If You Like It, Maybe You Should Put A Pin On It

if you like it, maybe you should put a pin on it

Based on this post where Bucky finds Sam's board that's filled with pictures of Bucky with strings pushed into it when he was trying to find him back in 2014-2016 and Bucky puts post it notes grading him if he was correct or not. People in the tags commented about this spinning off to a proposal and this was born.

This is my first finished fic in years so, I may be rusty. I hope y'all enjoy!

One day, Sam looks over at the board again— amongst all the chaos and dangling string and pinned up pictures and paper…

He tilts his head, squinting, before blinking his eyes.

There, on the map, is a new picture, stuck through with a blue pushpin.

Familiar brick, that doormat given by his nephews, the dark wood door.

Home.

100%, scribbled in black sharpie, across the surface of a bright yellow post it.

But what catches his eye—

“Will you marry me?”

Sam turns his head, footsteps creaking the wood underneath Bucky’s feet. He’s wearing a suit, not uncommon these days, but something different than the typical navy and grey suits he’s pilfered from Sam’s closet along with his ties.

No, there’s a svelte silhouette to his form, as if it’s important the fit is right. He’s in a three piece wearing a pin attached to the lapel.

And in his left hand is a small, velvet box.

The words on the post it note ring in his head as Bucky steps closer toward him.

“You found me,” he says, close enough his heat emanates from his body, seeping deep into Sam's own.

His eyes, those nowadays soft eyes, hold a glimmer of trepidation, but also hope.

“I sure did,” Sam replies, smile smug. “I’m good at what I do.”

Bucky’s other hand is warm when he reaches out, his thumb resting over Sam’s knuckles in a solid grip. There’s a slight tremor that seems to ease and settle when he brushes his thumb over Sam’s skin.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else to try and find me.”

“Well, you said I was 100% right on the last time I found you. No one can top that.”

A smile blooms across Bucky’s face, his eyes glowing.

“You’re right.”

Sam laughs, the joy bubbling through him, light and airy and warm.

“Can I get that in writing? Or better yet, on video?”

With a flick of Bucky's vibranium thumb, the box gently opens.

“Only if you say yes.”

Sam shakes his head, the line of his grin softer but no less strong, his eyes peering down at the ring gleaming in the lights of their home.

“You drive a hard bargain there.”

Bucky releases his hold, the absence creeping in, until he pulls the ring out of the cushion. Sam’s hand is still hovering in the air when the cool metal slides along his finger.

”What, do you want me to beg?”

The box snaps closed; Bucky’s hand slips into his pocket before drawing it out, resting his left hand on Sam’s waist. His other is holding Sam’s, thumb resting on top of the ring.

Their bodies draw closer, not quite a dance, but movements of a beat they’ve done so often, it’s like breathing.

Sam’s lips brush against Bucky’s, not quite a kiss.

“That could be a start.”

Their foreheads are pressed together, touching, gaze so focused all they can see in the reflection of their eyes is each other. Their hands warming the other’s waist.

“Say yes and I’ll do anything,” Bucky declares.

He tries one more time.

“Marry me?”

He strains to hear in the silence but his enhanced senses register Sam’s whisper like a yell.

“Yes.”

The taste of triumph, of victory, of finding peace and home, is on their lips, and steals their breath before they part for air.

They don’t move far away, foreheads still leaning against each other. Sam’s smile is a bit devious now, a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

“Gonna hold you to that, husband,” he says, and Bucky just laughs.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

_

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