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lix1nyu · 4 days ago

Note

Hi! 🤍

I was wondering if I could request 14- A Little Christmas Magic with Tony Stark x F!Reader?

I was thinking maybe Tony’s on a mission that was supposed to have him home by December. his fiancé/girlfriend/whatever just got notified that the mission has been extended by a few months and things are not looking good for him. Christmas Eve rolls around with little update on the Tony’s status and she’s can’t help but worry about him. But then surprise! he makes it home safe and sound for Christmas after all!

Feel free to use all or none of my idea. You’re the amazingly talented author not me 😜 thanks!

CHRISTMAS MAGIC

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY�� E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The living room smells of cinnamon and pine. The tree is already up in the corner, draped in twinkling lights and glittering ornaments, though the star at the top waits patiently in its box on the coffee table. You want Tony to put it up with you—one of the little traditions you’ve built together over the past couple of years. Your phone sits propped on the arm of the couch, playlist cycling through Christmas classics as you hum along, arms full of ribbon and paper. The gifts you’ve been quietly sneaking into the house are finally getting wrapped.

It’s one of those moments where the house feels just right. The kind of warmth and peace that makes you smile without realizing it. Outside the frosty windows, a light snow drifts down. You glance at the weather and wonder if Tony’s flight will come in on time. You’ve been anticipating his arrival like a kid waiting for Santa—counting down days, hours, and minutes until he’s back.

The sound of your phone buzzing pulls you out of the wrapping haze. Your heart leaps with the familiar tone of Tony’s incoming call, and you swipe to answer, eager to see him. The screen flickers, and there he is, a little grainy from the connection but still breathtakingly Tony. His trademark smirk softens when he sees you, and despite the distance, you feel a rush of warmth.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, his voice threaded with that weary edge you know too well. Missions take their toll, and this one’s been dragging for days already. Still, he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

"Tony!" you chirp, setting the half-wrapped present aside. "You have perfect timing. I was just about to start on your gift, but I guess the surprise would’ve been ruined."

He chuckles, a sound that makes your heart squeeze. "Caught you red-handed, huh? Maybe I planned it this way." His expression falters for just a second, a flicker of something you can’t quite place.

"You okay?" you ask, leaning closer to the screen. "You look tired."

"Yeah," he says, but there’s a weight to it. "About that… Look, I hate to do this—especially now—but the mission’s gotten a little more complicated. I’m going to be out here longer than I thought."

The words sink like stones in water. Your heart skips, then thuds painfully, and you feel the cheer of the room dim. "How much longer?" you ask, even though you can hear the answer coming in the hesitation on his face.

He looks away for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "I probably won’t make it back by Christmas."

You sit back, the weight of it pressing on your chest. Christmas without Tony. It’s unthinkable, but the reality of it is staring you down through the screen. "Oh," you manage, your voice quieter than you’d like. "I—I mean, I get it. You’ve got to save the world and all."

"Y/N…" He leans closer, like he wishes he could reach through the screen. "I’m sorry. I know how much Christmas means to you. I tried to wrap things up in time, but it’s just not happening."

"It’s okay," you say automatically, though the lump in your throat betrays you. You don’t want to make him feel worse than he already does, but the idea of spending Christmas alone sends a pang through you. "I know it’s not your fault."

His face softens in a way that makes it harder, not easier. "You sure? Because if there’s anything I can—"

"No," you cut him off, forcing a smile you don’t quite feel. "No, really. I’ll be fine. Just promise me you’ll stay safe, okay?"

"I promise," he says, his voice low and steady. "You’re too good to me, you know that?"

You laugh, though it comes out more brittle than you intended. "Someone’s got to keep you humble."

"Keep the tree warm for me," he says, and his smile is back, even if it’s tinged with regret. "I’ll make it up to you, I swear."

"You better," you tease, though your voice cracks slightly. "I expect something shiny under that tree when you do."

"It’s a deal," he says, and for a moment, you just look at each other, neither of you wanting to end the call. Finally, he sighs. "I should go. But I’ll check in when I can. Love you, Y/N."

"Love you too, Tony." The call ends, and the screen goes dark, leaving you staring at your own reflection in the glass.

The house feels too quiet now. The music still plays, but it doesn’t seem as cheery. You sit for a moment, the roll of wrapping paper abandoned beside you. The ache of missing him settles in, but you shake your head, trying to push it aside. It’s not like you didn’t know this was part of loving Tony Stark. He’s Iron Man, after all. Saving the world comes with the territory.

Still, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt.

You force yourself back to the task at hand, wrapping gifts with renewed determination. If Tony can’t be here, you’ll make the most of it anyway. You’ll put up the star, drink the eggnog, and watch the cheesy holiday movies you’d picked out for the two of you. He’d want you to enjoy it, even if he can’t be part of it.

The hours slip by, and the house fills with the quiet hum of your efforts. You finish wrapping the last gift, arrange them neatly under the tree, and light a candle that smells of peppermint. The ache in your chest lingers, but you try to focus on the little things, the things you can control.

Later, as you sit by the fire with a mug of cocoa, you let yourself daydream about what it’ll be like when Tony does come home. You picture him sweeping you up in one of his dramatic airport reunions, showering you with that over-the-top charm that only he can pull off. You’ll tell him how much you missed him, and he’ll tease you for being so sentimental, even though you know he missed you just as much. The thought brings a small smile to your lips.

The snow falls heavier outside, blanketing the world in white. You curl up under a blanket, watching the lights on the tree twinkle softly in the dim room. It’s not the Christmas you planned, but as you sit there, you remind yourself that loving Tony means taking the good with the bad. And no matter where he is, you know he’s thinking of you. That has to be enough—for now.

The week before Christmas is quieter than you expected it to be. The festive buzz around the city doesn’t reach you in the same way it usually does. The joy of decorating, baking, and planning feels hollow without Tony to share it with. You go through the motions, trying to keep yourself busy. Wrapping presents, watching Christmas movies, and even putting up the star on the tree—all of it feels muted. There’s no one to laugh with you when you drop half the sprinkles on the floor, or to playfully complain about the holiday music you insist on keeping on repeat.

You try not to let it get to you. Tony’s doing something important; you know that. You tell yourself that he wouldn’t be away unless it was absolutely necessary. But every time you see the empty space beside you on the couch or pass by the photo of the two of you laughing in front of last year’s Christmas tree, your chest tightens.

He calls when he can, though the timing is sporadic. It’s usually late at night when you’re bundled in pajamas, the house quiet around you. The grainy video calls are the highlight of your day, even if they’re brief. He always has that same soft smile when he sees you, the one that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

On one of those calls, a week before Christmas, you decide to bring it up. You’ve been holding onto the idea of sharing at least a small moment with him on Christmas. Even if he can’t be here, maybe a video call at midnight would be enough to close the distance.

"Hey," you say, trying to sound casual as you lean closer to the screen. "I was thinking… Since you can’t be back by Christmas, what if we video call at midnight? You know, to celebrate together in some way. It’s not the same, but… it’s something."

Tony’s face shifts, and the easy smile falters. There’s something guarded in his expression now, and you feel your stomach twist before he even says a word.

"Y/N," he starts, his tone careful, as if he’s trying to figure out how to soften the blow. "I was going to tell you… The mission’s entering a different phase. It’s more secure now—strictly off-grid. I won’t be able to call you anymore until it’s done."

The words hit like a punch to the chest. Your breath catches, and for a moment, you just stare at the screen, trying to process what he’s saying. No calls. No texts. No way to hear his voice or see his face for who knows how long.

"Not at all?" you ask, your voice small and unsteady.

He shakes his head, guilt etched into every line of his face. "Not at all. It’s protocol—classified stuff. I hate it as much as you do, believe me."

You bite your lip, fighting the tears that are already threatening to fall. "So, that’s it? You’re just… gone until whenever this mission’s done?"

"Y/N," he says softly, leaning closer to the screen as if he can somehow reach you. "I don’t want this any more than you do. If I could, I’d drop everything and come home right now. But I can’t. And I hate that I’m leaving you alone during Christmas—especially Christmas."

You want to tell him it’s okay, that you understand. But the words stick in your throat. It doesn’t feel okay. Not at all. Christmas is supposed to be about togetherness, warmth, and love. And now the one person you want to share it with is being pulled away even further.

"I know you have to do this," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "But it feels like… like everything is just slipping away this year. First, you’re not here, and now I can’t even talk to you? It’s—it’s a lot, Tony."

He looks down, his jaw tightening, and when he speaks again, his voice is heavy with regret. "I know. And I’m so sorry, Y/N. I wish I could make this easier for you—for us. But you have to know how much I love you, even if I can’t say it every day. That doesn’t change."

Your heart aches at his words. You know he means them, but it doesn’t stop the pain. Tears spill over despite your best efforts, and you quickly swipe at them, not wanting to break down completely in front of him. "I just miss you," you say, your voice cracking. "I miss you so much, and it’s hard knowing I won’t even have you for Christmas."

Tony’s face crumples, and for a moment, he looks as helpless as you feel. "I miss you too, more than I can put into words. And when I get back, I’m going to make this up to you, I swear."

"When?" you ask, though you know he doesn’t have an answer. The uncertainty stretches between you like a chasm.

"I don’t know," he admits quietly. "But as soon as I can. That’s a promise."

You nod, though it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s so much you want to say, but the words get caught somewhere between anger and sadness. Instead, you stare at him, memorizing every detail of his face—the way his eyes soften when they meet yours, the faint stubble on his jaw, the warmth in his gaze even now.

"I love you," you say finally, your voice trembling. "Even if it hurts right now."

"I love you too, Y/N," he says, his voice breaking just a little. "Always."

The call ends not long after, and as the screen goes dark, the silence of the house feels suffocating. You press your hand to your chest, trying to steady the ache that feels too big to contain.

Christmas is going to be harder than you imagined.

The house is quiet, almost too quiet for Christmas Eve. You sit curled up on the couch in your coziest pajamas, the flickering lights of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows around the room. A holiday movie plays in the background, but you haven’t been paying attention to it for the past hour. Your phone sits beside you on the coffee table, its screen dark, a constant reminder that there’s no call coming this time.

Your friends had called earlier, trying to coax you into joining them for a little Christmas Eve celebration. They’d promised laughter, food, and distraction from the heaviness that’s been weighing on you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go. The thought of smiling and pretending to be okay when your heart feels so heavy didn’t appeal to you.

Instead, you’d stayed home, trying to cling to the smallest fragments of holiday spirit. But it’s hard. The room feels too big, too empty without Tony. Midnight is only minutes away, and with every passing second, the ache in your chest deepens.

You glance at the clock—11:59. In one more minute, it’ll officially be Christmas, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like any other lonely night, only worse because it’s supposed to be magical. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket draped over you, and you take a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry.

The clock ticks over to 12:00. Christmas. You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip hard to keep the tears at bay.

Suddenly, a knock echoes through the quiet house.

Your heart leaps, then immediately sinks. You tell yourself not to get your hopes up. It’s probably a neighbor or someone who got the wrong house. Still, you stand, your steps hesitant as you move toward the door.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

"Coming," you call, though your voice is barely above a whisper.

You unlock the door and pull it open, and the breath rushes out of you.

"Tony," you whisper, staring at him in disbelief.

There he is, standing on your snowy doorstep, looking tired and a little disheveled but very much alive. His hair is tousled, his jacket dusted with snow, and there’s a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

"Surprise," he says, his voice warm and full of relief.

For a moment, you can’t move. You just stare at him, your mind racing to catch up with what your eyes are seeing. Then, before you can stop yourself, you throw your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you can.

"You’re here," you choke out, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "You’re actually here."

He wraps his arms around you just as tightly, burying his face in your hair. "I couldn’t stay away," he murmurs. "Not for Christmas. Not when I knew how much it meant to you."

Pulling back slightly, you look up at him, your eyes searching his face. "But the mission—you said you couldn’t call, and I thought—"

"I wrapped it up faster than expected," he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "I pulled a few strings, worked a little Stark magic. There was no way I was going to let you spend Christmas without me."

The tears you’ve been holding back all night finally spill over, but this time, they’re tears of relief. You laugh through them, shaking your head. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

"Oh, I have an idea," he says, his tone teasing but his eyes soft. "Because I missed you just as much."

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It’s warm and full of all the things neither of you can quite put into words.

When he pulls back, he glances past you at the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner. "Looks like I made it just in time," he says, his smile widening.

"You did," you say, wiping at your cheeks. "You really did."

He steps inside, kicking the snow off his boots, and you close the door behind him. The room feels different now, brighter and warmer, like the Christmas magic you’ve been waiting for all season has finally arrived.

As he shrugs off his coat, he reaches into the pocket and pulls out a small box, holding it out to you with a grin. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d make it up to you. Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

You laugh, taking the box and opening it to reveal a delicate necklace with a tiny, shimmering star charm. Your breath catches, and you look up at him, your heart full to bursting.

"It’s perfect," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, pulling you into another hug. "You’re perfect," he murmurs.

For the first time all season, it finally feels like Christmas. And as you sit together by the tree, your heart full and his hand warm in yours, you know this is a moment you’ll never forget.

You curl up against Tony on the couch, the warm glow of the fireplace illuminating the room as the faint crackle of logs fills the air. His arms are wrapped around you, holding you close like he never wants to let go. For the first time in weeks, your heart feels light, the ache of missing him replaced by the steady comfort of his presence.

But there’s a lingering curiosity in the back of your mind, one that’s been nagging at you ever since he showed up at your door. You lean your head back to look at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

"Okay, spill," you say, narrowing your eyes playfully. "How did you really get here? Last I checked, your mission was supposed to be classified and impossible to leave. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re here, but I know you, Tony. You don’t just pull strings. You rip them right out of the piano."

He chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath you as he shifts to meet your gaze. "You know me too well," he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Fine, you want the truth? It’s a little embarrassing, but here goes."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "I’m all ears, Stark."

He takes a deep breath, his lips twitching into a smirk. "So, the team I was working with… Let’s just say they weren’t exactly operating at peak efficiency. A lot of standing around, too much red tape, and way too much talking about doing things instead of actually doing them. After about three days of that, I hit my limit."

You bite back a laugh, imagining Tony’s frustration. "Let me guess—you took matters into your own hands?"

"Of course I did," he says, grinning now. "I’m Tony Stark. I’m not built for inefficiency. I started doing my own research, cross-referencing every bit of intel we had, building my own models, running simulations. And guess what? Turns out, when you stop waiting for a committee to make a decision, you can actually get things done."

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. "You solved it, didn’t you?"

"Five days," he says, holding up a hand like it’s a trophy. "Five days, and I had the bad guy’s location, his entire operation mapped out, and a strategy to take him down. I handed the team my findings on a silver platter and told them to execute it while I booked it home."

"Unbelievable," you say, your laughter mixing with genuine admiration. "You’re a genius, you know that?"

"Yeah, but it’s nice to hear it from you," he quips, pulling you closer. "Although I’ll admit, my motivation wasn’t exactly pure."

"Let me guess—me?" you say, teasing but already knowing the answer.

"Of course you," he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. "I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here, alone, on Christmas. I know how much this time of year means to you, and the idea of missing it… missing you… It wasn’t an option. I had to make it happen."

Your heart swells, and you lean up to kiss him, slow and lingering. His hand slides to your cheek, holding you there as the kiss deepens. The warmth of the fire blends with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself melting into him.

His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear that always sends shivers down your spine. His hand moves to your waist, fingers brushing against the edge of your shirt, and your breath catches.

"Tony," you murmur, your voice a mix of hesitation and longing.

"Hmm?" he replies against your skin, his voice low and teasing.

You pull back slightly, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. His eyes meet yours, darkened with desire but immediately softening when he notices the hesitation in your expression.

"Wait," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I want to give you your gift first."

He blinks, surprised, then sits back, tilting his head as he studies you. "My gift? I thought I already got it when you opened the door and let me in."

"Nice try," you say, laughing softly. "But no, this is something I’ve been working on for a while, and I’ve been dying to give it to you. Just… wait here, okay?"

He nods, his curiosity piqued. "You’ve got my full attention, sweetheart."

You climb off the couch and hurry to the bedroom, where you’d hidden the gift beneath a pile of blankets in the closet. It’s wrapped neatly in glossy red paper with a gold ribbon, and your heart races as you carry it back to the living room. This wasn’t just any gift; it was something you’d poured your heart into, something you hoped would show him how much he meant to you.

When you return, Tony’s eyes light up as he sees the package in your hands. He sits up straighter, reaching out as you hand it to him.

"Wow," he says, turning it over in his hands. "Fancy wrapping. Should I be worried about what’s inside?"

"Just open it," you say, settling back beside him and tucking your legs under you.

He tugs at the ribbon and carefully peels back the paper, revealing a sleek leather-bound book. He flips it open, his eyes scanning the pages, and you watch as his expression softens.

It’s a scrapbook, filled with photos, handwritten notes, and little mementos from your time together. There are snapshots of the two of you at galas, on lazy mornings in the kitchen, and on spontaneous road trips. You’d included ticket stubs from movies, pressed flowers from a trip to the countryside, and even a napkin with a doodle he’d once scribbled during a coffee date.

"Y/N," he says softly, his fingers brushing over a page where you’d written a heartfelt note about how much he meant to you. "This is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say."

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you shrug, trying to downplay the nerves bubbling inside you. "I just wanted you to have something that reminds you how much you’re loved. Especially when you’re off doing Iron Man things and we can’t talk. So, even if we’re apart, you’ll always have this."

He looks up at you, and the emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. "This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten," he says, his voice thick with sincerity. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

You smile, leaning against him as he pulls you into a hug. "I’m glad you like it," you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you.

"I love it," he says, his lips brushing against your temple. "And I love you."

"I love you too," you say, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

This time, the kiss is slow and sweet, a promise of everything you’ve shared and everything still to come. The fire crackles in the background, and the snow continues to fall outside, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other and the magic of Christmas.

#the queen has updated #tony stark x reader

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lix1nyu · 7 days ago

Text

The Future’s Overdue

Summary : A year after breaking up with Sam Wilson, he shows up at your doorstep.

Pairing : Cap!Sam Wilson x ex-avenger!reader (written with she/her in mind, but I don’t think there’s gendered language in this)

Warnings/tags : mentions of violence and trauma, cursing. Mild alcohol consumption. Angst with a happy ending.

Word count : 3.7K

Note : This fic was inspired by the song ‘Overcome’ by Nothing but Thieves. And of course the Brave New World trailer. That flight suit? Phew. When he sliced that truck in half?? Have mercy on me my god. I do have a couple of other requests for Sam but I have so many WIPs and series so please bear with me. Enjoy!

You first met Sam in Washington, when Steve realised Hydra was growing inside of S.H.I.E.L.D.

It was the day three helicarriers got shot out of the sky.

You and Sam were initially just two operatives thrown in the mission together by coincidence— and a little persuasion on Steve Rogers' part.

When the dust settled, you found a strange comfort in each other, a kind of trust that only comes from people who've survived the same battles together. It was a friendship— one you had with Steve and Nat, too.

But Sam was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was compassionate without being naive, funny without sacrificing his strength, and fiercely loyal without ever being overbearing. Everyone in your line of work fought with anger or a sense of duty— and Sam did, too. But he also fought with his heart, with a passion and a clarity of purpose that earned an incredible amount of admiration from you.

But it wasn’t until after Sokovia fell from the sky that you realised just how much he really meant to you.

The battle against Ultron had been brutal, a mission that left you questioning everything you’d come to believe.

You stood among the rubble, surrounded by your teammates, and yet you felt more alone than ever.

The realisation hit you: time was fleeting. You didn’t have forever, and you didn’t want to keep ignoring the one thing that had started to matter more than any mission you’d ever had.

So that night, you sought Sam out. The rest of the team had been decompressing, recovering, but you pulled Sam into a quiet spot away from the others, somewhere under the night sky, where the stars glimmered faintly against the smoke. You didn’t say much, just let the silence and the closeness speak for itself.

When he looked at you, something like affection flickered in his eyes, a hope that maybe he meant as much to you as you did to him. It was then that you closed the space between you and kissed him—gently, like he was made of glass.

In a way, he was. This life was fragile, and his was one you couldn’t bear to lose.

After that, you spent as much time together as you could manage. Between missions, you’d crave moments of normalcy. Walks in quiet parks, stolen weekend getaways, breakfasts cooked together in your shared apartment.

These small, simple moments began to feel like home, like the life you’d never thought you could have.

Then came the Sokovia accords.

When you and Sam sided with Steve, you didn't realise how everything could go so wrong.

Your world turned upside down again. You became a fugitive, a person without a country, constantly on the run, evading governments, ducking the scrutiny of former allies. Sam stayed by your side, fighting the same battle as you.

Despite the danger, despite the sacrifices, the exile only strengthened your relationship. He was your safe haven, the one person you trusted wholly.

One night, as you sat together in some safe house with peeling wallpaper and torn furniture, you dared to voice the thought you’d been carrying for so long.

"One day,” you said, almost hesitantly, “when we’re done running, when all of this is behind us… I want a real life, Sam. With you.”

He looked at you then, his smile one of equal parts sadness and hope. “Tell me more,” he murmured, smiling just a little.

“I want to marry you,” you confessed, voice trembling. “I want a house. Somewhere no one can find us. I want a family, Sam.”

For a moment, he was silent, his thumb brushing along the back of your hand. “One day. When the world stops chasing us,” He pulled you close, his words a quiet promise against your ear. “I’ll give you all of that.”

For the first time in a long time, the future felt like something worth looking forward to. It felt like something you could actually touch, something just out of reach but waiting for you.

His promise lingered: that once you were free, once you weren’t running anymore, you’d be able to build that life together.

But then came the Battle of Wakanda, and the life you had both fought so hard for vanished in an instant as you were both erased from existence, dusted away by Thanos’s snap. For five years, you were gone.

When you returned, everything had changed. The world was broken and scattered, When you looked at Sam, you saw it, too— the realisation that so much of everything was gone. How much of the world needed fixing.

And you knew your Sam. He would want to fix it.

You saw the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. You watched him take the shield, watched him step up in a way that was brave and selfless. Everything about this was so unmistakably Sam. Your Sam.

In that moment, you knew that the life you’d dreamed of, the one you’d whispered about in the dark, wasn’t possible— not when the world still needed him.

It broke you, knowing you had to leave, to walk away from the man you loved. But you both knew that your paths were diverging. You wanted peace, family, a quiet life that had no place in the shadow of Captain America’s legacy. And Sam, with Steve’s shield in his hands, couldn’t turn away from the fight.

It happened on a quiet evening, back in the small apartment you shared. The shadows were long, stretching across the worn wood floors, as the last light of the day reached through the windows.

Sam was sitting across from you, his hands folded on the table, and his face was set in an expression you’d come to recognize—the one he wore when he was carrying something too heavy to keep inside. You saw it in the slump of his shoulders, the way his usually loving gaze couldn’t quite meet yours. You reached out, caressing his arm.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Sam,” you said, voice wavering. “Are we okay?”

He looked up then, his eyes meeting yours, and the sorrow there was enough to make your chest tighten. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if… if I can give you the life you deserve.”

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until finally, you pulled your hand from his. “Then we have to let this go,” you said, voice cracking with finality. “I can’t keep waiting for a life that isn’t going to happen.”

The look in his eyes was almost unbearable—regret, pain, and love all tangled together, raw and unguarded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick.

“I’m sorry, too,” you replied, your vision blurred

The first tear drawn came from him. “I’ll always love you,” he said, his voice a quiet, broken promise.

You looked at him, feeling the truth of those words resonate in your lungs. You would always love him too, but love alone couldn’t bridge the gap between the lives you wanted. It was heartbreaking, knowing you’d finally found something so good, only to have it slip through your fingers.

You stood up, needing to move before you changed your mind, before you broke down completely. “Goodbye, Sam,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“Goodbye,” he murmured, holding back everything he couldn’t say. He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t reach for you as you turned and walked toward the door.

You both knew that if he did, you wouldn’t have the strength to walk away.

–

In the weeks after the breakup, you tried to convince yourself it would get easier, that the pain would fade. But the truth was, every day only sharpened the ache. It was clear that your lives were leading in opposite directions now, that Sam was destined for something larger than either of you had once imagined.

He had the shield, the responsibility, the weight of a legacy that he hadn’t chosen but that fit him as naturally as if it were always meant to be his.

And you? Well, after retiring, you finally had the quiet, the simplicity of a life you’d always craved, but it felt hollow without him.

You still loved him, of course.

That was the hardest part.

There was no switch to flip, no way to undo the love that had grown in the depths of your heart. And he loved you too— you knew that as surely as you knew that the sun would rise tomorrow, the kind of knowledge you felt deep in your bones.

But you both recognized that clinging to each other, seeing each other, would only deepen the hurt. So you made the hardest choice, cutting contact to give yourselves space to move forward, even if it felt like cutting out a piece of your heart.

You would go through your days thinking about Sam, feeling his absence as a phantom weight by your side. Sometimes, you’d catch yourself reaching for your phone, feeling the urge to share a thought, a joke, a memory— only to remember he was gone from your life now.

It was a loneliness harsher than any pain you’d felt before, and you've been shot at and stabbed multiple times. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too— if he missed you as much as you missed him.

Months went by, and the world kept turning, but you could never fully escape him. And then one day, you saw him on the screen. It was in the news, footage of Sam at the Smithsonian, standing before the shield as he laid it down, offering it back. You watched in stunned silence as he walked away from the legacy Steve had entrusted to him. He looked so different from the man you’d known—tired, torn, and full of questions only he could answer.

Still, you knew he’d only given up the shield, not the fight. There was still that fire in his eyes, that drive you knew he would never fully let go of. He was still your Sam, the man who couldn’t stop helping others even if it meant losing himself in the process.

Then came reports of his work with Bucky Barnes. You caught glimpses here and there: videos of Sam fighting, speeches to crowds, images of him standing strong and proud, still doing the work he believed in. Each clip, each mention of him in the newspapers you read was like reopening the wound, bittersweet in a way that only true love could be.

And then, one day, you saw him on the screen again—but this time, he was wearing the Captain America suit.

The shield sat on his back, the way it once had been with Steve.

His face was calm, resilient, and he carried himself with a confidence that you hadn’t seen in a long, long time. As he stood before a crowd, addressing the nation, his voice rang out strong and clear. He spoke of unity, of justice, of how much work still lay ahead.

There was something fiercely proud and unmoving in his stance, as if he had finally found a purpose that felt right, a cause he was willing to fight for as himself.

The people around you could hardly believe it.

But you did. You always did.

As you watched him speak to the world, you felt your heart swell with pride. He finally stepped into a role he was born for, embracing everything that came with it— the good and the bad. You felt a deep, overwhelming admiration for him— the same one you had felt all those years ago.

The man you love had found his calling. He had finally stepped into the legacy he’d once doubted. And though he was miles away, speaking to millions of people, it felt as if he was speaking to you. It felt as if he were telling you, Look, I made it. I found my place.

—

It had been over a year since you’d last seen Sam in person. But then, you heard a knock—a familiar rhythm, one you'd both come up with in those times of hiding, a signal you’d memorised to mean ‘it’s safe to open the door.’

Suddenly, all those buried memories resurfaced. You took a deep breath and walked up to the entrance, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

When you opened the door, he was there.

He stood tall, carrying an air of quiet confidence that you had missed.

“Hey,” he said softly, that deep warmth in his eyes settling on you like it always had. “I know you’re retired, but I… I need your help.” He hesitated, shifting his weight, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “This mission… there’s something I just can't figure out. Tactical consulting, just advice, you know.”

Your heart gave a painful thud, torn between the part of you that had finally let yourself step back and the part that had always been drawn to Sam’s gravity. There was something in his eyes, in the way he looked at you—was it hope? Regret?

“Come on in,” you said, your voice surprisingly steady.

Once inside, you cleared space at your kitchen island, pulling out blueprints and maps from him and laying them between you. The small counter seemed even smaller with Sam standing across from you, leaning close as he unfurled more documents. The scent of his cedar aftershave filled your home in a way that felt so heartbreakingly familiar. You poured the both of you a glass of wine.

It didn't take long for you to settle into the rhythm. Soon, you were bouncing ideas back and forth, memories and laughs slipping through the cracks as you strategized, just like old times. You caught yourself chewing on the back of your pen—an old habit that Sam had always found adorable—as you debated where each exit and entrance might be. When it came time to relay the guard rotation, Sam scrunched his nose in that familiar way that always meant he was uncertain. You couldn’t help but smile, reminded of countless memories just like this one.

As the hours passed, you felt yourself relaxing, dropping your guard bit by bit. You found yourselves laughing over old missions, sharing stories of close calls and narrow escapes. When Sam’s hand brushed yours as he reached for a pen, there was a tension there that you couldn’t ignore, something that had always been effortless between you.

Then, as he raised his glass for another sip, his gaze landed on the roses on your counter— a fresh vase of red roses, bold and out of place in your otherwise grounded kitchen. He paused, frowning slightly.

“Red roses?” he asked, glancing back at you, a surprised smile lifting his lips. “You don’t like them. You always preferred pink ones.”

You felt a small pang of sadness, realising that after all this time, he remembered that small detail, one that even you’d almost forgotten.

“I didn’t buy them,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. “A date brought them over. A couple of days ago.”

The words fell into the awkward silence between you. For a second, you saw the surprise flicker across his face. “You’re… dating again?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah, well…” You gave a light laugh, trying to brush it off, “had to fill the void you left somehow.”

It was meant to be a joke, but the words cut deeper than you’d meant it to.

He looked down, fingers trailing the edge of his glass, lost in a thought he wasn’t ready to voice.

You wanted to break the tension, you had to. “What about you?” you asked, forcing a smile. “I mean, look at you. You’ve got to be dating, Sam. Come on. You’re still the most handsome man I know.”

But he shook his head, his expression solemn. “No,” he said, his gaze fixed on the wine swirling in his glass. “I guess I just haven’t moved on.”

The words struck you like a lightning strike, filling the room with a tension neither of you could ignore. For a moment, the breaths you took felt too thick, too charged. You watched him, studying his face, seeing a quiet pain etched into his expression as he finally looked up to meet your eyes.

He broke the long silence, his voice low. “Is he… good to you?”

You let out a shaky breath. “He’s… he’s alright. We’ve only been on a couple of dates. It's not like we’re… exclusive or anything.” You paused, trying to find the words to explain. “He’s a nursery teacher. Sweet, good with kids.... But nothing serious.”

Sam nodded, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips. “Good with kids, huh?” his voice was filled with an ache that twisted in your chest. “Just like you always wanted.”

You felt a wave of frustration and sadness rise up. “Yeah,” you replied softly, almost to yourself, before you could stop. “But he’s not…”

The words caught in your throat, but Sam didn’t let you off easy. He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that took your breath away, “He’s not… what?”

“He’s not you, Sam,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could take them back. And you didn’t want to.

Something broke in him— relief, pain, and longing all at once. Without a word, he reached across the counter, his fingers finding yours. He walked around the kitchen island, sitting on the stool next to yours. His skin was warm as he closed the distance between you. His hand moved up, cupping your face as his eyes traced over you, like he was taking in every detail, every piece of who you were now.

You were still you. But you had grown without him. You had found your peace, just like you always wanted.

He leaned in, and his lips brushed yours in a trembling kiss.

The moment he felt you return it— the moment he felt the familiar force of your kiss, he deepened it. His hands slid into your hair, pulling you close, desperate to feel you, to make up for all the lost moments he had to go through without you.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

The kiss had left both of you shaken to your core.

Sam’s hands were still on your face, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks, making sure you were real, and that this wasn't just one of his dreams about you. He searched your eyes, looking for something to reassure him this was more than a moment of weakness.

“We can do this,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost frantic. He believed now, he needed to make you believe, too. “Clint—Clint made it work, right? A family, a life— he did it. He’s raising kids and still comes back when we need him. We’ll talk to him. I’ll ask him, I’ll ask him anything, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He swallowed, his breath shallow, his desperation pulling him closer to you. “If that’s not enough, if this— if me being Captain America is what’s in the way, then I’ll… I’ll give it up. Just say the word. I swear, I’ll give it all up if that’s what you need. None of this—none of it means a damn thing without you.”

The words hit you hard, more sincere than anything else you’d ever heard him say. You saw the same unwavering love in his eyes, but this time it came with a willingness to do anything, sacrifice anything, to make room for you in his life.

It terrified you because you knew he meant every single word.

You closed your eyes, finally feeling the burn of tears that you barely managed to hold back. You reached up to hold his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline.

“No, Sam,” you said, your voice shaking but unbreakable in its resolve. “You’re not giving up the shield for me. I’ve seen you out there. I’ve watched you bring people together. And I… I can’t be the reason you walk away.”

He shook his head, his eyes pleading. His breath came quicker. It was moments like this when you realised that he was human. Not a super soldier. Not enhanced.

He was human with an unnatural resilience.

“But if this is the only way to have you—”

You can’t help but interrupt him, before he dug himself a fantasy so deep that he would struggle to get out of it. You closed the small gap between you, kissing him again. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, holding you like he never wanted to let go. You could feel the tremor in his hands, the way his breath hiccuped, so close to breaking. When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead to his, calming his silent pleas.

“Listen to me,” you whispered. “You are Captain America. That’s a part of you, and I would never forgive myself if I took that. But that doesn’t mean we have to give this up,” you added, willing him to understand. “I want to try again.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. For the first time in a year, he was letting himself hope again. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady, filled with a conviction you hadn’t felt in years. “I want you back.”

The relief on his face, the gratitude, was like sunlight breaking through a storm. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and then another to your lips, softer, filled with a tenderness you had missed so damn much.

“I’m all in,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care what it takes. We will make this work.”

As you nodded, he lifted you into his arms, spinning you around. For the first time in a year, your giggles filled your quiet kitchen. When he set you down, his gaze landed on the flowers once again.

“First on the agenda,” he said, smiling mischievously, “we’re getting rid of those damn red roses. I’ll get you pink ones tomorrow.”

You laughed through happy tears as he pulled you to the couch, the mission he had come to consult you for forgotten, even if only for tonight.

You watched him leave the blueprints behind to spend time with you, when he would’ve been obsessing over a year ago. This time, you felt a conviction that he was right— that it would work.

This time, he was willing to compromise. And so were you.

-end.

#AHHH THIS IS SO CUTE #love when i search for sam wilson and i actually get sam wilson #sam wilson #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x reader

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