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honeeysagee · 28 days

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Supernova Chronicles #2: Games

Part One: Star Girl

warnings: 18+, minors DNI, explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v sex, intense physical scenes, oral (f receiving), dominance, dirty talk, use of pet names (star), explicit detail, explicit language. Word Count: 7,650

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You didn’t take your eyes off Sam as he paced through your home, his movements calculated and deliberate. This was not the man you met at the bar last night. The playful, charming stranger who had captured your attention so easily was gone, replaced by someone entirely different. Someone you didn’t recognize. Then again, who’s to say that the Sam at the bar was the real him?

His presence now felt more like an intrusion, a forceful shift from the intimacy of the night before. The way he moved, with a purpose that you hadn’t seen before, sent a chill through you. Here, in the light of day, he looked like another soldier under your father’s command, following orders with the same rigid precision. The ease with which he had slipped into this role made you question everything you thought you knew about him, which was nothing.

It was as if a mask had been lifted, revealing the true Sam—the one who wasn’t just a man who’d caught your eye at a bar, but someone with a mission, someone who viewed you as an assignment. The realization left you feeling cold, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d felt in his arms just hours before.

“Sam,” you began, your voice laced with venom as you tried to keep your composure. “You know my father?” The words came out sharper than you intended, but the anger and betrayal coursing through you were too strong to suppress.

Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. He just stood there, looking at you with hooded eyes, his expression guarded. The warmth and familiarity that had drawn you to him last night were gone, replaced by something cold and distant.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice steady but low, almost as if he was bracing himself for your reaction. “I know him.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly, and for a moment, you saw something different—a glint of dominance flickering in them. It was a challenge, an assertion of control, as if he was daring you to back down, to look away. But you didn’t. You refused to break eye contact, refusing to let him see the turmoil brewing inside you.

The silence was deafening, the atmosphere charged with unresolved emotions. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mix of anger, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite place. The man who had seemed so open and carefree last night was now a stranger, someone who had hidden his true intentions behind a mask of charm.

Finally, Sam broke the silence, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of authority. "I didn't know you were his daughter. You were just some random girl at the bar."

His words echoed in your mind, each syllable hitting harder than the last. Just some random girl at the bar. The phrase lodged itself in your thoughts, repeating over and over as if trying to force you to accept it. Your frown deepened, the sting of those words more painful than you’d anticipated.

Why did it matter? Why should you care so much about how he saw you? He was just a stranger, someone who’d walked into your life unexpectedly and now, just as abruptly, had revealed himself to be something else entirely. Yet the casual dismissal of what you’d shared, reducing it to something meaningless, gnawed at you in a way you couldn’t quite shake.

The warmth of last night—the connection you felt—seemed so distant now, replaced by a cold, harsh reality. You had been someone to him, even if only for a fleeting moment, and now he was brushing it off as if it meant nothing.

“Yeah, I have the reminders on my neck,” You chuckled softly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. You shouldn’t care, you reminded yourself. You had been the one to leave, to walk away without a second thought. But now, hearing how easily he dismissed you, it hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.

His eyes followed your words, drifting down to your neck and chest. The way his gaze lingered made you acutely aware of the marks he’d left behind, the faint bruises and love bites that now felt more like evidence of something fleeting, something that was meant to be forgotten as quickly as it had happened. "Do you do that with every girl you meet in a bar?"

Sam squinted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge the reaction he wanted to pull from you. His intense focus made you feel exposed, like he was peeling back layers to see what lay beneath your exterior.

You could sense the shift in his demeanor, the way he was probing, testing the waters to see how you would respond. It was as if he was searching for something specific—a crack in your resolve, a hint of vulnerability that he could latch onto. The air between you felt charged, the tension building as you both stood on the precipice of something neither of you could fully predict.

"Only the pretty ones," he said sarcastically, his tone laced with an edge that made your skin prickle. "Now, I’m sure you know your dad’s rules."

The familiar pangs of annoyance rose within you, like an old wound being poked at. The mere mention of your father’s rules was enough to stir a mix of resentment and frustration. Yet, you held your tongue, swallowing down the retort that threatened to spill out. There was no point in escalating things further. The conversation was already teetering on the edge of uncomfortable, and the last thing you wanted was to add the weight of your father’s disapproval to the growing tension.

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation, even as Sam’s words gnawed at you. His sarcasm was a stark contrast to the intimacy you’d shared the night before, and it only served to remind you of how different things were now. How much had changed in the span of a few hours.

"But, while I'm here, there are going to be some other rules I'm implementing," Sam said, his gaze sweeping around the house before finally landing on the kitchen.

The casual way he said it, as if he had every right to dictate the terms of your life, made your irritation flare up again. It was one thing for your father to impose his rules, but for Sam to add his own felt like a step too far. Finally, he turned back to you, his expression serious. “We’ll start with the basics. No going out without telling me where you’re going. No one comes in without my say-so. And you’ll check in with me every hour.”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief. "I don't know if my dad told you, but I am 21. I'm a fucking adult, so I don't have to listen to your bullshit."

Sam didn’t flinch. In fact, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned casually against the kitchen counter. “Oh, Maliki told me all about you. The parties, coming home smelling like weed, bringing home men with criminal backgrounds. I mean, if disappointing your father was a sport, you’d be pretty damn good at it.”

His words cut deep, each accusation like a sting. The smirk on his face only made it worse, as if he found your reaction amusing. Anger flared inside you, but there was also a pang of guilt. Some of what he said was true, and you knew it. But the way he threw it in your face—like it was nothing more than a game to him—made your blood boil.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you shot back, your voice shaking slightly, whether from anger or something else, you weren’t sure. "But I guess that doesn’t matter in hindsight. I mean, you didn’t need to know me enough to shove your fingers up me and make me cum. You didn’t even ask my name."

Sam’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as your words landed. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face. But he didn’t look away.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice low, carrying a weight you hadn’t heard before. “I didn’t know your name, and I didn’t ask. What happened last night… it wasn’t about knowing or not knowing.”

There was a brief pause, the air between you both thick with tension. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here now, and I’m not leaving,” he continued, his tone steady but laced with an intensity that made your heart race. “Your father asked me to keep you safe, and whether you like it or not, that’s what I’m going to do.”

"We should call my dad and tell him how safe I am. We can go over last night for him."

Sam’s eyes narrowed, catching the challenge in your voice, and a dangerous glint flashed in his gaze. Without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. The tension between you crackled in the air, thick and electric, as he unlocked the screen.

“You want to call your dad?” he asked, his voice low and edged with a dark intensity. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Before you could respond, Sam’s fingers moved deftly over the screen, and in an instant, he had your father’s contact pulled up. The name “Maliki” glowed ominously on the screen as he pressed the phone into your hand, the weight of it heavy with the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

“Here,” he said, his tone cold and challenging. “Tell him everything. Let’s see how safe you really are under my watch.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the phone, the reality of what he was pushing you to do hitting you like a tidal wave. The ringing had already started, the sound echoing in your ears, and you realized with a jolt that Sam had already dialed the number. There was no turning back now.

“Go on,” Sam urged, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. “Or should I tell him for you? I’m sure he’d love to hear every detail about last night, how his daughter got herself into a situation she can’t control.”

The phone continued to ring in your hand, vibrating slightly with each passing second. Sam waited to see how you would respond. The pressure was suffocating, the air between you thick with tension that seemed to tighten around your throat.

With each ring, the urge to push the phone away grew stronger, but so did the defiant part of you that refused to let Sam see you flinch. Your grip on the phone tightened as you weighed your options, knowing that whatever happened next would set the tone for everything that followed.

“Go ahead,” Sam taunted, his voice deceptively calm, though the undercurrent of dominance was unmistakable. “Or are you too scared to let Daddy know what his little girl’s been up to?”

The words cut deep, stoking the embers of your anger. You raised your head, meeting his gaze with a fierceness that belied the turmoil inside you. “Fuck you,” you shot back, the words sharp and bitter.

“Tempting, Star,” he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting in a cold, almost mocking smile. The phone suddenly stopped ringing, plunging the room into an oppressive silence. Your father’s voicemail picked up, the familiar voice on the recording a stark reminder of the reality waiting on the other end of the line.

The sound of that nickname sent a shiver down your spine. Star. He said it like he knew you, like he had some claim on you now. The way the name rolled off his tongue was both unsettling and eerily intimate, bringing back flashes of the night before—when things were simpler, when the stakes didn’t feel as high.

“Star,” you repeated under your breath, more to yourself than to him, trying to reconcile the man standing in front of you with the one you thought you knew just hours ago.

Sam's proximity was suffocating, the heat of his breath against your ear making it hard to think clearly. The playful allure from the night before had vanished, replaced by something darker, something that made your pulse race for entirely different reasons.

“Yeah, Star,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “And if you do what I say, we’ll get along just fine. But if you want to make things difficult, I won’t hesitate to remind you who’s really in control here.”

The voicemail beeped, breaking the tension momentarily. But the silence that followed was thick, pregnant with the unspoken threats and the weight of the situation you found yourself in.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure, even as your mind raced to figure out what to do next. There was something about the way Sam used that nickname, the way he leaned in just a little too close, that made it clear he wasn’t the same man you met at the bar.

“So what’s it gonna be, Star?” Sam’s voice was low, filled with a cold confidence that made it clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Are you going to make this easy, or are we going to have a problem?”

You knew there was more to this than what he was saying. This wasn’t just about following orders. It was about power, control, and the twisted game you’d somehow been dragged into.

And now, you decided to play.

Steeling yourself, you tilted your chin up slightly, refusing to let him see any hint of fear or hesitation. You could feel the tension between you, taut like a wire, and you knew that whatever move you made next would set the tone for everything that followed.

“No, Sam,” you said, your voice calm but laced with defiance. “We won’t have a problem. At all.”

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe—passed through Sam’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He leaned back slightly, a small, almost approving smile curving his lips.

“Good,” he replied, the word carrying a subtle note of satisfaction. It was as if he hadn’t expected you to push back, and now that you had, he was more intrigued than annoyed. He studied you for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge how serious you were.

But you didn’t flinch. You held his gaze, letting him know you weren’t afraid, that you weren’t going to be easily intimidated. If he wanted to play this game, you were ready to meet him move for move.

“Just remember,” Sam continued, his tone casual but with an unmistakable undercurrent of authority, “we’re on the same side here. Keep that in mind, and things will go smoothly.”

With that, he turned away, his attention shifting to something else in the room, as if the conversation had been nothing more than a minor detour. But you knew better. This was far from over, and every word exchanged had only set the stage for what was to come.

"And before you go up to your room, do the dishes," Sam added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

It was a small command, almost mundane, but the way he said it made it clear that this was just another way to assert control. You felt a spark of irritation flare up inside you, but you kept your expression neutral, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you riled up.

“Fine,” you replied, your voice steady. You turned on your heel and headed towards the kitchen, feeling his eyes on you the entire time. The dishes in the sink were the last thing you wanted to deal with, but right now, it wasn’t about the dishes. It was about the message Sam was sending, and you weren’t about to let him think he had won.

As you reached the sink, you took a deep breath, calming the frustration simmering beneath the surface. You weren’t going to let him push you around, but you also knew you had to be smart about how you handled this. This was just the beginning, and you needed to stay sharp if you were going to figure out what Sam’s real game was.

But for now, you’d wash the dishes. And then, you’d figure out your next move.

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Night had fallen once again, wrapping the world in a blanket of shadows and stillness. The familiar hum of the night settled around you, the silence almost comforting after the tension-filled day. The house felt different now, its usual warmth replaced by a sense of unease, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Sam, quiet downstairs, had circled the house around five times, each lap a reminder of his constant presence. He would pause at your door, his knock soft but insistent, each time bringing with him a barrage of unnecessary questions.

“Don't you have friend to visit or something?”

“Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend or something?”

“What do you like to eat or whatever?”

They were questions you knew were meant to probe, to pry into your life in ways that felt invasive, but you let him. You let him ask, let him hover just outside the boundary of what was acceptable, because you needed to know what he was really after.

You gave him answers, short and clipped, but enough to satisfy his curiosity. You didn’t reveal too much, didn’t let on that you were watching him just as closely as he was watching you. Each question, each interaction, was a piece of a puzzle you were slowly putting together. The more he asked, the more you understood that this was about more than just following your father’s orders.

Sam was searching for something, testing your limits, seeing how far he could push before you pushed back. And as much as it annoyed you, you were equally intrigued. There was something about Sam, about the way he operated, that kept you on edge—but also kept you curious. He was a puzzle you hadn’t quite solved yet, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the challenge.

Plus, you had looked at his files.

It wasn’t difficult; your father was meticulous but not infallible. You knew where he kept his private documents, and it had only taken a few minutes to find the one with Sam’s name on it. Sam Wilson wasn’t just some random soldier assigned to babysit you—he was highly trained, with a background that made him both dangerous and invaluable.

His record was spotless, his skills unmatched, and his loyalty to your father was evident. But there were gaps in his history, parts of his life that were redacted, as if someone had gone to great lengths to keep certain details hidden. That intrigued you even more.

You pushed the thoughts to the back of your mind and continued getting dressed. The tight dress you chose hugged your curves in all the right places, the light pink and purple fabric clinging to your waist and accentuating your figure. The open back added a touch of daring, while the design pushed your breasts up just enough to draw attention.

As you adjusted the dress, smoothing it over your hips, you couldn’t help but admire the way it made you look. It was a statement piece, a way to reclaim control in a situation that felt anything but. Tonight, you wouldn’t let Sam—or anyone else—dictate how you felt. And, maybe, you wore this just for him.

You stepped out of your room and into the hall, the soft click of your heels echoing against the hardwood floor. Each step was deliberate, a reminder that you were in control. The dress clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve, every line. As you descended the stairs, the sound of the TV grew louder, but it was nothing compared to the intensity of Sam's gaze when you finally stepped into the living room.

He was sitting on the couch, but the moment he saw you, he stilled, his eyes locking onto you with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. His gaze roamed over your body, taking in the way the light pink and purple fabric hugged your waist, how it pushed up your breasts and highlighted your figure. There was no mistaking the look on his face—he was practically drooling.

You picked up your purse from the side table, feeling the weight of Sam's stare with every step you took. His eyes followed the curve of your hips, lingering on the exposed skin of your back, the way the dress clung to you in all the right places. It was as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

As you turned to leave, you could feel the tension in the room thickening, like a coil wound too tight. You paused, glancing back at him over your shoulder, and caught the flicker of something darker in his eyes—something that made your heart skip a beat.

"Don't wait up," you added, your tone teasing but with an edge that matched his own.

Sam leaned back on the couch, his gaze still fixed on you. "I won't," he replied, but the way he said it made you doubt it.

With a final smirk, you walked out the door, feeling the heat of his eyes on you until the very last moment.

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The night out had been a disappointment. The parties felt empty, the conversations hollow, and no one—neither man nor woman—captured your interest. As you moved through the crowd, you realized that the thrill you were seeking, the attention you craved, was nowhere to be found in the glitz and noise.

The truth was, the only person whose attention you really wanted was back at your house. The thought of Sam, with his intense gaze and commanding presence, lingered in the back of your mind, pulling you back to where you knew you truly wanted to be.

Yet, the realization that the person you were drawn to was your dad's best friend made you uncomfortable. It was a line you knew you shouldn’t cross, a boundary that felt wrong even as you found yourself inching closer to it. The thought of Sam's eyes on you, his voice in your ear, filled you with a mix of desire and guilt that gnawed at you, making it hard to breathe. Craving him went against everything you thought you knew about yourself, but the pull was undeniable, and that scared you more than anything.

As you stepped into the house, the internal struggle that had plagued you earlier melted away. All that mattered now was the undeniable pull you felt toward Sam. Desire coursed through you, and the thought of him begging for you, wanting you just as desperately, ignited something fierce within. The unspoken game between you two—the tension, the challenge, the anticipation—was thrilling. You wanted to push the boundaries, to see just how far you could take it before he broke.

"You're home early," Sam's voice cut through the silence like a blade, smooth and deliberate, carrying that familiar edge. "How was the night, Star?" That nickname again, the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

You paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air as you locked eyes with him. "It was… great," you replied, your voice soft but laced with the challenge. "Seems like the worst part of my night might just be coming home."

You could see the way his gaze darkened, the corners of his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.Sam’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your words. He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, the air growing thicker with the tension. "Oh, is that so?" His voice was low, teasing, as if daring you to keep up the act.

You tilted your head, holding his gaze. "Maybe I was expecting something more exciting when I got home," you shot back, your tone light but edged with something more. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Careful what you wish for, Star," he warned, the words dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker. His gaze flickered down your body, taking in every detail of your dress, the way it hugged your curves, accentuating everything he had been eyeing since you walked out the door.

"Maybe I’m looking for trouble," you replied, meeting his stare with one of your own, the invisible game between you two only getting more intense. Sam’s eyes darkened, the playful glint fading as something more intense took its place. He closed the distance between you in one swift step, his hand brushing against your arm as he leaned in closer.

"You know we shouldn't be doing this." The words left Sam's lips, a simple declaration of the inevitable, but somehow, the sentence seemed to slip in one ear and out the other, ignored by the both of you.

Sam’s eyes bore into yours, the tension between you palpable. There was a flicker of hesitation, a brief moment where sanity tried to claw its way back into the forefront of your mind. But it was drowned out by the intensity of the situation, the undeniable pull that had been building between you since the night you first met. "Doing what exactly? I'm just having a talk with you," you said, smacking your lips as you pushed your eyebrows closer together, feigning concern. "Unless, you don’t think this is just talking."

Sam’s gaze darkened with a mix of amusement and challenge. He leaned in slightly, the proximity making the air between you crackle, “Oh, I’m sure there’s more to it than just talking,” He replied, his voice a low murmur that carried a hint of something dangerous. “But if you want to pretend otherwise, I’m not going to stop you.”

You looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the hint of a shy smile on your lips. “I’m just trying to understand where this conversation might go,” you said softly, your voice almost pure. “I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal.”

Sam’s gaze was anything but innocent. His eyes burned with unrestrained lust as he took in your every movement. “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “I should… sleep.”

You couldn’t help but tease him, a smile forming on your lips. “Together?” you asked, the question laced with playful curiosity. Sam’s breath hitched, and his eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your boldness. He shifted closer, his gaze locked onto yours with a heated intensity. “You’re really pushing it,” he said, his voice a low growl, barely containing his desire.

You watched him, your smile growing, enjoying the effect you had on him. “Just curious,” you said innocently, your tone playful yet suggestive. “Or maybe I just want to see how far you’re willing to go.”

Sam’s eyes darkened further, his primal hunger evident in every line of his face. He took a decisive step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “Fuck it,” he murmured.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours, urgent and demanding, pulling you into a kiss that was as fierce as it was intoxicating. Sam’s eyes darkened further, his primal hunger evident in every line of his face. He took a decisive step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “Fuck it,” he murmured.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours, urgent and demanding, pulling you into a kiss that was as fierce as it was intoxicating. The kiss was intense, a surge of heat and passion that consumed both of you. Sam's hands roamed eagerly, gripping your waist and pulling you closer. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened.

His breaths were ragged, his desire evident as he explored your lips with a fervor that left you breathless. You could feel the urgency in every touch, every caress, as if he were trying to make up for lost time.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark with lust, his expression a mix of satisfaction and longing. He rested his forehead against yours, his breaths mingling with yours, both of you catching your breath after the fervent kiss.

Sam's eyes were fixed on you, his expression a mix of desire and frustration. “Get out of this dress before I lose my mind,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. His gaze was intense, filled with an unspoken need that made it clear he was struggling to keep his composure. The urgency in Sam’s voice was palpable, making your pulse quicken. You met his intense gaze, a small, mischievous smile playing on your lips. “If you’re so desperate,” you teased softly, “maybe you should help me.”

You slowly started to undo the zipper of your dress, giving him a playful glance as you revealed a bit more skin with each movement. Sam’s eyes followed every motion, his breath growing heavier with each passing second. He stepped closer, his hands almost reaching out to assist, but he stopped himself, the restraint adding to the tension in the room.

As you slipped out of the dress, letting it fall to the floor, you took a step toward him, your confidence growing with every step. Sam’s gaze was fixed on you, his control slipping as he took in the sight before him.

Sam’s hands were suddenly on your waist, pulling you into him until there was no space left between you. You placed your hands on the back of his neck, leaning into the kiss with an intensity you hadn’t planned on. He was irresistible—every touch, every taste was too captivating.

As his lips claimed yours, Sam’s hands roamed with a possessive urgency. His fingers found their way beneath the fabric of your dress, gripping your hips firmly. You moaned softly into the kiss, the pleasure making it hard to think clearly.

He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “What are we doing?” You whispered, your voice breathless. Sam shrugged casually, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise. “Let’s find out,” he replied, his smirk widening as he drew you closer once more.He lifted me effortlessly, wrapping my legs around his waist as he kissed me deeply. I tangled my fingers in his hair, feeling the heat of the moment as he lowered me onto the couch. His lips never left mine, even as his hands worked deftly to unzip my jacket and toss it aside.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze roamed over my body with a smoldering intensity that spoke volumes. “You look so good,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. His hands rested on my sides, his thumb brushing over the lace that was coming undone.

“Then, make me feel good too,” I whispered, my voice breathless. In a heartbeat, Chris’s fingers were at my bra, swiftly undoing it and discarding it as he continued to explore me with a mix of urgency and longing. His fingers cupped your breast, teasing your nipple while his lips traveled down to your stomach. You gasped as his tongue traced just above your panty line, sending jolts of electricity through you. Looking down, you caught his smirk, which only fueled the fire building inside you.

He pushed your panties to the side and ran his tongue over your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. You arched your back, unable to contain your reaction. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, blurring your vision and heightening every sensation as he continued to drive you closer to the edge.

“Sam,” You warned, trying to move away from his mouth as you buckled your hips. “I can’t.”

Sam’s hand clamped over your mouth, his grip firm as he pressed down on your waist. His strength was surprising, given how he’d been so teasing moments before. “You can take it,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin before he resumed his relentless focus. His tongue moved with a maddening skill, creating waves of pleasure that made it hard to think. Then, he pulled back slightly, his voice low and commanding. “Turn over.”

You turned over onto your stomach and got on your knees, but Sam’s hands guided you down until your ass was elevated, exposed and vulnerable. He let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Look how wet you are,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper as he positioned his tip close to your entrance. You could feel the heat radiating from him, making your senses sharpen and your pulse race.

His cock brushed against you with a tantalizing pressure, making your breath hitch. Your eyes rolled back instinctively as you felt the size of his tip pressing against your entrance, a promise of what was to come. Sam’s hand rested on your side, his fingers splayed possessively as he leaned in closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a blend of concern and desire, but the question was more about reassurance for him than for you. You could barely find the words, caught between the rising intensity of the moment and the overwhelming urge to surrender. You nodded, a silent acknowledgment of your readiness, knowing full well that Sam was about to push you to your limits.

He guided himself in slowly, the head of his cock slipping past your entrance, making you gasp at the initial stretch. Sam’s movements were deliberate and controlled, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he adjusted to the tightness of your body. He continued to push in, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside you.

The sensation of him filling you up was both intense and overwhelming, every muscle in your body taut with anticipation. Sam grunted softly, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured at first but quickly gaining in force and rhythm.

As he found a steady pace, you were lost in the mix of pleasure and pain, the raw intensity of each thrust sending you closer to the edge. His movements were powerful, each one driving deeper, and the heat between you was almost unbearable. You clung to the edge of the couch, your body arching with each powerful thrust, your moans and gasps filling the room as you surrendered to the relentless rhythm.

Sam’s grip tightened, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts as he continued to drive into you. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined pleasure, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless and completely immersed in the experience.

He wrapped your hair around his hand, pulling your head back so that you were forced to look up at him. His golden chain swung tantalizingly close to your face, its polished gleam almost hypnotic against the dim lighting of the room. Sam’s breath was hot on your neck as he pushed in deeper, the thickness of his cock stretching you in ways that made your body shiver.

You gasped, your entire body tensing as you tried to adjust to the fullness. “Damn, how big are you?” you managed to breathe out, the words coming out in a mixture of awe and disbelief. Sam’s chuckle was deep and rich, sending vibrations through his chest and resonating with your own shaky breaths.

“I’ll be gentle if you can’t take it,” he murmured, his voice a blend of teasing and genuine concern, a contrast to the raw desire in his eyes.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark with a primal intensity, his smirk lazy but confident. His tongue traced his lips as if savoring the anticipation. “I can take it,” you mumbled, your voice trembling as you settled back down, steeling yourself for the relentless rhythm he was about to set.

Sam began thrusting slowly, each movement calculated and deep, filling you with a deliberate, throbbing pressure. Soft moans slipped from your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut, losing yourself in the rhythm of his thrusts. The slow, deliberate pace only heightened the tension, making each stroke feel like a build-up to something explosive.

He pulled out almost completely, leaving you craving the fullness before driving back in with more force. Each thrust grew more intense, the head of his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls. You could feel the heat and hardness of him stretching you, the pressure building with every deep, penetrating stroke.

“Thought you said you’d be gentle,” you managed to utter, your voice a mix of surprise and pleasure, as you looked back at him with wide eyes.

Sam’s smirk widened, his gaze never leaving yours. “Gentle’s overrated,” he replied, his voice laced with both satisfaction and challenge. His thrusts quickened, each one more powerful than the last, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with a relentless, almost brutal rhythm. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back against him as he drove into you, making it clear that there was no going back from this.

Sam’s grip on your waist tightened as he lifted you up, the change in position only intensifying the sensations. You straddled him on the couch, feeling every inch of him as he continued to thrust upward. His hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips with a possessive urgency.

He leaned back, his eyes never leaving your flushed face. Each thrust was deliberate and deep, hitting that sensitive spot inside you that made your moans escape in desperate gasps. His rhythm was steady but unyielding, the force of his movements driving you closer to the edge.

With every thrust, Sam’s breathing grew more ragged, and his hands moved to explore your body with increasing fervor. His fingertips traced the curves of your waist, sliding over the skin, and then gripping your hips tighter as he drove into you with a raw intensity. The sound of your mingled gasps and his grunts filled the room, blending with the steady rhythm of his thrusts.

“You feel so fucking good,” Sam growled, his voice husky with lust. He pulled you down closer to him, forcing you to grind against him with each thrust. The friction was nearly unbearable, pushing you further into a state of blissful abandon.

You tilted your head back, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on. His relentless pace, combined with the way he moved you against him, sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Each movement seemed to amplify the pleasure, making your senses blur.

In the midst of it all, Sam's grip on your hips became almost bruising, his control over you complete. “Take it,” He repeated, his voice more of a growl now. “Come on, show me why your my Star.”

The room seemed to close in around you, filled with the heady mix of your moans and his labored breaths. With every thrust, every claim, Sam pushed you closer to the brink, the overwhelming intensity of the moment leaving you breathless and completely lost in the sensation.

He pressed his lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he gripped your hips, guiding your movements with a firm, rhythmic pressure. The sensation of his thrusts grew more intense, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Another high-pitched whine escaped your lips as he quickened his pace, driving you wild with pleasure. The coil in your stomach tightened, a growing pressure that made your breaths come in gasps.

"Sam," you moaned, your voice trembling as you leaned in close, your words brushing against his ear. The sound of your moan fueled his desire, making him push even harder. He continued to drive into you, his pace relentless and urgent. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you breathless and on the brink. He increased his pace, thrusting in and out of you with a forceful rhythm that seemed to drown out your pleas. Your hand found its place on his shoulder, using it for support as you bounced harder against him. He slapped your ass once more, the sting sharp but electrifying, urging you to move faster.

Finally, a wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling uncontrollably. You let out a loud, guttural moan, your body quivering as you rode the crest of your orgasm. Sam, breathing heavily, pulled out just in time, his groans mixing with yours as he released beneath you.

He stayed seated, his grip on your hips firm but gentle as he helped you steady yourself. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat and sex. You could feel the residual warmth of his release against your skin, adding a final layer to the heady afterglow of your climax.

Sam’s breathing slowly returned to normal as he gazed up at you with a mixture of satisfaction and lingering desire. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender after the raw intensity of moments before.

Sam's eyes, still dark with lust, softened as he looked up at you. He ran his fingers gently through your hair, his touch a stark contrast to the earlier roughness. The room was filled with the heavy, lingering scent of sweat and sex, adding a tangible weight to the shared silence that followed.

He drew you closer, his hands still resting lightly on your hips, as if trying to anchor both of you in the moment of calm that had followed the storm of passion. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe and satisfaction, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. "You’re incredible," Sam murmured, his voice rough yet softened by the vulnerability of the moment. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of regret or discomfort but finding only a shared, profound connection.

You leaned in, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss that contrasted sharply with the intense passion of moments before. It was a kiss filled with gratitude and lingering affection, a silent acknowledgment of the intensity you had both just experienced. As you pulled back slightly, you caught his eye again, the playful glint in your eyes hinting at the aftermath of your shared moment. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you whispered, your voice soft but carrying a hint of warmth and appreciation.

You straightened yourself, feeling the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin. As you glanced around for your dress, you noticed Sam searching for his pants, his movements slightly disheveled but purposeful.

You both quickly dressed in a hurried but careful manner, the intimacy of the moment gradually giving way to a more practical reality. The once intense atmosphere began to shift back to its previous state, leaving behind a sense of quiet aftermath.

Sam glanced at you as he adjusted his clothes, his expression a mix of contemplation and relief. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone softening as he approached you.

You nodded, offering a small, appreciative smile. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Sam nodded in understanding, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of concern. “Me too. Let’s just take this one step at a time.”

You both finished dressing and took a moment to collect yourselves, the raw intensity of the night transitioning into a more subdued, reflective mood. As you met his eyes once more, you both silently acknowledged the depth of what had transpired, understanding that this was something you both needed to get out of your systems.

Sam’s sudden shift in demeanor caught you off guard. The assertive, dominating presence he had moments ago was replaced with a more detached, almost clinical air. “We’re adults,” he said, his tone steady but marked with a finality that felt almost cold. “This was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again.”

You looked at him, surprised by how abruptly he’d distanced himself from the intimacy you’d shared. Despite the sudden shift, you kept your composure, masking the inner turmoil. “Agreed. Sometimes things just… happen. Let’s move on from this.”

His gaze softened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing between you. “Right. Let’s just put it behind us and focus on what’s ahead.”

With a final, measured nod, you both moved towards the door, each of you ready to face the next chapter with a renewed sense of clarity and purpose, the unexpected turn of events leaving a quiet undercurrent of unresolved tension.

You walked up the stairs, the echoes of your footsteps filling the quiet house. Each step felt heavy, as if the night’s events had added an extra weight to your every movement. Your mind was still racing, trying to process Sam’s sudden shift and the finality of his words.

As you reached your bedroom, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room felt almost serene compared to the chaos you had just experienced. The familiar surroundings offered a sense of comfort and normalcy, but it did little to ease the confusion that lingered in your mind.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you turned on the bedside lamp. The soft light cast a warm glow over the room, creating a stark contrast to the cold reality you felt. You glanced at the bed, its unruffled surface a reminder of the calm that was now so elusive.

#black literature #mcu #samwilson #dads best friend #smut #samwilsonsmut #x reader #black tumblr #alternate universe #sam wilson #black reader #plussizereader #marvel

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honeeysagee · 1 month

Text

run little bunny

pairing: softdark!ceo!bucky x naive!assistant!reader

word count: 8.6k

summary: Being John Walker’s assistant is hard; he’s mean, disrespectful, misogynistic, the whole nine yards. On top of that, he hardly pays you fairly. So, when you’re fired for a mistake you’re sure wasn’t your fault, you’re at risk of being kicked out by your rude roommates. Luckily for you, James Barnes, a wildly successful CEO, has found his way into your life. And he’s going to take such good care of you.

warnings: where do i even start, 18+, minors DNI and i fucking mean it, mild coercion, some of it could be interpreted as stalking, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, sir kink, oral (f receiving), housewife kink, breeding kink, pet names (bunny, darling), dirty talk, dom!bucky and sub!reader, choking, squirting, basically just absolute filth, a little hurt-comfort, reader’s roommates are awful and mean, not john walker friendly but when am i ever

a/n: so this was supposed to just be some quick smut but as always i went overboard, so please enjoy! likes and comments are appreciated, reblogs are even better!

tip jar | masterlist | ao3

Your hands are shaking slightly, your heartbeat races with anxiety, and your leg bounces rapidly. Today is an important day after all, and your boss has made it clear that if you mess up in any way then he’d have to rethink your employment. That sent dread flooding through your body, so you’ve been preparing yourself for the last week to make sure everything for the meeting is perfect.

And, on the technical side, everything is immaculate - mostly due to you staying up until almost midnight each night to polish the presentation. You thought everything was done properly, but when you’d walked into the building that morning your boss was holed up in his office finishing up his portion of the work, so you’d decided to simply email him to let him know that you had arrived.

Everything was perfect. But when you get into the meeting room, your boss’ eyes go wide, anger clouding them while he scowls. You quickly make your way to his side, only for him to bark out a command for you to grab water for his incoming guests. Placing your notebook on the table, you turn to scurry off to the side to grab the glasses, but you’re stopped when your boss grabs your arm harshly.

“Do you have a change of clothes?”

“Um… Um, I-“ Your boss raises an eyebrow, and you feel like you might throw up from the sudden anxiety. “No, sir.”

He scoffs, muttering under his breath something about looking “trashy,” before releasing you and allowing you to go to the minibar.

Your arm stings, no doubt sporting a red mark because of how harsh the grip was. You’re also confused because you thought the floral dress you’d chosen was pretty. Sure, it may not be high class, but your boss has never had a problem with it before, but you’re assuming that he’s on edge due to who he’s meeting with.

James Barnes; the most powerful and successful CEO in the entire country. You haven’t met him personally, but from what you hear you know that he’s not someone you want to upset. According to the hushed whispers around the office, he stands at a towering 6’6, tattoos cover his arms and hands, and if he frowns then you better move out of the way.

Would Mr. Barnes be upset with your attire?

You desperately hope not, because you need this job. While you can barely make your rent and utilities, you don’t have any other job lined up, and you’re way too scared to ask for a raise from a man who so clearly disrespects you. For right now, though, you’re stuck.

The oak doors open, and one of the office assistants steps off to the side while holding the door open for several men to walk in. You hear him before you see him. You’ve never heard his voice, but the commanding tone he uses when he addresses your boss lets you know that it must be him.

“Hello, Mr. Walker,” Mr. Barnes greets him, and you can hear your boss stand and greet him as well.

You’re trying your hardest to keep calm while you walk toward the table with a platter holding several glasses of water. You do your best to place them in front of the men without showing how nervous you are.

But when you get to Mr. Barnes, you nearly spill the drink all over the table once you get a whiff of his clearly expensive cologne. Oh, how you’d love to be surrounded by that scent, the woodsy smell almost intimidates you but you’re unsure as to why you don’t mind.

You’ve never done anything even remotely sexual with a man, you’re far too awkward and anxious in a way that isn’t too appealing to many, but for a very brief moment, you wonder what he looks like underneath the black three-piece suit — the prominent veins on his hands insinuates that the rest of his body is probably just as toned. But you’re immediately snapped out of your thoughts by your boss’ harsh voice calling your name.

“Aren’t you going to greet our guests?”

You breathe in sharply, heat flooding your face as you stumble your way through an apology and a polite “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

You’re about to leave his side when he reaches out to grasp your hand — surprisingly gentle for such a powerful man. With a slight jump, you glance over to your boss who’s staring at you as though you’re becoming a nuisance and should quickly get back to your chair beside his. But you can’t, both because of Mr. Barnes’ hold and the fact that when you look back at the man in front of you his ocean-blue eyes pull you in, and you’re unable to break your gaze.

“And who might you be, darling?” His eyes twinkle with mischief but you’re too blind to see it, you’re too flustered to really focus.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about her, she’s just –”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Mr. Barnes snaps, briefly glancing at your boss and not bothering to hide his smirk when he almost visibly cowers. “Now, darling,” he continues, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “What’s your name?”

You nearly squeak, having to force yourself to tell him your name before he gets upset with your lack of answer.

Mr. Barnes hums, then brings your hand up so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You flounder for a moment, unsure as to what to make of the compliment. You don’t have much time to overthink it because this meeting has a time limit and you’re sure your boss would prefer to get this over with.

“Th-Thank you, sir.” You’re not sure why, but your voice is breathy because something about that word — sir — just feels right for him, though you’re not sure what it means.

“So polite,” He mumbles to himself, and his eyes seem to grow darker. Finally, he lets you go, shooting you a wink and smirking to himself when you scurry off to sit next to your boss.

The presentation went relatively smoothly — thank God. You don’t know what you would have done if anything went wrong. In fact, Mr. Barnes seemed extremely invested in what you had to say, catching your gaze several times and causing you to stumble over your words a few times, only for your boss to clear his throat and glare at you. Eventually, Mr. Barnes throws him his own glare, silently telling him to shut up, to which your boss finally does.

Once the meeting was declared to be over, you were quick to close your notebook and tuck your pen behind your ear, then you went around the table and started collecting the now-empty glasses. As you’re running around the room trying to clean up, you can feel a powerful gaze boring holes into your body, but you try not to pay it any mind. It’s probably just your boss anyway.

But when you turn away from the desk to finally leave, you bump into Mr. Barnes, your body nearly slamming into his very sturdy chest. His hands shoot to your hips almost immediately, helping to steady yourself.

The warmth of his body pulls you in, but that might also be because Mr. Barnes is literally bringing you closer to his chest by the hold he has on your hips. And that’s when you realize that your hands are clutching his shoulders, but you can’t find it in you to let go.

“What’s the rush?” He asks playfully, his upper lip quirking up in a smirk. “You’re running around like a little bunny.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes.” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, you recognize that he’s just teasing, but something in you doesn’t want to disappoint him.

“Mr. Barnes.” He hums, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips. “I like it when you call me that.”

Now you’re really flustered, your face heats up and you have to do everything in your power not to faint — the way his voice deepens is doing something to you and you don’t know how to handle it.

“I’d like it a lot more if you called me James, though. Can you do that for me, bunny?”

“Ye-Yes, James.” You might have been embarrassed about how quick you were to answer him, but the way he closes his eyes and tightens the hold he has on your body you’re thinking it was the right decision.

Mr. Barnes — James — opens his mouth again, but is interrupted by the door being opened by one of the office assistants, whose eyes immediately go wide in shock. It seems to take a second for her to gather her bearings, but she recovers soon enough.

“Mr. Walker is requesting you,” She tells you, glancing over at James and giving him a nervous smile. “He says you have to file all of the paperwork for the meeting.”

You sigh, you’re tired of having to do everything for your boss only for him to take credit ninety percent of the time. But, it’s what you’re paid to do, so you suck it up.

Looking back to James, you give him a shy smile, reluctantly removing your hands from his shoulders.

“Um, I guess I should go, James.” You’re a little sad, and you don’t quite know why having to leave him and go back to your duties makes you so anxious. It could be because Mr. Walker is mean, or maybe because James makes you feel safe. In reality, it’s probably a mixture of both.

“I guess you should,” He murmurs, removing one of his large hands from your waist so he can cup the back of your neck and pull you closer, only for him to press a lingering kiss on your forehead.

And absolutely no one can blame you for the quiet whimper that leaves your lips, even though you are surprised by your reaction. It doesn’t matter though, because he finally moves back, letting go of you and reaching into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket so he can pull out what looks like a business card.

“Here,” James says, handing it to you. “In case you ever want to talk, you’re always free to call me.”

“What would we talk about?” Your confusion causes James to chuckle, and he seems amused by your naivety.

“Whatever you want, Bunny. Whether you just want to talk about nonsense or vent about your boss. Doesn’t matter to me as long as I get to hear your beautiful voice.”

With that, he gives you a wink, then turns to the door and leaves, though he does glance back at you. With one final smile, he leaves, and you’re left with a million racing thoughts while standing in the middle of the meeting room.

It took three days for you to finally reach out to James. As soon as you got home that night you ran to your bedroom and added his number to your phone, going so far as to put his business card in your bedside table drawer so you wouldn’t lose it. It just took a little time to gain the courage to actually contact him. After all, what if he was just being friendly? You’ve never met anyone quite like him, so it’s hard to read into his actions.

But today had gone horribly. The café you frequent before work was so busy that you didn’t have time to grab your coffee without being extremely late, the bistro you were demanded to pick up lunch from was closed — and while it wasn’t your fault, Mr. Walker certainly seemed to think it was. Your workload was piled high and by the end of the day, you were on the verge of crying due to the stress and mean comments thrown at you by your boss.

You need a shoulder to lean on and, unfortunately for you, you don’t have anyone else to go to. You’re pretty sure your roommates hate you and only let you live with them because they haven’t found a new roommate yet, you don’t have siblings and your parents are states away, and you have maybe a few friends, but even then the communication is scarce.

You need a shoulder to lean on, and James offered his, so you finally decided to pull up his contact and start a new message. It takes several minutes to figure out what to say, but you eventually settle on something simple.

Hi, James. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Mr. Walker’s assistant. You gave me your number in case I ever wanted to talk.

You hit send and stare down at your phone anxiously as you wait for a reply. A minute goes by, then two, suddenly five, and then you’re starting to regret texting him, what if he doesn’t remember you? What if he’s busy? What if –

Your phone starts ringing, James’ name popping up on the screen and taunting you — almost commanding you to answer.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, bunny,” James says softly, and if you press your ear close enough to your phone you could pretend that he’s right next to you.

“Hi, James. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Your voice is soft and timid, you’d hate to disrupt anything he’s doing.

“Don’t be silly, bunny,” He says, his smile evident in his tone. “I always have time for you.”

“Oh, um. Thank you, sir.” It’s almost indescribable, but you can just make out the soft curse James lets out, followed by some shuffling.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

You’re a little apprehensive, but with James’ gentle encouragement, you’re able to get everything off your chest, complaining about your day and everything that went wrong. Each word spoken feels like weights lifting off of your shoulders, allowing you to breathe easier every time James hums. He doesn’t interrupt you, which you greatly appreciate, and by the time you’re done, you fall backward onto your bed, relieved.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad day, bunny,” James coos with his smooth-as-honey voice, filling your body with warmth and comfort. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” That comment floods your face with heat and you shuffle up the bed to lean against the headboard.

“Oh, I - thank you, sir.” There it is again, sir. James exhales slowly as though he’s trying to control himself from doing something he shouldn’t, and part of you is momentarily worried that you’ve upset him somehow. You don’t want to disappoint him.

“What can I do to help?”

What can he do to help? You’re not quite sure, you’re not sad, and you’re not angry, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t need at least a hug right now. But, it would be too imposing to ask, right? There’s no way he would be willing to come over – that is, if your roommates would even allow him over. And he certainly wouldn’t invite a stranger into his house. So, you lie to him.

“Oh – Oh, no, James, I don’t – you don’t have to – it’s fine –”

“Bunny.”

Your mouth promptly closes, taking a deep breath through your nose and exhaling slowly.

“Sorry, James.”

“Don’t be sorry, bunny.” There’s some shuffling in the background as he talks and you can’t help but sigh at how sincere his voice is. “Now, what can I do to help?” And before you can even open your mouth he’s talking again, “Don’t say nothing, because I know there’s something you want.”

You’re silent for a moment, stewing over how to tell him. But, he’ll probably just be empathetic and say something along the lines of ‘I’d hug you if I were there right now’. So, you decide to just spit it out.

“I guess I just want… I just need a hug, I think,” You sigh, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness. It’s hard not having anyone to talk to, to be isolated even from the people you live with, to be put down time and time again, and not have anyone to support you.

“Where are you?” James asks, and you hear some more shuffling in the background, followed by the jingling of what sounds like keys.

“I’m at my apartment,” You say, confused. He couldn’t possibly be coming over, could he?

“Send me your address and I’ll come pick you up, we’ll go out for ice cream,” James says decisively, and you can tell he doesn’t want any protesting. “Bunny,” He says when you don’t say anything. “You need cheering up and I’m here to do just that. Please send me your address.” He speaks gently but once again, he doesn’t seem to want you to argue against it.

“O-Okay, I will.”

“Good, I’ll see you soon, bunny.” When you bid him goodbye, he hangs up, and you’re quick to send him your address, giving him instructions to text you when he arrives so you can meet him out front of the building.

During the next twenty or so minutes you’re practically running around your room trying to make yourself look presentable. You cried all of your makeup off so you opt to just wash the rest of it off, and then you pull your hair back and away from your face. It takes a bit to decide what to wear, after all this is just a friend taking another friend to get ice cream, but this is also James Barnes; he has more wealth than you could possibly imagine. You want to impress him and appear grateful for his friendliness, and looking at least half-decent would achieve that.

Finally, someone knocks on your door, yelling, “Someone’s here for you!”

With a rush of excitement, you grab your phone and wallet and slip on your shoes, then make your way out of your room to the front door where another roommate is standing in front of it, leaning against the frame and giggling at the person.

James.

He looks bored, almost like he’s trying to appear interested but can’t quite muster up the energy to do so. When you approach, he lifts his head, a wide smile crossing his face.

“There’s my little bunny,” He says confidently, completely ignoring your annoyed roommate. “Come on, let’s get you cheered up.”

With that you walk to him, timidly accepting his outstretched hand and letting him gently tug you into the hallway. When you turn around to tell your roommate that you’ll be back later you can’t even get a word out before you see her glaring at you and shutting the door — the click of the lock is audible through the empty hallway.

“Are they always like that?” James asks with a tone that conveys concern.

“Like what?” You know what he’s talking about, but you hate acknowledging it.

“Rude and disrespectful.” He is so blunt that it causes you to look down in embarrassment to avoid his intense gaze.

Yes, you want to say, they’re awful. You want to shout from the rooftops that your roommates are horrible to you, but you’re just too scared to do it.

“Oh – Oh, no, they’re just…” You trail off, peeking up at James to see the disbelief in his eyes. When you look down again, he brings up one of his hands to cup your cheek and guide your head up so you can look at him head-on.

“You don’t need to lie to me, bunny. I want you to trust me.” James sighs, leaning forward and placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Come on,” He squeezes your hand, smiling softly at you as he starts walking you out of the building and to his car.

It doesn’t take long to get to the ice cream shop, only a five-minute drive, and when you get there James keeps the car locked as he gets out so he can circle around to your side and open your door for you.

“Th-Thank you,” You say as you put your hand in James’ outstretched one, letting him guide you out of the car. He keeps his hold on your hand as you walk into the shop, going so far as to thread your fingers together while you wait in line.

The image of your hand encompassed by James’ large tattooed one has your tummy fluttering with butterflies. But, you must have been staring for a little too long because you’re broken out of your trance by James gently squeezing your hand.

“Is this okay, bunny?”

“Yes!” Heat floods your face as soon as you say it, feeling embarrassed by how quick you were to answer. “I, I mean. Um… Yes, it’s okay.”

James smirks at you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. But, before you can stew in your shame, the man behind the counter says, “Next!”

You walk up to the counter, letting James order before giving yours. And when it’s time to pay, James doesn’t even drop your hand while he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and takes out his card. Your tummy flutters once again.

“Come, bunny.”

With your desserts now in hand, James leads you to a corner booth, only letting go of your hand so you can scoot in. He sits across from you, looking at you with what can only be described as thinly veiled hunger. It’s not off-putting, you just don’t know what it means.

“So, um…” You trail off looking down at your bowl of ice cream, fiddling with the spoon they gave you.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bunny,” James coos, reaching over and placing his hand palm up on the table, and you’re helpless but to take it, practically aching to feel his warmth again. “Now, other than everything that happened today, how have you been?”

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a pleasant conversation with him, he asks questions and lets you finish talking before adding his own input, and he doesn’t break eye contact. It feels like he’s really listening to what you’re saying, and it’s almost freeing to have someone in your corner, someone you can trust and depend on.

What feels like far too soon, though has probably been several hours due to how dark it is outside, the man behind the counter comes to your table to tell you that they’re closing soon, and you can’t help but be sad. You’re enjoying James’ company far more than you probably should since you’ve only known him for a handful of days. It almost seems like you’ve known him your whole life.

“Well, bunny. I guess it’s time to go,” James says remorsefully, getting up out of the booth and reaching out his hand to help you out of the booth as well. He keeps holding your hand while you walk out of the door — making sure to throw away your trash on the way out.

James insists on opening the car door for you again — ever the gentleman. There’s a comfortable silence on the drive back to your apartment, your stomach swirling the entire time because James refuses to drop your hand. But when you get to your apartment building, a small amount of anxiety settles inside you, and you’re desperately hoping your roommates are asleep because you don’t feel like dealing with them after you’ve had such a good evening.

The silence is a little more tense while you ride the elevator up to your floor, but you’re grounded by James’ touch. It’s not until you get to your front door that you really look at him, staring into his twinkling eyes. And when he smiles, it settles your nerves.

“I guess this is the end of our night, bunny,” He says, squeezing your hand one last time before dropping it. Before you can mourn the loss of his touch he’s wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close to his chest, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hear the squeak you let out. You wrap your arms around his waist, letting James tuck your face into his neck while he holds you close.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” James murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“Me too,” You say softly, breathing in and inhaling his comforting scent. “Thank you for cheering me up.”

“Of course, bunny. I’m always here for you.” Then, James pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Always.”

You can’t help but smile. His gaze is hypnotizing, pulling you in and almost refusing to let you go.

“Thank you, James,” You breathe out, and one last time, James squeezes you and kisses your forehead, then steps back.

“I’ll talk to you soon, bunny?” James asks, smiling wide.

“Y–Yeah, I’ll text you. Or you can text me. Or call, that’s–that’s fine too.” Heat floods your face in embarrassment, but you don’t feel too bad about it because James only smiles wider, nodding once.

“I will.”

“Goodnight, James.” With that, you turn and unlock your door, turning around to look at James one last time as you shut the door.

“Goodnight bunny, I hope you have dreams as sweet as you are.” James winks, and you swear you can hear him chuckle when you squeak out an “o-okay,” and shut the door.

And maybe James is some kind of wizard because you have the best night of sleep you’ve had in a while.

For the next few weeks you and James text almost every day, and talk on the phone every couple of days. You’ve met up with him a few times as well, accepting his invitations to lunch or coffee. Each outing would last for several hours, too enraptured by his… everything to be the one to suggest the night should end. You’ve come to trust him, you know with a possibly concerning amount of certainty that James would do everything possible to keep you happy and safe.

Roughly a month and a half after meeting James, you’re sitting on your bed in the same position you were in when you first called him crying. Unlike last time, though, you don’t hesitate to call him. He’s told you time and time again that it doesn’t even matter if he’s in a meeting, he’ll always make time for you. You just hope that’s true.

He picks up almost immediately.

“Hello, bunny,” James says with the same soft tone he always uses when talking to you.

“H-hi, James,” You manage to say, before breaking out into sobs. You’re nearly hyperventilating, trying and failing to catch your breath between hiccups, and it takes a few minutes to calm down enough to hear rustling in the background on James’ end.

“Are you at home?” He asks with the utmost concern.

“Ye-Yes.”

“Stay there,” He says, using what you’ve deemed his CEO voice. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Ja–”

“Bunny.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t change his mind – not that you really want him to. You could really benefit from a hug right about now and James always provides the best ones.

“Can you at least stay on the phone with me?” Your voice is small, still sniffling every few words. You don’t think you could handle being alone with your own thoughts right now.

“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

It takes James twenty minutes to get to you, and he talks to you the whole time, just menial things to get your mind off of your sadness. When he lets you know that he’s at your apartment, you don’t even wait for him to tell you he’s coming up, you simply grab your jacket and slip on your shoes, then run to the front door without so much as a word to your roommates in the living room.

“James!” Upon seeing the man himself standing next to his car, you fling yourself into his arms, taking deep breaths to prevent yourself from crying in public. “Thank you for coming.”

“Bunny, how many times do I have to tell you that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep a smile on your pretty face?” James’ tone is teasing, but you know he’s serious if his stern and concerned gaze is anything to go by.

You nod, blinking back tears. It’s so nice to have a friend like James Barnes; kind, chivalrous, attentive. With the way he acts sometimes, you’d almost think he’s interested in more than friendship, but you always shake that thought off. He’s too handsome and wealthy to date some random personal assistant who’s barely able to make her rent.

“Come on, bunny,” James moves back but keeps an arm wrapped around your waist, leading you to his car and helping you in. Like always, he waits for you to sit so he can strap you in your seatbelt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before shutting the door then running around to the driver's seat.

This time, instead of taking a left at the light at the end of your block, he keeps going forward, taking turns until you’re not exactly sure where you are.

“Um, where are we going?”

“My house,” James says casually, briefly glancing at you so he can give you that ever-soft smile.

“But, isn’t your house only twenty minutes away?” You’re confused, and a little curious as to what he’s talking about.

“I only stay there when I have meetings in the city. I have a house a little further out where I live most of the time. It’s a little more lived-in, so I want to bring you there where you’ll feel a little more…” James pauses for a moment, glancing at you again. “At home.” His explanation makes sense in your brain, quickly squashing any nerves that you had. He’s rich, so of course he’d have multiple houses.

It’s almost an hour long drive to get to his house. Well, house feels like an inappropriate term for what it actually is. It’s more like a mansion, standing tall at three stories, a long driveway with trees lining either side of the road, and a luscious garden surrounding the property.

James helps you out of the car and guides you up the steps to the front door, where he unlocks it and lets you step inside. The moment you pass through the threshold your jaw nearly drops to the floor; a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling right when you step in and beautiful artwork adorns the walls. The open floor plan gives you a good view of the living room and kitchen from your vantage point, and you can’t wait to sink into the luxurious and almost comically large couch in front of the TV.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” James urges you further in, bringing you to the living room.

“Um, just water is fine.” You look up at him, smiling shyly and nearly tripping when he smiles back.

“I’ll be right back,” James says, watching as you sit and sink into the plush couch. “Make yourself at home.” The look in his eyes when he says it sparks something inside you, something warm and fuzzy. Thinking of James’ house as your home makes your tummy flutter, but you don’t understand why.

God, you need to get it together.

You’re left alone for a moment, and everything is quiet except for the fridge opening and the glasses clinking. James’ absence allows you a moment to breathe properly, being with him always leaves you flustered, though you can’t deny that some part of you likes it. You like his commanding nature, how deep his voice gets when he talks passionately about something, how warm his embrace is when he holds you for what might be a little too long, squeezing you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

“Here you go, bunny.” Suddenly, a glass of water appears in front of you, and you take it with a gracious smile and a small “thank you.”

“So,” He says, sitting next to you — really close — and throwing his arm over your shoulders, practically pulling you into his lap. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Tears immediately spring to your eyes, suddenly remembering how horrible today was. You force yourself to take a couple of sips of your glass but your hand starts shaking enough to where James takes your glass and sets it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Bunny—“

His soft voice causes you to start crying, throwing yourself into his chest and burying your face in his neck as you sob out your troubles. James’ hand is warm on your back, rubbing it soothingly and squeezing you close to him. This time, he actually pulls you in his lap, you’re grasping the front of his sweater while he maneuvers your body so you’re straddling his thighs, and you can’t help but scoot closer so you’re sitting on him properly with your body flush against his.

A few minutes of crying later and your tears have finally slowed, your sobs deforming into hiccups until you calm down enough to hear James cooing into your ear, whispering sweet nothings. When you finally catch your breath, you pull back, staring up at James with wide eyes and a pout.

“I-I… I was fired! Fired! And I don’t know what I’m going to do! Mr. Walker just tossed me to the side because a document went missing and he blamed me, and now I’m jobless and my roommates are definitely going to kick me out because I can barely make my rent as it is. What am I going to do?”

James sighs, rubbing one hand up and down your back and keeping his other on your waist, though they manage to sneak up your shirt a little without your notice.

“I’m sorry, bunny,” He starts, giving you a comforting smile. “It’s awful that happened to you, and it’s not your fault, so don’t go blaming yourself like I know you want to.”

Your face goes warm with embarrassment. How is he able to read you so easily?

“And as far as your living situation, you’ll move in with me.”

“James!” Your eyebrows furrow, your head automatically shaking. “No, no I can’t do that to you. I don’t have a job anymore and I definitely can’t afford to pay you rent, I-I can’t burden you like that.” Even though it hurts to say it, you want to be honest with him. Because how on Earth are you supposed to pay him back for this?

“You’re not a burden.” You’re surprised by his angry tone, and his eyes darken as though he’s challenging you to say otherwise. “You’ll never be a burden on me, bunny. I’m offering you this, I don’t want you to pay me.”

As though he can sense your hesitation, he gives you a playful smirk.

“But if you really want to help, how about you do the cooking and cleaning? I don’t always get a good home-cooked meal, and it’d be nice to come back from work to see you in a cute little apron.”

This makes you giggle, a weight lifting off your shoulders when you nod timidly. “I-I can do that. I’ll do anything.”

And while you had pure intentions with that statement, James takes it differently, his eyes darkening even further as he nibbles at his bottom lip.

“Anything?” He smirks wider when you nod eagerly because that’s what you are. Always eager to please — especially please James.

“Yes, anything!”

James hums, seemingly thinking something over, before sliding one of his hands up the back of your shirt.

“How about you give me a kiss? I haven’t had a good one in a while,” While he sounds like he’s teasing, his face shows he’s anything but.

He really wants you to kiss him. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to deny him, you’re too grateful for his generosity. Plus, you’d be insane to pass up such an opportunity, he’s handsome, kind, and makes you feel safe. So, with only a little hesitation, you lean down and press your lips against his in a simple peck, but before you can pull away James groans, placing one hand on the back of your head to keep you steady.

His lips practically attack yours, his tongue invading your mouth and taking what it wants – you. You don’t even know it but you’re whimpering almost immediately, opening your mouth and letting James consume you whole. He’s smiling against your lips, biting your bottom lip as he retreats for a moment so he can stare up into your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, bunny,” James whispers reverently like he’s hypnotized. And he’s not the only one. Your brain is quickly going silent, your sole focus is on James and how good he’s making you feel.

“Really?”

“So beautiful, I’ve always thought so.” His confession makes you whine, he thinks you’re beautiful, this gorgeous man with the deepest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, James curses softly, grabbing your waist under your shirt, and that’s when you realize you’ve started subconsciously moving your hips against his.

“S-Sorry,” You mumble, though you’re not too sorry considering you can’t stop rolling down onto his lap, it feels too good.

“Don’t be.” James hums thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why don’t we go to my room? It’ll be more comfortable.”

You don’t even wait for him to finish before you start eagerly nodding your head, adjusting your legs as he stands so you can wrap them around his waist. He carries you to his room, smirking to himself the entire time because you can’t stop kissing and biting his neck in the hopes of leaving a mark, staking your claim. When you finally get there, James quickly shuts the door behind him and then drops you down onto the bed.

“Sir,” You whine when he doesn’t do anything, he’s only standing at the end of the bed, staring at you with eyes so dark with lust that you can’t see the blue of them.

“Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll take good care of you.” With that, he swiftly strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, then undoes the button on his pants, slowly dragging down the zipper with a wide smirk at the haze in your eyes. “Do you want to help me?”

It takes a few moments for you to understand what he’s asking of you, but once you do you push yourself up, shuffling over to him until you’re sitting with your legs underneath your butt. For a moment you’re not sure what to do, you reach out for his pants but freeze mid-air because you just now realize that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. You’ve never been in this situation before, your sexual exploits consist of goodnight kisses on the few dates you’ve been on, and your vibrator in your nightstand that has been working overtime ever since you met James.

“I-I’m sorry,” You murmur, embarrassment flooding your features.

“Why are you sorry, bunny?” James’ voice is soft, soothing your worries.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never… been with a man before.” Your hands fall to your lap at the same time you hang your head. What if you disappoint him? You don’t know what you’re doing and you’d hate to mess anything up.

“I know, bunny. It’s okay.” James lifts your chin with his fore and middle fingers, guiding you to look at him again. “I’ll teach you everything.” His voice dips lower, his bottom lip getting trapped between his teeth when you smile, relieved.

“Now, I’m going to take off my pants, but I want you to take off my boxers. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” You say quickly, eyes dropping to his crotch as he begins pulling the denim down, down, down until it pools on the floor. He steps out of them, then steps in front of you with his arms hanging by his side. When he raises his eyebrow, nodding to his underwear, you reach out for him again, this time with only a small amount of hesitation. Your nerves are nearly off the charts, but knowing that James is going to guide you makes you feel better.

Your hands are shaking slightly when you pull them down, and absolutely no one can fault you for the loud gasp you let out when he’s finally bare because holy shit. Despite being relatively anxious and naive surrounding sex, you’ve watched your fair share of porn, and while the men in them did usually have big dicks, they seem small compared to James’.

You’re almost frightened, how the hell is that going to fit inside you? James chuckles, and you realize you probably said that aloud.

“Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll make it fit,” James groans, reaching down to grab the bottom of your shirt. “I’m going to take this off now, okay?” He tugs it up and over your head once you give your consent, tossing it to the side and cursing when he sees the light pink bra barely covering your breasts. James is biting his lip so hard you’re worried he might draw blood, but you don’t pay it any mind because he’s soon urging you to lay on your back with your legs dangling over the edge.

“Gonna take these off too.”

Giving him a shy smile and a nod, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants, glancing up at you one final time to make sure you’re okay before he surprises you by pulling them off of your legs in one swift movement. You’re tugged down the bed a little, a shocked gasp leaving your lips.

“Fucking angelic,” James murmurs, dropping to his knees and placing his large, rough hands on your knees. He smirks when he sees your matching light pink panties, already soaking wet at the crotch. You have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering when he pushes your legs wide apart, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming when he doesn’t do anything else.

“James,” You whine, high-pitched and needy.

“Sir,” He reminds you with a raised eyebrow as though he’s daring you to say his real name again. And just for good measure, he surprises you by lifting up one of his hands and swinging it down onto your clothed pussy in a harsh swat, causing you to let out a loud moan.

“Sir! I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s okay, little bunny,” James coos as he runs his hands up the back of your thighs so he can push them up and out, letting him get a good look at where you need him most. “Are you going to let me eat your pretty pussy?”

Even though it’s phrased as a question, you know James isn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s not like you even want to tell him ‘no’, you’re too desperate for something, anything.

“Y-Yes, sir. Please.” Your begging makes him groan, and he quickly dips forward so he’s not even an inch away from your core, inhaling deeply and cursing again.

With a quick kiss to your covered clit, he twists his fingers into the band of your panties and rips them into pieces, and you know you’ll have marks from it. But you want them, you want evidence of this night, and you’ll gladly take anything he gives you. And no sooner than your panties off do James dive in, inhaling once more before his tongue sneaks out and licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit.

It’s at that point that you know you’re well and truly fucked, because there’s no way you’re not going to become addicted to the feeling of his tongue dipping into your quivering hole, the way he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it into his mouth, the way he groans into your pussy like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

And it doesn’t take long for your legs to start shaking, desperately trying to close around James’ head but not being able to due to his hands gripping your thighs and holding them still. The filthy groans he lets out are enough to make you cum alone, but then he attaches his lips to your clit again and gently bites down, forcing an obscene moan out of your mouth.

He lets you get used to the pleasure, switching between fucking his tongue deep inside you and flicking at your clit, and only when he decides you’re ready does he manage to slide his forefinger in your pussy all the way to the third knuckle.

“Sir!” You can’t help but yell. Yes, it stings, but it’s far outweighed by the pleasure of his tongue assaulting your pulsating nub.

He wastes no time in slowly sliding it in and out, wiggling it around until you whine loudly, letting him know he’s found that special spot. You’re too out of it to realize it but James is smiling, clearly smug at how he’s making you react. You wouldn’t care anyway, in fact, he deserves it. He’s making you feel too good, especially when he slips in his middle finger and spreads them.

“Oh god! Yes, fuck. Sir, yes,” You’re incoherent, blabbering nonsense because your brain is too foggy to form a coherent thought. James picks up the pace, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it as he thrusts his fingers directly at your g-spot.

“Sir! Sir, I-I’m…” As soon as he started, he stopped, pulling out his fingers and leaning back slightly with a wide grin. His chin is coated in your juices, and the gleam in his eyes shows you that you’re not going to be able to cum so easily.

“Not yet, bunny,” James says when you whine pathetically, trying to buck your hips up into his mouth but unable to do so because of his commanding grip now holding your waist. “I’m not letting you cum until I’m inside you.”

James then climbs onto the bed, guiding you upwards to lay your head against the plush pillows so he can lean over your body. With little preamble, he snakes his arms around your back to quickly unclasp your bra and allow your breasts to spill free.

“I can’t wait to watch these bounce,” James groans, palming one of them, twisting and pinching at your nipple. James just laughs when you hiss, because your soaked pussy is enough to tell him that you’re loving what he’s doing.

“Bunny.” He says gruffly, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, though you can hardly see him because your vision is hazy, nothing matters except James. “Are you ready?”

You’re barely able to mumble ‘yes’, but you manage to do so, and James takes that as his cue to grasp the base of his cock and position it at your entrance. He places his other hand on your neck, lightly squeezing the sides to keep your eyes locked on his.

The pressure against your hole is immense, James telling you to breathe as he slowly pushes deeper. He stops about halfway through, giving you a moment for the pain to fade. He’s clearly having a hard time staying still but is cognizant enough to know you’re overwhelmed. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing before you finally nod, silently letting him know that he can move. And he does, pushing in all the way until his hips are flush with yours. Once again, he stills, leaning down to brush his lips over your cheeks and catch the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

“H-Hurts, sir,” You whimper out, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him. And while your core is burning, James looks so damn proud that you’re taking him that it pushes away any discomfort.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Even though you’re in mild pain you’re pretty sure you’ll cry if he pulls out, you need everything he can give you. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry, bunny,” James coos, then tightens his grip around your neck ever so slightly. “I’ll give you what you need.” And as though a switch was flipped, James pulls back, pausing for half a second before thrusting forward.

“Ahhh!” Your mouth drops open as you scream, your arms coming up to claw at James’ shoulders and back as he gives you all he has.

And he has a lot to give. He puts his back into fucking you, keeping one hand around your neck and using his other arm to pull your left leg over his shoulder. Sweat beads at your hairline, your eyes stinging with tears, your whole body lit on fire. At this moment, nothing matters except the delicious burn between your legs, the way your body is shoved further up the bed with each of James’ powerful thrusts until it gets to the point where he has to place the hand around your leg on the headboard to steady you.

“Fuck, bunny, you feel so good. You’re so good for me.” James can’t stop mumbling praises, and even though you can’t really hear them, you feel them. Your eyes don’t move from his, even as he glances down to where your bodies are joined. “Fuck, little bunny. Your pussy looks so good stuffed full of my cock, knew you’d take me so well.”

“S-Sir,” You whimper, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and digging your nails into his skin. But James doesn’t seem to mind if the way his whole body shudders and his hips slightly lose their rhythm is anything to go by.

“Are you gonna be a good little bunny and cum for me?” James moves his gaze back up to your face, chuckling when he sees how fucked-out you already are. Despite his hand still around your neck you manage to nod, little cries and whines escaping into the air every time James’ cock gets shoved against your cervix.

“Yeah, you are,” James continues, leaning over your body even more and shifting so the tip of his dick hits your spot with every thrust. “You’re going to squirt all over my cock so I can cum deep in your cunt. Gonna cum in you every day, keep you full of me, maybe even plug you up to make sure it sticks.”

You’re right there, your pleasure climbing higher and higher until you’re ready to fall off the edge. James’s next sentence sends you there.

“Fuck, bunny. You’re going to be the perfect little mommy to all the children I’m gonna give you.”

When you wake up, James will tell you about how you came so hard that you blacked out, squirting and gushing around his cock while he continued telling you how even more beautiful you’ll be when you’re pregnant, taking care of him and his home, how he knew you were the one for him from the moment he first saw you. Your things will already be moved into his house. New clothes chosen specifically for you will be hung up in his closet and the bathroom will be adjusted to fit your products. The kitchen is going to be filled with all the food you like. And your cat will be curled up in a miniature hammock in her very own room.

When you wake up, you’ll see how much thought James put into redecorating his home just for you.

And you’ll be too grateful for his kindness to question where he put your birth control.

main taglist: @lilyalone / @crazyunsexycool / @goldylions / @yeehawbrothers / @buckyssweetheart / @buckysprettybaby / @sushiseoks / @heytheredelulu / @somnorvos / @ozwriterchick / @pxgeturner / @gentlelimerence

bucky taglist: @justsebstan / @myfavbuckyfics

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honeeysagee · 1 month

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Supernova Chronicles #1: Star Girl

{dad's best friend!sam}

summary: Living under your ex-military father's strict rules has always been suffocating, but now that your parents are leaving for a three-month trip, you're finally getting a taste of freedom. However, just as you're ready to embrace it, your father adds a new layer of oversight by arranging for a friend to keep an eye on you. Despite the looming watchfulness, you're determined to prove your independence.

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As you lifted your eyes from the pages of your book, you were surprised to find the night had settled in faster than you anticipated. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving behind only a gentle, lingering glow that barely touched the corners of your room. Sleep eluded you, knowing that in a short while, you’d see your parents off on their trip, a farewell that weighed lighter with each passing minute.

Seconds ticked away as your thoughts drifted, pondering what freedom might feel like if not for the constant, looming presence of your ex-military father, whose shadow seemed to shape your every move. You knew he meant well, that his strict rules and watchful eyes came from a place of love, but it often felt suffocating.

He wasn’t just a father; he was a guardian, a sentinel who saw the world as a place filled with threats rather than opportunities. His experiences had made him cautious, and that caution had seeped into your life, shaping your choices, your actions, and even your thoughts. Yet, all of that would soon come to a pause when you wished them good luck on their three-month trip, a temporary release from the constant watchfulness that had defined your existence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the prospect of having the house to yourself stirred something unfamiliar—a mix of excitement and anxiety. The absence of your father’s ever-present gaze would grant you a freedom you hadn’t known in years. But with that freedom came uncertainty. Without his steady hand guiding every move, you would finally be able to explore life on your own terms.

There were so many possibilities, so many things you had pushed aside out of respect for his boundaries. You could stay out late without a curfew, invite friends over without worrying about his disapproving look, or even take a spontaneous trip without needing to provide a detailed itinerary. But along with the excitement was the nagging fear of stepping too far, of what might happen without his protection.

Your father’s voice boomed through the room, "Young lady," The weight of his tone instantly commanded your attention, as it always did. You turned to face him, bracing yourself for whatever lecture or piece of advice he was about to deliver. His expression was stern, his eyes searching yours as if he could read every thought and feeling you were trying to hide.

You went to nod before your mother stepped out from behind him, her expression softer and filled with understanding. "Give her a break, Maliki. She's 21," she said, her tone gentle yet firm.

Her words brought a momentary relief, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as the tension in the room eased slightly. Your father's eyes flicked to her, his brows furrowed in that familiar way he always did when he was caught between his protective instincts and the reality that you were no longer a child. "I know," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had seen too much in his life to ever take safety lightly. "But she's still our daughter, and it’s my job to make sure she’s safe, even when we’re not here." There was a pause, his gaze locking onto yours as if silently pleading for your understanding.

Your mother stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm, her touch doing what words couldn’t—calming the tension that had built in the room. "Maliki," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to his worries. "She’s responsible. We’ve raised her well. Let her have some space to prove it."

He sighed deeply, the sound heavy with a mixture of concern and resignation. The years of military service had made him see the world through a lens of potential threats, and letting go—even just a little—was no small task for him. He turned back to you, his expression softening as he looked into your eyes, the same eyes he had watched grow from a curious child to a determined young woman.

"Alright," he conceded, though his voice still carried that underlying edge of caution. "But you know the rules, and I expect you to follow them."

"I will," you promised, your voice steady as you tried to reassure him. The tension in your chest eased slightly, thanks to your mother’s gentle intervention. Your father turned to retrieve their bags, the sound of his footsteps momentarily filling the room with a sense of finality.

Your mother smiled warmly at you, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding of what this moment meant. It was a look that spoke volumes—a mix of pride in the person you had become, trust in your ability to handle things on your own, and an unspoken acknowledgment that this was your time to step into your independence. "Have a little fun while we’re gone, okay? But not too much," she added with a playful wink, her attempt to lighten the mood bringing a soft chuckle from you.

Her words were a gentle reminder that while your father’s rules still applied, there was room for you to breathe, explore, and to enjoy the space they were leaving behind.

"One more thing," your father announced, marching back into the room with his usual determined stride. You sighed deeply, the sound heavy with a mix of exasperation and resignation. If it weren’t for your mother, this place would be run like a military camp, every minute accounted for, every action scrutinized.

He paused, clearly preparing to deliver another one of his directives. "I have a friend who's moving into town while we're gone. I asked him to keep an eye on you for me."

You felt your heart sink a little at the thought. Just when you had started to embrace the idea of freedom, another layer of oversight was being added. It was classic Dad—always thinking two steps ahead, always making sure you were protected, even if it meant infringing on your newfound independence.

Your mother, ever the mediator, shot him a look that spoke volumes, but he remained steadfast. His concern for your safety outweighed any notions of giving you space. As much as you appreciated his intentions, the idea of someone else watching over you in his absence felt like a tether, holding you back just when you were ready to spread your wings.

You and your mother exchanged glances, both of you struggling to hide your disbelief. You wanted to protest, to argue that you were capable of managing things on your own, but you knew better than to invite an hour-long lecture. So, instead, you took a deep breath and nodded.

"I am an adult, Dad," you said with as much sincerity as you could muster. "But thanks for looking out for me. I promise all the rules will be followed."

Your father's expression softened a bit at your words, though the concern in his eyes didn’t entirely fade. He gave a nod of approval, seemingly satisfied with your response. Your mother’s smile was both understanding and relieved, her eyes conveying a silent message of support.

With one last look around the room, your father finally turned to finish preparing for their departure. You felt a mix of frustration and acceptance, knowing that while you might have a bit more freedom, your father’s protective instincts would always be a part of your life.

With the little freedom you did have before the mystery friend showed up, you decided that spending the night at an old fling's house was smart. Except… as the night wore on, you realized that old sparks didn’t always reignite the way you expected. What once felt exciting now seemed dull, the connection that had once drawn you to them fading into something that felt almost forced.

The conversation lagged, the laughter felt hollow, and the thrill you’d anticipated was replaced with a creeping sense of discomfort. That led you to a bar within walking distance of the college you attended. It was a place where you had spent many nights before—familiar enough to feel comfortable but far enough from home to let you forget about the lingering weight of your father’s rules. As you pushed through the doors and into the dimly lit room, the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses provided the backdrop you needed to clear your head. Here, among strangers and old acquaintances, you could lose yourself in the anonymity of the crowd.

You settled by the bar, knowing the bartender, Danny. You called out to him, and as you did, you noticed his eyes already scanning you, a familiar gleam in them. "Is that my baby?" he teased, his voice warm and inviting, the grin on his face growing wider.

It was the kind of greeting that brought an instant smile to your face, easing the lingering discomfort from earlier in the night. You felt a sense of comfort in his playful tone, the familiarity of it all a welcome change from the awkwardness you had just left behind.

"Only if you’ve got something strong for me," you replied, your voice carrying the same playful edge.

He chuckled, already reaching for a glass. "For you? Always." With that, he poured you a shot, the amber liquid catching the low light as it filled the glass. He slid it across the bar towards you with a wink. "On me tonight," he added, his tone softening with a touch of familiarity.

Your eyes lingered on the drink for a moment, watching the way the light played off its surface, shifting colors as it danced through the glass, casting an orange glow. You wrapped your fingers around the cool glass, bringing it to your lips with a sense of anticipation.

As you downed the shot, the burn of the alcohol was immediate, but it quickly gave way to a spreading warmth that settled deep within you.

Danny smiled deeply at you before returning to some people who shouted orders at him. But even during the chaos, he didn’t forget about you. Without a second thought, Danny placed two glasses in front of you—a small routine he’d developed over the years. One glass held another mystery alcohol, something he knew would be strong but smooth, and the other was filled with water, a silent reminder to pace yourself.

You took both glasses in hand, the coolness of the water a sharp contrast to the warmth still lingering from the first shot. With a nod of thanks, you left the bar and headed upstairs to your usual table on the second floor, a quiet spot tucked away from the busier parts of the bar.

Yet, as you approached your usual table, you found it already occupied. Sitting there was a man who seemed to draw every eye in the room.

He had a striking presence that commanded attention effortlessly. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded a confidence that was both relaxed and commanding. His skin was a deep, warm brown that seemed to glow under the bar’s ambient lighting, and his well-defined features were framed by a neatly trimmed beard that added a touch of rugged charm.

His eyes were captivating—dark, expressive, and framed by thick lashes that only intensified their depth. They held a warmth and intensity that suggested both kindness and a hint of mischief. He wore a simple yet stylish outfit: a well-fitted shirt that accentuated his muscular frame, with sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, toned arms. His casual, yet impeccably put-together appearance spoke of someone who was effortlessly stylish, with an air of sophistication that suggested he knew exactly how to balance charm and grace.

As he leaned back in the chair, his posture was relaxed but confident, and every movement he made seemed deliberate, adding to his aura of effortless cool. It was the kind of presence that made heads turn and hearts flutter, the kind of charisma that made any woman, or anyone, for that matter, fall for him almost instantly. And despite not even hearing this man speak, you were falling.

"Excuse me, you're in my booth." The words came out with a boldness that surprised even you. Normally, if your spot was taken, you would have found somewhere else to enjoy your drink and listen to the live music. But tonight was different. Something in you stirred, pushing you to assert yourself in a way you usually wouldn’t.

The man looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He didn’t seem fazed by your direct approach—instead, a hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, as if he found your boldness refreshing. He straightened in his chair, his posture now more attentive, and his eyes sparkled with interest.

"I’m sorry about that," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring, with just a touch of charm. "I didn’t realize we had assigned seating in the bar."

The playful glint in his eyes suggested he was enjoying the exchange. His smile remained, warm and inviting, as if he were genuinely intrigued by your assertiveness. You noticed the way his smile seemed to light up the space around him, making it hard to stay annoyed. Despite the initial irritation of having your usual spot taken, you found yourself drawn to his easy confidence and charm.

"No, but it’s my usual spot," You continued, trying to maintain a balance between firmness and the hint of humor in your voice. "I guess I just get a little territorial over it."

He chuckled softly, the sound smooth and easy on the ears. "I see. Well, if it’s that important to you, princess, I’m happy to move." Yet, he didn’t budge. Instead, he picked up his drink, taking a casual sip while holding your gaze.

You found yourself swimming in the depths of his eyes, losing track of everything else around you. There was a magnetic quality to his stare, a captivating intensity that made it hard to look away. The playful challenge in his expression seemed to dare you to continue, making the air between you feel charged with unspoken possibilities.

You met his gaze with a raised eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure despite the flutter of excitement in your chest. The question hung in the air, a playful invitation wrapped in charm.

“Well, considering you seem to be quite comfortable,” you replied, a touch of amusement in your voice, “I guess I’ll have to find another spot.” You started to turn, but his voice stopped you.

“Why don’t you join me?” he offered, his tone a bit darker despite the earlier banter.

The subtle shift in his voice didn't scare you away. Instead, it drew you closer, adding an intriguing layer to the conversation. The seriousness of his offer contrasted with the playful edge, making the invitation feel more intimate. You settle into the booth - just across from him.

"How long have you been in college?"

The question took you by surprise. It was an unexpected shift from the lighthearted banter you’d been engaged in. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, trying to gauge the intent behind the seemingly simple question.

You quickly recovered, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. “A couple of years,” you replied, your tone casual but with a trace of curiosity. “How did you know I was in college?”

His gaze remained steady, as if he were genuinely interested in your answer, adding a new layer to the encounter. "You have a full glass of alcohol in your hand. The college is quite literally walking distance from the bar. Plus, you just have that look." You were used to being read. Your father did it effortlessly, and you often found it intrusive and irritating. But when this man did it, you found it surprisingly attractive. Something was compelling about the way he observed you, his insight was delivered with a mix of curiosity and charm that felt both flattering and intriguing.

A smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in slightly, your interest piqued. “And what kind of look is that?” you asked, your voice laced with playful challenge. The attraction you felt was undeniable, and you found yourself wanting to dive deeper into this unexpected connection.

"What are you studying in college?" He ignored you, but the way he spoke, with that mix of confidence and insight, made the atmosphere between you both feel electric. His words, though perceptive, were wrapped in a charm. You took a sip from your glass, savoring the warmth of the alcohol as you considered his observation. “Psychology. Minor in astrology,” You admitted your voice soft. His eyes never left yours, and there was something in his gaze that made you feel seen in a way you rarely experienced.

"Oh, a stargirl. What, you're going to read my palm? Tell me that my sun's in retrograde, and I'm going to experience something devasting next week?" He was playing with you. That teasing grin plastered on his face told you everything. You played along,

"You wish," you replied with a smirk, leaning in slightly. "But no, I’m more interested in the why behind it all. Like why you think your not-so-subtle charm works, Mr…" His teasing grin faltered for a moment, caught off guard by your directness. You could see him recalculating, trying to figure out whether you were playing the same game or a different one entirely.

"Call me Sam."

"Sam." You repeated. "Nice to meet you." You let his name linger on your lips, testing the waters. The way he watched you, eyes narrowing slightly, told you he was still trying to get a read on you. "Well, now that we’re on a first-name basis, care to enlighten me on why you think my charm isn’t working?" he asked, leaning in closer, his tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment before responding. "It's not that it isn’t working. It’s just that it’s a little too practiced. Like you’ve used it one too many times and are still waiting for someone to catch on."

His smile grew, but there was something different behind it now—an acknowledgment that you weren’t just another easy mark. "Maybe you’re right," he conceded, his voice dropping lower. "But maybe I’m not the only one with a practiced game."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at your lips as Sam slipped closer to you in the booth. The sudden closeness sent a jolt of awareness through you, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth of his presence. His arm brushed against yours, a deliberate move, but his gaze remained steady on yours, searching, perhaps, for a reaction.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting, “it’s not often I meet someone who can see through the act.”

You felt the pull of his words, the way he was trying to draw you in, but you weren’t about to let him take control so easily. “Maybe it’s because I’ve seen it all before,” you replied, your tone casual, though your heart was pounding. “Or maybe it’s just that I’m not as easily swayed as you think.”

The band downstairs began to play a tamer version of "Lost in The Fire" by The Weeknd, the sensual beats weaving through the air, amplifying the tension between you and Sam. He leaned in even closer, his voice barely cutting through the music. “Seems like the universe is giving us a moment,” he teased, his lips dangerously close to your ear. You could feel the heat of his breath, the intimacy of the moment making your pulse quicken.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, which had grown darker, more intense under the dim lights. “Is that what you think this is?” you asked, your tone playful but edged with challenge.

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes flicking down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Or maybe it’s just a lucky coincidence. Either way, I’m not going to waste it.”

The brief touch of his lips sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could fully process the moment, he closed the distance completely, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was both soft and deliberate. The world around you seemed to blur, the music, the crowd, everything fading into the background as the warmth of his kiss anchored you to the moment. For a second, you hesitated, feeling the intensity of the connection, the electricity between you both undeniable. But then you found yourself responding, your hand instinctively reaching up to touch his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble beneath your fingertips.

The kiss was his, yours—a perfect blend of give and take, like a dance where neither led nor followed, but both moved in sync. It wasn’t just about the physical connection; there was something deeper, an unspoken understanding that neither of you had expected but couldn’t ignore. You weren’t new to this. Kissing strangers in a bar whenever the mood struck was something you could handle—a momentary escape, a way to feel something real in the midst of a night out. But this time, it felt different. There was something in the way Sam kissed you, something more than just a fleeting connection. It lingered, like a spark that refused to die out.

The desire for more surged through you, overpowering the usual restraint you held onto in these moments. You bit his lip, a teasing nip that conveyed your need without words. It was a bold move, one that signaled you were no longer just playing along—you were in control, too.

His response was immediate. A low groan escaped him, and you felt the shift in his demeanor as his hand slipped up your leg, fingers tracing a path that left a trail of heat in its wake. The closeness between you intensified, the air around you thick with tension as the line between want and need blurred.

You were teetering on the edge, knowing that you were pushing boundaries, both yours and his. The thrill of it all, the way he responded to your every move, made you crave more. It wasn’t just about the kiss anymore; it was about the power, the connection, the undeniable chemistry that was sparking between you two.

He pulled away just enough to shift your position, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap. The movement was fluid, controlled, and he held you there with a firm grip, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. For a brief second, he paused, giving you the space to decide, to back out if you wanted to. But who were you to do so? The thrill of the moment, the intensity of the connection—it was all too intoxicating to resist. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm as you steadied yourself on his chest, your legs now straddling his.

His hands settled on your hips, holding you close, but still allowing you the freedom to move, to take control if you wanted. The music, the dim lights, the distant hum of the crowd—all of it faded into the background as the space between you vanished once again.

His hand traveled farther up your thigh, reaching the edge of your lacey underwear. The touch was tentative at first, his fingers brushing lightly against the delicate fabric. You could feel the heat of his touch through the lace, a mix of anticipation and excitement building between you both.

His eyes remained locked on yours, seeking any hint of reluctance, but all he saw was the undeniable intensity between you. Your question, murmured against his lips, was met with a dark, hungry look.

“Nervous? I can stop if you don’t think you can handle it?” you asked, your voice teasing and breathless.

He responded by pulling you down harder onto him, the pressure of his hard on unmistakable against you. You could feel the heat and firmness through the fabric of his jeans, his desire pressing firmly into you. The action was assertive, a clear statement of just how much he wanted you.

His grip on your hips tightened, his gaze intense as he sought your reaction. “Handle it?” he growled softly, his voice a mix of raw desire and playful challenge. “I’m just getting started."

Finally, his pulls your underwear to the side, and ran his thick, long fingers against your pussy. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers did wanders. He bit at your neck as you moaned. His thumb stroked your clit gently, and he smirked when he heard you suck in a sharp intake of breath, the sensation making you arch against his hand. "Tell me how much you want it, my stargirl?" He purred, his voice rough. He pressed his hand forward, rubbing against your center, slowly increasing the pace and pressure, his other hand moving higher, stroking over your breasts while his mouth trailed kisses along your neck and down your jawline to your shoulder.

A deep groan tore from your throat as you bucked against his hand, the sensations overwhelming you. The pleasure was intense, a wave of heat and desire crashing over you, making it hard to focus on anything else. You could only hope that the music blaring around you would drown out the sounds of your moans, as you lost yourself in the moment.

His hand pressed against you with increasing firmness, each touch igniting a new wave of pleasure that had you gasping for breath. The crowd and the music faded into a distant background as you focused solely on the connection between you, your body responding instinctively to every movement he made.

The intensity of the moment was undeniable, the pleasure building with every second, leaving you both caught in a heady mix of desire and anticipation. Sam knew exactly how to touch you, his touches always light, almost hesitant.

His hand now underneath your shirt and letting his rough fingers pull and rub on your nipple. As soon as the sensation became too much, you arched your back towards him, desperate for release, wanting his touch to be the only thing keeping you grounded as you struggled to hold on. He continued to tease you. His words floated through your head, charged with a mix of command and promise. “Don’t you come, or I’ll bend you over the table and let the world see how beautiful you look when you moan.”

The intensity of his voice, combined with the forbidden edge of his words, only heightened the pleasure you were already experiencing. The image he painted was both thrilling and provocative, pushing you to the brink of control. Your body trembled in the need to comply with this stranger's demand. You could feel him, feel yourself pulsating beneath his hand as his finger played around the tip of your swollen clit. The sensations were indescribable, sending your mind flying as you tried desperately to stay afloat on the waves of sensation crashing around you. His fingers worked quickly, his motions slow and calculated.

“Sam,” you whined, your voice a mixture of desperation and desire. The sound was almost a plea, a soft, urgent call. He responded with a low, approving growl, his hand continuing its relentless exploration. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Let me hear you, Stargirl."

You whimpered, the sound vibrating in your throat as his lips pressed harshly against the spot below your ear, his teeth grazing ever so slightly across the sensitive flesh. The combination of his touch and his rough, seductive whisper made your breath hitch.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice rough and commanding, “Come on, Baby Girl. Tell me what you want.” The raw intensity of his voice was a seduction all on its own, fueling the fire within you. Your pleas came out in a breathless rush. “I want it. I want it so bad. Please.”

You were pleading with the devil himself, caught in the overwhelming blend of desire and desperation, the need for his touch and his dominance consuming you completely. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the touch burning through the thin fabric of his shirt, making him shudder slightly as you gripped him. He could feel your nails digging into his scalp, scratching at the strands of his hair before dragging them down his neck. He shuddered again as his fingers moved faster, circling your clit in small circles. Each one drove you closer to the edge, until there was no turning back. No running from this. There was no going back after this, only forward.

As the orgasm took over, your cries echoed throughout the room, punctuated by gasps and moans that grew louder with every passing second. The intensity of the moment left you breathless, your body struggling to contain the overwhelming surge of pleasure building inside you. Each muscle felt strained, pushed beyond its limits, as every thrust drove you closer to the edge.

The sounds you made, the way he looked at you, and the intensity of his touch all combined to fuel the fire between you. The passion and energy surged, driving both of you to the brink, as you fought to get even closer, to experience the connection at its fullest.

With every movement and every word spoken in your favor, the climax approached with a force that left you completely vulnerable, the moment consuming you entirely as you both reached for that ultimate release. As the climax surged through you, it felt like an explosion of sensation, every fiber of your being caught in the throes of ecstasy. Your cries grew more frantic, each sound a testament to the intensity of the moment. The room seemed to spin around you, the music and the crowd becoming distant echoes as you were consumed by the overwhelming pleasure.

His movements were relentless, perfectly in tune with your responses, pushing you to the absolute edge. Every thrust, every touch was precise, maximizing the pleasure that you were both experiencing. His eyes never left yours, filled with a fierce, possessive intensity that only heightened the sensation.

The energy between you was electric, a tangible force that seemed to build with each passing second. You could feel the sweat on your skin, the heat of his body against yours, and the rhythm of your combined breaths creating a symphony of desire.

As the final wave of orgasm washed over you, it was as if time stood still. Your body tensed and shuddered uncontrollably, every muscle locked in a state of heightened pleasure. You were utterly lost in the moment, every sensation amplified, every sound magnified.

Finally, as the climax began to ebb, you both slowly came back to yourselves, the immediate rush of pleasure giving way to a lingering sense of satisfaction. The intensity of the connection between you remained, a testament to the shared experience and the power of the moment. He gently eased his hold on you, his touch becoming tender and reassuring as he helped you settle.

"Your charm is working wonders." You whispered to him

His eyes sparkled with a mix of satisfaction and amusement as he looked at you. You could see the effect your words had on him, the way his smile widened at your playful gratitude. He brushed his thumb over your lip before leaning in close to your face, pressing his mouth to yours in a passionate kiss. "It really does."

౨ৎ.....................................................౨ৎ...................................................౨ৎ

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, you lay in bed, reflecting on the night you had just shared. The warmth of Sam’s touch and the intensity of your connection replayed in your mind, vivid and electrifying. You could still feel the lingering traces of pleasure, a reminder of the unforgettable experience that had left an indelible mark on you.

But as you thought back on the night, a pang of regret tugged at your heart. The abruptness of your departure weighed heavily on your mind, leaving you unsettled. You had wanted to leave with him, to linger in the warmth of the connection you had forged. But as he turned to pay the tab, a sudden wave of uncertainty had washed over you.

In that fleeting moment, doubt had crept in. The intensity of what you had shared felt almost too real, too overwhelming, and the vulnerability that came with it scared you. So, instead of waiting for him, instead of letting yourself be drawn back into his orbit, you slipped quietly through the bar door, leaving before he had a chance to turn around. Not to mention, your father's call.

Now, in the light of morning, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had made a mistake. You had let the moment slip away, leaving behind something that had felt meaningful, something that had the potential to be more than just a fleeting encounter.

You wondered what Sam had thought when he turned around and found you gone, and whether he had felt the same connection you did. The regret gnawed at you, but so did the uncertainty of what might have happened if you had stayed.

As you lay there, the room quiet and still, you couldn’t help but replay the scene in your head. You remembered the way Sam had looked at you, the way he had responded to your every touch and whisper. The memory was tinged with a bittersweet edge now, the sudden end to such a profound connection leaving you with mixed emotions.

The departure had been sudden and unceremonious, and you found yourself wishing you had been able to give the night—and Sam—the closure they deserved. You thought about how you might reach out to him, how you might explain the abrupt end and express your gratitude for the night you had shared. Yet, your little Cinderella act left with you nothing.

You decided, then, that you couldn't waste your three months of freedom of fantasizing over what ifs with a guy the same age as your father. It would never happen, and besides, you knew nothing about him. He was just some guy in the bar with really nice hands.

The doorbell rang, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you sat up in bed, wondering who could be at the door so early. The bell kept ringing, persistent and insistent, refusing to be ignored. After another few moments, you gave in, sighing as you pushed off the covers and swung your legs over the side of the mattress.

As you made your way downstairs, you passed through the kitchen, absently pushing some dishes into the sink, just in case your father had returned. The house was quiet, the early morning light casting soft shadows across the floor. You couldn’t shake the strange mix of anticipation and anxiety that had settled in your chest, a nagging feeling that something unexpected was about to happen.

Reaching the door, you paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before opening it. The thought of who might be on the other side lingered in your mind, a blend of curiosity and trepidation swirling together.

With a quick twist of the knob, you pulled the door open, and the breath caught in your throat. There he was. Sam.

He stood on the doorstep, phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes were fixed on you, an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension from the night before lingering in the air between you. The surprise of seeing him here, of all places, left you momentarily speechless.

His gaze didn’t waver, and though he was speaking softly into the phone, his attention was entirely on you. There was a mixture of emotions in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even a hint of something deeper, something unresolved from the night before.

He said something quickly into the phone, his voice low and calm, "Yeah, she came to the door."

You cocked your head to the side slightly, confusion and curiosity mixing in your expression. The way he spoke, so assured and composed, contrasted with the flurry of emotions you were feeling. His words hung in the air, leaving you to wonder who he had been talking to and why he was here.

"Sure thing, Maliki," he said, putting extra emphasis on your father's name. The realization hit you like a jolt—this wasn’t just a chance encounter. This was the man your father had sent to watch over you.

Your eyes widened slightly as the pieces fell into place. The sudden phone call last night, the urgency in your father’s voice, and now Sam standing here on your doorstep, all made sense. The night you had shared, the connection that felt so real, now had an entirely different context. He wasn’t just some guy you met at the bar—he was here because your father had sent him.

"Don't worry," Sam stated, his tone darker and more intense than anything you had heard from him the night before. The shift in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart fluttered with a mix of fear and curiosity, wondering what he truly meant.

"I'll make sure she never leaves the house," he continued, his words lingering in the air, heavy with implications.

Your pulse quickened, a knot of anxiety forming in your chest as you tried to decipher his intent. The man who had been charming and playful just hours ago now seemed to harbor a side you hadn’t anticipated—a side that was far more serious, possibly even dangerous.

#mcu #marvel #samwilson #sam wilson #smut #black literature #drabbled #falcon and the winter soldier #dads best friend #best friends #black tumblr #x reader #anthony mackie #mackie #samwilsonangst

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honeeysagee · 1 month

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Invisible Threads - SamBucky Angst Fic

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single thread ties everyone together, weaving through lives like an invisible needle, stitching moments, choices, and fates into a vast, intricate tapestry. Each knot in this thread marks a connection—a meeting of eyes, a shared smile, a whispered secret—binding hearts in ways seen and unseen. At least, that’s what Sam Wilson thought.

He had always believed in the power of connection, in the bonds that people forge through shared experiences and the stories that intertwined them. This will not change, and after this evening, it proved his point.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows in the attic, Sam wiped the sweat from his brow as more of it dripped down his face. He had been working for an hour straight now. His arms ached from carrying boxes around from every nook and cranny of the attic. The attic itself was littered with items left behind by his parents. All of which were covered with dust. Some of these items were from his childhood. They could’ve be given to AJ and Cass. Others were gifts from friends, family, and strangers alike.

The air was thick with memories, each object a silent witness to moments long past. Sam paused for a moment, picking up an old baseball glove that had once been his favorite, the leather worn soft from years of play. He smiled, thinking of afternoons spent in the yard with his father, tossing the ball back and forth, the sun warm on their backs. Those were simpler times before the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

He thought to place the glove in a box labeled "Keep," alongside a few other cherished items. This attic was more than just a storage space—it was a time capsule, a place where the threads of his past were still visible, linking him to the boy he once was, to the man he had become. Each box he moved, each item he uncovered, was like rediscovering a part of himself, reminding him of the connections that had shaped his life.

But tonight, as he continued to sort through the clutter, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something more awaited him in these dusty corners—a connection yet to be unearthed, a truth that would once again remind him of the power of the thread that ties them all together.

“Hey, Sammy, you up there?” Bucky's voice called up from the bottom of the attic stairs, breaking through Sam’s thoughts.

Sam chuckled to himself at the nickname. Bucky had started using it ironically, but over time, it had stuck.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Sam replied, still holding the baseball glove in his hand. “Just trying to make some sense of this mess.”

He heard the creak of the steps as Bucky made his way up, the sound of his boots against the wooden floorboards familiar and comforting. Bucky’s presence had a way of grounding him, even when things got heavy. As Bucky reached the top, he took in the sight of the cluttered attic and let out a low whistle.

“Man, you weren’t kidding,” Bucky said, eyeing the piles of boxes and forgotten relics scattered around. He stepped closer, dusting off an old framed photo sitting atop a nearby box. “Found anything interesting?”

“Depends on what you call interesting,” Sam replied, tossing the glove into the box marked "Keep."

“Just a bunch of old stuff, mostly. Some of it I haven’t seen in years.”

Bucky nodded, setting the photo down and walking over to where Sam stood. He glanced around, the history of Sam’s life visible in every dusty corner. “It’s good to go through this stuff, you know? Makes you remember where you came from.”

“Yeah,” Sam said softly, his gaze tracing the room. How had he not been up here once since getting the house? It was so easy to get lost in his thoughts when he was up here, surrounded by his past. Everyone he’s lost were just that…lost, but here, they were alive. Their memories planted in boxes that he had to open to reminisce.

His mother’s cooking book was packed into a box of old library books he’d forgotten to take back. He could almost smell the aroma of her gumbo wafting through the air as he looked at it. His father’s tool set was stashed between clothes and newspapers, the same tools that had built so much of what made their house a home. And then, there was Riley’s card set, tucked away in a box labeled “Give To Sam.” It was a simple set, nothing fancy, but Sam remembered the countless nights they’d spent playing cards, talking about everything and nothing, their laughter filling the air.

The outside world had moved on, but in here, time was still, and he was reminded of it. Every item was a snapshot of a life that once was—a life that had shaped who he was, who he still was. It was both comforting and painful, a bittersweet reminder that while the world outside kept spinning, some things remained untouched, frozen in time.

He glanced over at Bucky, who was quietly observing the room, his own thoughts seemingly miles away. Bucky understood loss better than most, the way it could carve a hole in your heart and leave you feeling like a part of you was missing. Yet, in this moment, surrounded by the echoes of the past, Sam didn’t feel alone. They had both lost so much, but they had also found something—each other.

As Sam ran his fingers over the worn box labeled “Give To Sam,” he felt that familiar thread again, the one that tied him to these memories, to his family, and even to Bucky. It was frayed and tattered, but it was still there, holding him together, grounding him.

He reached in, sifting through the items that his parents and sister must have placed in the box. His fingers brushed against the familiar texture of Riley’s card set, nestled between a collection of old photographs and handwritten notes. Each photograph was a snapshot of simpler times—family gatherings, holiday celebrations, moments frozen in the warmth of shared smiles.

Then, that’s when he saw it. A small envelope, with the same faded, blue ink as Riley’s handwriting. Sam pulled it out carefully, opening it up to reveal a photo of him and Riley. The two of them were laughing, arms around each other, captured in a moment of genuine joy and camaraderie.

The photo was slightly creased, but the expressions on their faces were clear and vibrant. Riley’s grin was wide, his eyes sparkling with mischief, while Sam’s smile was warm and easy, a testament to their close bond. Sam traced the edges of the photo with his thumb, lost in thought.

“What’s that?” Bucky pulled him from his thoughts. Sam looked over with a bittersweet look on his face. “Oh,” Sam placed the photo in Bucky’s hand, “That’s me and Riles. Riley. He was my best friend.”

Bucky’s world came to a halt. The sight of the photo, so vibrant with memories of Sam and Riley, felt like a jarring collision with his own buried guilt. Every detail of the photo—Riley’s smile, the ease of their friendship—stirred a deep, unresolved ache within him. He felt as if time itself had stopped, leaving him stranded in a moment of painful clarity. The realization that he had been part of something so innocent and now so irrevocably altered made it hard for him to focus or even think clearly.

He remembered that night clearly. He was sent to shoot down a fighter jet carrying hard drives full of information. No, the Winter Soldier was sent to shoot down a fighter jet. Yet, nothing the size of a jet was coming up on his radar. Just two small red dots.

He had followed orders, locking onto the targets that appeared on his screen. The small red dots, no larger than the tip of his finger, represented lives, each one a small piece in a larger, unseen puzzle. The image of those dots merging with Riley’s face made him shudder. Each signal that flickered across his radar now felt like a haunting reminder of the innocence he had unknowingly destroyed.

Bucky blinked, trying to reconcile the dissonance between his past actions and the present reality. The mission had been a cold, calculated operation, executed with the efficiency of a machine. At the time, the red dots on his radar had represented nothing more than targets—targets he had been ordered to eliminate.

But now, standing in the attic, holding the photo of Riley, the gravity of his actions hit him with a crushing force. The dots had been more than mere blips; they had been lives, and Riley’s was one he had taken. The contrast between the sterile detachment of his past mission and the vivid, emotional reality of the present was overwhelming.

As Sam continued to sift through memories, oblivious to the internal storm raging within Bucky, the dissonance became even more pronounced. The life Bucky had taken and the life he was now trying to mend seemed irreconcilable, and he felt trapped between two worlds—one defined by his past deeds and the other by the shared moments with Sam.

Bucky’s vision blurred as he struggled to maintain his composure. The weight of what he had done and the reality of the present were too heavy to bear. He needed to find a way to face the past and seek forgiveness, but for now, he was left with the painful realization of the depth of his actions and their impact on the life he was trying to build.

He cleared his throat, a lump of guilt building there as well as everywhere in his body. “How did he die?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, laden with an unspoken hope that somehow, in some universe, he hadn't been the one to end Riley’s life.

Sam looked up, startled by the sudden shift in Bucky’s tone. He studied Bucky’s face, seeing the strain and the unspoken pain etched into his features. “We were tasked to carry some hard drives to another facility,” Sam said slowly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I carried them. I knew the risk. For some reason, Riles kept flying ahead of me. I told him to get back, but it was too late. He was already tumbling to the ground.”

As Sam continued to speak about Riley, Bucky’s mind struggled to absorb the information. The stark reality that he had been sent to kill Sam—his Sam—while mistakenly ending Riley’s life instead felt like a cruel twist of fate. The details of the mission now seemed to converge in a chaotic blur, his heart heavy with the realization of the gravity of his past.

The image of Riley’s fall, so vivid in Sam’s recounting, was a painful echo of the disconnect between his own memories and the reality of what had happened. Bucky’s chest tightened as he grappled with the truth that he had been responsible for the death of Sam’s best friend, while his own target had been Sam himself. The weight of the revelation settled over him, mixing with the gnawing guilt and remorse that seemed to permeate every corner of his being.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, reaching out to touch Bucky’s arm, but he was too late. Bucky moved with such speed that Sam barely saw him go.

“Need air,” Bucky gasped out, his words echoing in his head as he fled the room. The door slammed shut behind him, cutting off all sound.

For several seconds, Sam stood still, stunned by the suddenness of Bucky’s departure. The weight of their conversation and Bucky’s reaction left him feeling disoriented. When he finally managed to move, his mind was a whirl of confusion and concern. He knew he needed to check on Bucky, but the urgency of his own feelings mixed with the remnants of their painful conversation made every step feel heavy.

He moved quickly, following Bucky’s retreat. His heart pounded as he navigated through the house, driven by the need to find his friend and offer some semblance of comfort. The strained silence of the house seemed to amplify his footsteps as he searched for Bucky.

Outside, he saw a dark figure on the steps of the house. Sam stepped through the door, closing it softly behind him, and approached Bucky, who stood motionless, his back slightly hunched as if weighed down by an invisible burden.

As Sam drew closer, Bucky turned to face him. His expression was one of profound guilt, eyes clouded with a mixture of anguish and regret. The eerie look in his eyes only deepened Sam’s confusion, making the weight of their earlier conversation press heavily on his shoulders.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern. “Why did you run? What’s going on?”

Bucky struggled to find the right words, his gaze shifting away as he tried to compose himself. “Sam, I... I didn’t mean to—” His voice faltered, and he looked like he might collapse under the weight of his emotions.

The tension between them was palpable, and Sam felt a pang of empathy as he tried to bridge the gap that had suddenly opened between them. He wanted to understand, to offer support, but Bucky’s haunted expression left him grasping for clarity in the midst of the unfolding emotional storm. “Talk to me,” Sam offered, “What’s up?”

Bucky looked back at him, searching his eyes for a sign that he would accept whatever explanation was coming next. He wanted to believe there was a universe where Sam would forgive him instantly, where he would simply nod and say it was okay, maybe even suggest they go make dinner together to smooth things over. But that was a fantasy that seemed increasingly out of reach.

The guilt and fear in Bucky’s eyes were palpable, and he struggled to steady his voice as he tried to explain. “I didn’t know.”

Sam’s expression softened slightly, though confusion remained. “Didn’t know what, Buck?”

Bucky hesitated, his words catching in his throat. “I didn’t know who I was hurting. I was just following orders, but I didn’t see the people behind the targets. I didn’t realize…”

The silence between them grew heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved pain. Sam tried to piece together the fragments of Bucky’s fragmented explanation, his mind racing through possibilities.

He pictured the mission Bucky had been on, trying to understand what could have triggered such a visceral reaction. The fear and confusion in Bucky’s eyes, combined with his own turmoil, led Sam to fear the worst. He felt a deep, unsettling sense that the truth was more complex and painful than he had anticipated, and he struggled to process the full impact of Bucky’s confession.

Then, like he was there again—right next to Riley—Sam saw it vividly in his mind.

He’s flying, the wind rushing past him, and the air tastes like salt. Riley is ahead of him, maneuvering through the sky with practiced ease. Sam calls out to him, his voice lost in the roar of the wind.

Riley’s figure wavers as he responds, a brief nod visible before he continues to push ahead. Sam’s heart races, his concern growing. He tries to keep up, but the distance between them widens.

In that moment, Sam feels a pang of helplessness, knowing that Riley is moving too fast, risking too much. Sam pushes harder, catching up as Riley begins to slow down.

Riley eventually stops completely, hovering in the air, his form silhouetted against the stars. The moonlight highlights the silver on his suit, casting a stark contrast against the dark sky. He seems suspended in the night, a brief moment of stillness before the fall.

As Sam watches in horror, the serene scene shifts violently. Riley’s figure, once graceful and controlled, begins to plummet towards the ground. The descent is swift, almost surreal against the backdrop of the quiet night. The moon’s glow fades, and the silver of Riley’s suit becomes a fleeting glint as he disappears from view, swallowed by the darkness below.

For years, that’s been the story. Sam watched Riley’s death unfold, paralyzed by a crushing sense of helplessness. He couldn't make it to the ground fast enough to save his friend, the distance between them stretching infinitely as Riley fell. All those years of trying to track the shooter, and now, he was standing in front of him.

“What did you do?” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper, his mind racing as he struggled to grasp the magnitude of the situation.

Bucky’s hands fidgeted rapidly, fingers working unconsciously as if trying to hold onto something precious. “That’s not what—” Bucky began, but his voice faltered. A sob escaped him, his face contorting with the weight of his guilt. “I didn’t know, Sam. I didn’t—”

Without thinking, Bucky reached out to Sam, his body trembling with emotion. Sam stepped back, his face twisted with shock and revulsion.

“Don’t,” Sam said, his voice taut with barely contained fury. “Just don’t come any closer. You took him away from his family. From Sarah and the boys. You took him from me!”

The scream that followed was raw and unrestrained, each word charged with the intensity of his anger. Sam’s eyes blazed with a fierce, heartbreaking rage, every ounce of his grief channeled into the force of his outburst. Bucky stood there, overwhelmed by the weight of Sam’s fury and the chasm it revealed between them. The silence that followed was thick with the unresolved pain of their fractured relationship, leaving both men struggling to cope with the enormity of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, his eyes locked on the grass beneath his boots. “I’m so sorry, Sam.” His voice cracked, betraying the deep anguish he felt. “I was following orders. He wasn’t the target. It was an accident.”

Sam’s eyes burned with fury as he glared at Bucky. “Who was the target then?” he snapped, his voice rising with each word. “If Riley wasn’t the fucking target, then who was?”

Bucky flinched at the intensity in Sam’s voice, his shoulders slumping as he struggled to answer. “You,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was sent for you. Riley was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t have the complete picture.”

Sam’s face twisted with disbelief and rage. “So Riley was just collateral damage in some fucked-up mission to get to me?” His hands clenched into fists, his voice shaking with the force of his anger. “Is that what you’re saying? That my friend’s death was just an unfortunate accident in your pursuit of me?”

Bucky’s eyes were filled with sorrow and regret. “I didn’t even remember it until I saw his picture.”

Sam’s voice was a raw, broken whisper. “And now? What do you expect me to do with this? How do you expect me to just—” He struggled to find the words, his anger and grief crashing together in a tumult of emotion. “You took him from his family. And for what? To get to me?”

“No, Sam, I—” Bucky’s voice cracked, his face etched with pain.

Sam’s breathing was ragged, his face pale with the weight of his sorrow. “Has this all been an act? There’s no possible way you took one look at the photo and instantly knew. There’s no goddamn way you’ve spent all these years around me, and never once did you look up and think about what you did!”

Bucky nodded, the depth of Sam’s pain reflected in his own shattered expression. “I never thought about it.”

Sam’s eyes burned with a mixture of betrayal and pain. “Never thought about it. I’ve talked about him so much. I’ve confided in you, and never once, did you put the dots together. You took away my lifeline!”

Bucky looked down, the weight of his own actions crushing him. “I know, and now… now I have to live with that.”

Sam’s anger and grief mixed in a torrent of raw emotion. “Well, living with it doesn’t change anything, Bucky. It doesn’t bring Riley back to me!”

There was a heavy silence that followed, thick with the weight of their shared pain and unresolved conflict. The night air seemed to press down on them, making the quiet feel even more profound. Bucky stood frozen, the enormity of Sam’s words sinking in, while Sam turned away, his body tense with the struggle to contain his emotions.

After a long moment, Sam turned slowly, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beyond Bucky’s shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze. “What do I tell Sarah and the boys? How do I look them in the eye and tell them that the man they eat dinner with every night killed their best friend and uncle?” Sam asked suddenly, his voice low and tight. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

Sam swallowed his pain, his voice trembling. “How do I explain to them that the man who’s been part of our lives is the same one who caused us so much grief? I have to find a way to face them, to deal with this... again.”

Tears pooled in Sam’s eyes as he stared into the distance, his entire body trembling with suppressed rage. “I loved you,” Sam said, his voice thick with anger and heartbreak. “You took my world from me, and you made me love you while you were hiding that. God, I wish I could hate you.”

Sam’s face flushed with fury, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “How could you do this to me? How could you be so close and yet keep such a terrible secret? I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust in the worst way possible.”

Bucky stood frozen, his own face pale with a mixture of regret and terror. The weight of Sam’s words hit him like a physical blow. His hands trembled as he tried to find the right words, but his voice came out as a strained whisper. “Sam, I—”

“Get. Out,” Sam interrupted, his voice rising in intensity. “Just get out.”

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest, each word from Sam slicing through him like a knife. He looked at Sam with a mix of desperation and anguish, his own feelings of guilt and sorrow reflected in his eyes. “Sam, please. I know I can’t undo what happened, but—”

“If I see you again, I will kill you,” Sam stated boldly, “Super Serum or not. I will make you suffer, and I will enjoy it.”

The raw intensity of Sam’s anger left Bucky reeling. The cold stare of Sam’s eyes froze the words on Bucky’s tongue; the threat echoed in the air between them, the weight of it causing Bucky to shudder involuntarily, but his face remained expressionless.

For several moments, neither man moved, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Sam’s eyes darted toward the house, the urge to flee from his overwhelming emotions almost too powerful to resist. He took a deep breath, shaking his head sharply to refocus his anger. His eyes locked onto Bucky’s with a fierce intensity. “Go,” he whispered, his voice cold and unyielding. “Now. Before I do something stupid.”

The words cut through Bucky like a knife, each one landing with a painful clarity. He understood the threat in Sam’s tone, the unspoken demand for distance. Bucky longed to reach across the chasm between them, to pull Sam into an embrace, to offer whatever comfort he could, but he knew better than to try. The gap of betrayal and hurt was too wide, and any attempt at physical contact would only deepen the wound.

Bucky’s shoulders slumped as he took a hesitant step back, his heart aching with the weight of Sam’s anger and the finality of his command. The desire to bridge the gap and offer solace was overpowering, but he remained rooted, his eyes reflecting the depth of his own remorse and helplessness.

Sam watched Bucky retreat, his heart a tumult of conflicting emotions. The finality of his own command was both a relief and a torment. He felt the burning sting of betrayal and grief, mingling with a deep sense of loss. As Bucky’s figure disappeared into the night, Sam’s anger gave way to an empty, aching silence. The house behind him seemed colder, a stark reminder of the fractured world left in the wake of Bucky’s departure.

In the distance, as Bucky walked away, the thread that Sam had once believed connected them began to feel like a frayed and broken strand. The once-close bond they shared, which had brought them comfort and togetherness, was now in ruins. The connections they had built were shattered, leaving behind a deep emptiness where their friendship used to be. The thread that had once tied their lives together was lost in the wreckage of broken trust.

As Bucky walked away, lost in the weight of his guilt and confusion, his phone rang. He checked the screen and saw a message from an unknown number. With trembling hands, he opened it to find a text that read, “That was tough to watch. Seems like you need a new partner.”

The message was a chilling reminder that his troubles were far from over, and the road ahead seemed darker and more uncertain than ever. Bucky's heart raced as he stared at the screen, unsure of what the next chapter of his troubled journey would hold, yet the only question he had circling through his mind was: Will this bring me back to Sam?

#bucky x sam #marvel #angst #black literature #mcu #samwilson #black tumblr #buckybarnes #sam wilson #alternate universe #falcon and the winter soldier #wintersoldier #winterfalcon #tw death #sambucky #buckysam #marvel mcu

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honeeysagee · 1 month

Text

Never Came Back - SamBucky Fic

trigger warnings: mentions of suicide, ptsd, mental health struggles, war trauma

Word Count: 3,939 words

Bucky Barnes stared at the light blue building - the words 'A Way Back' stared at him - almost like a haunting reminder that the life he had before was gone. He didn't think about it anymore. He just went on. He continued living because the other option would have put him in the grave, but now, his mind wandered.

The first time Bucky had entered Veterans’ Home, the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He remembered standing outside, wondering if his men had made it out. If any of them had wandered back to their families. Bucky could barely remember any of them from his old unit, and the thought was so distant now that he doubted he ever would. It was like he could picture them perfectly aside from their faces. Their faces shifted with each new memory. They never stayed constant. They were constantly changed by loss. No one had remained constant. Just him.

“Barnes,” Sam Wilson stood beside him, bringing Bucky back to him. "You didn't hear a damn thing I said, did you?" Sam placed a hand to his partner's back and tried to guide from to the entrance. Sam knew from the tension after he asked Bucky to attend more of his volunteer sessions the stillness in the car and the the stillness in the car that Bucky was indifferent about visiting Veterans' Home again. 'This is the last time I'm doing it.' Bucky had mentioned to Sam a day later, and Sam let him have his space. He wasn't pushing Bucky to go back. Instead, he stopped all talk of the home until a week ago when he saw Bucky struggling again.

"Alright, man, let's get inside," Sam said, his voice gentle but firm. He placed a hand on Bucky's back, guiding him towards the entrance. The familiar scent of antibiotics and the low hum of conversations greeted them as they walked in. The walls were lined with photos of veterans, each with a story, a past, a struggle. Bucky stopped and studied some of the pictures. Some showed smiles, others grimaces of pain. One photo caught Bucky’s eye—it depicted an elderly man who looked as frail as a leaf in a bed, surrounded by nurses and doctors. He held up two thumbs and a smile, stronger than him.

"That's Mr. Price. A pilot ended up in the wrong place but made it home all the same." A bitterness melted on Sam's tongue. It resembled his own story and the one he left behind.

Bucky looked toward his friend and partner and asked, "Where did he end up?" A simple question, but the implications made him sick.

The weight of memories of his own and Mr. Price meddled together. Sam sighed, "He was shot down on enemy territory. Months in a POW camp before they found him, but even when he came home, it was like only part of him was here." He pointed at the photograph and then at a group of people sitting at a table, laughing, "His family's there. Friends. Family." His voice trailed off for a second, then he finished quietly. But he said almost daily that he died in the plane crash." Bucky felt a chill run through him, the haunting resonance of Mr. Price's story hitting too close to home. He glanced at Sam, seeing the shadows of shared pain in his friend's eyes.

"He's still here?" Bucky asked. It sounded more like an excuse to ignore what he was feeling being here. Reminders of a life he'll never get and one he didn't deserve haunted him. Memories of war weren't meant to stay here. The memories of war shouldn't be this strong in this room. Bucky didn't want to feel this way. Sam nodded to a room in the distance and began walking. "He's actually who we're seeing today."

Bucky frowned, trying to piece together why Sam would bring him here. He followed Sam slowly. As they approached the room, Sam glanced back at Bucky, his expression softening. "I'm really glad you came today. It means a lot, Buck." Bucky forced his lips to turn up in a half smile. Sam's expression softened more, knowing that Bucky understood. That was all he wanted, but there wasn't much else Bucky could say. He nodded once, hoping it was enough, and focused on moving forward.

The men stepped into the room, overtaken immediately by warmth and the fresh smell of clean blankets and pillows. The air was filled with a gentle, comforting scent, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from a small diffuser on the nightstand. Sunlight streamed in through wide windows, casting a golden hue over the room and highlighting the soft pastel colors of the walls, which were adorned with serene landscape paintings.

A large bed, neatly made with crisp white linens and a pale blue quilt, dominated the space. A couple of well-worn armchairs were positioned nearby, their cushions plump and inviting, with a small wooden table between them holding a vase of freshly cut flowers. The flowers, a mix of daisies and sunflowers, brought a cheerful burst of color to the otherwise muted tones of the room.

Along one wall, a tall bookshelf stood filled with an assortment of books—some old and dog-eared, others newer with unbroken spines. A few personal mementos were carefully placed on the shelves: a framed photograph of a young man in uniform, a bronze medal encased in glass, and a collection of model airplanes, each meticulously crafted and painted.

Mr. Price sat in a wheelchair near the window, a soft, knitted blanket draped over his legs. The light from outside bathed him in a warm glow, making the silver in his hair shine. His eyes, though tired, sparkled with life as he turned to greet Sam and Bucky, a welcoming smile spreading across his face.

"I would stand up to salute you, but my legs are out of commission," Mr. Price joked lightly, his voice carrying a warmth that filled the room. Sam chuckled accordingly, a broad grin spreading across his face. He leaned over to hug the man, his arms wrapping around the shoulders of his old friend with familiarity and affection. "No need to, sir."

The smile never left Mr. Price’s face, and his brown eyes sparkled with genuine happiness as he embraced Sam. There was a deep bond between them, forged through shared experiences and mutual respect. Even as the years had taken their toll, leaving Mr. Price's body frail, his spirit remained strong, evident in the way he greeted Sam with such warmth and humor.

Sam stepped away, adjusting his jacket with a casual ease. His eyes found Bucky, who stood a few paces behind, watching the encounter like an outsider invading a sacred place. Bucky's discomfort was palpable; he wanted to leave to escape the warmth and familiarity of this room that felt so foreign to him. But seeing Sam so comfortable around Mr. Price, so at ease in this space, made Bucky hesitate. The image of Mr. Price embracing Sam—that simple gesture of connection—twisted something deep within him.

Mr. Price was a hero—a man who had faced unimaginable trials and emerged with his dignity and spirit intact. He was someone worthy of being remembered, someone who had earned the love and respect of those around him. Bucky, on the other hand, felt like the opposite—a ghost of a man who had lost himself along the way, his past overshadowed by the darkness of what he had done.

"Mr. Price, this is my friend," Sam said, his voice steady and warm as he glanced at Bucky. He paused for a moment, then continued with a subtle emphasis that carried more weight than the words themselves: "And partner, James Barnes. Bucky"

Bucky shifted uncomfortably under Mr. Price's gaze, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the room they were in. He managed a small nod, unsure of what to say, but Mr. Price’s smile didn’t waver. Instead, it deepened, as if he saw something in Bucky that even Bucky couldn’t see in himself.

"Where have I seen you before?" Mr. Price spoke with his hand stretched outward. Of course, Bucky shook it with the gentlest smile he could muster, trying to keep a polite mask in place, and trying to avoid looking directly into Mr. Price's eyes. "I'm not sure, sir. I've been on the news a lot lately."

"Hmm, right. The news. How strange. My memory must be failing me," Mr. Price laughed, a sound full of warmth but tinged with the sadness of someone who knew time was slipping away. "But you look so familiar somehow…" He tilted his head, his brows furrowing as he tried to place the face in front of him. For a brief moment, a glimmer of recognition flashed across his eyes, something distant and elusive, like a forgotten dream hovering just out of reach.

Bucky felt a cold knot tighten in his chest. "I don't know," he said, shrugging noncommittally, hoping to deflect the old man's thoughts before they wandered too far. The last thing Bucky wanted was for Mr. Price to remember him as anything other than the person standing before him now—a man trying to find his place, trying to do something good.

Sam watched the exchange carefully, sensing Bucky's unease. He was ready to step in, to guide the conversation away from anything that might reopen old wounds, but he also knew that these moments, however uncomfortable, were part of the process. Part of Bucky's journey back to himself. Instead, he helped, "Bucky was a soldier in World War ll."

Bucky's tongue went dry at the sudden mention of the war. The word hung in the air between them, heavy and oppressive, dragging him back to memories he'd rather leave buried. His pulse quickened, and the room seemed to close in around him. The scent of clean blankets and fresh flowers, once comforting, now felt suffocating. He fought the urge to pull away, to retreat into the silence he’d grown so accustomed to.

The war. It was always there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, no matter how much he tried to push it away. The faces of his old unit, the screams, the endless nights—it all came rushing back, threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel the cold grip of his past tightening around his throat, and for a moment, he struggled to find his voice.

"I—" Bucky started, his words faltering. He swallowed hard, forcing down the panic that threatened to rise. "That was… a long time ago."

His response was stiff, almost mechanical as if the words themselves were foreign. He kept his gaze averted. Mr. Price turns his whole body now, facing Bucky, "We all have our battles, Barnes. Some just take longer to heal." The old man smiled gently. "It's all right, my boy. Take your time."'

Sam cleared his throat, sensing the tension that had crept into the room. "How about we see if your lunch is ready? Bucky and I can clean the room for you while you eat." He offered the older man a sympathetic smile, a gentle attempt to ease the weight of the moment.

Mr. Price returned the smile, his eyes softening with gratitude. "That sounds like a plan," he agreed, his voice lighter now as if the suggestion had lifted some of the heaviness in the room.

Sam turned toward the door, giving Bucky a slight nudge as he passed. It was a small gesture, but one filled with understanding and encouragement. Bucky, still feeling the remnants of the earlier conversation weighing on him, nodded to Sam, grateful for the distraction.

After a moment alone with his thoughts, Bucky glanced up at the door, watching as it swung closed behind Mr. Price. The room felt emptier without the older man’s presence, the quiet almost deafening. Bucky’s mind was still tangled with memories, the mention of the war stirring up emotions he’d rather keep buried.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the past clung to him, making it hard to focus on the present. He could still feel the ghostly echoes of battles fought, the faces of comrades lost, and the heavy burden of survival.

The door creaked open again, and Bucky looked up to see Sam walking in. Sam's expression was calm, but his eyes held that familiar, unwavering support. He didn’t say anything as he reentered the room, but his presence alone was enough to anchor Bucky, pulling him back from the spiral of his thoughts.

Sam crossed the room with quiet confidence, his movements deliberate as he began tidying up. "I've been coming here for Mr. Price for months—years, even," Sam began, his voice calm and reflective. "The first day I came, he read me like a book."

Bucky paused in his task, glancing over at Sam, intrigued by the quiet admission. There was something in Sam's tone, a mix of respect and vulnerability, that made Bucky listen more closely.

"He took one look at me and knew I was carrying more than just the physical wounds," Sam continued, straightening a stack of magazines on the table. "He said something that stuck with me—told me that sometimes the hardest battles aren’t the ones out there, but the ones in here." He tapped his chest, the gesture small but significant.

There was a beat. Something in the air shifted a quiet tension building. Sam’s gaze lingered on Bucky, the light in his eyes reflecting a deep empathy that cut through the pretense. The forced chuckle had faded, replaced by a moment of raw, unspoken truth.

Bucky could feel the weight of Sam’s attention, the unspoken question in his gaze. He shifted uncomfortably, the room’s warmth contrasting sharply with the cold knot of emotion tightening in his chest. It was as if the walls were closing in, holding them in a space where honesty was inevitable.

Finally, Sam broke the silence, his voice soft but steady. "What's happening?"

The question hung in the air, simple yet profound, cutting through the tension with a directness that Bucky couldn’t ignore. The room seemed to close in around him, the task of tidying up forgotten as he grappled with his internal chaos. "I… I don’t know," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Bucky swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He nodded, a small, reluctant gesture of continuing.

"I wake at night in cold sweats. I scream. I cry," Bucky confessed, his voice cracking with the weight of his admission. The words felt like a heavy burden lifted from his shoulders, yet they left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He stared at the floor, unable to meet Sam's gaze. "It's like the past keeps catching up with me," Bucky continued, his voice barely audible. "No matter how hard I try to push it away, it's always there, just under the surface."

Sam remained silent, his expression one of deep concern and empathy. He took a step closer, offering a supportive presence without forcing Bucky to meet his eyes. Bucky continued, "I was a kid. 16 and wanted to fight the Nazis. Then, I was thrown into this life. I was 24 and dying. Parts of me died off until I felt like a shell, and then Hydra just finished me off."

Bucky's voice trembled slightly as he spoke, the memories surfacing with a painful clarity. "It’s like I’ve been living on borrowed time, trying to piece together what’s left of me, but it just leaves me empty. There are nights were I'm just standing on my apartment roof. just waiting for a big gust of wind to do its job.

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken despair. Sam’s expression softened further, the concern in his eyes deepening. He took a slow, steady breath, choosing his words with care.

"Buck," Sam said gently, "I understand that it feels like everything is closing in and that you’re trapped in this limbo. But reaching out for help, talking about it—these are signs of strength, not weakness."

"I'm not weak," Bucky frowned, "A weak person couldn't do what I did. A weak person couldn't hunt down people and murder them in broad daylight."

Sam gave him a pointed look. "But that wasn't you," he said, his tone firm. "That’s not who you are now. You’re not the same person you were before. You’ve survived so much, and there’s strength in that, even if it doesn’t always feel like it." Sam stepped towards Bucky, his eyes searching for a response. He could see the strain in Bucky's posture, the way his shoulders seemed to carry a weight that wasn’t entirely visible.

"You don't understand this feeling, Sam." Bucky’s voice sounded hollow even to himself, but he ignored the bitter taste of disappointment coating his tongue. Sam shook his head, his expression earnest. "I know it all too well. When I came home, and Riley wasn't with me, I told myself every day and night that I should have died that day. Not him. I felt like I didn’t deserve to be here. I questioned everything and felt like I was carrying his memory just to survive. It took time, and it took support, to start finding a way through that."

Bucky looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he absorbed the weight of Sam’s confession. The raw honesty in Sam’s voice, the pain and regret etched into his features, offered a glimpse into a shared experience of loss and guilt. The room seemed to hold its breath as the two men connected over their shared struggles. The walls, once a backdrop to their battles, now felt like a space where understanding and empathy could bridge the divide between them.

Sam took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "It’s not about erasing the past or pretending it didn’t happen. It’s about finding a way to live with it, no matter how many nightmares you can’t shake." His gaze hardened, determination settling into his features. "If anyone can do it, Buck, it's you."

For a long minute neither spoke. Bucky watched Sam, his heart pounding as he tried to comprehend the sincerity in the other man’s eyes. Sam stood close, his presence a tangible anchor in the sea of Bucky’s turmoil. The warmth and strength of Sam’s support were almost overwhelming, offering a lifeline that Bucky hadn’t realized he needed.

The room fell into a heavy silence as Bucky absorbed the gravity of Sam’s words. The atmosphere was charged with an unspoken understanding, each man silently grappling with the shared weight of their pasts. Sam’s presence was a steadying force, and Bucky found himself anchoring to it, sensing a fragile connection amidst the turmoil.

As Sam gently nudged Bucky towards the door, the sound of their footsteps on the polished floor was a soft counterpoint to the silence that enveloped them. The comforting scent of lavender from the diffuser, the soft rustle of clean linens, and the faint murmur of conversations from outside all blended into a backdrop of everyday normalcy.

Bucky glanced around the room, taking in the vibrant hues of the flowers and the peaceful serenity of the space. It was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. The gentle warmth of the sunlight streaming through the windows seemed to mock the cold, dark memories that lingered in his mind.

As they continued their task, Bucky’s mind wandered to the elderly man they had come to see. The sight of Mr. Price, with his enduring spirit and palpable warmth, was a reminder of the life Bucky longed to reclaim—a life of peace and purpose, away from the shadows of war.

Bucky’s gaze settled on the bookshelf filled with mementos, each item a testament to a life lived and memories cherished. It was then that he realized how deeply he yearned for a future that was not defined by the scars of his past. A future where the weight of those memories did not dictate his every moment. A future where he could, perhaps, grow old with someone who understood and shared his journey.

Sam’s quiet reflection, the unspoken support in his eyes, and the genuine concern in his voice all painted a picture of what could be—a life where their struggles did not isolate them but instead brought them closer together. Bucky could almost envision it, the two of them navigating the challenges of life side by side, finding solace in each other’s company.

As they finished tidying up, Sam’s gentle nudges and quiet encouragement made the room feel a little less heavy. The bond between them was growing stronger, woven together by shared experiences and unspoken promises. The sense of camaraderie was palpable, a silent acknowledgment that despite their separate pasts, they were forging a path forward together.

Bucky looked over at Sam, feeling a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a future where they could find peace and purpose together. It was a distant dream, yet one that seemed more attainable in the warmth of Sam’s presence and the quiet support that he offered.

Sam glanced over at Bucky with a genuine smile, his tone lightening as he spoke. "You know you're good at this, Barnes. You should volunteer more." He chuckled the sound a welcome contrast to the heavy atmosphere they’d navigated earlier.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "This is your thing, Wilson."

"Could be our thing," Sam replied, his voice carrying a hint of something more, a suggestion of shared purpose and a future intertwined in ways they hadn't fully explored yet.

Bucky nodded slowly, the weight of Sam's words settling in a place deep within him. The idea of a shared future, though unspoken and uncertain, was a beacon of hope amid their tumultuous pasts. As they walked out of the room together, the sense of connection between them felt solid and reassuring, like the first light of dawn after a long, night. The promise of tomorrow, with all its unknowns, seemed a little less daunting with Sam by his side.

#bucky x sam #marvel #angst #black literature #mcu #samwilson #alternate universe #black tumblr #buckybarnes #sam wilson #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon #captain america #buckysam #the falcon #fatws

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honeeysagee · 2 months

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Too Hot To Think - WSCK

shopowner!Sam x mechinac!Bucky

part one

Sam was having a day. That's the only way he could describe it.

The hot sun was leaking through the windows and glass roofs of his greenhouse. The air conditioner, which he had fixed that morning, suddenly shut off again, and the small fan was doing nothing to keep Sam cool while he worked. He'd meant to go fishing this morning, but his fishing rod was missing and, to make matters worse, his truck needed gas.

Now, as he crouched among the rows of plants, sweat dripping from his brow, he could feel the frustration mounting. The tomatoes looked wilted despite his best efforts, and the stubborn weeds seemed to mock him as they sprouted back up almost as fast as he could pull them out. He longed for the peaceful escape of the lake, but instead, he was stuck battling the relentless heat and relentless weeds. Sam sighed, wondering if he'd ever get a break from the constant stream of minor disasters that seemed to plague his mornings.

His work phone rang. The worst phone to ring when he was having one of these days. Sam loved working, he did. Yet, he hated the idea of working in this heat. He thought to let it continue ringing, but the noise was also working on his nerves. So, reluctantly, he set aside his rake and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” Sam said cautiously. “Unfortunately, the Wilson's is closed and will remain that way all weekend."

The voice on the other end chuckled, and Sam knew instantly who it was. He'd grown very familiar with this person. "Hey, Buck," he said afterward, even giving him a nickname.

"Hey, Sam," Bucky replied, still chuckling. "I didn't know Wilson's closed on random weekends."

"It usually doesn't," Sam admitted with a sigh. "But I'm having a 'me weekend'. Or at least, I was supposed to, until my plans got canceled." He continued to mindlessly pick at the things in his greenhouse until he realized that a call from his employee was making him pace like a schoolgirl.

"Oh," Buck said, his voice dropping slightly. "That's too bad. I was looking forward to being bossed around by you today." There was a moment of charged silence, the kind that made Sam's heart race a little faster. He cleared his throat. "In this heat? You're insane." He wondered if it hid the weird tingling feeling in his throat and stomach. He prayed it did.

"Speaking of heat," Bucky let out a large sigh into the phone, "Is Louisiana usually this hot? I'm dying." Sam sat the phone down, placing it on speaker. Then, he spoke, "Yeah, that's why I wanted to be by the lake. Catching that cool breeze coming off the water is my favorite thing about fishing." Sam paused, remembering younger days when he and his father had taken the boat out for the day. Just to come back with half a cooler of fish and all their bait gone. It didn't matter to him - as long as he was doing something he loved with his dad.

Buck spoke, pulling Sam back to the present, "Why aren't you there again?" Sam felt himself flush under the attention. Instead, Sam felt as if he'd just been caught red-handed in something he should've kept secret from Bucky. "Oh, I can't find my fishing rod, and I ran out of gas," Sam mumbled into the phone. The admission felt took in his throat. Why was he suddenly so embarrassed to confess things to Bucky? The two of them have grown close to each other over 2 months, but he still felt like he had to impress Bucky.

"Well, your rod is in the back of my truck, remember? I'll be more than happy to bring it to you." A couple of weeks ago, they had planned an impromptu fishing trip after a long day of work. Sam had been so excited about it that he had tossed his rod into Bucky's truck the night before. But then, a last-minute emergency at Wilson's had kept them from going. They had laughed it off, promising to reschedule, but in the chaos, Sam had forgotten all about the rod.

Sam's heart skipped a beat. "You'd do that?" he asked, trying to keep his level, even going as far as to remind himself that he was a grown man. It wasn't just the usual camaraderie between friends. The smallest compliment from Bucky felt like a triumph, and the thought of disappointing him was unbearable. He remembered the way Bucky's eyes lit up when they joked around, the way his laughter sounded like music to Sam's ears. Was it weird to say about a friend?

"Of course," Bucky replied smoothly. "I'll bring the rod, and maybe we can fill up your truck and head to the lake together. What do you say?"

The suggestion sent a rush of excitement through Sam. He glanced around the greenhouse, at the wilting tomatoes and mocking weeds, and felt a glimmer of relief. "Yeah," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "I'd like that a lot, Buck."

Bucky laughed again. "Okay. See ya soon, Wilson."

The line went silent, and Sam placed the work phone back in his pocket. He stared at his greenhouse, the flush colors of green and yellow washing away the last of the light from the overhead fixtures. The heat was starting to affect his brain, making it feel fuzzy and distant. He couldn't concentrate properly anymore, so Sam decided to leave his work alone for a few hours. He gathered his tools, grabbed a bottle of water from his fridge, and headed inside.

He made sandwiches for him and Bucky. Then, he shuffled to his living room, taking deep breaths every moment. It didn't last long because the sound of a truck horn invaded the house. When he turned to look out his front window, he saw Bucky leaning against the truck, staring into the distance. The 6'6 mechanic looked so photogenic, that Sam forgot how annoyed he'd been about the summer heat. He had a nice smile and those deep blue eyes. Sam grabbed the bag of food and locked the house.

"Well, look who came to my rescue," Sam said, walking up to his friend. His voice wavered when he added, "Thanks." Bucky smiled at him, flashing perfect white teeth. His hand reached up to brush some stray hairs behind his ear, and his expression changed. Concern flitted across his features for only a second before the grin returned.

"Hope I didn't take you away from your day off."

Sam shook his head enthusiastically. "No, you're fine. It would be nice to hang out outside of work." "Sounds great to me." He followed Bucky back toward his car and climbed in after Bucky unlocked it. After a couple of minutes, Bucky leaned forward and cranked up the AC. "This feels better." Sam snorted as he buckled up his seatbelt. "If you hate the heat so much why are you wearing long sleeves?" he teased.

Bucky's eyes flickered to his arm, and Sam instantly wanted to rip the words out of the air and swallow them. He knew about Bucky's missing arm and what now took its place - a cold metal with was a hard reminder of a life he left behind. Sam offered found himself looking at the arm, thinking of the secretive life Bucky lived before coming to Delacroix. He wondered about the stories Bucky never told, the battles fought, and the losses endured. There was a part of him that longed to know more, to understand the depth of the man who had become so important in his life. He thought about the scars Bucky carried, both visible and hidden, and the weight of his past that he seemed to bear with quiet strength.

The drive to the lake was filled with the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the AC, providing a comfortable background for their conversation. Sam settled into the passenger seat, feeling the cool air soothe his overheated skin. He glanced over at Bucky, who was focused on the road, his hands steady on the wheel.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting dappled patterns on Bucky’s face as they passed through tree-lined roads. Sam observed the way Bucky's brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the casual confidence in the way he handled the truck. There was a quiet strength in Bucky's presence that always made Sam feel at ease.

"So, your buddy, Steve, he just up and left?" Sam gets comfortable with asking about Bucky's past. He, himself, was an open book. Bucky, on the other hand, was quite guarded. Although Sam liked to tease him, it was clear that he didn't have anything to hide. So if there was one thing that he could tell from observing the man closely over these months, it was that Bucky was a private individual. And even if they were friends, Sam didn't want to intrude. So for now, he just enjoyed spending time with him.

"No, not really. He was gone before he left. His mind went wandering, and one day, he just followed." Bucky answered casually. Sam nodded, but something bit at him. Nothing came of it as they pulled into a small deck. Bucky was the first to leave the truck, walking to the back of it. Sam was next with his eyes on the lake's horizon line. "This is a good spot," He threw the statement behind him and at Bucky, "Used to fish here every day in high school."

Bucky came up behind him, a smile warming his face. "Were you any good?" Sam chuckled, "Did catch one. Never have unless my old man was with me." Bucky cocked his head to the side and looked back at the water. Sam picked up his rod from the ground and walked towards it. The water was calm and clear. As soon as he sat down, his knees brushed against the soft grass surrounding the dock. He cast his line into the water.

"I can be your lucky charm." Bucky joked before running past him, catching Sam completely by surprise. Bucky's feet were in the air before Sam could stop him. He caught a glimpse of silver before Bucky dived head-first into the lake. He heard the splash of the water hitting the bottom, the faintest splash as Bucky came up. For a minute, Sam just stood there staring, his face reflecting his shock.

There, where Bucky's arm should be, was a metal one. It was smooth and shiny, like a metal sculpture. Sam's eyes were instantly drawn to it, mesmerized by its sleek and intricate design. The arm gleamed in the sunlight, every curve and joint a testament to advanced engineering. It seemed almost otherworldly, a perfect blend of form and function. The metal caught the light in a way that made it appear almost alive, a striking contrast to the natural beauty around them. Sam couldn't tear his eyes away, captivated by the strength and elegance of the arm, by the power it held.

A moment later, Bucky pulled his hair back from his face and smiled. "I ran all the fish your way," he called out. Sam turned, blinking rapidly and trying to focus on the conversation, to get his mind back on track. When he turned back, he saw that Bucky had moved closer. The other man was smiling, attempting to push the waters and make it near Sam.

As he stepped closer, Sam noticed the look of concern in Bucky's gaze. Sam tried to read it but, despite Bucky's efforts, he couldn't make sense of it. Whatever it was, however, Bucky's eyes shifted suddenly away to the arm. No one spoke, but the air was full of tension.

"Um, I…" A strange look crossed Bucky's face. He swallowed. Sam waited for him to continue, and he watched as Bucky's mouth worked, forming words but never getting them past his lips. Finally, he sighed loudly and lowered his eyes. "It's weird," he muttered quietly. "Now, you know why I wear the long sleeves and gloves."

Sam felt his throat tighten, but he managed to shake his head. He didn't see his prosthetic as weird. He was no longer looking at the arm because he was more focused on the body Bucky kept concealed. He studied the muscles shifting under the turtleneck, the sharp edges poking from the fabric like little spikes. Sam was sure his arms must look bad compared to Bucky's. Sam tried to keep his thoughts on something else, tried to push back the feelings building in his chest. Instead, he chose his words carefully.

"It's not weird. I think it's cool." His voice was hushed, almost unsure of his own opinions. His heart rate increased. Sam mentally slapped himself, feeling stupid as the silence stretched on. Suddenly, Bucky was laughing. Sam frowned quickly, confused and anxious. Bucky wasn't laughing because of his response to Sam's comment, which was expected. Sam saw amusement dancing in Bucky's eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Sam narrowed his eyes, still watching Bucky warily. "What?"

"Nothing," Bucky waved him off, still chuckling a little bit. "Nothing at all, Wilson." He paused again and then looked up. "No one has ever told me my arm was 'cool'. Kinda funny." He shrugged. When Sam remained silent Bucky continued, "But thank you. Now, you know all my secrets."

They stared at each other for a second. Sam swallowed. The intensity of his stare didn't go unnoticed by Bucky. He blinked slowly and gave him a shy smile, the one that always melted within Sam. He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning as he averted his eyes from Bucky. "What you thinking about, Wilson?" Bucky asked, pulling himself out of the water and onto the deck.

As Bucky emerged from the lake, water streamed off his body, shimmering in the sunlight. The droplets fell back into the lake, creating a series of ripples that expanded outward. The surface of the water, previously calm and undisturbed, now danced with the motion of Bucky's movements. Each ripple caught the light, glistening like a thousand tiny diamonds scattered across the lake's surface. The water clung to Bucky's metal arm, highlighting its contours and adding a dynamic, almost magical quality to the scene. As he sat there, the water continued to drip from him, merging with the lake in a gentle, rhythmic pattern, the sound a soft accompaniment to the serene environment around them.

"It's too hot to think, Barnes."

Sam looked over and found Bucky sitting by the railing, his eyes fixed on Sam. Sam let out a breath and shook his head, trying to find some balance. "I think you scared the fish." He stated. Bucky laughed and took a few deep breaths before standing. The smile remained plastered across his face and Sam's stomach fluttered when he caught the sight of a small trail of droplets dripping downwards from Bucky's shoulder.

He shook his head once more, his heart hammering in his chest. They'd just come to the lake to spend some time together, but already he felt like he was floating, floating away from himself, away from everything, from everyone. It hadn't happened often in Sam's life, but whenever it did, a strange sort of longing began to fill him. Something inside him wanted to escape. Something was calling him to follow its beckoning. Sam tried to shake himself free of the desire to follow whatever it was.

"Well, I guess we have to catch them by hand." Bucky grabbed Sam's hand, the cool metal caused a wave of calmness through his body. He looked up at his friend before realizing he was falling back into the water. Sam tried to let go, but Bucky was holding on tight. The moment he hit the lake, coolness enveloped him, the sensation both shocking and refreshing. He felt the resistance of the water as he plunged deeper, bubbles rising around him in a chaotic dance. Sam gasped as he broke the surface of the lake, his breathing hard. Bucky followed soon after, his lungs protesting, but he fought his urge to cough. Instead, he grinned and swam toward Sam.

He lifted his hand above the water to reveal he was holding a fish. It wiggled in his hands, trying to take flight, but Bucky only held it tighter. Both men stood there in bewilderment. Sam watched his employee grip a fish with widened eyes and a dumbfounded expression on his face. His cheeks were red from the water, his blue eyes shining with excitement. Sam couldn't help but laugh. Bucky finally looked up and met Sam's gaze. "What?" He questioned, a slight pout playing at his lips.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing." Bucky, after letting the fish back into the lake, turned to look at Sam. He started swimming closer to the dock. Sam followed closely behind, making sure to stay close enough to keep up. "Sorry, for getting you wet." Bucky whispered, almost like he was ashamed of himself, "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay, but this is coming out of your paycheck." The men laugh softly and they continue to float along the lake. They drift into small conversations, discussing various topics, their voices echoing between the trees. Sam was glad to hear Bucky talk. He had no idea how to respond. His brain felt like static, nothing but a single sentence. He couldn't remember when had been the last time he'd spoken so many words to someone.

As the sun set, the heat began to dissipate, leaving the evening air cold and crisp, making the air seem much clearer. Sam could hear the chirping of crickets and frogs. He looked over to where Bucky sat next to him on the dock, staring at the lake in awe. Sam watched silently as Bucky's face relaxed. "This place is beautiful," Bucky muttered softly. His voice sounded strained, but Sam couldn't tell whether it was from swimming all day or something else. Sam nodded mutely. The lake reflected the setting sun in a fiery display of orange and pink, turning it an intense shade of red. After some moments, Sam spoke. "Hey…Barnes?" He said softly.

Bucky didn't turn to look at him, choosing instead to continue staring at the view in front of him. "Hm? Yeah?"

"I probably would have stayed inside, sulking in the heat. Thanks for today." Sam smiled and watched as Bucky turned to look at him. The expression he wore seemed different than usual. Sam wasn't sure why, but somehow, in this light, everything seemed more vulnerable. Like all of the barriers were gone like he was exposed.

"It was really nothing," Bucky replied softly. Then, without warning, he moved to stand. Sam didn’t move away. His lips parted and closed several times as he desperately searched for the right thing to say. He was so afraid of doing or saying something wrong. All he needed was to say the first words that came to mind, those that he knew would mean absolutely nothing because there was no way he suddenly had a crush on his employee.

But, the way Bucky looked at him right now made him rethink those thoughts. There was a fire in his eyes. A fire Sam didn't recognize. It was unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time. Bucky took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking. Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the sound of it loud in his ears. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat.

"You know, Sam," Bucky began, his voice low and filled with a strange intensity, "I've been through a lot of tough times. But moments like this, they make it all worth it."

Sam's breath hitched. He could see the sincerity in Bucky's eyes, the raw honesty. It was overwhelming. He swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. "I feel the same way, Buck," Sam finally managed to say, his voice trembling slightly. There was an underlying truth there, but he wanted to ignore it.

Bucky smiled a genuine, warm smile that lit up his entire face. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Sam's. The touch was electrifying, sending a jolt of warmth through Sam's body. Sam tried to ignore the sensation building in his chest, a warmth that he didn't want to name, a feeling that seemed to grow with every second spent in Bucky's presence. He pushed it down, convincing himself it was just the remnants of a good day and nothing more.

"Let's pack up," Sam said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. Bucky nodded, and together they began gathering their things. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the lake, the sky now a deep shade of blue with stars starting to twinkle. They worked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night filling the air around them. The quiet companionship was soothing, a perfect end to an unexpectedly perfect day. Once everything was packed, they made their way back to the truck, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path.

Sam stole a glance at Bucky, who was walking beside him, his expression content. The fireflies danced around them, tiny sparks of light in the growing darkness. Sam's mind raced with thoughts he wasn't ready to confront, feelings he wasn't ready to admit. As they reached the truck, Bucky turned to Sam with a gentle smile. "Thanks for today, Sam. It was great."

Sam nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yeah, it was. Let's do it again sometime."

Bucky's smile widened, and he opened the truck door, climbing in. Sam followed the cool air inside the truck a welcome relief from the lingering heat of the day. As they drove back, the rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady whoosh of the AC filled the truck, and Sam couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between them.

#bucky x sam #marvel #angst #black literature #mcu #samwilson #black tumblr #buckybarnes #winter soldier #alternate universe #captain america #sam wilson #sambucky #fatws #winterfalcon #falcon and the winter soldier

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honeeysagee · 3 months

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Come In With The Rain

Sam W. x Bucky B. AU: where Sam is a cafe owner in Delacroix and a new mechanic, Bucky, blows into town.

For the first time that summer, it rained. And not just a gentle drizzle, but a full-on downpour. The sky hung low and gray, and the air was thick and muggy as if you had been standing under a dense canopy for hours. The scent of wet earth and damp trees filled the air, with water still dripping from the branches, making the humidity cling to your skin.

For Sam Wilson, the rain signaled a slow day at the shop, but it hardly deterred him. There were plenty of tasks awaiting his attention in the back. One project, in particular, caught his eye: the small battery-powered car he had promised to fix for his nephews, AJ and Cass. It had been months since he made that promise, and today, with the rain pouring down outside, he finally had the time.

For AJ and Cass, the rain meant a monotonous day at the shop, confined to their uncle’s watchful gaze.

As Sam tinkered with his toolbox, occasionally glancing at the shop’s door in anticipation of the bell's chime, he decided to focus on the car. He would look over at his nephews now and then, catching their admiring gazes before they quickly returned to their homework, pretending to be studious. Sam chuckled softly.

The rain drummed on the roof, creating a steady, soothing rhythm. Sam glanced out the window, watching the heavy drops splatter against the road, turning it into a shimmering, reflective surface. A few cars braved the weather, but most remained parked under the awning across the street, seeking shelter from the deluge. Sam flipped on the coffee machine and lit a fire for the boys to keep them warm.

After dusting off his hands, Sam stretched and groaned, then turned to his nephews. "Grilled cheese and soup?" he asked. Both boys perked up instantly. Sam smiled down at them, his grin widening as he led them to the kitchen, memories of his childhood flooding back.

Sam had been around 15 when his father owned the café. He spent countless afternoons and weekends there, working alongside his dad. He'd wander the kitchen with a grilled cheese sandwich in one hand and a hammer in the other. While his father managed the café, Sam busied himself in the back, fixing anything he could get his hands on. That same passion still drives him today, and he often felt his father's guiding hand on his shoulder whenever he cooked or repaired something.

Now, those days are just lingering in the back of his mind. But, they aren't forgotten. Not by a long shot.

"Mom is cooking fish tonight if you want to come over," AJ stated as he pulled bread from a cabinet. Sarah had mentioned it when she dropped the boys off, but Sam told her no. He figured he would be too tired from work today, but the storm came. He shrugged, "I don't know, buddy. How about I come over tomorrow?" AJ frowned, and Sam added, "Plus, tomorrow is the big game. Saints versus Cowboys. Don't we have a bet going on?" AJ brightened considerably at this prospect, "Don't you mean the bet that you're going to lose."

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately. After minutes, the food was ready, and the boys were back in their original seats. They ate in companionable silence while their uncle fiddled with his tools.

Then, the door of the shop was pushed open. The sound drew Sam's attention away from the engine in front of him, and he looked up to see a soaking wet man walking through the door. His clothes clung to his body, and his hair clung to his forehead, sticking straight up like porcupine quills. He looked miserable. Sam almost laughed.

Almost.

He had seen more than his fair share of grumpy customers - ones that didn’t take nicely to his jokes or helping hands. So, instead of asking how the weather was, he asked, “Welcome to the Wilson’s Café.” Sam stood again, his bones growing tired. “Looks like you need help.”

The stranger looked upwards - his eyes matching the clouds of the storm. Rainwater trickled down his sharp features, clinging to his long, dark hair that hung in wet strands around his face. His leather jacket, soaked through, clung to his broad shoulders, giving him a rugged, almost forlorn appearance. As he stepped into the warmth of the cafe, water dripped from his jeans and boots, pooling slightly on the floor. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, attempting to push it back but only managing to slick it further. Despite his bedraggled state, there was a quiet intensity in his steel-blue eyes that captured Sam's attention from behind the table.

"Um," His voice matched everything about him, "Just needed to come in from the rain."

Sam nodded, "You got it," he replied. He gestured to a nearby stool that was stationed by the fireplace, "Would you like some tea? It's very hot." The man eyed the stool warily. Sam added, "First drink on the house."

"You're lucky. We never get our drinks on the house." Cass threw the statement to the stranger, which made Sam roll his eyes. "How do you like your tea?" he asked pointedly. The stranger glanced up at the menu that hung over Sam's head. His eyes shifted left to right before looking back at Sam. "Earl Grey. Medium sugar. Thanks."

The man was short with Sam, which made him push his eyebrows together in confusion. He was new here definitely, he thought to himself. New to the area, anyway. Sam fixed the tea with ease - an order he frequently made for himself on days like this. Then, he marched the warm cup to the man with a leftover grilled cheese.

"On the house too." Sam mumbled. The man grunted and took the mug wordlessly, holding it close to his chest. "Thanks."

Sam returned to his work as the boys focused less on their food and homework and more on the silent stranger who was staring into the fire. Sam would occasionally make a face at the boys which would cause them to turn away but never for too long. As the silence grew so did his frustration with the engine of the small car.

"So, why do you look like that?" AJ asked.

"AJ!" Sam called out. When AJ merely raised his eyebrows innocently, Sam shook his head and sighed. "It's rude to ask strangers stuff like that."

AJ nodded seriously in agreement. "Sorry, sir."

Sam sighed and shook his head, "Okay, you know the drill. Dishes in the sink, and head upstairs," He helped them place their things into a backpack, "No fighting. No biting, and no,"

"Crying." The boys finished in unison. Sam only nodded and patted them on their heads. After they left the room, Sam fixed himself a cup of coffee and headed to the man. "I apologize my nephews. They kind of just speak their minds whenever they want."

The man nodded silently. His eyes trailed over the tools littering the floor with the car - the hammer, the wrench, the pliers. His head nodded to them, "You fix toys?"

Sam shook his head, "Not usually, but I made that thing for the boys, and it doesn't work." He pointed to the engine. "I tried everything that I can think of, but nothing seems to be able to work. And my nephews are getting restless just spending their evenings on homework," he joked, trying to make light of the situation. The man smiled wryly and Sam wondered what had caused such a sour expression. "What makes it tick?" The man asked.

"The engine's busted. Doesn't turn on."

He hummed, then, he stood from the stool. "May I?" He asked, picking up a tool.

Sam was his opportunity. "I usually don't let people touch my tools unless I get their name." The man raised his eyebrows as he began to unscrew the panel covering the engine compartment, revealing the wiring beneath. "It's James," he began, a sly smile playing upon his lips, "But, everyone calls me Bucky." Sam watched as the man slid his fingers inside the wires - his interest peaked by the minute.

"I'm Sam."

Bucky looked up. "It's nice to meet you, Sam." He said sincerely, his voice echoing throughout the cafe. Once the last of the wires was removed, Bucky settled to the floor. His dark blue eyes met Sam's brown ones. "You can ask me."

He had read Sam's face; and saw that he wanted to know more about this stranger who blew into the cafe and started fixing the engine on a fake car. Sam nodded and leaned against the counter. "It's not often we get newcomers. Are you new in town or just passing through?" He asked, curious but cautious nonetheless. He was known to pry too much too soon. So, he kept his distance and just tried to make small talk.

"Not sure yet."

Sam watched as Bucky worked, his deft fingers maneuvering through the tangled wires with ease. It was clear that Bucky had experience with mechanical work, his movements precise and confident. The rain continued to beat against the windows, a constant rhythm that seemed to match the methodical movements of Bucky’s hands.

"You're good at this," Sam remarked, unable to hide his curiosity. Bucky glanced up, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Spent a lot of time fixing things," he said simply, returning his attention to the engine. Sam studied the man closely; his gaze trailing along Bucky’s body, examining every curve, every freckle. Even though it wasn’t obvious from where he was seated, Sam could tell that Bucky was built like a brick house. Strong, sturdy arms, strong thighs, strong calves… Sam’s eyes lingered longer on Bucky’s waist. A little more defined abs than Sam was used to seeing.

Bucky noticed Sam watching him and cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling Sam from his thoughts. He coughed and sat forward on the stool he was perched upon, placing his hands on the countertop in front of him, "Your wiring was wrong. Common mistake."

"Thanks," Sam stated. "Think it will drive now?"

Bucky shrugged, "Maybe, if you get a new battery too. Dead ones don't make the car go."

Sam raised his eyebrows and grabbed his coffee mug. The coffee ran cold by now. Time seemed to speed by when he watched Bucky work. "Pas besoin d'être un connard." Sam whispered to himself softly. His gaze flickered over Bucky once again, who was chuckling into his cup.

"No need to be an asshole."

"French?" He asked, raising one brow. "Je ne voulais pas te contrarier. Pardonne-moi."

"I didn't want to upset you. Please forgive me."

Sam snorted quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You're forgiven." He lifted the mug and placed it on the counter with more force than necessary. "So, what brought you to Delacroix, Bucky?" His name tasted like honey in his mouth.

"I couldn't spend another night in the truck, so I decided to stretch my legs, and then, the storm caught me." His words were soft, barely audible as a slight shiver racked his entire being. "Not to mention, I saw the help wanted sign outside the shop," He cleared his throat, "I'm terrible at coffee, but I'm good with my hands."

Sam glanced down at them, which was covered by dark leather gloves. Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah," His tone was soft, "I noticed. I mean. it would be nice to have some help. I have a lot of projects back there that need to be finished," He leaned on the corner, "But, I still need to give you the interview. Can't just have anyone in my shop."

Bucky nodded, but Sam could see his mind was elsewhere with that statement. Sam was known for prying more than he should, offending people where he shouldn't, and he enjoyed it for the most part. He liked to watch people tick and wanted to know how to make them do so, but his mind had already decided that Bucky would not be one of those people - if he could help it. He started easy.

"Where are you from?" A simple question that made Bucky's face twitch. "Originally from Brooklyn. Moved around a lot." His eyes flickered towards him as if he were searching Sam's. "La maison est partout si vous la cherchez. My mother's saying."

"Home is everywhere if you are looking for it."

"Well, have you found it?" Sam whispered like a secret between them was about to be shared. Bucky matched his energy, "Not yet, but I'm not looking for it." Sam hummed as he thought.

"How soon can you start?" The sentence floated between the both of them, as they exchanged glances for several seconds before Sam pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. Bucky smiled, showing his perfect teeth, and Sam swallowed - taking note that the man before him had no flaws.

"Tomorrow would be great."

"Good," Sam muttered. "We need a new face around here," His eyes flitted up to meet the man, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Then, he glanced over at the shop's window, realizing the rain had stopped. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, then stood from the counter. "I have to get the boys over to my sister's place. I can show you around," Sam offered, "If you're up for it."

Bucky smiled softly. "That sounds like fun." The grin on his lips grew wider, "Lead the way." Sam walked to the wall opposite of them and let his knuckles rap the wood in four hard taps. Suddenly, a door from upstairs came bursting open with the patterns of small footsteps following. His nephews were down the stairs, huffing and puffing.

"Who's ready to see Ma?" He grinned, his nephews answering in unison with enthusiastic yeses.

With a laugh, he stepped aside. "This is Bucky. He’ll be helping me with repairs for now. So, you have to treat him nice, alright?" The two children nodded solemnly as Bucky stood awkwardly next to their bubbling energy. It almost reminded him of his sister back home. His heart ached for a moment before he was pulled back into the moment by Sam speaking to him, "Are you ready to meet Delacroix?"

Bucky nodded. "Of course." He followed him as Sam opened the front door. The streets glistened under the soft glow of the streetlamps, their reflection in the puddles creating a mirror image of the world above.

The air was cool and fresh, with a crispness that only a day-long rain could bring. Bucky pulled his jacket tighter around him, feeling the gentle embrace of the damp, clean air. He looked around, taking in the quaint charm of the town. The buildings were a mix of old and new, their brick and wood facades adorned with ivy and flower boxes that overflowed with vibrant blooms, glistening with raindrops.

Bucky felt a sense of ease washing over him. Sam turned to Bucky with a smile. "Thanks for walking with us. It's nice to have some company."

Bucky nodded, appreciating the kindness. "Thanks for the tea and grilled cheese. It was just what I needed." Sam chuckled. "Anytime. And about that job—we'll talk more tomorrow. Get settled in tonight."

Bucky nodded again, feeling a sense of anticipation for the days ahead. "Sounds good."

The evening was calm, the air fresh after the rain. Sam looked at Bucky, seeing a potential friend and ally. "You know, this place could use someone like you. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for here."

Bucky met his gaze, a small smile forming on his lips. "I hope so, Sam. I really do." They shared smiles. Sam could almost feel something else lingering underneath the surface of the smile that rested on Bucky's features, but it wasn't exactly clear. He looked back towards, noticing the lights flickering slightly against the raindrops. Somewhere in the air, Sam swore he could feel it that day, there was hope of something beautiful blooming.

#bucky x sam #marvel #black literature #mcu #samwilson #bucky barnes #gay #meetcute #au #alternate universe #samanbucky #sam and bucky

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honeeysagee · 3 months

Text

I love you in every universe

Warning: None

Every timeline and every universe I’ve been to I always see him with someone else.

The harsh reality of wanting to be with someone that doesn’t feel the same about you.

That’s in every universe.

I have I tried to figure out what happened to me?

Yes.

Injury after injury, death after death. I can’t stop it and I can’t change it because if I do the timeline is fucked. And I can’t have that happen.

I watched from a distant where I could be seen, waiting for my moment it has to be right in this one it just has to be.

They sat together at a café in New York, laughter and conversation flowing effortlessly between them.

I watched from across the street, my eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

In every universe, it’s the same: Thor is always with someone else, happy and oblivious to my silent vigil.

I’ve lost count of how many timelines I’ve traversed, each one a cruel reminder of my unrequited love.

Every time I try to change my fate, to find a version where Thor feels the same for me, the universe retaliates with unimaginable force.

Injury after injury, death after death—my body and soul bear the scars of countless attempts to alter destiny.

But I can’t stop. I can’t change it. The timeline is delicate, and any interference could cause irreparable damage.

The weight of that responsibility crushes me, a constant reminder that my own happiness must be sacrificed for the greater good.

Yet, in this universe, I feel a glimmer of hope. I’ve studied the patterns, the events, the crucial moments.

I know where to be and when. I know what needs to be done to finally alter the course of my own destiny without unraveling the fabric of time.

As I stand there, waiting for my moment, my heart aches with the memories of all the lives I’ve lived and lost. In one timeline, I died saving him.

In another, I was forced to watch as he loved another.

Each death, each heartbreak, a testament to the futility of my longing.

Today, they sit together, their joy a stark contrast to my despair.

Thor’s laughter rings out, a sound I once believed could be my salvation.

Now, it is a reminder of the unattainable, of the love that will never be mine.

I step forward, my presence finally noticed.

Thor’s eyes meet mine across the busy street, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

He stands, his expression a mix of confusion and something I can’t quite decipher.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding with the weight of this moment.

“Y/N?” he calls out, his voice a beacon in the chaos of my existence.

I nod, tears blurring my vision.

“Thor, I—” My voice breaks, the words I’ve rehearsed in a thousand lifetimes failing me.

He takes a step toward me, leaving his companion behind. In this moment, all the pain, all the suffering, all the endless loops of time seem to converge.

This is my chance, my one last hope to make him understand.

“Thor, in every universe, I’ve loved you,” I say, my voice trembling with the weight of countless lifetimes.

“But in every universe, you’re with someone else. I’ve tried to change it, but I can’t. The timeline—”

His eyes soften with an emotion I’ve longed to see directed at me.

“Y/N, I don’t understand…”

“I know you don’t,” I whisper, my heart breaking anew.

“But I had to try. I had to tell you.”

He reaches for me, but the universe has other plans.

Time ripples, a cruel reminder of the consequences of my actions. The café, the street, Thor—all of it starts to blur, pulling away from me.

“No!” I cry out, reaching for him. But it’s too late.

The timeline corrects itself, and I’m ripped away from the moment, thrust back into the void of endless possibility and regret.

As I fall through the spaces between universes, my heart shatters anew.

In every timeline, every universe, I will always love him.

And in every one, he will never be mine.

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honeeysagee · 4 months

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this means goodbye pt.2

★5,008 words★ summary: Bucky has to go, and Sam lets him, which cause them both to question whether their love deserves to be fought for. ★★★

The first time Sam Wilson saw him again he had prayed that morning - actually got down on his knees and prayed for a sign that he was moving in the right direction. And when his prayers seemed to dissolve into the ether, leaving him with nothing but the echo of his loneliness, he rose, wiping away the remnants of his plea, and faced the day with a heaviness that clung to him like a shadow. His knees weak with uncertainty as he moved throughout his day and life, craving. He still had this hunger that could not be fed.

He knew it was there but couldn’t identify what it was. It ate at the inside of him. In his mind, he imagined it to be the hunger of yearning. A hunger born from his inability to have something and call it home again. The need to feel something close to his heart and hear it again, even if it was just in words. To touch again, and taste another flavor. So, Sam decided to walk the streets of New York. He would look in store windows for inspiration and hope that one of them might give it to him. But when his feet found themselves in the doorways and window displays of the stores in Manhattan, he felt no inspiration. Just emptiness. And maybe a little bit of fear because he didn’t know how long it would take him to find some kind of fulfillment again.

For the last two years, he was a husk of himself. A shell. It was as though someone had sucked out all his emotion and left nothing but a hollowed vessel behind. He felt empty, broken, and useless. That was when the hunger set in. He craved something real and substantial to hold onto, and he wanted to feel that again.

He sighed as he settled into a cafe just north of his apartment. The sun hung low in the sky and the breeze carried with it fresh scents of coffee and baking bread. Sam closed his eyes as the cool air brushed his face, and breathed deeply. Something was calming here. The smells were rich, enticing, and familiar.

Then, and only then, he heard it.

A laugh.

A loud, throaty laugh. Like laughter that is forced through too much tension and has lost its sense of humor. Sam knows who it belongs to. He was once the person - the only person - to bring it out of him. It was a rare occurrence for Bucky to truly laugh, especially around other people. He was always so stoic - cold and distant - but Sam knew him better than most.

Sometimes, Sam had caught him laughing - sometimes, Sam could make him smile. Sam was the only person who had ever made him really laugh. Not just a small chuckle, but actual full-out laughter. Sam remembered it well, he’d never forget it.

Bucky's back was towards Sam, but he was sure it was him. He could recognize Bucky anywhere, especially after these many years. The way he walked, held his body and spoke. This was Bucky Barnes, and he was in the cafe, laughing freely with a woman at a table near the window.

His smile was wide and genuine - his cheeks slightly pink from the heat of the day, his eyes crinkled in laughter. Sam had seen this expression a thousand times before but, now it was different. Different than the usual frown, the downturn of his lips, or the tight line across his forehead that was always there, even in a smiling situation. His laugh was light and free. As though there wasn’t anything in the world to worry about.

Sam couldn't stop staring. He didn't want to. It was the first glance he had of Bucky since that night in New Orleans. Seeing him was like finding a piece of himself that he misplaced. He hadn't been looking for it, but its absence was noticeable. Sam wondered how Buck could smile so easily - wasn't the world caving in on him too? Wasn't it harder to get out of bed? Didn't he, too, reach for emptiness and sigh when that's all he received? Didn't all his emotions writhe within him and a hunger he couldn't feed replace them?

The more Sam watched Bucky's body light up with joy, the more he grew envious. He grew angry. Envied how much this mystery woman was baking Bucky smiled and laughed. Angry because he hadn't so many months trying to figure out how to be better - if that was possible - so Bucky would choose him for once. Envied the man he was before Bucky left. Angry that he had to change to so much.

But beneath the anger, beneath the envy, there was something else—a longing so profound it threatened to consume him whole. A longing for something he couldn't name, couldn't quantify, couldn't even begin to understand.

Sam couldn't take it anymore. His feet were already moving him through the cafe. Through the tables, chairs, and people between him and everything he thought he didn't want anymore. Towards Bucky, who was so far away now and so completely unaware of his approach. Sam took another step. Another. Then another. Two more. One.

One step from him and Bucky. Just one, but he couldn't move. Couldn't bring himself to confront him. What would he say? 'You took my heart. I want it back’? His mouth went dry at the thought of speaking to him. His tongue felt heavy as a rock and he feared he might just lose it. His palms grew sweaty and slick. Sam felt sick at the pit of his stomach as if he was about to throw up. He squeezed his fists. Squeezed. Until the skin turned white with pressure.

The laughter bubbled around him, filling the air with a sense of warmth and camaraderie that felt like a cruel mockery of his own shattered existence. Sam's chest tightened with each peal of laughter, each joyful sound a reminder of everything he had lost, everything he had been unable to hold onto.

He tried to breathe, tried to force air into his lungs, but it felt like he was suffocating like the walls were closing in around him, trapping him in a prison of his own making. Panic surged through him, a tidal wave of fear and desperation that threatened to consume him whole.

He staggered backward, his heart pounding in his chest, his vision swimming with black spots. The café spun around him, a dizzying blur of colors and shapes that seemed to warp and distort with each passing moment.

And then, without warning, he was stumbling towards the door, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. He could feel the eyes of the other patrons on him, could hear their murmurs of concern, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he could think about was escaping, escaping the suffocating weight of his own despair, escaping the laughter that echoed in his ears like a cruel taunt.

And so, he fled.

In his wake, Bucky caught a glimpse of a familiar, brown-stained leather jacket. He waited for it again. Waited for those dark lashes and those beautiful brown eyes. He didn't get the chance to.

★★

The second time Sam Wilson saw Bucky Barnes was in his own home and in his own front yard.

Winter had settled in. He had spent the past three days trapped in his Brooklyn flat, trying desperately to make sense of his life. Trying to see how this new reality - the reality where he was the one everyone depended on now, had a team to care for as well as a family, and he was finally someone he could be proud of - worked for him. He had done so much of the work for the cause, but Brooklyn wasn't home. His sisters and his nephews were.

So, he packed a couple of bags and headed home for the winter. He would spend his days caring for them and his nights working to make his place homely. He would cook and clean play games and read stories until he fell asleep under the comforting blankets of his warm bed, and he didn't miss anyone. He missed nothing and no one.

That morning, Sam made breakfast for Sarah and the boys. He and his sister swapped childhood stories while the boys ate and listened. This was slowly becoming one of Sam's favorite pastimes. He liked seeing the happiness on his sister's face when he recounted stories to his nephews - the things that brought a tiny, content smile to their faces. And, for a short time, he forgot what had happened. Forgot about the screaming that night. Forgot that he had to run to Brooklyn because the silence afterward was killing him.

Yet, he was better now. He was.

A car horn blared from outside.

Sarah stopped mid-story; her gaze drawn towards the kitchen window. She looked out in surprise and then suddenly at Sam. He looked back at her questioningly. AJ and Cass raced to the window to see it was the one person they'd been waiting in silence for Uncle Bucky. They raced to the front door, each boy trying to be the first one to reach him.

Sarah stood.

Sam stayed in his seat - he looked straight ahead like he was being interrogated. He didn't look at her; he stared at his cup of coffee. He didn't know what to say. His hands were pressed tightly together, knuckles turning white. He swallowed the hunger down.

"I'll go talk to him. Just stay here, okay?" Sarah pleaded because she knew, deep down, that her brother was hurting. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, tell him everything was going to be fine, and that he shouldn't beat himself up over losing someone. But she couldn't do that. That wouldn't help. She knew Sam needed to do this at his own pace.

Bucky stood in the yard, hopeful.

Sam watched from the safety of the kitchen as Sarah stepped out to greet Bucky, her silhouette framed against the winter light streaming in through the window. He could feel the weight of her concern, her unspoken worry for him, hanging heavy in the air like a shroud.

As they exchanged words, their voices muffled by the distance between them, Sam felt a pang of guilt tug at his heart. He knew he should be out there too, facing Bucky head-on, confronting the ghosts of their shared past. But the thought of it made his stomach churn with unease, his mind clouded with uncertainty.

He wanted to be strong, to show Bucky that he had moved on, that he was okay without him. But deep down, beneath the facade of composure, he tried so desperately to maintain, Sam was anything but okay. He was drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions—regret, longing, and an overwhelming sense of loss that threatened to consume him whole.

And as he sat there, alone with his thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder if Bucky felt the same. If he, too, wrestled with the demons of their past, haunted by memories of a time when they were more than just strangers passing in the night.

But before Sam could dwell on it any longer, Sarah returned, her expression a mix of concern and compassion. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

"He wrote you something," she said softly, her voice tinged with understanding. "He said it explained everything."

Sam nodded, his resolve wavering but not broken. With a steadying breath, he pushed himself up from the table, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his uncertainty. As he made his way to the door, he couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter would change everything—that the second time he saw Bucky Barnes would be the beginning of something new, something uncertain, but perhaps, something beautiful in its own right.

Sam hesitated before opening the door, his fingers trembling as he gripped the knob. As he lifted his arm and twisted the handle, a rush of adrenaline filled his body. It was almost too much. Almost all too much, especially since he hadn't seen him since…since he had left that morning.

It felt like years ago.

It was.

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me."

Those were the first words that came out of Bucky's mouth after Sam had stood completely still in front of him and made sure he wasn't looking at him but through. His words sounded hoarse to Sam's ears. Something desperate, broken, and full of regret. Like the pain that lay behind it. And for some reason, it stung even more to hear it coming from the man who caused it.

"I don't."

A small envelope rested between the two of them. Bucky's hand was outstretched, bridging the gap of years between them, but Sam wasn't moving. Bucky wasn't giving up.

His eyes darted to the paper in his grip, scanning it quickly before returning his attention to Sam, a hint of a frown wrinkling his brow. He dropped his hand and tucked it into his pocket, his expression twisting with sadness. His lips pursed slowly, and his shoulders tensed like they were preparing to snap. Confusion flashed behind his blue eyes.

"Sammie, I want to apolo-"

"I can't take personal documents from people like you without a government witness present." Sam was formal - his persona working overtime while he was cracking behind it. His voice held none of its usual warmth, and he was careful to keep his expression blank.

"People like me?" Bucky asked, taken back but the sudden use of formalities. This wasn't his Sam. He was too guarded now. Too closed off. Too distant. Not Sam at all. He didn't nod or try to correct himself, but instead, he continued looking out. Bucky swallowed his pride and nodded finally.

"I'll see you around then."

"You won't," Sam answered simply. Then, before another word could simply between and fix this mess they made, Sam slammed the door.

★★★

The third Sam Wilson saw Bucky Barnes was the evening he decided to put on his best suit. The blue silk shirt fit perfectly across his broad chest and tailored trousers hugged his hips and ass with enough grace to make anybody swoon. The cuffs of his sleeves reached well above his wrists. A pair of dark, fitted sunglasses completed the picture. Even without his hair gelled to perfection, even though his face was clean-shaven, and his skin freshly washed. He was the image of perfection.

Everything from his shoes to his posture to his smile screamed power and authority. It seemed ridiculous to Sam, considering how he'd spent his life running away from that image, but he supposed he was used to the fact by now.

The Hero's Gala had invited him, and he was expected to attend as an honored guest. So naturally he had agreed - even spent all night and morning writing a speech he wasn't sure of. He imagined Steve in his place, and when that familiar voice in his mind told him it wasn't enough, he called it a night and got dressed.

By the time Sam had arrived, the hall was filled with hundreds of people mingling and talking. He had hoped the noise would drown out the sound of his heart drumming against his rib cage. After a quick hello with a few of his acquaintances and an apology to a few other guests he had been avoiding, he made his way to Carol Danvers - his second in command when it came to in-field battles.

"You look pretty, Cap," She whispered to her glass as she raised it to her lips. That brought a chuckle out of him. Nice and warm.

"You don't look bad yourself, Danvers." Carol smiled brightly at him, her blue orbs softening, a small smile playing on her lips. Sam was happy with himself for not breaking eye contact with her, the tension between them long gone and replaced by mere familiarity. Friends.

The evening was beginning to pass by quicker than he would like. The count was slowly winding down, and New Year was coming closer by the second. He was about to excuse himself, to excuse himself and leave as fast as he could when he spotted him. Bucky. In a corner booth, hunched in a shadow, the man in question staring down at his drink and seemingly lost in thought.

He wore a completely black suit. His clothes were sleek and elegant. His hair was styled up, falling in neat waves over his forehead. His jawline was sharp, his cheeks smooth, and his cheekbones defined by the subtle curve of his lips. His eyes were a brilliant shade of green, and the corners were crinkled in an attempt to conceal the pain that had settled into his features. Sam found himself taking a tentative step forward.

Sam, however, found himself and walked to the door. He whispered suddenly, 'Come to me' and 'Come home' in his mind. In a far, far corner of it. Even if there was a moment where Bucky could hear him, Sam was sure he wouldn't come. Not after he offended him.

The light of New York and the cold air rushed to Sam. He breathed deeply, allowing the fresh scent of crisp winter air and snow to fill his lungs. The balcony was quiet beside the sudden hum of music that was happening on the inside. He let go of a breath and inhaled it back in deeply.

He didn't even hear the door open behind him.

"It's nice to see you again, Sammie." Bucky's voice was quiet yet firm, carrying some trace of its former sweetness and gentleness. Sam's whispered yearns had paid off, but to what extent?

He was unsure.

Sam turned around to face him; his arms crossed as he looked Bucky straight in the eyes. He didn't know why his body betrayed him by reacting in such an unfriendly manner; he knew it was irrational, but he couldn't stop it. It felt as if a fire burned deep within his chest.

"It's Captain, now," Sam was more than elated to say that. "Is it still James?" The name tasted like ashes in his mouth, but somehow, Sam knew that if he let them linger for too long, he wouldn't be able to say it anymore.

Bucky nodded. "You've never called me that before," he whispered, his eyes never leaving Sam's. There was an unspoken plea there, begging for forgiveness, begging for understanding, begging for friendship. For all of that, Sam gave nothing. I shouldn't have to, he thought.

"How's the Lightening Squad or whatever you call yourselves?" Sam questioned, turning his gaze from Bucky to the lights of the city. They were a vibrant red, their colors shining so beautifully beneath the night sky.

Bucky shrugged lightly, following Sam's gaze. They both knew that Sam knew who the Thunderbolts were. They had caused enough trouble between the two of them. It's hard to figure out a name like that.

"Thunderbolts, and we're good." He grinned softly.

"That's great," Sam said with forced enthusiasm. He could feel the disappointment seeping into his tone. Bucky didn't seem to notice it, though, because he was busy taking in his surroundings once again. Sam could tell. His fingers wrapped tightly around his glass, his knuckles white, his breathing shallow. His lips parted slightly, revealing pearly whites that shone in the bright lights of the city. Sam seemed just as affected by it as he was by everything else. "It's uh-" Buck hesitated for a moment, "-Nice out tonight, isn't it?"

It was.

But Sam seemed distracted. "Cap…"

Finally, Sam smiled and nodded towards the city before him, "I sold the apartment here," His eyes twinkled from something unsaid yet, "And I moved back home."

He waited for Bucky to say something, anything, but the only sound he heard was his own calm breathing. Bucky nodded slightly, his eyes glazed with a sort of wonderment that Sam hadn't seen on his face since he first met him.

There were a million things Sam wanted to say, to ask. His mind buzzed with unspoken words, with the longing he felt deep down but couldn't voice. The tension between them hung heavy in the cold night air, each of them waiting for the other to break the silence, to bridge the chasm that had grown between them.

"You should told me," Bucky joked, but there was truth in there, "I would have come and helped you move boxes, Old Man."

Sam's jaw tightened. "You weren't exactly around to tell," he replied, a bitter edge to his words. "James."

He hated himself for saying it, hated the way that name rolled off his tongue so easily, so seamlessly. He tried to swallow the lump of bitterness forming in his throat. But it remained. And it kept growing, pushing its way past his teeth, past the tightness in his chest, and making the edges of his vision blur.

The silence was tense.

Bucky leaned his back against the railing and pushed his hands in the suit's pockets - he wouldn't control his hands if they found their way to his. If his body somehow winds up on his and pleads with Sam to take him and take him back. Nor could he stop himself if Sam planted a rejection to his ears, and his body decided to swan dive over the balcony. So, he placed his hands in his pockets.

"You know, I didn't know have to face you," Bucky confessed. "I wasn't - I'm not the same person."

Sam's eyes softened slightly, the anger within him dimming. "You didn't have to face me," he said quietly. "You just had to be there."

Silence hung heavy in the air. Neither one of them dared to speak. They couldn't bring themselves to, no matter how much they wished they could. The cold wind blew harshly through their faces, bringing goosebumps to their arms. They both pulled their coats tighter over their shoulders and sighed in relief as they saw one another.

Bucky stepped closer, the tension between them electric. "I'm here now," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "And I want to be here, with you, if you'll let me."

Sam opened his mouth to answer but stopped short when a voice interrupted him, "Captain." He turned towards it and looked towards Carol, who was leaning out the door. Her eyes shifted between Sam and Bucky.

"Danvers," Sam gained her attention again. "You need something."

Her eyes widened a bit. "Right. Sorry," her eyes darted from Sam to the man standing beside him. "They're asking for you to come make the speech." Carol had a suggestive look on her face, and Sam knew if he could read minds she was making every dirty joke in the book. He ignored it.

"Or I can just improvise," Carol offered - her eyes matching the lights of the party, "So, you can… catch up." She smirked knowingly, nodding towards Bucky before she closed the door gently. Both men watched her disappear into the party. Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings that were threatening to consume him. The atmosphere was suddenly stifling and thick, and Sam couldn't stand to hold it any longer.

Sam leaned over the balcony, watching the city lights. He hated them. They blocked the view of the stars. Maybe, that's why he decided to move him. It had nothing to do with the possibility of running into Bucky Barnes

"I thought 3 years apart would be enough time. I thought I could just rip you from me," Sam was confessing, laying his cards on the table, "And I would somehow feel whole. Yet, we're still connected." He shook his head with a small smile. Something Bucky had never seen from him. His heart ached.

"Of course, we are." He added. "I ripped out so much of myself, and I'm left with nothing. This big. gaping hole and the only thing I can think to fill it with is more you. I don't want to."

Sam stopped and finally looked at Bucky. His Bucky. The one that was broken and bruised, but still beautiful. Bucky took a tentative step forward. Sam didn't stop him. "I'm sorry," Bucky's pleading expression was painful to watch. "You know that I am."

Sam felt his resolve crumbling, the walls he'd built around his heart beginning to fall. He took a deep breath, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He fought to keep himself steady. "I know." He managed. The pain that was evident in Bucky's features tore through his heart like knives, but he continued anyway. "I know, but I also know it's going to take me a while to just exist outside of you. I've been living my life always following behind. First, Steve, and now, you. I need to be alone right now."

He was struggling to even utter those last few sentences. "After you left three years ago and never came back, never utter a word, I felt like someone had just carved me open and left me there to bleed out. I don't want to feel that ever again. So, I need to protect myself first and figure out how to fix it. Fix me."

A torrent of emotions surged within him, a mixture of guilt, regret, and a deep, abiding sorrow for the pain he'd caused.

He felt his chest tighten as if an invisible hand was squeezing his heart, making it hard to breathe. Sam's words cut through him like a knife, each one a reminder of the times he'd turned away, the moments he'd let slip through his fingers. The memories of their friendship, the laughter, the camaraderie, all of it now tinged with a sense of loss and missed opportunities.

Bucky's mind raced, filled with the haunting image of Sam's eyes, once so full of life and determination, now clouded with a weariness that seemed to seep into his very soul. He could see the cracks in Sam's armor, the vulnerability that lay beneath the surface, and it tore at him to know that he was partly responsible for that.

A wave of self-loathing washed over him. How could he have been so blind? How could he have let things get this bad? The weight of his mistakes pressed down on him, almost suffocating in its intensity. But beneath the guilt, there was also a flicker of something else—a glimmer of hope. Sam had said it was going to take time, but he hadn't shut the door completely.

The tear that had escaped was soon joined by others, cascading down his face as he struggled to find the right words. His voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. "Sam… I'm so sorry," he choked out, his throat tight with emotion. "I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted this."

He took a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out as if to bridge the gap between them, to offer some form of comfort, but he hesitated, afraid that his touch might be unwelcome. Bucky's eyes searched Sam's, looking for any sign of forgiveness, any indication that his words were getting through. He could feel the desperation in his own heart, the burning need to mend what was broken, to heal the wounds he'd inflicted.

He felt exposed, raw, as if his soul had been laid bare. The vulnerability was terrifying, but it was also liberating. For the first time in a long while, he was letting go of the mask he'd worn for so long, allowing himself to feel, to truly connect. And in that moment, despite the pain and the uncertainty, there was a spark of something precious—a chance for redemption, for renewal.

He spoke again, "I'll wait," He promised. "Wait until you want me again. Wait until you think I fit back into your life, and we'll pick up right where we left off." He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts. "I'll wait for you. For us."

He waited for a beat. His heart dropped. And then it skipped a beat. And then a beat…

He exhaled slowly, staring into Sam's eyes, hoping for something - anything. A response. An acknowledgment. Anything to show that he wasn't alone. He wasn't giving up. He wasn't letting go of Sam. Not yet.

The countdown to midnight began in the distance, voices chanting in unison as the seconds ticked away. The final seconds of the countdown echoed around them, and as the clock struck midnight, the sky above erupted in a blaze of color. Fireworks lit up the night, their vibrant bursts painting the darkness with streaks of red, gold, and blue. The sounds of celebration from the party behind them faded into a distant murmur as both men turned their gazes upward, watching the spectacle unfold.

For a moment, they stood side by side, their differences and distances seeming to fade in the glow of the fireworks. Bucky had never been one for making wishes, but as he watched the sky light up with a kaleidoscope of colors, he found himself wishing for something with all his heart. He wished that Sam would come back to him, that they could find a way to heal together, even though Sam was standing right beside him.

As the final fireworks faded, leaving trails of smoke and the lingering scent of gunpowder in the air, Bucky smiled, "Happy New Year, Sam."

A hand was placed on Bucky's back. Sam was closing the distance with a warm embrace the both of them needed. A hug. They melted into it. Welcoming the feeling and neither wanting to pull away. This was the closeness they'd craved. Sam's hunger was nowhere to be seen.

"Happy New Year, Bucky."

#black literature #bucky x sam #samwilson #buckybarnes #angst #writer #black tumblr #marvel #mcu #female writers #writing #samwilsonangst

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honeeysagee · 5 months

Text

★this means goodbye★

summary: Bucky has to go, and Sam lets him, which cause them both to question whether their love deserves to be fought for.

The house was silent as day turned into night. Not a single breeze stirred through the trees, leaving the air heavy with stillness. The only interruption to the silence was the occasional hum of a passing car on the distant road. Sam, weary from a long weekend spent wrangling his nephews, relished this rare moment of quiet. The peaceful ambiance of the night wrapped around him like a comforting shroud. Nestled in the cocoon of his thoughts, he drifted into sleep, unaware of the impending storm that loomed on the horizon, not just in the skies above, but within the walls of his own home.

As the night advanced, a palpable tension brewed in the atmosphere, mirroring the darkening clouds that loomed ominously overhead. The distant growl of thunder echoed through the stillness, waiting to unleash its fury. Suddenly, a deafening crack shattered the silence, jolting Sam from his sleep with a start. The room was bathed in an ethereal glow as lightning streaked across the sky, casting stark shadows that danced wildly across the walls before fading.

Sam Wilson was not afraid of lightning or a little thunder, but he still shuddered under the quiet loneliness in the house. His eyes searched the room for a clock before it landed on his phone. It was only 2:34 A.M. Sam sank into the couch a little more.

Bucky wasn't due to arrive until tomorrow. Recently, he has found motivation to right his wrongs from when he was the Winter Soldier. He wanted to prove himself worthy to be Bucky Barnes again, someone to anyone. Sam let him go. He watched him walk away from the house almost every week with a backpack full of notebooks and a heart heavy, and there was nothing he could do. How could he stop him? This was Bucky's decision regardless of how much Sam was getting tired of watching him go and come back more and less like himself.

Raindrops began hitting the roof now with an increasing speed. Sam's gaze drifted from his phone to the ceiling, his heart sinking in tandem with the darkness that seemed to swallow him whole. The darkness seemed to stretch forever. It took all of his willpower to keep his eyes trained on the ceiling above him, thinking to himself, "One more night alone. Just one more." His mantra offered little comfort against the crushing silence.

Normally, something would always be there to distract Sam. Assignments had once been his salvation, a distraction from the emptiness that gnawed at his soul. But they'd grown scarce, and Sarah... well, Sarah prohibited him from working on the boat anymore this year. Now, he had nothing but the silence.

Thunder growled above, a fitting soundtrack for the storm brewing within him.

With a sigh, Sam pushed to his feet. His joints protested a painful reminder that he wasn't as spry as he used to be. All those years of letting AJ and Cass climb all over him were catching up. But how could he deny them? They adored their "Superhero Uncle," their giggles still ringing in his ears. He smiled to himself at the memory of them running through the house with the shield - their little hands slipping off the edges as they giggled excitedly about whatever new game they created with it. Their joy-filled voices carried throughout the house and into Sam's ear as he worked in the kitchen. Though sometimes, their tiny voices would quiver as they asked for Buck... and Sam's lies would feel like ash in his mouth.

He checked the locked doors twice and made sure the lights were off. Afterward, he climbed the stairs and stopped short of the top when he heard a thump. His eyebrows furrowed and his muscles tensed at the idea of someone breaking in. But there was no sound following the thud, so he relaxed for a second before walking back downstairs. The shield shined in the corner of his eye, but he didn't move toward it. Instead, he proceeded to walk around the house again until he stopped at the kitchen.

A figure lingered by the backdoor, their back turned to Sam. Yet in an instant, Sam knew. It was the set of those shoulders. Only one person carried himself with that quiet confidence... that quiet arrogance. Bucky. He was shuffling with something, muttering under his breath a frustration. His usual grace deserting him.

It had been a month since Sam had last seen him, and he had missed him truly, but something else was building in him now. It was hot with anger and cool with acceptance. He couldn't call this emotion, and he didn't want to. It was simply too big and too confusing for him to fully comprehend. But it was there nevertheless, simmering beneath the surface. It made Sam feel strange, and yet at peace.

Sam stepped towards Bucky quietly. He cleared his throat, causing Bucky to turn quickly. Sam took all of him in.

A month had passed. Bucky's hair was longer than Sam remembered. More wild and unruly. His eyes had lost the soft, warm gaze they once held, replaced instead by a hard, blue stare. The bags beneath his eyes grew darker, his skin paler than it had ever been. He wore a plain grey t-shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, the cuffs rolled up halfway down his forearms. He stared at Sam with an intensity that made his blood boil. The tension between them was thick enough that the two men felt it pressing in on them as they stood face to face, glaring at each other. Bucky broke the eye contact first. Sam spoke first.

"I didn't hear you come in." Sam wanted to say more, but these days he knew one wrong word would set them off on another argument. That's not what he wanted, and looking at Bucky, that's not what he needed.

"You were asleep. Didn't want to wake you." Bucky's voice was hoarse. A flash of concern shot through Sam. Something isn't right, he thought. Sam said nothing and continued staring at him. His mind wandered, remembering when he and Bucky had been inseparable, how Bucky always looked out for him, even if he didn't have to. Even now, Sam couldn't quite believe how far they'd gotten. How different they are now.

"That hasn't stopped you before," He chuckled, but it came across like he was masking a sharp pain cutting through him, "Hasn't it?"

Bucky finally turned around to Sam, and he could see what he was doing. In his right hand, he held a duffle bag and his truck keys. Sam watched as Bucky sat the back on the floor and stuffed the keys in his pocket. Lightening flashed through the house, illuminating his profile. It left his features harsh and angular. As Sam stared at him, he tried not to notice how Bucky's lips were thinned, his expression tense. He tried not to notice how Bucky's jaw clenched, how he balled his fist tightly.

"Things change, Sam," Bucky murmured, the words barely audible over the pounding of the rain. He let out a heavy sigh, his chest deflating as if he'd surrendered a part of himself. Slowly, he turned to face Sam, his gaze no longer a vacant stare. This time, there was finally an emotion behind those eyes. Sadness. It swirled in their depths, a stormy blue that mirrored the tempest raging outside. It was a grief so profound it seemed to pull Sam in, leaving him a shadow of the man he once knew.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the air crackling with unspoken words, with all the questions Sam had been too afraid to ask. Then Bucky's face shut down, his mask slipping back into place like a slap in the face.

"What else has changed, Buck?" Sam's tone was soft but forceful.

Bucky blinked twice and turned away, shaking his head. The movement was sharp, a silent admission of all that had been lost. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and laid it on the counter. The action was weighted, a tangible representation of the chasm that now divided them. The storm was closing in on them, the air thick with anticipation.

"I got offered to do something, and I'm taking it." The words were flat, devoid of the excitement that usually accompanied new opportunities. They hung in the air, a stark reminder that Bucky was truly moving on, leaving Sam behind. He wasn't going to run away or yell at him. Silence followed in its wake, but it wasn't long before a small nod escaped Sam, "That's it? Just something?"

"I was asked to join a team. Something the President is doing," Bucky admitted, "You know, protecting our freedom and all that." His answer sounded forced to Sam, and his face darkened.

"Right..." There was so much more to it, Sam knew that. "But, we're a team too. Why not just work with me? You know, like how we used to and all that?" Sam mocked Bucky's tone at the end. He wanted Bucky to smile and shrug like usual, but there was nothing. Nothing but a blank look and a distant, tired expression as his hand gripped the edge of the counter tighter.

“I can do some real good, save lives, fix my reputation as the Winter Soldier.” Bucky replied coldly, “If people see that I do good, then I will be good."

His words echoed in Sam's mind, reminding him that this was something he couldn't stop. Years and years ago, he feared this every moment. He pushed the feeling down and convinced himself that what he and Bucky had was more than just a temporary situation. That this "team" was more like love. Sam closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to breathe deeply. When he opened them again, Bucky was staring down at his feet.

For once, Sam did nothing. He waited patiently, allowing the silence to stretch on for far too long, each second a tiny knife twisting in his heart. Then, like all emotion he felt in this moment had left his body, he mumbled, "Fine," and turned to leave.

"Fine? What? No speech on how I don't have to" Bucky followed after Sam. His heavy footsteps mimic the thunder as they end up in the living room.

"James," The name felt foreign on Sam's tongue, "I've told you countless times that you need to do what's best for you. You need to heal in the ways you think will be best. If you feel like this is something you have to do, why would I try to stop it?"

“It’s not something I have to do, it’s something I want to do.” Bucky's voice was firm, but Sam could hear the faintest tremble beneath the surface.

Sam shook his head slowly, "There's a difference between wanting something and doing something to get it, Bucky. You should know that." His eyes locked with Bucky's, hoping that Bucky understood the point. That Bucky understood what he meant. He waited, watching as Bucky searched his eyes for any sign of hesitance. For any sign of doubt. There wasn't.

Bucky cocked his head, "Is there something you want to say to me?"

"When do you leave?" The question hung in the air. The room fell still again, save for the sound of rain pouring down onto the roof. Sam took a deep breath and laughed, "Tonight, huh? That's what you were doing when I walked up to you. Leaving?"

Bucky replied with a tone so soft it was almost comforting, "I thought it would be better if I didn't tell you."

The anger was boiling within Sam, threatening to erupt at any moment, and the only thing stopping him from letting loose was the knowledge that if he did, he would never forgive himself. Not for this.

So instead, he swallowed the burning desire inside him and said, "Yeah because thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere would be a lot better." He smiled, widenly, "Awesome, well, I just explained to our nephews that their Uncle Bucky won't be around as much anymore. He just left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye." Sam let out a mocking laugh. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Can you at least try to fight for me to stay? It would be nice to know the love of my life car-"

"Stop."

It was quick, and it was harsh, but it needed to be down. Buck's mouth froze open as his sentence died away. He looked at Sam and saw nothing but pure anger, directed straight at him. He could barely make out the outline of his form through the dim light streaming in from the window.

"Don't say that," He whispered, his voice cracking. "You came to me with your mind already made up. Hell, you were planning on just leaving without me knowing. Realistically, is there anything I could've said that would make you change your mind?"

Bucky opened his mouth, ready to give his response, but nothing came out. He had thought about it a million times since the day he left, but nothing ever seemed to come out right. Sam had a point; there was nothing he could say to make Buck want to put down the bag and crawl into bed with him, let his bones get familiar with him again. And truthfully, it was tempting. To lay next to Sam one more time, to listen to him talk until dawn breaks. But Sam wouldn't understand what he was going through. He'd say that they should just go back to being friends, that he would check up on him and the boys now and then, but it didn't seem right. Nothing did anymore.

The storm was above them now, pouring down on the house. It made anything else have an eerie hum and glow to it, but neither of them was caring about it now. The thunder was just a whisper to them as their hearts pounded against the frames of their chests.

“It doesn’t matter what I say at this point because, at the end of the day, it’s your choice," Sam's voice was laced with weary resignation as he stepped back from Bucky, trying to distance himself not just physically but emotionally from the hurt that this moment inflicted. "Even though this sounds less like a choice and more like a job because you keep saying it’s something you have to do.”

He paused, his gaze wandering through the dimly lit house. The shadows seemed deeper, each corner a repository for whispered memories and a shared past that now felt as if it were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The walls, once vibrant with laughter and warmth, now seemed to echo with a poignant silence, and everything was muted by a heavy veil of gloom.

Rain tapped insistently at the windows, a rhythm that seemed to synchronize with Sam’s growing sense of isolation. He looked back at Bucky, searching his face for the friend he once knew, for any sign of the man who had stood by his side through countless battles. But all he saw now was a stranger masked in familiar features, someone whose soul was packed away in that duffle bag, ready to walk out the door.

"Sammy, I'm sorry..."

Sam swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. The silence that settled between them was thick, charged with the unsaid words and unshed tears. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper against the howl of the wind outside.

"You know where I stand, Buck. You always have and will. I'm not going to force you to stay when you don't want to," He turned to open the front door. Bucky followed suit with his eyes straight ahead. "Maybe you need to figure this out on your own, and maybe I need to learn how to let go." A part of Sam was afraid that he'd start crying in front of him, but he pushed the feeling away. He had no right to cry over him. This was the price of loving someone.

Bucky flinched as if the words were physical blows. He looked like he wanted to argue, to fight for something that perhaps neither of them fully understood anymore. But instead, he just nodded, his jaw clenched against the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Yeah. Maybe," he whispered back, the weight of those words sinking like stones into the growing distance between them. "I'm doing what's right, you know."

"Who are you trying to convince: me or you?" Sam asked,

"See you around, Sam."

Sam watched Bucky turn away, his silhouette framed against the flickering light of the storm outside. The door closed.

Sam's knees felt weak, and he sank onto the couch, his eyes never leaving the door. His chest ached, a physical manifestation of the raw, tearing grief at having let go, not just of Bucky, but of a part of himself.

The storm outside raged on, uncaring and relentless, mirroring the storm within him. At this moment, Sam realized the depth of his isolation. The man he had trusted with his life, the friend he had shared his soul with, his love was gone—perhaps forever. And in his wake, he left a silence so profound that Sam wondered if he would ever find the sound something else enjoyable again.

The house, once a sanctuary of brotherhood and shared secrets, now felt like an empty stage after the lights had gone out, the audience long gone. Sam sat alone, the weight of finality settling around him like a shroud. In the deafening quiet that followed, all he could hear was the echo of a door closing, sealing away the past, leaving him adrift in a sea of unshed tears and unspoken regrets.

★★★

#angst #bucky x sam #sam x bucky #sam wilson #marvel #falcon #wintersoldier

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