sambucky #my wips #wip game #wip poll #thank you to everyone who participated!!!

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purple-babygirl · 2 years

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Hello there, darling! (Is it okay to call you like that?)

I have a small request or just thoughts or whatever, but here’s a thing.

I never found fanfics with littles who have piercings or tattoos, on the contrary, I always found fics with littles who don’t have tattoos and piercings. And my ears have like 15 piercings in them and I also have nipple piercings. And I also wanted tattoos but what I won’t be good little with more piercings and tattoos?

So I just wanted to ask/ request what do you think about it? Or what would daddies Bucky and Sam think about it?

You don’t have to answer on that if you feel uncomfortable, I will totally understand!

Have nice day a night and sweet dreams! 💛

Pairing: SamBucky x f!reader

Word count: 450

Warnings: ddlg, it's all sfw.

A/N: you can call me whatever you want, Nonnie. You're very sweet and kind and I'm honestly ashamed of myself for having left your request unanswered for so long. Please forgive me. First of all, I'm so proud of you because it honestly takes a lot of guts to pierce anywhere and you're one tough ma'am right here! This is so cool and I'm sure you look stunning. I, too, want to have a lot of piercings and even more tattoos so I'm rooting for you rn. And I think our looks don't and shouldn't affect our goodness as littles or as girls in general, and I think Sam and Bucky would totally agree! I'm sure you're an amazing person and whoever you're with is lucky to have you, love 💜. I hope you have a wonderful day and life 💜 please enjoy xx💜

She let out a sigh before the mirror as she checked herself out, slipping one more earring on before stepping back. She looked nice, cool and, of course, sexy.

But did she look soft? Did she look little? Innocent? Good?

"You ready, sugar?" Sam's warm voice asked her as the man came into view behind her.

"I don't know... Maybe I shouldn't," she replied, nervous yet again about making the decision.

"Baby, you know you don't have to. We support whatever you want." His big hands rested on both her shoulders, massaging gently.

"That we do," Bucky confirmed, entering the room and speeding up to where she was to peck her cheek.

"I know. You're the best. I just—" she didn't know how to continue. How to tell them about her thoughts and worries. What if they think she's being silly? Or worse, what if her fears are true and her appearance does affect her ability to be a good little?

"What is it, doll?" Bucky frowned when he saw her frown.

"I don't wanna look less good for you," she whispered the words out quickly, her eyes getting shiny with unshed tears as her gaze dropped.

Sam exchanged looks with Bucky and then took her hand in his and led her to their bed, sitting down with her while Bucky crouched before her knees.

"You are the best baby to ever exist, so so good I can't believe we get to be the ones to take care of you," Sam said, kissing her hand.

"Love, this is your body," Bucky continued, "you can do whatever you want with it. It won't change anything about how good you are and how in love with you we are." His warm hand cupped her knee as she smiled down at him, her smaller hand covering his.

"And whatever you choose to do with it doesn't mean you don't deserve to be loved and babied and cared for. You will be mine and Daddy's baby for as long as you wish, sugar." Sam kissed her temple, his arm wrapping around her adoringly.

"I love you so much," she said, her fist going to rub at her eyes to wipe away any stray tears, "thank you" .

"We love you more, baby doll." Bucky kisses her knee, his hand squeezing hers in reassurance.

"So, you ready now, sugar?"

"Yes, papa." She nodded happily, smiling at Sam and squeezing Bucky's hand back.

"Baby doll is ready!" Bucky exclaimed, "let's go get you that tattoo." He stood up and kissed her forehead.

"You'd hold my hand, right?" Her small voice asked.

"Of course!" Both men replied in unison, making her giggle.

She felt good; safe.

#sambucky fic #sambucky x reader #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader x sam wilson #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x fem!reader #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #purple answers #purple writes #💜

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acnelli · 2 years

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Six Sentence Sunday

@orange-peony and @lumosatnight tagged me to share a little snippet of a story ages ago. I've got nothing new to share but this is part of a story which I wanted to submit to @hpqueerfest but had to drop out because I couldn't find the time. Maybe I'll submit it later, now that claiming opens again tomorrow. Anyway, here's the snippet. And I tag @livingincolorsagain to share some of their sambucky goodness (a fandom I'm not active in but I can confirm that their writing is excellent).

Now though? Now Blaise was positively fuming. And the reason was, indeed, one of his fellow Slytherins. And the fucking git had the gal to smirk at him when he arrived for breakfast, smartly choosing a seat with two other people between them.

Theo Nott rose from an inconvenient annoyance to Blaise's main protagonist of his murder fantasies in a matter of days. And he knew it too.

What Blaise couldn't tell though, was if Nott only did this to rile him up or, much worse, if he was actually interested in Ron. While the latter was possible, of course, the former was just as likely.

#six sentence sunday #hp #hp fanfic #blairon #blairon fanfic #harry potter #ron weasley #blaise zabini

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the-sky-the-stars-the-sea · 2 years

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What do Sambucky, Luberto, and Byler all have in common?

Everyone excited with anticipation, great potential, actors’ strong opinions, and yet nothing is ever canonically confirmed.

And until there’s more content, none will ever be confirmed in canon.

#It’s sad but true #byler #sambucky #luberto #luca 2021 #falcon and the winter soldier #stranger things

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ironstrangle · 7 months

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Kissing Sam Wilson #25 - Him (SamBucky, but Implied SamSteve and Stucky, 600 words)

@samsseptember prompt - Part Time Avenger | On The Run

“I always wanted to ask you,” Bucky admitted, as he looked down at the photograph. It was a grainy photo, probably taken on some cheap portable device. Sam and Steve smiled at the camera, but he could see the weariness on their faces. At the time of the photo, they were on the run from their own government. “I never really knew the right way to ask, but why did you follow Steve?”

Sam swallowed hard at those words. His eyes seemed to be fixated on the photograph. He looked as though looking away would be painful to him.

“That’s actually a pretty good question,” Sam chuckled, turning the photograph around so that it was facing down against his palm. That seemed to make it easier to focus on the man in front of him. “I mean, I knew why I followed Steve at first. I had lost Riley in the same way he lost you. I knew that I’d do anything to get my other half back and if it was possible for Steve, we had to try it.”

Bucky nodded, appreciative of the words. Sam’s empathy was something that he’d fallen in love with right away. He was so good to other people. He had lost a lot, suffered a lot in his life, but unlike some people, it hadn’t made him crueler. It had made him more compassionate, more loving, more intense.

“But that doesn’t explain why you became a literal fugitive for the man.”

Sam’s cheeks turned a little redder, confirming something about him that Bucky had long suspected. It didn’t bother him. He and Sam were in a healthy relationship that was going strong, even though by every other piece of evidence, it shouldn’t. They were doing well, and they loved each other.

The fact of the matter was, though, that they had both been in love with Steve Rogers at one point in their lives.

“When was it for you?” Bucky asked, the realization dawning easily.

“I would say just before the Accords fight,” Sam admitted. His face turned bright red, but to his credit, he flipped over the photo so that they were both looking at Steve’s stupid, handsome face. “Then, when he stood up for what he believed in…I was sunk. It was…it was silly…”

“It wasn’t silly,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “You have never judged me for my feelings for Steve.”

“Yeah, but you two had a lot more history, a lot more going between you two.”

“I fell in love with him for mostly the same reason,” Bucky admitted, squeezing his hand tightly. Sam felt the pressure there between them. “I saw his determination when he was a small kid, literally weighing about a hundred pounds. I saw the fact that he would never back down. It was hard not to fall for him.”

“Now look at us.”

Steve was gone, and they were a couple. They were, actually, doing well as pair-bonded. It worked perfectly. Their opinions about Steve were a little bit on the iffy side. They both loved and admired him more than they cared to admit, but there would always be that pain, that little bit of soreness.

“He brought us together, right?” Bucky said with a grin, kissing Sam and tucking him close to his chest.

“That he did.”

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #sam x bucky #sambucky #winterfalcon #sam september 2023

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bottlesandcats · 2 years

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renegade 👀

Now this one is my secret favorite of the bunch. I came up with this awhile ago after I realized Sam's look in Endgame gives me major 70s detective vibes.

It's a Sambucky modern AU detective story. Sam is a New York City detective, who gets pulled back into a cold case of his, after a recent grisly murder. He turns to Bucky for help, who now is a professor of criminal psychology at NYU, but was formerly an undercover cop who has his own ties to the case.

Unfortunately I don't know jack about police work or major crimes units or forensics and bc of that it's going to take a ton of research, which is why I've been dragging my feet on it, but from what little I've written so far it's been really fun!

Title is from “Renegade” by Big Red Machine and Taylor Swift.

Thanks for the ask! Maybe this will get me motivated to work more on it now!

Sam Wilson knows it’s gonna be a shitty day as soon as his alarm goes off. There’s no particular reason, it’s just one of those feelings that you get when you open your eyes and think ‘Yup, today the Universe is gonna test me.’ His mama always used to say he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed when he’d come downstairs, all storm clouds and grumbling about having to go to school, snapping at his little sister. But now that he’s grown, Sam knows it’s not a matter of getting up on the wrong side of the bed but somehow gettin’ on the wrong side of the Universe.

His suspicions are confirmed when he arrives at his favorite local coffee shop, The Harlem Hot Spot, and sees a hand-written sign: “No espresso today, only drip or cold brew. Sorry for the inconvenience - Mgmt.” With a heavy sigh he pushes the door open, the familiar overhead bell cheerfully jangling in a way that almost feels mocking.

“Hey, Detective Wilson.” Charisse, who always works the morning shift when Sam comes in, waves from behind the counter. “Sorry, but no usual today.”

“Yeah, I saw the sign. What happened?”

“Espresso machine is on the fritz.” She grimaces as she says it, like she’s waiting for him to snap at her for it. It’s probably her hundredth time explaining it today, and knowing New York morning commuters she’s probably been yelled at several times already. “We got drip or cold brew, if you want coffee.”

It’s absolutely a double-shot kind of day but that means he’ll need to go to the Starbucks next to the precinct where he’ll pay way too much for a shitty latte.

“Again? Damn, y’all need to get a new machine,” he grumbles.

She snorts. “We take cash, Apple Pay or Amazon gift cards if you’re feeling generous. Maurice is coming by later to fix it.”

He gets a large coffee to go, along with a blueberry muffin. He’s been trying to cut back on his carbs but, fuck it, anything to help his shitty mood. He stuffs a couple singles into the tip jar, mixes some half and half into his cup and makes his way to the precinct by way of the (subway).

By the time Sam gets to the station, his coffee is already half gone, and he knows he’s going to need to find time to make midday coffee run. He makes his way through the chaos that happens every morning as the graveyard shift tries to wrap up their paperwork and gives the lowdown of the previous night’s events to the day shift. As he crosses the lobby, Sam sees Officer Joaquin Torres, catch his eye, file in hand, and immediately makes a dash for the elevator. The kid is nice enough, albeit a little eager, and wants to be a detective. He’s decided on Sam being his mentor even though Sam never agreed to any such thing.

“Sir, I’ve got something for you! Just came through processing!”

“No, Torres!” he calls over his shoulder. “I haven’t had enough caffeine yet for whatever the fuck you got in that file.” He jams the button to the third floor but Torres is faster and manages to squeeze in as the doors shut.

“Well drink up sir, because you’re gonna wanna see this.”

“I told you a million times, man, don’t call me sir,” Sam sighs, rubbing his temples with a free hand.

He already feels a headache coming on, and the bad feeling he woke up with intensifies. The elevator dings as the doors open to the bullpen, the sound reverberating around his skull. He takes the folder with a heavy sigh and makes his way over to his desk, Torres hot on his heels. Something about the kid’s demeanor is off; it’s like he knows what Sam’s reaction is going to be before Sam does and he doesn’t like that.

Setting his coffee and uneaten muffin down, Sam flips open the file and starts reading but only gets a few sentences before he feels the air leaving his lungs. He looks up at Torres, who’s staring at him anxiously.

“This was from this morning?”

“Found the body around 4 am, sir.”

Sam looks back down at the report: vic is a male, early thirties, body dumped in the Hudson, missing their left arm.

“Jesus Christ, Torres. It’s fucking Riley.”

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