#It's been so hectic I'm so glad I pre-wrote like all of this

[the-wintershade]

— things ain’t what they used to be

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes summary: bucky’s words get into your head and your dancing skills falter, threatening the partnership you and sam have built, but he is always there to listen and to encourage. In the process, you get closer than you thought. wc: 4.9k+  genre: angsty, flirting, deeper talks, secrets coming out

Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 03

You couldn’t let yourself be as carefree as you once were. No matter how you tried to force out Bucky’s words, they were in there, ingrained in a part of your brain that you couldn’t access or change.

It became noticeable when you showed up for class the next week.

You were stiffer, heavier on your feet, and avoided Sam’s glancing eyes more intentionally. 

You felt awful, horrible that words that should have fallen on shut ears wormed their way into your head. Like you were a pawn, a slave to his bidding. You didn’t want the words there, you wanted nothing to do with his fowl corrupting phrases of false assurance. It was like a gambit, a lure of something genuine with the price of your soul attached to it.

You didn’t want to trade anything. You didn’t want the deal, but your mind already decided for you.

And Sam was suffering for it.

The instructor seems to notice as well as she stops and frowns more than once in your direction. Steve and Peggy are dancing fabulously, but have a diminished energy, as if your change has affected them too. Natasha mouths are you okay? over her shoulder as she twists around Clint.

You try to nod and put on your best smile, but it feels plastic, robotic. It’s more done out of habit than a truthful response. 

It was always like this being with Bucky, but if that’s what it took, you would pay the price. You could go back. It could be like it used to be.

You trip over Sam’s foot for the fourth time since the class began fifteen minutes ago and a heavy sigh spreads through you, your grip loosening on Sam’s hand. He holds your hand firmer when you falter, but doesn’t move any closer. 

“You alright?” His face twists with worry and you kick yourself mentally for letting Bucky throw you off this much. “Do you need to take a break?”

Irritation bubbles in your chest at the suggestion. It’s not his fault that you’re so off your game, but you didn’t want to quit. That meant that Bucky won. That somehow he’d made you a toy to play with that remained completely obedient to his beck and call. 

“No.” You breathe, knowing that your frustration was on display despite that you’d tried to shove it down. “No, I just….” You pulled your hand off his shoulder and ran it through your hair, collecting your thoughts. Glancing down, you practiced moving in a box like you’d done before, perfectly. 

“Okay.” He nodded and moved with you. “Try taking the lead. I’ll follow you.” His gaze was gentle and patient as he waited for you to get your stance in order before moving. You took your first few steps and he mirrored you completely, easily. 

He had no problems keeping up with you and your hesitating movements. He made it look simple, like he was just breathing, and it was your turn to be in awe of him.

“What, Coffee Girl?” He smirked, the first time he’d joked around with you since class started. “Surprised that I can follow as well as I can lead?”

You closed your mouth as you looked up to him. It was that same hint of playfulness and warmth that he always showed you. It felt unfair that he was taking the brunt of your internal war and your heart squooze at your behavior. Shame flared across your features, making your skin molten. 

By the time you were ready to form an answer, you were too devastated to form words. You just kind of gave a weak chuckle and kept trying not to step on his feet.

“Alright.” He dropped your hand and created distance between you two. You struggled to adjust to the drop in temperature, feeling strangely empty and devoid of energy. Sadness threatened to envelop you at the pain you were causing. Your eyes started watering uncontrollably. 

He cleared his throat excessively loud and everyone paused. “Excuse the interruption, but I think that we all deserve a break right?” He gestured at Steve and Peggy who stopped swaying mid swing. Steve looked from Sam to you and nodded his head. He turned to the dance instructor. 

“I think a five minute break wouldn’t harm anyone.” She agreed with a slight sly undercurrent underneath that felt directed towards you in a way.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I vote for a dance break. Perhaps with a selection of more danceable music.” Sam struts over to the speaker in a way that almost broke your tight lipped frown into a smile. Almost. The jazzy funk of Marvin Gaye began spinning around the hall, changing the quiet, cautious sounds of a piano and serenading trumpet into groovy percussion and a calming guitar. 

Sam nodded his head enthusiastically while Steve laughed at his antics. His eyes glimmered with a hidden inside joke that you wouldn’t get. 

He boogies his way to Steve and Peggy who fumble around in a mess of unsynchronized tempo and jerky movements but they began to fall into this 50s inspired groove that seems to work in sync with the music. You’re surprised at their knowledge of such an older style but it’s nice to see them break out of the formality that the waltz demands.

A man who’s name you learned was Vis, short for some extensive name you weren’t really paying that much attention to, got booty bumped by a funky Sam and looked like a deer in headlights. You almost giggled then and watched as Wanda began to shake and jump around. Vis’s face turned beet red, which happened every time he was even a bit embarrassed.

After some whoops and hollers from Wanda, Vis tried to move on the beat with her, holding her hands like he needed her for balance instead of guidance. They stumble through the steps together, but at least they are having fun. Wanda’s beautiful smile warms Vis to the core; it’s easy to see.

Sam attempts to drag Natasha and Clint into the action but both hold up hands, clearly conveying that’s never gonna happen. He shoots finger guns at them and spins around to make a b-line for you. 

You shake  your head furiously in denial and begin to back up, but Sam is insistent and presses in closer until he’s toe to toe with you. He draws your hands into his as you take a deep breath involuntarily and shakes his hips a little, teasing you with his eyes as he pours it on thick. “Oh, mercy mercy me,” He hums showing you that he won’t back down until you join him.

You begin to giggle and he alights with color, the whites of his teeth show. He tries to tamper it though and twirls his hand around to spin you in a circle. You follow his subtle direction and pivot around his hand as the orchestral part of the song begins to take over.

He pulls you in, wiggling his shoulders and guiding you through a modified waltz that’s much less challenging and more relaxing. It’s more about moving to the beat and adding pizzazz to what’s already there. It’s fun and you're smiling in no time, Bucky’s words drifting out of your mind.

He booty bumps you. You both fall into a bundle of awkwardly spasming bodies and outburst of mirth.

Sam watches you with laughter, his brown cheeks becoming little balls of happiness on his face. His eyes drip in amusement and enjoyment. He’s the party and the entertainment all in one.

You hold on to his light even as the song fades, even as the class resumes and you’re back in his warm, safe arms again, flowing through the moves in perfect harmony. He feels warmer now, renewed at the quick break that’s brought back your smile. You feel like Bucky’s words were nothing but a terrible, horrible dream that’ll dissolve by standing next to your sun, next to your Sam.

…

Sam digs into his burger as you take a reasonable bit of your own, watching him just as he watches you. It’s not creepy or intimidating, but more of a familiar thing to do. You’ve been observing each other for some time now, soon after introductions were established, so this was nothing unusual. 

But Sam’s gaze held something deeper, a twinge of confusion and dissatisfaction wafted through his deeply colored eyes. You wanted to ask, but waited. It might not be something that you were quite ready to answer yet. You resolved to finish chewing your part of the burger and look outside at the rushing traffic, at the way the light bounces off buildings and makes the sidewalk brighter.

Sure enough, when you’re ready to reach for your drink, Sam’s question beats you to it. “What happened yesterday?”

It’s a question that he has a right to an answer, especially with how it conflicted with your dancing abilities, but you don’t want to lay too much on him. After all, these were your issues to deal with, dumping your problems on him were unfair. 

“Nothing,” You compromise, hoping that the words would be just enough to convince him that some was definitely wrong but you weren’t ready to really get into it. “Just a little tired and irritated, that’s all.”

He doesn’t like the way you sigh. His shoulders hunch a little and his eyebrows furrow closer together when he hears something that upsets him. The fact that you knew that, surprises you, but you brush it off as getting to know each other over these past few days.

“(Name), be honest with me,” He pauses, his voice softening with an edge of seriousness. “I deserve that much.”

You almost cringe. He’s right, but you still don’t really want to say what really happened. You don’t want to upset him or make him angry for your sake. That, he doesn’t deserve. You also don’t want him to take on anything. You’ll solve this.

“If I tell you,” You fiddle with your straw, leaning back in your chair like you have the winning hand in a game of blackjack. “You have to promise me, that you won’t get upset.”

He leans forward, his concern rising in his eyebrows and darkening expression. “I can do that.” He tries to smooth out the creases that formed in the last few seconds, but a few still strain against him, telling you that he’s already upset.

You sigh and mess with your fingers in your lap, refusing to look him in the eye, to watch him become disgruntled with what you’re about to say. You explain what happened when you got home, how Bucky’s arms held you restrainedly tight against him and how he tried to convince you that Sam was just trying to use you, to play you in some way.

By the time you looked up, Sam wasn’t all the way upset, his shoulders were hunched still but his eyes were wide and hurt. That damaged you the most.

He leaned back when you made eye contact and looked away, his fingers running across his chin absentmindedly. When he was ready, which took some time, he dared to gaze back at you before sitting forward. “Do you not trust me?”

What? That’s the farthest thing from the truth. Of course you trusted him, this wasn’t about that. “I trust you.” You answered with more determination than you thought you were capable of and stared him directly in the eyes as you said so, assuring him that there were falsities in your statement. You know he accepts your answer as his shoulders drop in relief. 

He looks down and takes a breath before continuing. “Then why were you all over the place today?”

You close your eyes in frustration. “Because he doesn’t know you. Because I know you wouldn’t do something like that.” You sigh and stare at the table. “I was angry that his words got to me like that. I didn’t believe for a second that the words were true, but the fact that he knows just how to get a rise out of me made me unbelievably frustrated.”

When you don’t look at him, he reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against your deathly tight grip on your cup. Your hand loosens on contact as you take a sharp breath, a flush moving to your cheeks, a shiver riverbrating down your spine. “Thank you for telling me.” He murmurs, his gaze warm and more sultry than you remember.

Your hand inches out to that lightning strike that buzzes between your hands, but you restrain yourself and let it fall open onto the table. “Thank you,” You minutely smile. “For believing me.”

“Am I stepping on anything, by inviting you to dance with me?” He looks genuinely concerned and it breaks your heart all over again. His warmth and light that you don’t deserve.

“No. It was my choice to agree to dance with you and Bucky just has jealousy problems that he needs to sort out himself.” Your jaw locks when you say the words, but you’re much calmer now. The heat that runs through your veins isn’t from anger.

Sam nods and returns to eating. You do the same. 

A question bubbles up through your chest, an idea you previously ignored but now brought to your attention through its neglect. “That day I met you at the party, why were you there?” Your eyes are guarded, but not closed. You’re concerned that it took you so long to ask.

Sam smirks and finishes swallowing before responding. “Ah, so now you ask.” 

You bite your cheek to keep a smirk of your own from capturing your face. “I didn’t realize you were actively trying to keep it a secret.”

“No, not a secret. I was just wondering when your curiosity would finally get through.” 

You only hum in response, leaning away from the table, gesturing for him to continue.

He chuckles. “I know Willow.” 

The words hit you like a train and the smile fell straight off your face. The girl that Bucky disappeared with, while you were still there. The girl that knew you and Bucky had something going on but refused to keep her hands off him. Not like he was any better.

He watched your face harden and sobered up a bit. “I also met her in college. She invited me to a few art shoes she was doing as an amature artist. I knew there was something else behind her innocence.” He leans forward and sighs. “But when I explained my obvious disinterest in her, she backed off and turned out to be a surprisingly good friend.”

Your blood sizzled, a twisting knot of hot anger coiling and moulding in your stomach. It wasn’t about Bucky, but Sam and just as the realization caught in your mind, your inklings of rage dissipated in a second. Why is it all about Sam this whole time?

You closed your eyes and unfurled your fist, the half-moons the only remnants of your restrained vexation. 

Sam’s eyes drilled into your head. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft and deep, full of worry and anxiety.

“Yep.” You grit the words out between your closed teeth, allowing the flames to sputter and fizzle out before opening your eyes again. “Just...fine.” You peel your eyes open slowly and see Sam’s frown. Your face smoothes itself at his concern. You don’t like making him fret over you.

He doesn’t take your answer as satisfactory. “I’m sorry. I forgot Willow was a sensitive subject.”

“It’s not about Willow.”

Sam’s eyes lock with yours, the fire flashes behind your eyes for a second before you look away, waiting for it all to subside. Sam gently reaches across the table to you, brushing your blazing hot hand with his cooler one, trying to get your focus somewhere else. Where physical violence didn’t sound like a bad option.

“(name), look at me.” You strain against his voice, tears of frustration building in your eyes. He grasps onto your fingers tighter and tugs gently. You look at him then. “I’m not going to press you about what’s going on between the two of you, that’s your business, but I don’t like seeing you upset.” A soft warmth unfurls in your chest, smothering the wall of pain threatening to rise.”I’m sorry for whatever happened, but I am here to support you, even if we haven’t known each other that long.”

You laugh, it’s sad and bitter, but it’s better than crying in front of him. You’ve cried enough tears already over this, you don’t need more to the bunch.

But it’s nice to know that he cares about your well being and that he withstood Willow. It makes you happier to know that Willow can’t draw in everyone.

It just makes you peeved that it all comes back to the art gallery for her, that she feels she needs to get men this way. It should be about her work. It should be about something she’s passionate about, not just for an excuse.

You sigh and smile at him. Squeezing his hand, you manage to get out a sentence quietly. “Thank you, Sam. It means a lot.”

“Always.” His are dark and warm, filled with pools of light and sincerity. It gives the confidence to return back to the way you were. You give his hand one last squeeze before you let go and return to eating. Sam hesitates a moment, making sure you’re actually okay before continuing with his meal.

After finishing your food in a comfortable silence, the gentle movement of paper and liquid traveling through straws creating a white noise, Sam asks you one more question. “I want to show you a place next time. Do you feel comfortable coming with me?”

You smirk. “Trying to kidnap me?”

“Only if you’re okay with that.”

He smiles when you answer. “I’m down. Lead the way, Captain.”

…

Dance class provides a higher charge than originally seen between the two of you. His smirk lingers in your mind, making you tingle and blush rise. These aren’t things that you can really remember feeling with Bucky, but it’s been so long, how would you remember?

It’s probably a bad thing that you can’t echo thoughts of good times with Bucky, but maybe it’s just that you’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. Maybe these feelings are new.

Sam seems to feel the same way as you do. He’s not nearly as flirty or as talkative as usual, he doesn’t crack any one liners with you nor does he twirl you into any crazy moves. He’s all poise and following the rules, but his hands wrap around yours a little tighter, you dance a little closer, and the air hums with the electricity between you.

He stares more openly when all you can do is look away and smile. 

Your steps are steadier and accurate. You don’t stumble around like you did the day before, and you and Sam move as one unit, gracefully weaving around each other, your feet like feathers spinning through the air.

The teacher smiles appreciatively at you and every other person in the class, every couple moves in sync. The whole class appears harmonious and balanced, more comfortable and less worried for your performance. It’s preferable to the rough nature of Bucky and the challenging environment of your job.  It’s comfortable and nice, a place of relaxation and peace for you. 

It’s a place to come and dance with Sam and forget everything, forget the world exists.

…

Sam’s jacket falls around your shoulders, a soft barrier against the cooling breeze of the sea. You walk side-by-side down the boardwalk, the planks clunk beneath your shoes and the breaking of small waves provides a murmur of background noise. It’s enough to create a pleasant space to take in the beauty of it all.

There’s nothing more delicate and beautiful than a beach at sunset. It’s no wonder you’re here with him; it’s oddly fitting.

“I used to come here a lot.” Sam quietly murmurs underneath his breath, just loud enough for you to hear but careful not to pull you out of your admiration too fast. “When I was in my head too much.”

You nod politely and keep watching the waves lap against the shore. You want him to continue on his own terms, you’d never force his story from him. 

He clears his throat after a beat and drifts a little closer to you. Your heat grows for a half-second. “I used to be in the army and when you come back...life just isn’t the same for you anymore.” He sighs and your heart squeezes hearing the pain and the hurt in his words. “It’s hard to adjust and when life is too absurdly mundane, I’d come here. The roar of the waves could dull some of the noise up here.” He taps against his temple and smiles to himself.

You force yourself not to touch him, but it takes immense effort and your hand itches, pulls, wrestles against your mind's commands to keep still. You sink your teeth into the side of your cheek and hum in response to him, trying to keep your eyes from locking with his.

“Is it bad now?” The words slip out as your concern for him reaches a crux and not knowing is eating up every bit of self-control you’ve built into place. Your question lingers between you two, fragile and shaky, and you wonder if you’ve crossed some horrible line that you weren’t supposed to. 

A feeling of dread wells up in your chest as he takes a while to answer, your face begins to drop and your steps falter, but then he shakes his head in disagreement. “No.” He chuckles to himself. “It’s been getting better these last few weeks.”

His smile holds a secret that is intended for you to understand, but you try not to pay it too much attention. 

“You know, if you need anything, I’m here.” You fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket as you respond. “If you can be here for me through this Bucky mess, then I can be here for your bad dreams too.”

Sam watches you unabashedly and then smiles gently. “Thank you.”

You walk together to the end of the pier and sit on the edge, your feet reaching towards the waves. The wind here is colder, more cutting and you wrap his jacket further around your shoulders. 

Neither of you speak for a few minutes, just letting the wind and the sea make a music of its own. It was this comfortability in the silence that you wish you could share with Bucky. You wish you could be beside him and feel the way you do now, safe and comfortable. You don’t have to fight against him or his antics, his cheating behavior and aggressive personality. 

You could just be. 

You could just exist in the same time and space and that would be enough for you.

And the conversation wouldn’t always drift to your mistakes and failures. It wouldn’t be made into a spectacle of hate about you living your life and trying new things.

But Sam doesn’t make you feel stupid or dumb. He doesn’t make you feel like you’re doing anything wrong.

Sam must have seen your scrunched eyebrows and critical eyes. “What are you thinking about?” 

You sigh and fiddle with the palms sprawled in your lap. “My ‘boyfriend’ as you so affectionately call him.”

“Oh.” He looks back to the waves, steadily crashing but growing in intensity. The tide must be coming in. “And how are things?”

The mood changes. He grows more reserved, analytical and objective, like he usually does whenever Bucky’s name is mentioned. Your stomach twists. You don’t want him to close off or make him feel like he’s stepped on something delicate. You don’t want to hurt him with stories about him.

But you know that if you try to shield the truth, he’ll be just as hurt. He said he’d be there. You trust him.

“Tense at best.” You conceded, face sinking in despite the gorgeous scenery.

“Hmm.” He takes a breath and looks at your hands, balled together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He nods.

“I just feel guilty around him, like I’m doing something wrong.” It wasn’t because of Sam; it was because you knew your feelings were changing and they weren’t in favor of Bucky.

“Does the dancing thing...make you feel uncomfortable?” He spares a fleeting glance at your face and you watch his calm but worried eyes move over yours gently, just testing your reaction before he reveals the depth of his.

A similar alarm echoes off in your mind that this will have to come to an end soon, that this beautiful dream will dissolve from your mind. You don’t want this to end. You don’t like the thought of not seeing him again. 

“No! That isn’t the issue. I’ve been more myself dancing with you than I have been around him.” You fiddle with your hands, a spike of anxiety rising at your confession, but you spare a glance in your direction to see him staring at you directly. A jolt flares in your core.

“That’s...reassuring.” You bump his shoulder, reminding you of how close you are. If you placed your hands on either side of your body, you’d nearly be touching. He smiles at your teasing. “But,” His tone dips to a lower pitch, a lingering sigh hinting at the transition from euphoria to reality. “As nice as that sounds, it doesn’t sound like you’re in a good spot.”

“We’re not.” Your face droops in frustration. “And I’m not sure what to do.”

He watches you for a second before he responds. “Sounds like you need to talk to him.”

When you turn to look at him again, the sun is splayed so beautifully on his features that he looks like an angel, swathed in gold and sunlight. You can’t stop staring. And even if he was embarrassed by your pointed gaze, he doesn’t seem concerned. He’s too busy gazing back at you.

You’re surprised when you start to lean in, but the thought only registers in some part of your mind that’s far away from the decision making part of your brain. What brings a present shock is the fact that he begins to lean in too.

Your temperature increases and you can feel your breath quickening, but you keep going anyway, ignoring the nagging feeling of guilt that’s increasing by the moment. Sam’s nose brushes against your own and your eyes begin to fall, but it’s as if your vision clears when your eyes shut.

You stop and he immediately follows suit.

But you take a moment to savor the feeling, being so close to him, being close enough to touch and hold. These are treasonous thoughts that carry a weight that you don’t fully understand, but it feels good. You haven’t felt this good being around someone in years, despite being with someone else all this time.

It’s horrible that you’re just starting to figure all of this out now. “Sorry.” Your whisper is jagged and breathy, but it’s all you can manage. You don’t think you have full control of your mental functions to do or explain more than that. 

Sam seems equally as lost because all he can do is hum in response. You know his eyes are open, watching you, waiting for you to look at him, but you can’t. Because if you do, you’ll lose all over again.

“We should get back.” He stands and only when he isn’t in your sights that you open your eyes. You notice how the ocean quieted down, the roaring in your ears in your ears isn’t as loud, how the wind has died. 

When you turn, his hand drifts in front of your face and you hesitantly reach out to take it, knowing the jolt that’s going to spike through your arm at the contact of your skin with his. It’s stronger than it’s been before, but he supports you as you stand like he didn’t feel it. 

You straighten on slightly wobbling legs, still buzzed from a second ago. Only when he’s sure that you’ll be able to walk on your own does he let go, holding on for much longer than necessary. You miss his heat right when you let go.

He treds next to you faithfully until you reach your car. You unwrap his jacket from your shoulders and gently give it back to him, thanking him for lending it to you. You prod over to him and press a feather-soft kiss to his cheek, making sure to keep it to the appropriate amount of time, but wishing you’d just let it linger a bit longer. When you look back at him, a low warm heat spreads through your stomach at the way his eyes look like pools of fresh, heated chocolate, moving in elegant swirls.

You force yourself to turn away and get into your car. You give him a small wave as you pull away and then immediately crank the AC despite it’s only 50 degrees outside. 

You can’t stop smiling, even when you make it back to your apartment.