Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Sam Wilson x female
Other characters: Sarah Wilson, mention of a made up Mrs. Broussard, mention of Redwing
Words: 3227

Summary: Sam took breakfast seriously.

 

Sam took breakfast seriously. He had always led an active life, first as a pararescue, then an Avenger, and now as Captain America. A nice, solid, long-lasting breakfast was important to keep the world-saving energy up. So now that Sarah's package had come in the mail a few days ago, this Sunday he approached breakfast like its own mission. A mission he had planned for a month.

He felt that love wasn't just saying the words. It was more often best showed in the small, practical things. A steading hand on her back. Remembering how she liked her boba tea. A breath stealing kiss before they parted ways in the mornings.

This early Sunday morning, it was standing barefoot in the kitchen, straining already strained marionberry jam because she once said the seeds put her off. He'd had Sarah track down the preserve from a local farm near their childhood home. Special order it to be strained.

But he had to strain it again, just to make absolutely sure.

If someone had told him he'd one day be up before dawn pushing preserves through a fine-mesh sieve for a woman that didn't want seeds in her jam, he'd have laughed. But now he was doing it with military precision. Making sure it was smooth and silky in texture.

"How's the breakf"

Sam's phone vibrated on the counter, and he glanced down, seeing Sarah's name and the first few words of her message. He smiled quickly, shaking his head. Unable to answer just yet, his hands full of soft marionberry, he turned his focus back to the task at hand. Pressing the thick substance through the sieve with a wooden spoon. A few more scrapes of the spoon and he was done. And he was pleasantly surprised to have not found a single seed in the entire batch.

Then, just on time, the toaster popped, the last two bagels halves popping out. He'd ordered a bag of them from the local bakery yesterday and had them delivered to their door this morning. Now he'd had them lightly toasted, to make sure they were perfect.

He put the sieve in the sink and grabbed a clean jar, scooping the preserves up from the bowl. He screwed the lid onto the jar and went to wash his hands, before grabbing his phone to answer Sarah.

Sarah: How's the breakfast going?

Sam: Prep going well. Strained the preserves one more time just in case.

He put his phone back down and went to rummage through a cabinet, as quietly as he could, to find a tray to put everything on. As he reached for the set of bowls the tray was trapped under, they almost fell from his grasp, clattering down on the tray. He froze, eyes wide, shoulders high, listening intently for any sound from the bedroom.

Sam had set a quiet alarm the night before. No sound, just vibration. And he'd put the phone under his pillow, just to make sure it wouldn't wake her up. What he hadn't taken into consideration, was that the vibrations would carry through the mattress. He had woken with a start, feeling the vibrations in his entire body. Quickly, he had reached under the pillow to stop it and then glanced over at her.

She had stirred, her brows furrowing with a sleepy sound of protest deep in her chest, but thankfully that had been all.

He had checked the time, the bagel delivery wouldn't be here for another half hour, so Sam allowed himself a few minutes to just look at her. Her frown had evened out, and she looked peaceful and calm and absolutely beautiful in the soft morning light. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, a few beams slipping through the sides to land in her dark hair, turning the strands molten gold. He wanted to reach out and touch it, let her soft hair run through his fingers, but he didn't dare do anything that might wake her up. He needed this morning to be perfect.

So, he settled for tracing her profile with his eyes. Her closed eyes and the way they moved behind her lids, dreaming. That soft nose he loved to kiss. Slightly parted lips, breathing slowly and deeply in sleep. The hand that seemed to almost have reached for him in her sleep, lightly curled against the sheets.

Sam smiled softly, his fingers twitching as they ached to touch her, but, reluctantly, he moved around as stealthily as he could. Sliding out of bed, trying not to let the mattress shift at all.

Sarah: You strained it? Mrs. Broussard strained it THREE TIMES, while I watched.

The notification made him jump and he nearly dropped the bowls again. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the tray, pulled it out and set the bowls back down gently.

Sam: Now four. I just had to make sure. Don't judge.

He gathered up the bowls of fruit that he'd cut and arranged them on the tray. Boat slices of apples, both red, green and yellow. Thin slices of bananas, so she could put them on a bagel or eat them with the small silver dessert forks he'd found deep in their cutlery drawer. Triangle slices of watermelon. A little jar of local honey, that Sarah had sent along with the marionberry preserves.

From the fridge he pulled out a chilled carafe of fruit juice, cream cheese and a small dish of softened butter.

Then he arranged the bagel-halves on a large plate and set that on the tray as well. Napkins and cutlery were placed on one side. Two glasses on the other side.

And finally, a small bowl of carefully picked blueberries. He'd tasted a few at the store and then done random taste tests while preparing everything else this morning, making sure they weren't too sour.

Sarah: Not judging. Much.

Sam snorted at the message and shook his head.

He ignored it and looked over the tray. Checking if there was anything he'd forgotten. He glanced around the kitchen, it was a bit messy, but he'd tidy up everything once they were done eating.

Finally, he nodded to himself, satisfied with his work.

Sarah: Let me know how it went.

That brought out a smile from him.

Sam: Will do, bossy.

He silenced his phone, vibration and everything off, and left it on the counter. He wanted no disturbances. Then he picked up the tray with both hands, damn it was heavy, and carefully made his way to the bedroom, using his hip to push open the door.

I blinked slowly, at first not sure what woke me up. The warmth of the sun through the curtains, or the bright sunlight that just barely slipped past gaps in the curtains, hitting my face. Maybe it was the sound of clinking plates, or the smell of... bagels? Maybe it was because Sam's side of the bed was empty.

I opened my eyes fully. Slowly, so as to not let the brightness of the room blind me. The sheets were cool under the hand that must have reached for Sam in my sleep.

As I got my bearings, I realised that I could actually both hear clinking plates and smell bagels. And the sun was bright and warm, more so than it usually was when I would wake up on Sundays.

I turned around to find my phone on the nightstand to check the time. But before I got that far, the bedroom door opened and Sam came in, walking backwards.

"Sam?" I asked. "What are you... How long have you been up?"

And as if he knew I was about to roll out of bed, he said: "Don't move. Stay. Lay back down."

"Sam?" I repeated.

Finally, he was inside, with whatever he seemed to be carrying. He turned around and, in his arms, he held a large tray filled with bowls and plates and glasses and cutlery. There definitely were toasted bagels. I hadn't imagined it. I hadn't had bagels in... Ages.

"What's all this for?" I asked as he walked towards the bed. I scooted backwards, propping myself up against the headboard, gathering the covers around me.

Sam walked around to his side of the bed and set the tray down in the middle of the bed. "Do I need a reason?" he asked, and carefully sat down, sliding close to me. "Good morning," he said softly, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.

I hadn't even had time to fully take in whatever he had on that tray. Instead, I hummed against his lips, pressing myself against him. He tasted like...

"Blueberries?" I asked, pulling away just enough to speak against his lips. "Why do you taste like blueberries?"

I felt his lips smile against mine and I pulled back even further, to look into his eyes. He gestured with his head towards the tray. "Quality control," he answered simply.

I looked over, taking it in finally. And my eyes widened. Bowls of different fruits, those delicious smelling bagels, honey, juice, jam and... blueberries.

"Sam... What..." Something in my throat seemed to tighten. All my favorites and then some. Then my eye caught sight of a label. "Is this marionberry?" I couldn't manage to hide the caution in my voice as I reached for the jar and turned it around. I remembered telling him that I loved the flavor of blackberries, and marionberry in particular, but...

"Mrs. Broussard's Preserves. Sarah sent it. Strained four times," Sam explained. "If you find a seed in that jar, I'll eat Redwing."

I blinked for a moment, he looked so serious. "You can't eat Redwing."

"If you find a seed in that jar, I may have to."

There was no playful sparkle in his warm eyes, no lip twitching into a smile. He was dead serious. Which is why I burst out laughing. My head fell back against the headboard, and I clutched at my stomach. It wasn't really that funny, but the absolute deadpan look on his face was priceless. I heaved for breath, trying to calm myself down before my shaking laugh toppled over the juice carafe.

"You strained marionberry preserves," I said breathlessly, a few chuckles still shaking in me, before I just gazed at him. I probably looked like a kitten staring at a lit Christmas tree for the first time, but I didn't care. "You taste-tested blueberries. You got all my favorite fruits."

He looked a little abashed, shrugging lightly. "I wanted to make sure they weren't sour. I know you don't like that."

"Samuel..." I leaned in for another kiss, clutching at his shirt with one hand. Sam's hand cupped my cheek, then slid back, fingers threading through my hair and holding me firmly against his lips. There was no mistaking the blueberry taste on him, and I couldn't wait to try the real thing.

When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against mine. His breath was hot on my face. "I just wanted to do something special for my girl." His voice was quiet, but I heard what he said, and what he didn't say. I pulled back to look into his eyes and saw it reflected there. "Dig in," he said finally.

I smiled and turned my focus to the tray. "If you insist." I sat up straighter and crossed my legs, before reaching for a plate, bagel and the marionberry jar. I had to try it. But before I could open the jar, Sam took it from me and unscrewed the lid and handed it back to me. I snorted and shook my head at him. "I loosened it for you," I joked, and held the jar up to smell. Dark and sweet, like sun-kissed blackberries. Homemade and real.

Sam also reached for a plate and a bagel, starting with the cream cheese, but I could feel his eyes on me as I grabbed a spoon, stirred the preserves a little and scooped some up to add to the bagel. I set the jar down and took a bite.

My eyes immediately closed and a moan slipped out of me. It was even more delicious than it smelled. And so smooth on my tongue, almost melting. I savored it before swallowing. "It's perfect," I said, looking up at him, and at those words it was like he let out a breath he'd been holding for a long time. I laughed softly again. "Were you that worried you had to eat Redwing?"

Sam chuckled too. "Maybe a little, he's the best little wingman. I'd hate to lose him." He took a bite of his cream cheese and apple bagel.

I scooped up more preserves and spread it across the rest of my bagel. "But for marionberry you would sacrifice him?"

He chewed slowly, the sound of crunchy apple filling the bedroom. "For your happiness, I'd sacrifice him."

Those words landed hard, and I didn't know whether to laugh or kiss him. I just took another large bite of jam-topped bagel and smiled as I chewed. "If I find a seed, I'll survive. And I won't tell you. No need to sacrifice your best friend."

Sam leaned in for a quick kiss, appreciation in his eyes. This time, I could taste apples more than blueberries. So I grabbed a slice for myself, more crisp and crunchy sounds filling the bedroom as we fell silent, just enjoying the food and each other.

"Juice?" Sam asked when he had finished his bagel and grabbed the carafe to pour two glasses before I could answer.

"Yes please," I replied, filling up my plate with banana slices, apples boats and watermelon triangles. Then I went for the jar of honey and scooped a big dollop onto my plate.

Ice cubes clinked as Sam poured both glasses full and set the carafe down on the bedside table. It smelled good, something fruity I couldn't put my finger on, but I was more focused on the slice of apple I had just dipped in honey. The golden syrup drooped slowly and I hurried to take a bite before it fell onto the bedcovers.

"Home made honey?" I asked, through crunchy chews.

Sam nodded, mouth full of watermelon. He swallowed hard and replied. "Also from Mrs. Broussard."

"Remind me to thank Sarah later."

Sam chuckled dryly. "She's been texting me all morning, asking how it's going. She'll want a full report."

We kept eating in comfortable silence, just the clink of glasses, scrape of knife on bagel or crunch of fruit could be heard. The sunlight brightened little by little, warming up the room. It looked like it would be the sunniest day in a long time. Spring finally standing up for itself.

Suddenly, I felt Sam's eyes on me and I looked at him questioningly. There was a lopsided grin on his face and he lifted his hand, thumb dragging along the corner of my mouth. "Marionberry." He licked his thumb and carried on eating, as if he hadn't just made my heart skip several beats. "Are we still going to the farmer's market for lunch?"

I took a sip of the juice before answering. I still couldn't figure out what it tasted like, but I loved it. "Do they even have anything left after you seemed to have raided it earlier this week?"

He burst out laughing. "I think they have a few strawberries left. Maybe. We should get those. Empty them completely. That and ice cream, and we could make milkshakes for dinner."

"It's a deal." I nodded in confirmation. "And you're buying me a boba for lunch."

Sam nodded back. Then he reached for the bowl of blueberries and held it up. "You haven't tried these."

I skeptically eyed the bowl. There was an immediate tightness in my jaw as I remembered how sour the last blueberries I tried had been.

"I tasted them at the store, and today. If they aren't good, I'll never eat another blueberry again. They'll be banned. The word will be banned. It'll just be The-Berry-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named. And you know how much I love blueberries."

I narrowed my eyes at him, then the berries. With a sigh of resignation, I took one berry. Smelled it. No smell. Popped it in my mouth and bit down. I kept my face neutral, giving nothing away.

"Verdict?"

I hesitate deliberately. "Acceptable."

"High praise." He grinned. And his grin widened when I grabbed another handful, popping them in my mouth one by one.

The tray was almost empty now, just a few scraps and crumbs left. We both leaned back against the headboard, and I bumped my shoulder into his.

"Thank you for this, Sam."

"No need for that," he said, voice low. "I had fun planning and executing. Eat the last watermelon piece and I'll tidy up before we get ready to head out."

I looked down at the red triangle. Reached for it. Set it between my teeth. And I turned to look at him. My eyes glinted.

Sam froze. He knew that look.

I arched a brow. The watermelon was cool and juicy against my tongue.

This was a trap. But Sam leaned in. His eyes locked on hers.

My gaze didn't waver from his. I smiled, keeping my bite light.

Sam glanced down to her lips. To the watermelon. Then he closed the distance between them.

I felt his breath on my face before he bit down. His lips against mine.

Sam barely held back a moan at the contrast between the cool fruit and her warm lips.

I pressed my lips against him. This time he tasted like the entire breakfast spread.

Sam's hands reached up to cup her cheeks and instinct had him trying to deepen the kiss.

But his lips slipped against mine, the watermelon making a mess of us. I laughed into his mouth and he chuckled into mine.

Even with the watermelon juice now dripping down their chins, Sam only pulled back enough to smile against her lips. Soft laughter escaping them both. "You weaponized watermelon," he murmured against her lips.

"You told me to eat it," I murmured back. "Not my fault you changed your mind."

Sam kissed her again, then pulled back and took a clean napkin. He gently dabbed around her face and cheeks and jaw.

I looked at him while he cleaned me. The mirth and warmth in his eyes made me blink, it was like looking right into the sun.

Then he cleaned his own face and scooted carefully to the edge of the bed and stood up. "I'll take care of this," he said and lifted up the tray. "You rest a bit longer or get ready. We leave whenever you're ready."

I nodded and my eyes followed him out of the bedroom. I was so full, I wasn't sure if I could eat for days. But the idea of a lazy afternoon and late lunch at the farmer's market made me scoot out of bed and head to the bathroom. Just in time to hear the clatter of the dishwasher being filled in the kitchen.

As I closed the bathroom door behind me, I saw the sticky streaks of watermelon on my face and knew that I would never look at another melon the same again.