#Sam Wilson Fanfiction

[angelremnants]

Stuck With You | S. Wilson

summary : The last thing you wanted was to be trapped in a room with a person you didn't know, much less be forced to team up with them. But thanks to your best friend's meddling, you now find yourself headed for a peculiar blind date, paired with someone who’s anything but a stranger. You swore you’d moved on. He said it was for the best. But maybe you were never meant to let each other go.

pairing : Sam Wilson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), second chance romance, friends to lovers to kind of enemies to lovers?, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, angry/heated makeout, heavy feels and yearning, fluff and humor, truthfully two idiots in love, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 14.2k

author's notes : To celebrate the rise of our brand new Captain America and Valentine's Day, I wrote this little piece to pour out my appreciation for Sam Wilson who is, imo, an insanely underrated character.

This is also my entry for the wondrous @elixirfromthestars 's Cinema Writing Challenge, which I stumbled upon mid-writing this one-shot and found that I was going in a direction that could've fit this in a fun way. I referenced the "Why didn't you write me?" scene from The Notebook though in a lax manner, so I hope to have still respected the general guidelines.. This is my first time participating in a writing challenge, so please bear with me :')

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Know that even if you're as alone as I am, your existence is greatly valued in this world. <3

(ao3 version)

⠀

Driving back to Delacroix was nothing short of a pleasant experience—just you, one hand on the wheel and the other idly hanging out the window with fingers slicing through the warm morning air. It was one of the few times you enjoyed driving, which is why you insisted on not having your chauffeur be the one to take you to your destination, preferring the solitude of watching the road stretch ahead like a ribbon of sun-bleached asphalt, flanked by swaying marsh grass and the slow-moving waters of the bayou. The old jazz station buzzing over the speakers only further enhanced the atmosphere, with the crooning trumpet blending effortlessly into the continuous murmur of cicadas in the background.

It was early enough that the mist still clung to the marshes, curling around the gnarled roots of cypress trees like ghostly fingers. The world shimmered gold in the pale dawn light, an untouched moment as the weight of the day settled in. You could also make out in your passing spanish moss draping lazily from the branches, swaying ever so slightly as if still waking from its slumber. 

You had always loved this route. It felt like a portal to another life, one that belonged solely to a place where your name wasn’t headlined in articles, where your every move wasn’t scrutinized by strangers looking for something to pick apart. Here, you weren’t the subject of speculation or the topic of gossip columns. You weren’t “the one from the titles” or “the name in the papers.” You were simply you.

The familiarity of it all only served to bring you back to those late-night drives after absurdly long college lectures, when the stress of exams and deadlines melted away over seafood and pleasant company, the briny scent of the ocean mixing with the fried goodness of whatever had been thrown together for dinner. It reminded you of sunburned afternoons spent on the docks, the sound of waves lapping against the wooden beams, of kids that you used to babysit laughing as they chased each other barefoot across the pier. Life was indeed much nicer in the olden days.

The docks finally came into view as you veered off onto the dirt road. You could see that the morning had already settled into its rhythm—fishermen hauling in their first catches, their voices rising and falling over the water while the low rumble of boat engines punctuated the exchanges in the salty air, mingling with the occasional bark of a stray dog nosing around for scraps. Seagulls routinely circled overhead and swept low whenever someone tossed a handful of bait into the sea. The scent of fresh fish, damp wood, and the ever-present Louisiana humidity all wrapped around you, strong-filled even at this hour.

And there was poor Sarah, up to her elbows in work as always.

She stood near a stubborn crate, her brows drawn together in frustration as she struggled to pry it open. The morning suns of July had already kissed her skin a shade darker and a streak of dirt ran across her forearms, evidence of a morning repeatedly spent wrangling supplies and fixing whatever had inevitably needed mending. She also had that look—the one she always got when something should have been done yesterday.

Pulling up alongside the dock, you stepped out of your fancy car, rolling your shoulders with a slow stretch. The thick and stifling heat settled around you instantly, encasing itself around your skin like a second layer along the faintest promise of an approaching summer storm.

“Didn’t know we were wrestling furniture today,” you called out while your expensive shoes thudded lightly against the weathered planks, the wood creaking ever so slightly beneath your steps.

Sarah huffed, blowing a loose curl from her forehead as the sheen of morning sweat glistened against her sun-warmed skin. “You show up just in time to save the day, as usual.”

You smirked, pushing up your sleeves. “That’s what I do best.”

Together, you pried open the crate with a loud crack, the wood groaning in protest before finally relenting, revealing neatly packed supplies of nets, ropes and a few spare tools, all stacked with military precision. 

“I swear, whoever sealed this thing had a personal vendetta against me,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You leaned against one of the weathered wooden posts, letting the briny breeze roll over you. The dock swayed ever so slightly beneath your weight, creaking in quiet protest. Out beyond the harbor, the bay stretched wide and glittering, rippling with the soft push and pull of the current. For a moment, there was nothing but the steady lull of the water, the occasional cry of seagulls, and the distant clang of metal against wood as fishermen worked their boats. A rare pocket of peace.

At least, that was the case until Sarah spoke.

“Sam’s coming home today.”

The words landed on you like how a stone would sink to the bottom of a river. 

You kept your expression carefully neutral, inhaling through your nose before exhaling slowly. “Fantastic,” you deadpanned, flicking a piece of splintered wood off your palm.

Sarah sighed, already bracing for the reaction she knew was coming. “I know you two don’t—”

“Like each other?” you finished for her. “Get along? Want to exist in the same hemisphere?”

She shot you a flat, unimpressed look. “I was going to say see eye to eye.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

Sarah crossed her arms, leaning back against the wooden beam beside you. The steady rise and fall of the tide lapped at the pylons below, filling the brief silence between you. “Are you ever going to tell me what really happened between you two?”

You hesitated. The problem wasn’t just Sam. It was everything that had happened because of him.

And worse—the things that had happened before. But how could you explain that to your best friend, who was also his sister, that before the cameras, before all of the unwanted attention, there had been a spark?

Befriending Sarah in college had meant stepping into her world, with frequent afternoons spent at the family’s restaurant but also evenings that bled into weekends. And with this eventually came Sam, who was at the time a cheeky guy too charming for his own good and with a tendency of getting under your skin in the most enjoyable way. The kind that your mama told you not to approach too much if you didn’t want to stray away from a good line of life.

You honestly wouldn’t have paid him much attention if not for the quick-witted banter, a push-and-pull that became something of a ritual every time you would come over. He would saunter into the restaurant under the pretense of bothering his sister, but his eyes would eventually find yours first, the corner of his mouth twitching upward just before he threw out some teasing remarks in hopes of riling you up. You would roll your eyes, fire something back, and somehow, without realizing it, you had begun to orbit each other.

It had slowly bloomed in the way where summer warmth shifts into the first breath of autumn—almost imperceptible until you’re standing in the midst of it. Eye contacts that lingered just a little too long. Making even the most absurd excuses simply to accompany you through your journey of going to college. A growing familiarity that turned into late-night conversations on the dock, where the world was nothing but the hush between you. There had been something easy about it, an understanding that neither of you ever had to say out loud.

And then, one fateful night—

A kiss was added to the list.

You could still precisely recall how it had unfolded. It had been one of those thick Louisianan nights where the land was quiet except for the gentle slosh of the tide against the pylons and the occasional chirp of cicadas hidden somewhere in the dark. You and Sam sat side by side on the wooden planks with your legs dangling over the edge.

He had shown up at the restaurant after closing, claiming he had nowhere better to be. You had scoffed, knowing damn well he could’ve gone to the arcades where he usually hung with his small band of friends, but instead, he’d lingered—elbow on the counter, tossing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth while Sarah cleaned up. When she suspiciously shooed the both of you out under the pretense of wanting to finish tidying the place in peace, you both ended up in your favorite spot and falling into conversation with the same ease you always had.

Strangely enough, that night was different.

It was felt in the way your knees brushed when he shifted closer, in the way your laughter had simmered and turned quieter, softer. It was the night where plans for the future were spoken of, and how you learned that Sam would soon leave Delacroix behind to join the Air Force while you were still figuring everything out.

“You ever think about getting out of here?” Sam’s voice cut through the quiet.

You smirked, tilting your head toward him. “What, and give up all the fine dining of your family’s home cooking? I don’t know if I could handle that.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because there’s nothing more to do than eating fresh seafood and watching the sunset every day.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you’re the one talking about getting out of here, Wilson. What, the dock life not glamorous enough for you?”

His grin was easy, but there was something contemplative beneath it. “I always knew I’d leave. Not ‘cause I don’t love it here, but... I want more. I wanna see what else is out there.”

Your smile faltered, just a little. You weren’t sure why the thought of Sam leaving sat uncomfortably in your chest. "You make it sound like you’re never coming back."

He turned toward you then, one leg kicking idly at the water below. "I’ll come back." His voice got fainter this time, lacking its usual teasing edge. "It’s not like I’d just disappear on you."

You arched a skeptical brow. "Awh, don’t tell me you’re going soft on me. You saying that ‘cause you mean it, or ‘cause you think I’d cry if you didn’t?"

Sam smirked. "Maybe both."

You scoffed, pushing at his arm, but he barely budged. "Please, you’d be the one crying your eyes out first."

"Uh-huh," he vaguely affirmed, unconvinced. "You could write me letters, you know."

"You gonna write back?"

"Every time."

You regained your smile at the answer, and it was when you turned to glance at him that you noticed that he was closer than before. You weren’t sure if he had leaned in or if you had, but your shoulders touched and your knees pressed together. He was close enough that you could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed and caught his eyes flickering from yours to your mouth and back again.

You had felt it coming before it happened—the moment slowed, stretched, and his tentative fingers had brushed yours where your hands rested between you on the dock. He was testing out the waters, and neither of you pulled away.

Without a word, he leaned in.

It felt like a kiss engaged between adolescents discovering intimacy for the first time. He was slow in his doing, as if waiting for you to stop him, but you didn’t. You tilted into him instead, your hand resting against his jaw upon the faint scratch of stubble he had grown. His lips were warm and coaxing, stealing the breath from your lungs as he deepened the kiss while his hand curled lightly around your wrist. The world beyond the two of you fell away, drowned out by the rush of your pulse.

It was the kind of kiss that felt like the beginning of a promise. But promises, as you had learned over time, were far too easy to break.

You thought that this kiss was supposed to mean something. Evidently, it didn’t to Sam.

Months passed without a sign, not a single mail in your box or a phone call. Then years came by, and silence continued to reign like a chasm.

The first time Sam Wilson came back to Delacroix after becoming the Falcon, it wasn’t for a homecoming or a celebration—it was for Sarah’s wedding. By then, he was no longer just the annoying little brother, the immature sod who used to throw shrimp shells at you when you weren’t looking. He was an Avenger. A hero. Someone whose face people recognized, whose name carried weight.

And you? You had built a life of your own. A business. A name that had nothing to do with anyone else but yourself. 

He had changed but so had you, and whatever had been between you had withered away a bittersweet memory, more sour than sugary.

The wedding had come and gone in a whirlwind of music and laughter, of his sister glowing in a way you had never seen before, of toasts and dancing under strings of warm lights. You had somehow ended up outside, trading the muffled sounds of celebration drifting through the open doors of the reception hall for the cold silence of the outside.

You hadn’t planned to talk to him. In fact, you had spent most of the days of his visit avoiding being alone with him, dodging him and whatever it was that lingered between you both like an unfinished chapter. But he still managed to find you anyway, stepping out into the night with that same infuriating ease as if nothing had ever changed.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you scurry away like a mouse?” he jokingly prompted, hands tucked into his pockets. “For someone who’s supposed to be the maid of honor, you disappeared pretty fast.”

You didn’t look at him, instead fixing your gaze on the rippling water. “Didn’t realize I needed a chaperone.”

“Never said you did.”

Stillness settled between you, cut by the cicadas humming in the trees and the warm breeze rolling in from the bay. He was watching you. You could feel it.

“You been good?” he asked eventually, almost hesitant.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Business still going strong?”

Another nod.

Sam exhaled a soft laugh. “Damn. You always this talkative?”

Finally, you turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest. “Well, what do you want me to say, Sam? That it’s good to see you? That I missed you?”

He blinked, caught off guard.

“You know what? I did,” you admitted, your jaw tightening. “I missed you when you left, when you didn’t write, when you didn’t call. But then you show up years later on TV with wings on your back and a whole new life, and I—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Listen, I never meant to—”

The sudden burst of camera flashes cut through the dark like lightning. Movements danced from the shadows beyond the dock. Figures. A handful of people, cameras raised, lenses trained on you both.

Your blood ran cold.

The pilot turned, his expression shifting in an instant. He stepped in front of you, partially blocking their view. “Hey! Back the hell up.”

The damage was already done. Your name was already in their mouths, in their cameras, and in their notes. And by morning, the world would be talking.

You knew it wasn’t his fault. Not entirely. The blame didn’t belong to him—not for the cameras, the prying eyes, or the intrusion. But the continuous letdown, the unresolved past, the hollow promises left unanswered—it all boiled over.

Maybe it was the years of unspoken resentment. How he had left and never looked back, only to come home like no time had passed—like you hadn’t once meant something. Or maybe it was the fact that for one fleeting instance, the world thought you belonged to him like you selfishly wanted to back then when he had never even fought to keep you.

The fight was inevitable. Hurtful words, raised voices. Raw anger tangled with accusations you didn’t mean spilling from your mouth before you could stop it, among the ones you did. And to his credit, he gave as good as he got. You weren’t the only one harboring old wounds. You weren’t the only one who felt burned by your shared past.

By the time the shouting stopped, the damage between you was just as permanent as the damage done by the eye-catching headlines. Some words couldn’t be taken back, just as ties, once broken, could never be pieced together the same way again.

The next morning, as you predicted, the internet had been set ablaze with speculation.

The press was relentless, churning through the story like a wildfire swallowing dry earth. The Falcon and his Mystery Woman—Who is She? New Romance or Old Flame? Falcon’s Secret Love Life—Exclusive Details Inside!

It was absurd. Laughable, even. You had snorted at the first few articles, rolling your eyes at the grainy photos that painted a story far more dramatic than the truth. You and Sam barely tolerated each other. If anything, your history was a testament to mutual irritation, not some clandestine love affair.

But the laughter didn’t last because the headlines didn’t fade. Because the story didn’t die.

Because soon enough, it wasn’t just some passing tabloid gossip. It was everywhere.

Paparazzi began to linger outside your workplace, their lenses snapping up every movement as if they could capture something scandalous in the mundane act of you stepping out for coffee. Your inbox flooded with emails—some from reporters fishing for a statement, others from people you hadn’t spoken to in years, suddenly eager to "reconnect." 

Social media became a nightmare all on its own. Strangers dug through your past with eager, prying hands, dissecting old photos, analyzing every public interaction you’d ever had, and spinning theories about a relationship that had never even existed.

The worst part of your predicament was certainly work-related. Every handshake, every business meeting, and every new acquaintance suddenly all came with a question mark. Were they here for you or for the association? Were they interested in your work, in you, or just in the proximity you offered to something greater, to a man whose name counted amongst Earth’s greatest heroes?

And through it all, Sam had remained frustratingly unbothered.

"It’ll pass," he had dismissed with a shrug accompanying his words. "People move on when it comes to these kinds of things."

At most, he made sure you were surrounded by constant security and had some sort of secret service he was apart from watching over you in case malevolent spectators deemed it a good idea to bother you. While you were grateful for the protection, you had wondered if his lack of intervention to correct the situation with both words and actions wasn’t motivated by underlying factors. 

Ultimately, you had been the one left dealing with the aftermath. The one picking up the pieces and untangling the mess, sifting through the wreckage of your privacy. And that was something you could never forgive.

You slowly exhaled, massaging your temple at the exasperating memory. “Let’s just say your brother has had a knack for making my life difficult and I got tired of it.”

Sarah hummed, skeptical but wise enough not to press too hard. “He’s really not as bad as you think.”

You shot her a dry look. “Sarah.”

She held up her hands in surrender, lips twitching. “Alright, alright. I won’t push.”

Before you could say more, the sound of a door swinging open interrupted you. Then came the hurried patter of feet and the excited shout of your name before two small bodies crashed into you, all limbs and boundless energy.

You caught them both with a grin, stumbling slightly under their weight as they clung to you.

“You taking us to school today?” Cass asked, beaming up at you.

You ruffled his curls, feigning deep thought. “I don’t know... you guys gonna behave?”

AJ gasped, scandalized. “We always behave!”

Their mother snorted at the blatant lie while you laughed, nudging AJ’s shoulder. “Alright then, let’s go.”

Sarah shook her head, a familiar mix of amusement and exasperation on her face. “They listen to you better than they listen to me.”

“That’s because I’m the cool auntie. Right, boys?” 

Both of them cheered in agreement, to which she rolled her eyes and shooed you toward your car. “Go before I change my mind about letting you take them.”

You steered her children toward the vehicle, their voices rising in an animated debate over which of them would get to call shotgun and put their playlist to play for the drive. But even as you settled into the driver’s seat, their excited chatter filling the space around you, your mind remained elsewhere.

Sam was coming back.

And whether you liked it or not, you were going to have to deal with him.

⠀

⠀

The restaurant was already alive with the late afternoon rush by the time you strolled in with the boys coming back from school. Orders flew in, plates stacked high and the scent of fried seafood and rich gumbo diffused in the place. The kitchen bustled with movement—Sarah barking orders, cooks shuffling between stations, the sizzle of oil, the clang of metal on metal. Fortunately, you had worked enough shifts here during college to comfortably throw yourself into the chaos and fall into the rhythm with ease, balancing trays and dodging wayward elbows like second nature.

You had expected a busy night.

What you weren’t prepared for—what you could have gone your entire life without dealing with—was walking out of the kitchen, only to come face-to-face with the one person you had been dreading.

The door swung shut behind you, the sudden quiet of the dining area making the moment feel even heavier. Sam Wilson stood near the counter, arms crossed, an easy smirk already in place as if he hadn’t just been gone for years. The sight of his tall, broad and annoyingly self-assured stature made something stubborn coil in your chest. The golden glow of the setting sun slanted through the restaurant’s windows, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw and the slight curl of his lips, settling into the warm brown of his eyes with an infuriating sort of ease.

It had been years. But of course, of course, the first thing he did when he saw you was smirk and look at you the way he always did—like he was expecting a fight.

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes flicking over you with the kind of scrutiny that made you itch to throw the nearest dish towel at his head. “They’re really letting just anyone work here now, huh?”

You scoffed, stepping behind the counter. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

“Hey, I actually own part of this place,” he shot back, leaning against the wooden bar. “What’s your excuse?”

“Sarah asked me to help,” you replied smoothly, grabbing a clean set of glasses from the shelf. “What’s yours?”

“Thought I’d check in, be a good brother and say hi,” he sassily answered. “Didn’t realize I’d be graced with your presence too.”

“Lucky you,” you deadpanned with a tight-lipped smile, brushing past him.

And to your luck, he followed you to the back, offering unhelpful commentary while you restocked supplies, then bickered with you while you both helped—or at least attempted to—his sister with the dinner rush. Arguing over everything with the soldier felt like muscle memory at this point, and it showed in the way he reached for the same things you did, your movements accidentally falling into sync. 

By the time things slowed down enough for dinner, you were already nursing a headache. It wasn’t until the pace had slowed and Sarah finally sat down with a plate of food after her kids were put to bed that the conversation turned against you.

“So,” Sarah stabbed a piece of calamari with her fork, looking at you with a glint of something announcing nothing good. “You seeing anyone yet?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Across from you, Sam let out a low chuckle.

“Oh, this should be good,” he mused, propping his chin on his hand and settling in like he was about to watch a show.

You shot him a glare before turning back to Sarah. “Not really.”

“Not really, or not at all?”

“Not. At. All.”

Sam let out a whistle, shaking his head in mock pity. “Damn. That’s rough.”

Your fingers tightened around your glass. “Well, it’s kind of your fault.”

The smirk fell right off his face. “My fault?”

You didn’t waver, locking eyes with him. “I don’t know if you remember, but you kind of put me on the map. You know, with that whole ‘mystery woman spotted with the Falcon’ thing?” You waved a hand vaguely. “Hard to trust people when they might secretly be fans. Or worse, spies.”

The hostess hummed in interest, taking a slow sip of her drink. “That does sound inconvenient.”

Sam scoffed. "Oh, be real, miss fancy pants. You can’t be serious.”

“But I am,” you shot back. “Because of you, I have to second-guess every new person I meet. Even for business.”

Sam shrugged, looking way too entertained. “Could be worse.”

You raised a brow. “Would you trust random people throwing themselves at you if the roles were reversed?”

He let out a sharp laugh, cocky and dismissive. “Sure, after a small background check.”

You leaned forward, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, totally. It’s so much fun when I get approached because people think I’m some tragic ex or long-lost lover of yours. Or getting bombarded with people asking if I ever hooked up with the Falcon, or if I have ‘tea’ to spill on our ‘relationship’, or if I’m ‘jealous’ that you’re off saving the world and not wasting time.” You tilted your head. “That’s just peak entertainment.”

For once, the Avenger had nothing to say.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, and let’s not forget the weirdos who DM me saying they’d be happy to ‘fill the hole’ you supposedly left in my life.”

Sam choked on his drink, coughing violently. “What?”

“Oh yeah.” You pulled out your phone, tapped a few times, then held it out to him. “Here. Go ahead. Take a look at your legacy.”

He grabbed it hesitantly, scrolling through your inbox, his expression shifting from amused to horrified. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered. “What the hell is wrong with people?”

Sarah smirked. “Damn, Sam. Ruined her dating life and left her with internet weirdos. That’s cold.”

Sam dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, fine, that’s bad.” He handed your phone back. “But still, you could’ve just—I don’t know—ignored it? De-activate your socials?”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just ignore the fact that I have to Google every guy I talk to just to make sure they’re not running a secret fan account for you.”

He burst out laughing, to which you childishly responded by throwing a fry at his head.

Sarah, watching all this like it was prime-time TV, suddenly perked up. “I might have a solution.”

You groaned. “I don’t like that tone.”

“No, no, hear me out,” she insisted, grinning. “I saw this thing the other day—apparently, there’s a place in town that does blind dates in escape rooms.”

You blinked. “You saw what now?”

“It’s a fun concept,” she continued breezily. “Two people, locked in a room, working together to get out. You don’t know who you’re paired with beforehand, and it forces you to communicate.” She took another bite of her food, then added, “I think you two should try it.”

You both turned to her at the same time. “No—” “Hell no.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You two are so dramatic. It’s literally an escape room—”

“With a blind date,” you interrupted with frantic gestures. “As in, being forced into a confined space with a random stranger and trusting them enough to help me get out.” You shook your head. “Not happening.”

Sarah gave you a pointed look. “You do realize that’s exactly what dating is, right?”

You glared. “Don’t make points right now.”

She turned her attention to Sam, who was still muttering under his breath. “And what’s your problem?”

Her brother shot her a disbelieving look. “You seriously don’t see the issue?”

“Nope.”

He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s way too risky for me to go in public and have my info given out to some company and get paired up with someone potentially crazy like her right here. Yeah, no way in hell I’m signing up for that.”

You turned back to Sarah. “Do you hear the way he talks to me? And you think I should be dating?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly why I’m setting you up with other people. You both need a reality check.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Okay, ignoring the audacity of that statement—why an escape room? If I wanted to be locked in a room with a stranger, I’d call my internet provider.”

Sarah once again ignored your rebuttals. “It forces you to work together. Communication, problem-solving, a little trust—”

Sam let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather skydive without a parachute.”

“You literally have a parachute,” you deadpanned.

“Exactly,” Sam said. “Which is why I don’t need to go on some experimental dating hostage situation.”

Sarah huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. Let me put it this way—if you don’t go, I’ll tell Bucky you’re both too scared to put yourselves out there.”

You wanted to put up a bigger fight, if not for the very real threat of James Buchanan Barnes getting wind of this.

You had met him once, years ago, during one of Sam’s very unwelcome, very impromptu visits. You hadn’t even been expecting company that day, let alone a literal ex-assassin sitting at Sarah’s dining table like it was the most normal thing in the world. And to make matters worse, Sam had introduced you in the most obnoxious way possible.

“This is my sister’s best friend. She talks a big game but couldn’t win an argument if her life depended on it.”

And Bucky, with all the smugness of someone who absolutely enjoyed making your life difficult, had just smirked, leaned back in his chair, and smugly commented—

“Huh. Sounds familiar.”

You hadn’t even known him for five minutes, and he had already sided with Sam. Ever since, the latter had made sure to weaponize their friendship against you at every opportunity, regardless of the fast-growing amicability between his former partner and you.

And you knew that if Bucky found out about this, you would never hear the end of it. He’d be relentless. Casually dropping mentions of your lack of a partner into every conversation, even if the irony lied in him being in the same situation—though he’d probably argue that unlike him, there was a lack of trying on your part as well as the absence of an excuse as astronomical as being a well-known mass murderer with an insane past. And also probably betting money on how fast you’d walk out of the damn escape room.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

His sister’s grin only widened. “Oh, I absolutely would.”

You could already picture it—Bucky, smirking like he had all the dirt in the world on you and bringing it up at the most inopportune moments. Teasing you mercilessly every time you so much as glanced at your phone. Probably making some dumb comment like, “So, can’t find anyone to put up with you?”

Nope. Absolutely not.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. “I so hate you right now.”

Sarah just smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

The Falcon groaned in desperation. “This is blackmail.”

She simply shrugged at the accusation. “I like to think of it as strong encouragement.”

"How long is it?” you finally asked, defeated.

“One hour.”

Sam groaned, tipping his head back. “Sixty minutes of my life I’m never getting back.”

The restaurant’s owner shrugged, too pleased with herself to care. “Think of it this way—worst-case scenario, you get out and never see the person again.”

The pilot grumbled under his breath before sharply exhaling after a long pause. “Whatever. But when this goes horribly, I want it on record that I called it.”

“Duly noted.”

⠀

⠀

The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet as you gripped the wheel of your car with the force of someone actively trying not to commit murder. The drive to the escape room was supposed to be uneventful. Key words: supposed to. But Sam Wilson had never once encountered an opportunity for peace without promptly deciding to mischievously ruin it.

It started small. A shift in his seat, a glance at the dashboard, an exhale so faint you almost didn’t catch it. Then, before you knew it, his fingers were wandering, prodding at the glossy screen in the center console with an exaggerated curiosity that made your temple throb.

You gritted your teeth. "Stop touching things."

“Relax,” he drawled, ever the picture of unbothered arrogance. "I’m just exploring my environment."

“It’s not an environment, it’s my car.”

Sam clicked his tongue, grinning in a way that meant nothing good. “You got all these fancy-ass features, and you don’t even use ‘em? Shame. Really makes me question your judgment.”

“You’re about to question your life choices when I push you out onto the freeway.”

With all of your previous spouts, you should have known that issuing such a warning would only serve to encourage his childish behavior.

It started with him cranking the seat warmers up to their highest setting, slowly enough that you didn’t notice until your lower back was mysteriously drenched in sweat. He followed by playing with the ambient lighting, flipping through every color at an alarming rate until the inside of your car looked like a malfunctioning disco ball. But the worst, the absolute worst, came when he discovered your Bluetooth. 

A horrendous mix of static and Sam’s laughter blasted through your speakers as the system synced.

You gawked at him. “If you so much as—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the familiar bright and bouncy opening chords of Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus blared from the speakers, the bubbly pop song catering a stark contrast to the slow-building horror creeping up your spine.

Sam, entirely unbothered by your stricken expression, immodestly threw his feet up onto the dashboard with the air of a man settling in for a long, leisurely road trip rather than someone actively testing the limits of your patience. With the unrestrained passion of a performer standing before a sold-out stadium crowd, he threw his head back and belted at the top of his lungs, “And a Jay-Z song was on!”

You recoiled, grimacing as his voice cracked mid-note. But before responding, you reached over and smacked his legs off the dashboard, sending his sneakers thudding back to the floor. “Get your dirty feet off my dash,” you snapped.

Sam clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “Oh, live a bit, woman. Damn, you really have no appreciation for the arts or my comfort?”

Your grip tightened around the steering wheel as you ignored his jab, leveling him instead with a flat, unimpressed stare. “This,” you slowly voiced with incredulity, “is the choice you made?”

“Hell yeah.” He nodded in affirmation, not even pausing in his off-key, wholly committed performance. “This is a certified anthem.”

“This is a cry for help.”

Sam gasped, scandalized. “You don’t like Party in the USA?”

“I do. I just don’t like you singing Party in the USA.” Without breaking your focus on the road, you lunged for his phone, yanking it from his grip with the precision of someone who had endured one too many of his antics. A dramatic click later, and blissful silence fell over the cabin.

Your passenger, however, was anything but deterred. He cackled, shoulders shaking, entirely too smug.

You inhaled deeply, willing the tension in your fingers to ease before you left permanent indentations on the wheel. “I swear to God, Wilson—”

“Hey,” he cut in, still grinning like a man with no fear of consequences. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve switched it to romance audiobooks.”

“I will crash this car.”

The silence was short-lived. Like a cocky thief in the night, Sam moved with the precision of a soldier and the recklessness of a man who knew exactly how to test your limits. One second, the phone was in your grasp, victory assured. The next, it was snatched away with infuriating ease.

You barely had time to register the offense before the speakers flared back to life, the cabin suddenly swelling with the smooth, honeyed tones of a song that hit far too close to home.

"I see the crystal raindrops fall…"

Your eyes snapped to him, narrowing in slow, dawning realization. The Falcon, unbothered and wholly self-satisfied, leaned back against the seat with his arms folded behind his head as if he hadn't just detonated a nostalgia bomb between you. The smooth timbre of Grover Wshington Jr.’s voice accompagnied the melodious instrumental of Just the Two of Us, the saxophone bringing more than just nostalgia of a classic.

You knew exactly what he was doing. You remembered the easy rhythm of laughter between verses as you'd vaguely engage in a clumsy waltz, tripping over both feet and lyrics and pretending it was intentional. You remembered Sam’s off-key falsetto and your equally disastrous harmonies, along with the unshakable euphoria and certainty that no matter where life took you, you’d always end up in the same place.

But life had a way of rewriting certainties—the choices that wedged themselves between you was certainly proof of it. And yet, despite everything that happened, that song still had its hooks in you.

Sam, ever the instigator, drummed his fingers against the dashboard, slow and patient, like a fisherman waiting for the line to tug. When you didn’t react, he turned his head and elbowed you in your arm. “C’mon. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I do remember.”

“Then sing.”

You scoffed, pretending it didn’t get to you. “Pass.”

His grin sharpened. “Boo, loser. What, so you can’t sing anymore? That’s crazy. Didn’t know losing your ability to sing was part of getting old and bitter—”

Your glare should have scorched him and wiped that insufferable smirk right off his face, but he only leaned in, fully basking in his role as an unrepentant menace.

"We can make it if we try…" He sang it pointedly, nudging you again with his elbow like an annoying kid brother. You swatted him away without sparing a glance. He did it again. And again. Until finally—

You exhaled sharply, grip slackening. “I hate you.”

But as the chorus approached, the words left your lips before you could stop them.

"Just the two of us…"

It was barely a whisper at first, something fragile and unintentional. But Sam caught it immediately and grinned just as quickly, victorious, before singing louder.

You rolled your eyes, but the fight was already lost.

“That’s my girl,” he cheered on, and before you could roll your eyes, he threw his head back and belted out the next line with all the fanciness of a Broadway performer.

By the next verse, you were both loudly singing off-key. He purposely overstated his notes, while you botched entire lines just to tease him. Laughter flowed freely between lines, busting through the barricades you'd both painstakingly established.  Sam, ever the dramatist, went full concert mode, wiggling his shoulders like an overenthusiastic backup dancer and pretending to hold a microphone as he crooned into his fist.

“No,” you moaned in exasperation between bursts of laughter as he hit an ungodly note. “That was—oh my God, Sam, stop—that is a crime against music.”

He only doubled down, adding unnecessary falsetto flourishes and pointing dramatically out the window as if serenading the passing trees. The harmonies were an absolute disaster. The timing was questionable at best. But for those few minutes, it didn’t matter. It was just you and Sam, the car, and the open road, voices colliding in the space between you.

It shouldn't have felt so natural, to slip into something that had been tearing around the edges for years. But for a brief while, it did—which was perilous, like plunging into still waters.

No matter how lighthearted it appeared, you were smart enough to understand that the political choice in this song was not only to reminisce about one of your favorite memories, but also to convey a hidden message, as the song still had meaning in its lines. “We can make it if we try”. It was a promise, one you had scarcely believed in with your whole heart before you had to learn to live without him. 

By the time the final note of the song was hit, the magic was broken. You cleared your throat and adjusted your grip on the wheel. You mumbled, "Still sing like a damn goat," since it was easier than admitting anything else.

Sam snorted. "You still talk big for someone who sounds like a dying cat."

Quietness regained its rightful place, this time more charged than before with the shadow of something lost between you. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down, looking like he was trying to collect his thoughts—or just avoid whatever was about to spill out.

“Look, about everything that happened...” He hesitated, voice trailing off, before he tried again. “I didn’t mean—”

You cut him off before he could continue. “It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to keep the ache from spilling over. “Honestly, I should’ve expected it. You’re always going to be tied up in something bigger than us. I get it now. I should’ve known better.”

The pilot didn’t respond right away but you still made out the sound of him breathing down his nose, betraying the turmoil that was spiralling in his mind. “I just—I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring what happened. I—”

“No.” The word came out before you could stop it, hard and final. Your lips twisted into a smile, but it was bitter, hollow. “You don’t need to apologize anymore. It’s not necessary. I mean, the Air Force is a big thing. And now with the whole Avengers thing…” Your breath hitched slightly. “You had big priorities. It’s understandable.”

The words left a bitter taste on your tongue, every syllable a shard of resentment you had tried for so long to swallow. “It’s okay. You don’t need to make up some excuse.”

Sam’s expression flickered, his features shifting subtly as he processed your words, but he didn’t respond. His silence felt like another slap in the face, the unspoken weight of his guilt settling over the car.

"It just hurt," you continued, the words uncontrollably tumbling out of your mouth, as if you couldn’t hold them back any longer. "You said you’d make time. That we could figure it out." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on, your chest tight with the pressure of everything you’d been carrying. "But then... it was like I was just some side story to your life. I had to deal with everything on my own. You didn’t just leave me, Sam. You left me hanging in front of the entire world, like I was an afterthought."

You could see him flinching and opening his mouth to speak, but the reply stayed stuck somewhere behind his teeth for awhile. “I didn’t mean for it to happen that way,” he finally admitted, his voice tight with frustration, lips pressed into a thin line. “You have to know that.” 

You let out a dry laugh, bitter and edged with years of pent-up anger. "No," you spat, shaking your head. "I don’t know that. I really don’t. And now you want to apologize? You think a few words will make it go away?" You turned to him then with glaring eyes, the dam inside you breaking wide open. “But I guess I should’ve known better, right? You’ve always got more important things on your plate than me. And I was just dumb enough to think I could be part of it." You let out a shaky breath. "That’s on me, not you.”

Sam’s shoulders tensed, his fists clenched so tightly against his knees that you could see the tendons in his hands strain. "That’s not fair," he rasped.

“No,” you bit out with the bitter burn of years of disappointment. “What’s not fair is pretending everything’s okay now, like you didn’t leave me in the dust. You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to forget how much it hurt when you left me behind.”

Sam growled, his gaze snapping to yours with an intensity that could’ve burned brighter than the sunlight reflecting on the windshield. “I didn’t mean to do that. It wasn’t like that. If you’d just let me explain—”

But you were already shaking your head, a bitter laugh slipping out as you cut him off. "It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this again."

The rest of the drive stretched on in silence, bouncing on the precarious mix of unsaid words and the sharp sting of old wounds reopening. By the time you pulled into the parking lot of the escape room, your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, your body wound tight with the tension of everything you’d let out during the ride.

You almost yanked the car into park with more force than necessary, the engine’s rumbling metaphorically serving as a harsh reminder of how you were both still reeling from your slight altercation.

The door slammed shut behind you, but neither of you made a move to walk toward the entrance. The space between you felt wider than the parking lot itself. You weren’t sure what else to say, if there was even anything left to say. 

“You should go inside first,” you finally said, your eyes staying firmly on the building in front of you. “I still need to arrange a few things in the car.” You were making a conscious decision to create some distance, to not go beyond what you could navigate through the dangerous waves of this confrontation. “Good luck with your date… or, uh, escape game.” You gave a small, tight smile, though it felt more like a bitter farewell than any kind of encouragement.

Sam silently hesitated, his eyes searching yours, like he was about to say something—but the words never formed. Instead, he took a deep breath and gave a short nod. "You too. Good luck with... whatever it is you're gonna do, too."

Without another word, he turned his back to you and walked toward the entrance with stiff shoulders. His footsteps echoed against the pavement as he left you alone, marking said distance you were so adamant on implementing once and for all.

You didn’t watch him go. You couldn’t. Instead, you opened your door with a soft creak, the cool night air rushing in as you slid back into the driver’s seat. It felt like a strange kind of closure, the door clicking shut behind you as if you were signing the definite end of a chapter, even if nothing really felt settled. With a shaky hand, you wiped the stray tears that had fallen down your cheeks, quickly brushing them away like they never happened, like you could pretend they weren’t there.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. There was still the night ahead, the escape game to focus on, even if your heart wasn’t entirely in it.

⠀

⠀

The artificial chill of the air conditioning wrapped around you as soon as you stepped inside, abruptly differing from the lingering warmth of dusk. The area smelled somewhat floral, though not in a pleasant way—more like a half-hearted attempt to conceal the antiseptic, even clinical ambiance. The welcome space looked sleek and modern, with clean lines and soft, ambient lighting, but something seemed odd.

A trio of employees stood behind the clean counter, their demeanor courteous but impersonal. Their uniforms were clean, their smiles practiced, and their eyes assessing—not in a way that made you feel welcome, but rather processed.

"Just need you to sign a few things," one of them said, sliding a clipboard toward you with the kind of ease that suggested they had done this a hundred times before. Maybe a thousand.

You picked up the pen and skimmed the pages, your brows knitting together. Waiver. Consent form. Limited liability in the case of mild distress.

Everything screamed shady.

Even though you knew they conducted a comprehensive background check on their clients' criminal records—you knew because you boldly inquired beforehand—your gut twisted with disquiet, a silent warning you had long since learned not to ignore. But you forced yourself to exhale, suppressing the mounting doubt. Sarah planned this, and she wouldn't throw you into an underground horror movie scenario, right?

Still, the blindfold part? That was peculiar, to say the least.

“Standard procedure,” the staff member assured you in a smooth and clearly rehearsed tone. That didn’t make you feel any better.

But you weren’t about to back out now. Soundly sighing, you allowed them to tie the fabric securely over your eyes, and in an instant, the world went black.

A friendly but firm hand took you down what appeared to be a long corridor. Each step heightened the sense of disorientation, the absence of sight accentuating everything else—hushed murmurs in the distance, the continuous flaps of an air vent above, the dull pressure of the floor under you. Then a pause. The air became colder. A door opened, and you were gently guided inside.

The door shut behind you, and the person beside you vanished.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at the sides. The lack of vision made everything feel too much—the faint shuffle of your own feet as you shifted nervously, the way your breathing seemed louder than it should, the slight press of your pulse on your temples. How long were they going to leave you here?

The weight of the silence stretched, and so did the edges of your nerves. Finally, the door creaked open again. Your spine became rigid. Footsteps, slow and measured. The door clicked closed once more.

Someone was here.

You exhaled, forcing an easy tone into your voice despite the unease creeping up your spine. "So, uh… I guess this is the part where we introduce ourselves? Hi, I’m—"

A strange, loaded silence tightened around you like a noose, twisting in your stomach. Were they simply joking with you? Or was there something else going on here?

Your patience, already thin after the day's events, had fully frayed. Screw this. Against your better judgment, you reached up and ripped the blindfold off, blinking rapidly as your eyes acclimated to the room's dull, amber hue.

And there, across from you, stood Sam. A solitary rose danced between his fingers, whirling aimlessly, as if he had all the time in the world. His attitude was unreadable—calm and poised, but his eyes held something you couldn't quite identify.

"Oh, hell no."

Sam let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing his temple like the sheer force of his fingers could press back the headache forming there. “Unbelievable,” he sneered, shaking his head. “I should’ve known Sarah was up to something when she kept dodging my questions.”

You let out a scoff, dragging a hand down your face as the reality of the situation settled over you like an unbearable weight. “This is what I get for trusting Sarah with this. Honestly, I’d rather deal with Bucky’s endless teasing right now than… this.”

The veteran arched a brow, folding his arms. “To be fair, you did let her set you up on a blind date with a stranger.”

You leveled him with a look. “Yeah, and so did you!” You threw up your hands. “And we came here together. Did she seriously think we wouldn’t notice?”

He exhaled sharply, his expression caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement. “Guess she figured we’d be too busy arguing to put the pieces together.”

You scoffed. “Well, congrats to her, then. She got exactly what she wanted.”

Determined to put an end to this ridiculous setup, you turned toward the door, grasped the handle, and gave it a firm tug. It didn’t budge. Your pulse ticked higher. You tried again, more forcefully this time, but the door remained stubbornly locked.

Behind you, Sam sighed, the sound far too entertained for your liking. “Still locked?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, jaw tight. “Obviously.”

Before he could toss out another quip, the overhead speakers crackled to life, the static buzzing through the dimly lit room before a saccharine, overly cheerful voice filled the space.

"Welcome, lovebirds, to the Valentine’s Day Escape Challenge!"

Your entire body went rigid. Sam, standing just a few feet away, had stilled completely, his eyes narrowing like he was already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"Over the next hour, you and your partner will work together to solve puzzles, uncover secrets, and—most importantly—ignite a spark between you!"

Your eye twitched. "The what?"

The Falcon was still staring up at the speaker, but you could feel the sheer amount of unspoken profanity radiating off of him.

"You have sixty minutes! And remember... teamwork makes the dream work!"

A mechanical clunk sounded somewhere in the room, and a timer flickered to life on the far wall, its neon numbers casting an ominous glow.

59:59. 59:58. 59:57.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, forcing down the overwhelming urge to scream, then turned to Sam. He met your stare, equally exasperated, equally resigned.

The room was an assault of saccharine love-themed aesthetics, as if Eros himself had suffered a violent, glitter-drenched demise. Heart-shaped garlands draped along the walls in looping chains, glowing pink fairy lights casting a hazy, dreamlike blush over every velvet-draped surface. A gilded vanity stood against one wall, its mirror smeared with cryptic riddles in waxy, crimson lipstick. The simulated fireplace screen let out crackled sounds, its flames flickering just a little too artificially, a cheap illusion of warmth in a space meant to seduce.

At the center of it all sat a small, round table, dressed in pristine white linen, set for two. A single wax-sealed envelope rested atop the china, like the final invitation to some grand, elaborate joke.

Sam let out a low whistle, slow and unimpressed as he took in the spectacle. “It’s like Cupid threw up in here.”

You crossed your arms, exhaling through your nose. “More like a discount wedding venue.”

“Either way, I already hate it.”

“Great. Common ground.” You stepped forward, plucking the envelope off the table, breaking the seal with a sharp tear. “Means we’ll get through this faster.”

Inside, a delicate pink card gleamed under the low lighting, its cursive gold lettering gliding across the surface like a whispered dare:

"To escape, one must first unlock the heart. Find the key, answer truthfully, and embrace the game."

You flipped the card over, your frown deepening. Blank.

“Well, that’s unhelpful.”

Sam leaned in over your shoulder, the warmth of his unwelcome presence creeping at your back. “Sounds like a load of nonsense.”

“Sounds like we need to find a key.” You tossed the card aside and swept your gaze across the room. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He followed at an infuriatingly lazy pace, hands tucked in his pockets. “You always this impatient on dates?”

You shot him a glare. “You always this obnoxious?”

“‘That a rhetorical question?”

You huffed, stepping toward the vanity. Its antique gold frame was chipped, and its once-opulent beauty weathered down to something just shy of decadent. Trinkets littered the surface—heart-shaped perfume bottles, a pearl necklace draped over a porcelain hand sculpture, and a plush teddy bear wearing a satin bow tie.

You picked up the bear, giving it a shake. Something rattled inside. Without hesitation, you grabbed the bow and pulled at it, to which the Avenger let out a sharp breath. “At least pretend to have some finesse. Poor guy.”

You turned, leveling him with a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I politely ask the stuffed animal for the key?”

His smirk was all teeth. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

With an exaggerated tug, the bow finally tore away, revealing a tiny brass key stitched into the lining. Triumphant, you held it up between two fingers, letting it catch the candlelight. “Hah. Suck it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded toward the oversized keyhole carved into the farthest door. “Moment of truth.”

The lock clicked smoothly, the door groaning as it swung inward to reveal the next part of your prison—a room bathed in deep red velvet, dimly lit by flickering candle sconces. A loveseat sat at its heart, a small pedestal beside it, where a single glass dome encased a perfect red rose.

You exhaled sharply. “Great. More romantic fuckery.”

Sam rolled his shoulders, his stance widening. “Starting to think this whole thing is just an excuse for people to make out in a locked room.”

You shot him a warning look. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re really killing the mood.”

Your attention shifted to the plaque beneath the rose. The words, engraved in curling script, sent an uneasy shiver down your spine: "A promise once spoken, never fulfilled, lingers in the heart forever." You took a step back, exhaling a little too precipitously. “Alright. Where’s the next clue?”

Sam didn’t move. His gaze lingered on the plaque before flickering back to you. “That bother you?”

“Nope,” you said too quickly. “Just wanna get out of here.”

He studied you, and for once, he wasn’t all for the laughs. “You’re lying straight to my face.”

You stiffened. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.” His voice was laced with the same exasperation you remembered from years ago—when things were different. When things were good. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t see it?”

You pivoted angrily towards him. “See what, Sam? I told you everything already. You want to talk about how years later, when you came back, I was the one whose name got dragged through the dirt because some paparazzi decided I made a convenient headline?”

His jaw ticked. “You think I wanted that to happen?”

“Well you barely did a damn thing to stop it, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, so that was my fault?” His voice rose, heat sparking in his eyes. “I was trying to keep you out of that mess! You think I had any control over what the media did?”

“Maybe not.” Your breath came hard now, uneven. “But you had control over what you did. And you chose to stay silent.”

The room’s candlelight flickered violently, shadows dancing along the walls that suddenly felt like they were closing in on you, encaging you in this intolerable and toxic chasm of tug-of-war fight. Sam’s hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to grab something—grab you, maybe, or stop himself from doing exactly that.

“Say it,” he finally murmured, voice rough.

You swallowed. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been dying to say since I walked back here.” His gaze burned into yours. “Go ahead. Get it out.”

The pathetic words escaped before you could stop them.

“You lied to me and I hate you for it.”

Sam flinched, but you pressed on, voice breaking on the edges. “You promised I wouldn’t just be some forgotten thing in your past. And you never even tried.”

His nostrils flared. “You think I didn’t want to?”

“Oh, please.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You were fine. You left, became a hero, and forgot all about me until you came back wearing a fucking jetpack.”

“You were never something I could forget.”

You felt something crack in your chest. “You don’t get to say that now, Sam,” you whispered.

He stepped closer. Then again. You barely realized you were moving too, until the air between you collapsed, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the tension a live wire sparking between your ribs. 

"Then look me in the eye," Sam rasped, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. "Look at me and tell me I’m lying and this doesn’t mean anything anymore. Tell me you don’t feel it—say the words, and I’ll walk away. But say them like you mean them." 

Your throat worked, but no words came. Because as much as you wanted to deny the allegations, you did feel it. The frustration, the anger. And beneath it all—the wanting, the aching. The bone-deep longing for something neither of you had the courage to claim when it mattered.

In an unfurling of sudden movement, his back hit the wall with a dull thud, but before he could react, you were on him, fisting the front of his shirt and crashing your mouth against his, engaging in a battle more than a kiss. It was akin to a wildfire—scorching, desperate, all teeth and heat, the culmination of every regret and every second wasted.

The pilot groaned into it, his hands flying to your waist, strong and sure as he hauled you against him. A sharp gasp left you at the feeling of his body flush with yours, but he didn’t give you room to think or to breathe. He spun you, pressing you back against the wall, his mouth relentless against yours, moving with a punishing, consuming intent—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Your fingers twisted further into his meticulous white shirt, attempting to pull him impossibly closer than you already were. He swallowed the sound that escaped you, deepening the kiss like a starved man, like he needed this, needed you, needed to make up for all the time lost.

His lips dragged over your jaw, hot breath ghosting against your skin.

"Still mad?" he murmured against your lips, voice thick with want, teasing even now, even like this.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip, seizing it and savoring how his breath hitched at your doing, the way his fingers flexed against your waist. "Furious."

Sam’s breath stuttered against your lips, a ragged sound caught between a groan and something dangerously close to surrender. His fingers curled into your waist, holding you like he needed to anchor himself, like if he let go, you’d slip through his grasp and take the last shred of his self-control with you.

The kiss burned, devouring, each second unraveling the years of restraint neither of you wanted to acknowledge anymore. You felt the tension in the way he pressed against you, in the way his hands slid beneath your shirt, palms searing against your skin. Your nails raked down his back, dragging over hard covered muscle, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fists as if you could pull him deeper into you, as if there was any space left between you to close.

"Tell me to stop," Sam gasped through the clashing of your mouths, the words nearly lost to the breathlessness between you. His request went ignored as his lips traced a slow, punishing path down your jaw, his breath hot against your throat as his hands wandered, gripping, relearning, claiming back what was once his for a brief instance. 

You tilted your head, granting him more access, shivering as he took it without hesitation, teeth scraping against sensitive skin. Your fingers roamed over his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, the solid weight of him beneath your touch. It wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed skin, heat, the press of him without barriers.

Your hands found the first button of his shirt, fumbling in your urgency. One button slipped free, then another, the fabric parting under your fingers.

Until the door slammed open.

You barely had time to gasp before Sam reacted on instinct. In a blur of movement, he thrusted you behind him, body braced like a shield between you and whoever had just interrupted.

A pair of employees stood in the doorway, frozen like deer in headlights. One clutched a clipboard, the other a maintenance checklist, both staring like they had just walked in on a crime scene.

A heavy silence stretched between all of you.

"Uh…" The clipboard guy cleared his throat, his voice weak, almost apologetic. "This… isn't a private room."

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience clearly dangling by a thread. His chest still heaved with unspent frustration and the lingering burn of what had been seconds away from happening. He ran a slow hand down his face before fixing them with a dark, pointed look.

"Clearly," he said flatly.

The maintenance guy swallowed hard. "We—we knocked. Three times."

Clipboard guy shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting everywhere but at you and Sam. "Look, we know you signed up for it and all, but this is too much—you can’t stay here. We have to ask you to leave. Immediately."

The Avenger stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he looked them up and down. The movement was subtle, but the effect was instant. Clipboard guy flinched. Maintenance guy tensed, suddenly looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"You saw nothing," he declared lowly. "And whatever you think you saw? No you didn’t." His gaze flicked downward, locking onto the phone peeking out of the employee’s pocket.

The guy scrambled to pull it out, hands shaking as he unlocked the screen. "N-Nothing there! See?" He turned it around in a panic.

Sam barely glanced at it before nodding, satisfied. "Good. Smart choice."

You bit your lip, caught between laughter and mortification as Sam slid an arm around your waist, steering you toward the exit with purposeful ease.

"Now," he continued, voice laced with something smug as he leaned in just enough for only you to hear, "if you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere else to be."

His grip on your hip tightened as he led you outside, your pulse hammering in response, the rest of the world fading as the need he had ignited moments ago roared back to life with a vengeance.

⠀

⠀

The ride back to the restaurant was enveloped in a heavy silence—not the brittle awkwardness of unspoken apologies nor the tenseness of imminent confrontation, but a solemn, almost sacred quietude laden with things neither of you yet dared to name.

You kept your eyes fixed on the road, though the lingering warmth of Sam’s hand on your waist remained—a memory of intimacy that had evaporated the instant you stepped out of that room. The echo of what had nearly transpired clung to your skin like a phantom caress, simmering just beneath the surface, an unacknowledged secret shared between you.

When you finally reached the restaurant, the usual mix of clamors of conversation and the tinkling of glasses felt jarringly discordant against the subdued cadence of your thoughts. You both hesitated at the entrance, lingering in the threshold. After a long pause, Sam sighed deeply, his hand drifting to his jaw as if to smooth away the remnants of the night’s turbulence. “Go wait for me,” he ordered you, “at our spot.”

That command stopped you in your tracks.

Our spot.

It had been years since either of you had dared to approach it, much less mention it aloud. The old corner by the water hidden from the prying lights of the city, where you had once spent long, languid nights nursing cheap beer, debating everything and nothing, and watching the world settle into quiet dreams. Back when neither of you had been bold enough to risk shattering that fragile haven.

You searched his face, but his eyes were fixed beyond you, as if he were still uncertain whether the words should have been spoken at all. Still, you nodded.

The dock greeted you like a cherished relic from a bygone era. Weathered wooden planks stretched over dark, rippling water, the faint, distant glow of the city shimmering in its reflection. The air was crisp and invigorating, hinting at the encroaching chill of night and making you wish you had remembered to bring a jacket.

You sank onto the edge of the dock, letting your feet dangle freely above the water, your fingers twisting together in quiet contemplation. Time slipped by in muted anticipation until, at last, the sound of footsteps echoed softly behind you. Then, as if conjured by the very night, a presence settled beside you.

Without a word, Sam pressed a cold bottle on your forehead that burned as it met your skin, making you almost jump out of your place before you took the flask of whiskey—and set another beside him. He then unfurled a thick, timeworn blanket, draping it over both of you with a fluid, almost reverent motion.

The warmth of the blanket combined with the closeness of his body seeped into you instantly, chasing away the chill of the night. For a long moment, you simply sat there, the dock creaking softly beneath your weight, the gentle lapping of water against old wood composing a quiet symphony for your shared solitude.

You sighed, rolling the bottle between your palms. “So..”

One simple word laden with the totality of everything left unsaid, a distillation of years of longing, regret and the raw, unspoken truth of your intertwined past.

You exhaled slowly, tightening your grip on the blanket as though holding it could tether you both to this moment. This was it—the precipice upon which you both now stood. There was no turning away, no hiding behind silence any longer. 

“So,” Sam repeated, his voice tinged with playful mischief as he copied your idle toying with the cold bottle in his hand, “that was… something, wasn’t it?” 

“Ugh, don’t say something cliché like that. But yeah, that was definitely something for the books, I guess.” You managed a shaky smile, your words emerging in a hesitant cadence. There was a lightness in your tone—a mirth that felt like a delicate mask over the swirling emotions that both terrified and enthralled you.

The Falcon grinned, arching an eyebrow. “You know, if it weren’t for how noisy Sarah is, we might have savored it in peace.”

You chuckled softly, the sound both amused and rueful. “She practically narrated our every move. You know she loves her piece of drama.”

“Exactly,” he agreed in a playful tone yet laced with something deeper—a hint of regret, perhaps. “I think she made sure we were loud enough for at least the entire escape room to hear.”

You shook your head, still smiling despite the vulnerability threading through your laughter. “I guess sometimes a little noise is inevitable. I mean, if everything were hushed, we’d never have the chance to remember just how messy and magnificent it all was.”

Sam’s eyes softened as he took a slow sip from the bottle, the amber liquid catching the light. “Sounds like the perfect way to put it,” he murmured absent-mindedly. Your fingers moved on to fidget with the edge of the blanket draped around you, and Sam’s gaze frequently wandered to your flushed face, as if silently pleading for some unspoken reassurance.

“Ask me,” he suddenly requested, his voice both gentle and edged with a trace of desperation, as though he believed that the right question might finally untangle the knots of regret and longing that had haunted you both for so long. “Ask me the question you’ve been holding back.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, each beat echoing with years of missed chances and unspoken words. In a trembling rush of emotion, you blurted out, “What—uh, did you like it?” Your voice quavered, carrying the weight of the moment like a fragile plea.

Sam’s eyes shimmered with a mixture of relief and sorrow as he slowly shook his head. “No,” he replied, his tone soft yet resolute. “I mean—yes, but that’s not what I meant.” He paused, carefully choosing his words as if every syllable carried the gravity of the past. “Ask me the one you’ve wanted to ask for so long.”

A delicate tremor passed through you, and your breath caught in your throat. After a long, painful silence, you whispered, “Why didn’t you write me?” 

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the dock, as if the night itself awaited his answer. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and slowly extracted a tightly knotted bundle of papers. Unraveling the thread with careful fingers, he revealed a stack of letters, yellowed with time and crinkled at the edges.

“I did write you letters,” he softly admitted, his gaze fixed on the fragile pages as if they contained his very soul. “That’s what I wanted to tell you for so long. Three hundred and sixty-five of them… one for every day.” His voice trembled with both pride and regret. “But you have to understand—the Air Force policy was tight as fuck. I couldn’t send them, and once I realized that, I… I knew you’d resent me for not keeping in touch.”

He paused, running a hand over the neatly stacked pages. “This whole thing took a toll on me—physically, mentally. I was drowning in obligations and fear, and eventually, I stopped writing because I thought maybe it was the only way to spare you from more pain.” His eyes darkened as he continued, voice barely a murmur now. “And as for the paparazzi… I thought that by not speaking, by keeping my distance, I’d protect you. If I wasn’t seen with you, they’d assume there was no connection—no real relationship worth prying into.”

A single tear glinted in the corner of your eye as you absorbed his words, each one a quiet confession, a secret revealed in the darkness. The letters lay between you like relics of a lost time—a testament to love, duty, and the unbearable cost of silence.

Your fingers trembled as they hovered above the fragile stack of letters, each page heavy with the weight of stolen years and unspoken regrets. The unsent words pressed against your chest as though they carried every moment lost between you, every silent apology and longing unfulfilled. You swallowed hard, the night air thick with an unspoken tremor that danced at the edge of every exhale.

“Tell me about them,” you professed, your voice scarcely more than a whisper carried on the breeze.

The pilot exhaled sharply, his thumb absently caressing the frayed edges of one of the letters as if it were a relic of his former self. “You really want to know?” he asked, his tone tentative, laced with both caution and the burden of truth.

You nodded, your silence affirming that, despite your uncertainty, you needed to hear every word.

For a long moment, Sam’s eyes remained fixed on the ink-smudged pages, the ghostly script of his past gazing back at him in silent testimony. “One of the first letters was angry,” he began, a wry, self-deprecating chuckle trembling at the edge of his words. “Not angry at you. Never at you. I was furious at the situation. I remember that first night in my bunk, where all I could think was how I’d have to let you down. I thought I should’ve fought harder, found a way to make it work. So I wrote it all down and thought that I would probably be out soon enough to give you them in person.”

His fingers tightened around the bundle, as if the letters themselves could anchor him to a past he both cherished and loathed. “I started writing about the small, absurd things—like how the coffee on base was godawful, the jibes from the guys when I apparently mumbled your name in my sleep—which I did not, to make things clear. I even wrote about an old couple I saw on television one day and how it reminded me of when you joked that we’d be arguing over directions even when we were eighty.” His tone faltered, growing quieter, more solemn. “And then there were the letters where I just… missed you. God, I missed you so much.”

Sam’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and his grip on the letters slackened, as though holding them was too painful. “And it got harder. Days turned into months, and I convinced myself that you’d moved on—that I had no right to cling onto us. But even then, I never stopped wanting you.”

He turned his gaze to you then, the glow of unsent confessions and quiet grief shining in his eyes. “And it shouldn’t matter anymore because it’s over. Or at least, that’s what I should believe. But it does. It always has.”

The wind whispered softly around you, stirring the fragile pages in his hand and carrying away echoes of moments lost to time. Your heart clenched, caught between the relief of knowing and the heartbreak of what might have been.

In one sudden, desperate motion, he reached for you. His fingers brushed your jaw lightly at first, then cradled your face with a tenderness that belied the cool night air. His thumbs, warm and steady, traced gentle arcs over your cheekbones—anchoring you both to this moment, to the years lost and the yearning that had bridged every mile of distance between you.

His eyes, dark and unwavering, burned into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. “Hear me out, please,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, as though the very thought of you slipping away again was unbearable. “I was a coward. I should’ve done better than that but I let fear, and everything else, win. I told myself I was protecting you, that I was doing what was best. But all I did was make it worse. I made you think I didn’t care when the truth is... I never stopped.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, but Sam did not wait for you to speak. His grip on your face tightened, firm enough to keep you tethered to him without causing pain.

“I love you.”

The words fell between you like fragile glass shards, the shatter of the barriers of years resonating with their fall. “Yeah, fuck this corny shit. I have loved you every single damn day since the moment I let you go. I know it’s selfish to say it now, after everything, but I just need you to know that I love you. And I’m so goddamn sorry that I ever made you doubt that.”

A shudder ran through you, and your hands clutched his wrists as if they were the only lifeline in your storm of emotions. Every syllable struck like a slow-burning flame, peeling back layers of anger, heartbreak, and longing until all that remained was the undeniable truth—him, you, and a love that refused to fade.

“Sam—” you began, but your voice cracked, the word lost to the tumult of your feelings.

It didn’t matter anyway, because before you could speak another word, he kissed you with the same fervor from earlier, as if he were a man finally allowed to feast upon the love that had sustained him in torturous silence. His lips met yours with a desperate ardour that sent shivers racing down your spine, his hands roaming to trace the soft curve of your neck and leading you to melt into the perfect fit of his embrace.

The world around you—the creaking dock, the ghostly remnants of past regrets—faded into insignificance. All that remained was the kiss, deepening with every heartbeat, as if he were trying to reclaim every lost day, every stolen hour of absence. And you, with equal fervor and need, returned his kiss. Your hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as if in that embrace you could mend the ruptures of time itself.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, your foreheads pressed together in the cool night air. “Please, tell me that wasn’t a mistake.”

Your fingers trailed slowly down his chest, grasping the fabric as if to hold onto the fragile promise of the moment. “No,” you whispered back, your voice tender and resolute. “This time it wasn’t.”

A slow grin spread across Sam’s face, and relief flooded his features like the first rays of the morning sun after a long, storm-ridden night. He swept you into his arms, lifting you clear off the ground to bring you closer, almost sitting on his lap. The world tilted delightfully as a rich, unburdened laughter bubbled from his chest in a way you hadn’t heard in a while, full of joy and the promise of new beginnings.

“You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind,” he crooned against your hair in a husky blend of disbelief and something infinitely tender, a softness that belied the wildness of the moment.

A breathy laugh escaped you as your hands instinctively clinging to his broad shoulders as if anchoring you both to the present. “You’re acting like I just solved every world crisis,” you teased, even as your heart pounded in its rhythmic cadence.

“Nah,” he replied, his thumb traced reverently along your jaw, as though memorizing every curve and line of your face. “Just mine.” 

A quiet ache formed in your chest at the way he looked at you, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real, as if he were etching every detail of you into memory in case the universe ever dared be cruel again.

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, and with a voice steadier than you felt, you whispered, “I love you too, Sam.”

For a heartbeat, his lips parted as if to utter more, but before the words could spill, a familiar voice shattered the reverie.

“Hey, lovebirds! Dinner’s ready!” Sarah called from the restaurant’s back porch, her tone playful as she leaned against the doorway with crossed arms and a knowing smirk that practically screamed, took you long enough.

Sam groaned, tipping his head back. “Jesus, can I have one moment—just one?” he protested.

Laughing, you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the warm glow of the restaurant. “Come on, loverboy, before she comes out here and drags us inside herself.”

The golden light of the restaurant melted away the coolness of the night, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. As you walked back to the shack, a spark of mischief danced at the edges of your lips. You shot Sam a sidelong glance, the playful glimmer in your eyes challenging him.

“Wait a second…” you drawled, narrowing your eyes and tilting your head. “Did you—did you quote The Notebook in your big, dramatic profession of love?”

For a moment, his grip on your hand tightened, and he faltered, pigment further coloring his cheeks. “What?” he managed, his tone caught between indignation and bashful amusement.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, pressing a hand to your mouth as barely contained laughter bubbled forth. “You did! That ‘it wasn’t over’ thing—straight out of The Notebook!”

His arm looped around your shoulders, drawing you closer with a quiet, playful threat. His large palm briefly covered the back of your head as he guided you forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Say one more word about that, and I swear I will stuff you so full of oysters you won’t be able to utter a single syllable for a week.”

You snorted. “Really? That’s your big intimidation tactic?”

“Ever tried eating twenty oysters in one sitting?” he shot back, arching a brow and letting his lips twitch in a smirk. “I don’t think so. Now, go sit down and eat before I make it happen.”

Grinning, you leaned into his side, feeling the easy warmth of his arm as it draped around you. After all the lost time and shattered dreams, everything felt achingly, irrevocably right. Perhaps the years apart had only deepened the truth: the time you thought was lost might, in fact, still be yours to reclaim, as you were fated to be stuck together no matter what.

⠀

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Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

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dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @cafekitsune .

angelremnants ©️ 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[tea-writes19]

hash browns | s.w.

pairing: sam wilson x f!plus-size!reader

summary: you’ve caught yourself a not so secret admirer

warnings: fluff, suggestive content, fatphobia (not from sam), my pitiful attempts at comedy, swearing

a/n: based on this post. i’m not sure how many people read sam wilson x reader fics but this is for y’all. set post tfatws so sam is captain america here

liked by yourbsfuser, samwilson, and others

yourusername: ladies this is your sign to wear the outfit even with the tummy rolls

view comments below

user1: hot damn

user2: you’re literally so pretty😩

yourbsfuser: i wanna be you when i grow up

yourusername: awww love you babes

user3: hear me out

user4: bro what is there to hear out. she’s a conventionally attractive woman

user5: men will say hear me out and then show a literal goddess🙄

user6: are we just gonna ignore the fact that SAM WILSON liked this???

User7: no no we are not

user8: omg what?!?

user9: AND HIS COMMENT

user10: us bigger girlies really won today

samwilson: ma’am i could make you the crispiest, most delicious hash browns every morning for the rest of our lives if you please just give me one chance

user11: captain america what’re you doing here🧐

user12: not him simping on main

user13: me too sam me too

user14: @/yourusername give him a chance!!

user15: please not her ignoring this

liked by samwilson, yourbsfuser, joaquintorres and others

yourusername: beach days🐚🌺

tagged: @/yourbsfuser

view comments below

user19: this is so aesthetic!!

yourbsfuser: i’m so sunburnt😩

yourusername: i can feel the skin cancer festering

yourbsfuser: please don’t ever use the word ‘fester’ again

user20: pretty!!!

user21: i would never wear a bikini if i looked like that…

user22: fr…

samwilson: ho shut the hell up

user21: 😧

user23: when he defends his girl😩

user24: sam you dropped this king👑

yourusername: 👀😏

samwilson: marry me please

user25: SAMUEL—

user26: he’s down bad😭

yourusername: what do you have to offer?🧐

samwilson: a beautiful house on the ocean

sarahwilson: that’s my fucking house

samwilson: i own half of it!!!

user27: i’m dying😭😭

yourusername added to their story—>

[caption: damn these are good hash browns]

story replies

user32: oh my god

user33: sam really do be standing on business

samwilson: i told you i’d make you the most delicious hash browns

yourusername: and you did😘

liked by sarahwilson, yourusername, joaquintorres and more

samwilson: y'all are all invited to the wedding btw (except if your name is bucky barnes)

tagged: @/yourusername

view comments below

yourusername: where tf are we getting the money for that samuel???

samwilson: don’t worry bucky has like millions in backpay

buckybarnes: i thought i wasn’t invited bitch

samwilson: nvm pepper can spot us

yourusername: 🤦🏻‍♀️

user34: holy shit he got the girl

user35: i’m so happy rn

user36: they’re so fucking cute fr

joaquintorres: congrats i think?

samwilson: now this is why you’re the favorite

buckybarnes: 🖕

yourusername: boys be nice

user37: not y/n gentle parenting😭😭

sarahwilson: i called it btw

samwilson: yeah yeah

yourusername: 🥰🥰

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒆𝒏

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

summary - when snow white (you) escapes into the woods to escape the queen's order to kill, she learns that not all strangers should be trusted.

warning - smut, swearing, choking, under a spell, dubcon, creampie, slight angst, death, breaking and entering, jealousy, oral sex, kidnapping/entrapment, attempted poisoning and murder, group sex, groping, dark content.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The Queen sneers, staring at herself in the mirror. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall.” Her eyes squint, and her back straightens. “Who is the fairest of them all?” The answer she was expecting wasn’t what the mirror gave her. 

“Y/n is the fairest of them all.” The Magic Mirror spoke, a live video of you playing before her, your sweet self hums to the animals, pulling a small bucket from the well, capturing the attention of the many people that pass by. 

“What?!” She screams, and her face becomes red with anger. “No one is more fair than I! The Queen must have the best of everything. Everyone knows that. What could be more fair?” 

“Y/n is the fairest of them all!” The Mirror repeats, not caring for the tantrum the Queen is throwing. 

“What do you know? You’re a mirror!” She huffs, rolling her eyes and storming off. A plan sets in motion as she heads to where the huntsman rests, ordering him to take you out of the equation. 

You had spent your time running through the woods, away from your horrid stepmother and the huntsman that she had sent after you. Your hands clutched your skirt, lifting it from the ground, and your bare feet dodged the many sticks and rocks. Your breath is heavy, and you can hear his footsteps catching up to you. “Little Snow! You can’t run from me! The Queen ordered me to kill you!” You gasp, picking up your pace, desperately trying to distance yourself from him. 

You squeal and cry as your foot gets caught on a root sticking out of the ground. You fall forward, tumbling for a few seconds until you end up on your back. Fat tears cover your cheeks, your eyes are puffy, your hair is ruffled, and your once-beautiful dress is ruined, ripped and dirty. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears as the huntsman appears in your vision, “P–please! You don’t have to do this! I–I won’t tell anyone if you let me go! Please!” You cry you beg, you plead. Your hands curl into the ground, crushing the dirt into your palms. You don’t notice the magic flowing through you and into the ground. You are so caught up in begging the man not to take your life. 

He shakes his head. “I have to. I was given an order.” His head continues to shake, clutching the knife as he desperately doesn’t want to kill you. “If I return and the Queen finds out I didn’t obey, she’ll kill me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the tears slip past, and your lips tremble. You nod, accepting your fate. You wouldn’t be able to escape this. “O–okay. If taking my life means you get to keep yours, okay.” You breathe in and out, a soft sob passing your lips. Your brows furrow as you are met with silence before a crunch and a groan follow it. You slowly peek your eyes open, wondering what caused the noise, and a shocked sob escapes you when you notice a giant black wolf on top of the huntsman. Yellow eyes stare back at you, and you feel oddly calm before standing on shaky legs. It’s as though the animal is giving you enough time to escape. “T–thank you.” You take off running again, the sky becoming dark as night falls, heading in the opposite direction of the castle. 

You happen to stumble across a wooden cabin tucked away in the middle of nowhere. You rush forward, rapidly knocking on the door. “S–someone! Is anybody there?! I need help, please!” The door is pushed open from your knocks, and you cautiously enter as you receive no reply, looking around. “Hello?” When you don’t get a response, you decide to take a closer look. “Such a dirty place…” You think out loud, “Maybe if I clean up a bit, whoever lives here may help me.” You nod to yourself and walk over to a broom that rests against the wall and grab hold of it. You get swept away cleaning and then cooking before you slowly make your way upstairs, noticing seven large beds, making you wonder who lives here. 

“I hope they won’t mind if I…” You ponder, going over to a bed that reads ‘CRANKY’ and sitting for what was supposed to be a second. The moment your body hits the mattress, your eyes flutter closed, and a deep slumber hits you with full force. 

You wake to someone or something poking you. Your eyes flutter open, blinking as you notice many different men surrounding you. You gasp, scooting to the headboard, pulling your knees to your chest. “Oh, please don’t kill me! I–I promise I didn’t do anything wrong!” Your bottom lip wobbles and your gaze shoots between theirs frantically, wondering if the Queen also sent them. 

A man with blue eyes and his hair in a man bun scoffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, and your eyes land on one of them being shiny. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my bed?” A growl practically escapes his lips, and his eyes scan your body with a lick of his lips. 

You gasp, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! I–” You're cut off as you try to get out, but a larger man stops you. His light blue eyes and blonde hair cause your breath to catch in your throat. 

He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Don’t listen to him, ma’am. We are just startled, is all.” He turns his head, glaring at his best friend before looking back down at you. “Now, why don’t you introduce your pretty self and explain why you think we would kill you?” He sits at the end of the bed, resting a comforting hand on your leg. 

“Oh, I do apologise. Where are my manners? My name is Y/n, but I am more known as Snow White.” The men are shocked, wondering what the princess is doing in their cabin. “The Queen is trying to have me killed, and I don’t know why. S–she sent the huntsman out, and he chased me through the woods until I was able to escape, and that is how I stumbled across your home.” 

A throat clears, and you turn your head to look at another man who’s built like a bear, with pretty blue eyes and blackish hair. “She wouldn’t be trying to kill you for no reason. Tell us what you really did. You can’t really be that innocent.” 

“I–I swear–” The man touching your leg interrupts you, giving you a soft look.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to explain yourself. I can see that you are innocent. I mean.” He looks around at the men with his brows raised. “What innocent person would break into someone’s home and decide to clean and cook? The breaking in part obviously doesn’t sound great, but look at her. She needs help.”

The man with the blackish hair speaks again while nodding. “You’re right. I apologise. We’ve been rude and haven’t introduced ourselves. My name is Clark, but these bastards call me Bossy.”

The man touching your leg smiles. “And I’m Steve, better known as Brawny.” He points to the man with a permanent scowl on his face. “That’s Bucky. We call him Cranky, though.” Bucky rolls his eyes, wondering why the hell they haven’t moved you from his bed yet. Though, he has been having a great time imagining you tied to it while he pleasures you.

Another man with a flirty smile leans against the bed, coming close to your face. “I’m Johnny, yet these guys call me Sleazy. No idea why. I would’ve said Flirty.” Johnny wiggles his brows, loving the shy look that crosses your face.

A man with a beanie and dirty face and hands nods. “I’m Curtis, known as Dirty around these wankers.”

Your eyes land on a man drinking what seems to be alcohol, and his eyes are half-lidded as he stares at you. “I’m Dean or Tipsy. Whatever you prefer, but I’m hoping to make you scream one of them later.” Your eyes widen.

Your attention is pulled away from Dean or Tipsy to a darker man touching your arm, looking at you with a smirk. “I’m Sam, baby. But you can call me Horny.” You blink, stunned, never having heard such words come out of a person’s mouth before, but you know that you cannot judge as you did break into their home.

“O–oh, it’s nice to meet you all. Such interesting names.” You fold your hands in your lap and look around at each one of the men. “I would like to cook you, men, some dinner as a thank you for not kicking me out.” You watch as they nod, and you give a soft smile to Steve, who helps you off the bed. You head down the stairs, and all seven men follow behind, watching your hips sway beneath the dress. They sit, watching as you start to heat the food. It’s magical to them. You turn around, the food nearly ready. “Please go and wash up before dinner.” 

“What? No.” Bucky growls, refusing to get up from the seat while the other men immediately stand and head out. Steve grabs hold of his best friend and drags him out, ignoring the shouts and yells. “Steve! Steve! Stop!” 

You shake your head, turning back toward the pot, stirring it before you turn off the stove and grab hold of it, bringing it to the table and setting it down. “Dinner!” You watch as the door swings open, and the men walk back in with smiles, smelling clean. “Don’t you men look dashing!” They thank you before taking a seat, watching you with wide eyes as you fill their bowls with the delicious-smelling stew. 

Clark tilts his head as you take the pot back to the sink, noticing that you didn’t make a bowl for yourself. “Are you not eating with us?” The other men stop with their spoons midair, looking between you and Clark. “Come, sit. You deserve to eat the food you cooked.” Clark pats his thigh, raising a brow when you don’t move. “I’m called Bossy for a reason. Now, sit.” You scurry over, taking a seat on his thigh, feeling a weird tingling sensation between your legs as you feel how thick his thighs are. “Good girl.” He nods to everyone, and you all begin to eat. Clark occasionally brings the spoon to your mouth, feeding the two of you. 

During the night, you get to know all of the men, laughing and listening to stories. Steve stands, clearing his throat. “I hate to interrupt this wonderful evening, but we have work tomorrow., and I think it is best if we get some rest” The others agree, and you get up to bid them goodnight, practically tucking them into their beds and placing soft kisses onto their foreheads. You are about to head back downstairs, needing to find somewhere to rest, but Steve stops you. “Y/n, here.” You spin, heading over to him with furrowed brows, wondering what he is talking about. He pulls back the blanket and pats the space next to him. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude more than I have.” You gnaw on your bottom lip, feeling like you’ve been a bother. “I can find somewhere else to sleep. I saw a blanket downstairs.” Steve gives you a look that makes you quickly crawl into the bed, and your body shivers when you realise how cold you’ve been compared to the warm man. Your body curls into his larger one, sighing as sleep takes over you before you can even register.

You wake to birds chirping and the sun shining through, your eyes flutter open, and you stretch your arms above your head. You slowly pull Steve’s arm off of you and get out of bed, making your way downstairs, and you decide to prepare breakfast for the kind men. You cook eggs, bacon, pancakes, and a fruit platter, wanting to give them a filling meal for their big day. You smile and turn as you hear the men bound down the stairs, dressed for work with hunger in their eyes. “Good morning! I thought I’d make you guys some breakfast before you go. I hope you don’t mind.” 

They smile, thanking you before sitting down. The same happens as the night before. Clark pulls you into his lap and feeds you some of his breakfast, ensuring you also get to eat. You stand once you finish, gathering the dishes and walking over to the sink, gently placing them down before walking to the door and handing the men their coats.

Clark is the first one to grab his coat, thanking you. “I hope you have a good day today.” You lean up, resting your hand on his muscular arm and kiss his cheek softly. Clark smirks, tipping his head before walking out the door.

Steve is next. Once his coat is on, he leans down for you to reach his cheek. “Thank you, Snow.” Steve turns his head and returns the favour, kissing your cheek and smiling as you become shy. 

Bucky huffs, “Can we hurry this up? We have work to do if you haven’t noticed.” But everyone ignores him, and he watches with envy as you continue to give each man a kiss.

Curtis gently takes his jacket from your tiny hands, closing his eyes as he feels your soft lips on his cheek. A smile on your face, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

Johnny walks up next, smirking at you and already leaning down. You give him a soft smile and lean forward, but he turns his head last second, and you gasp. “I–I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” You freak, staring wide-eyed at the happy man. 

“Don’t worry bout it, Baby.” Johnny winks, giving your arse a smooth pinch before strolling out. You feel your body and cheeks heat up, eyes still wide as you watch him leave.

“Well damn. He did it before me.” Dean rolls his eyes, slapping your arse after you give him a kiss as well. “Doesn’t matter. Have a good day, Sugar.”

Sam pulls you close, tapping his cheek before resting his hands on your hips. He groans as you lean up and kiss his cheek softly. His hands move down and squeeze your cheeks, pulling you even closer. “Mmm, Snow. You make a man so feral.” 

Once Sam leaves, it leaves the last man, the crankiest of the lot. Bucky grumbles, going to reach for his coat, but you pull back slightly and give him a pout. He rolls his eyes, bending slightly, and when you gently kiss his cheek, his whole face grows pink. “Whatever.” Bucky clears his throat and quickly leaves, leaving you in their cabin all by your lonesome, not prepared for what is to happen next. 

You hum to yourself, beginning to clean the place. You don’t notice the magic swirling around you, calling the forest animals to the cabin, some even helping you clean. You wash the men’s clothes, and the birds hang them along the line. You are so lost in your own world that you don’t notice an older woman watching you from the shadows, a scowl on her face, but the older woman also doesn’t notice the large black wolf watching her. 

You giggle, leaning over to pet the cute little bunny that hops in your direction before you walk inside the house. Your hands become busy as you begin to prepare another apple pie, continuing to hum to yourself. “Excuse me.” You turn, hearing a knock at the open window and someone talking. You smile softly, walking closer to the older woman. “I–I’m so sorry for bothering you. I am just a poor old woman trying her best to sell some delicious apples.” 

You lean against the counter, peeking over the window sill and looking at the basket of apples. “That is perfect! I’m baking an apple pie and in need of some apples!” You give an innocent smile to the older woman.

She reaches her hand into the basket and grabs a big red apple that sits at the top. “Take a look at this big red apple.” She holds it up to your face, watching you stare at it in wonder at how perfect it looks. Your hands slowly reach up to touch it, but the woman jerks it back. “Lovely, isn’t it? But you cannot touch without a price.” 

You gnaw on your bottom lip, looking between the woman and the apple with furrowed brows. You desperately needed more apples to make the pie. It had to be perfect. “I need that apple… But I, uh, I don’t have any money.” 

She thinks, knowing that this apple contains something horrible. The Queen realised there was no point in a price when she would finally have you dead. That was good enough. “Oh, my dear. No need to worry for a first-time customer. I will let you have this apple for free.” You look at her, shocked, cupping the apple as she hands it to you. She watches you, desperately wanting you to take a bite out of it in front of her, but she doesn’t get her hopes up.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! How can I ever repay you? You are so kind. Please let me give you something!” You go over and grab a plate of freshly baked biscuits, heading back over to her. She tries to refuse, but you persist. “Oh please, It wouldn’t feel right if I were to take this for free. Please take as many as you want.”

“Okay, thank you. That is kind of you, my dear.” The older woman takes one, bidding you goodbye before disappearing into the shadows again, wanting to watch what unfolds. Her eyes widen as she watches you begin to cut the apple, mixing it into the mixture of the pie. She thought the call of the apple would cause you not to resist a taste. “Oh, no, no, no! This won’t end well. You stupid girl, you should’ve eaten the apple yourself.” She huffs, stomping her foot. “The poison only works for those it is intended for… If she serves it to others, it can have side effects, and I do not need that in my hands.” She growls to herself, knowing that she will have to put a stop to this or kill more people than intended. 

Before the Queen can return to the cabin, she is met with the giant black wolf. Its teeth bared as it growled. She scoffs, waving it off. “Be a good puppy and leave. You can’t destroy the Queen.” Her eyes widen as your hums begin again as you place the pie in the oven, and she realises that you are the one controlling the animals, even if you don’t know you are. In the moment of shock, the wolf lunges, and your sweet melodies drown out her screams.

You are happy with how the pie has turned out, placing it on the window sill to cool down. You wait patiently for the men to return home, sitting curled up in a chair with a book between your hands. You’ve made the house more into a home, having gone out and picked some pretty flowers to put in a vase, gathering some wood for the fireplace, and keeping the food warm for when they walk through the door, their clothes all folded neatly. You stand when you hear them, their voices carrying through the air. 

Clark opens the door with a smile, “Hello, Little Snow. I notice that you’ve been busy.” He moves past you, brushing his hand across your hip as he moves to the pot, smelling the delicious scent. 

The rest of the men enter, Steve, being the second after taking his shoes off and giving you a large grin. “Snow! Did you have a good day?” You nod, giggling as he brings you into a hug. He lets go of you and walks over to the pot also, not used to coming home to dinner already prepared.

“Sugar!” Johnny enters, pulling you into him immediately by gripping your arse in his large hands, causing a squeak to fall from your lips. “You look so good. I could just eat you up.” He grumbles when Dean and Sam push him to the side. “The hell?” 

“You're hogging her,” Dean grunts, pulling you against him, and your eyes widen when you feel him grope you so freely. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re so tiny.” He blinks down at you, and you get a whiff of the alcohol already on his breath. 

Sam grows annoyed, pushes Dean out of his way and pulls you against him also. “Don’t hog Snow here. I want some too.” His large hands grip your arse, rubbing his bulge against you, groaning softly. “How you doing, baby?” 

Curtis and Bucky stand near the entrance, watching everything unfold. You smile softly at Sam as you let go, walking over to the two men and ignoring the shocked gasp they let out as you pull them into a hug, greeting them with your kindness. “Come, sit. Dinner’s ready, and I’ve made a pie for dessert!” You skip over, waiting for them all to take their seats before you grab the pot and serve the food. Dinner goes well, and it’s finally time for them to taste your sweet pie. You walk over to the pie, carefully picking it up before bringing it to the table and serving them a slice each. “I hope you guys enjoy.” 

The moment the pie hits their tongues, the magic begins to flow through everything and everyone, eyes turning a bright pink for a split second before they let out soft groans from the flavour that explodes on their tastebuds. You don’t notice anything that has happened. You are too happy to see that they enjoyed your baking. 

The atmosphere in the room has changed. Every single man in the room felt their heartbeat quicken and their breathing become heavier. Their eyes are half-lidded, and their members harden, growing rapidly in their pants. It seems their gaze is set on you, eyes darkening as they look you up and down, slowly getting out of their chairs and surrounding you. 

“That was a great pie, Little Snow,” Clark growls, getting closer. “But I want to taste something a little bit sweeter.” You squeal as Steve and Bucky hold you, ensuring you can’t move as Clark kneels, lifting your dress and letting out a thick groan when he realises you haven’t been wearing anything underneath, your folds slick with your juices. “Aren’t you a dirty little girl? Wearing nothing while staying with a bunch of men.” You moan as he surges forward, licking from your hole to your swollen button. “Fuck, she tastes so much better than that pie.” Your walls clench when Clark moves close again, gripping your thighs as he nuzzles his face into your soaking cunt, licking and sucking. 

You whine as Steve grips your chin, turning you to face him and locking his lips with yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Bucky groans. The hand that isn’t gripping you moves to your plump breasts and squeezes and fondles them. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Clark begins to suck on your swollen clit. You whimper into Steve’s mouth before gasping as a finger softly pokes against your entrance, breaching into it with a slow thrust. Your head falls back onto Steve and Bucky’’s shoulders, not noticing the other men rubbing their bulges through their pants, watching the scene before them with dark eyes. 

A choked whine escapes you when Clark curls his fingers while Bucky and Steve suck on your hardened nipples, swirling their tongues around. Your back arches, hands gripping their shirts as your vision becomes white and your juices flow out of your sopping cunt, covering Clark’s smirking face. “Fuck, Little Snow. You taste even more divine.” He curls his fingers in, happily watching how you twitch, your arousal still flowing out. “Men, clear the table. We are in need of a different kind of dessert.” He commands, standing to his full height and stepping aside. 

Steve and Bucky pull you toward the table, carefully setting you down and stepping back. All of the men stand and admire how beautifully blissed out you look. Johnny stumbles forward, his hardened member already hanging out of his pants, and you gasp as your gaze falls upon it. “T–that won’t fit…” You begin to shake your head as he slips between your spread legs, pulling you flush against him. 

Johnny smirks, tapping your cheek. “Dumb little sugar. I’ll make it fit. You’re so fucking wet. I’ll slide in so easily.” He reaches down and grips his throbbing base, tapping his leaking tip against your swollen clit before lining up against your entrance. Johnny groans when he pushes in, gasping at how tight you are around him. “Oh god! You feel so good, Sugar.” His hands grip your hips, slowly pulling out before thrusting into you harder. A grin forms on his face at how your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out a sob as his tip hits your sweet spot.

You are suddenly lifted, and your eyes widen when you feel something poking your already stretched hole. Your head turns slightly, and you notice Sam giving you a cheeky smile, “Don’t worry, Snow. I’m just gonna join in on the fun.” You gasp when he slowly begins to push in, stretching you even more alongside Johnny. Sam’s head falls back, and he groans, “Holy fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” His grip tightens on your hips, and the thrusting begins between the two men. When one pushes in, the other pulls out, and your screams fill the cabin. Johnny pulls you into a deep kiss while Sam grips your hips and pounds hard into you. “Oh man, can you feel how tight she is?” 

Johnny nods, groaning. “Fuck yes! I don’t think I’m going to last long!” His pace picks up, slamming harder and faster into you before he buries his face into your neck as thick amounts of cum spurt out of his angry tip. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Johnny slips out of your stretched hole, sagging into a chair as Sam pulls you down, pounding into you from behind, thrusting Johnny’s cum deeper into you. Your mouth falls open, and your eyes roll into the back of your head as Sam slams into your sweet spot, causing your walls to clench around his thick member and your juices to squirt out of you.

“Good little princess,” Sam growls into your ear, slamming his cock harder into you before burying inside of you, releasing his cum deep into you. “Fuck.” Sam moves back, the magic draining out of him, and he sags next to Johnny, their eyes fluttering closed. 

You squeal when you feel someone grabbing the back of your head before you start gagging as Curtis shoves his thick member into your mouth, thrusting in and out. “Jesus.” His head falls back, and his eyes half-lidded. “You’re mouth is so warm.” His hands hold your head, and he pulls out slowly before thrusting in again. You moan around him, swirling your tongue around his swollen tip before starting to suck, loving the salty taste that lands on your tastebuds. 

Dean smirks, gripping his throbbing member and tapping his angry tip against your used folds. He lifts your hips before sliding in, groaning at how tight you feel wrapped around him. “Damn, sweetheart. How are you still so fucking tight? You were just stretched by two cocks.” He begins to set his pace, pounding into you, pushing you to choke on Curtis’s cock. “Go on, sweetheart. Choke on his cock.” He groans, fucking into you faster. His tip repeatedly hits your sweet spot, loving how you feel as you squeeze his cock. “Shit! I’m so fucking close!” 

While Dean is busy chasing his orgasm, Curtis holds your head down and thrusts into your throat. His head rolls back as you moan around his member. “Such a sweet mouth for a sweet woman.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks, gagging around him, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when Dean fills you, setting off your orgasm, causing your arousal to coat him, and the vibrations from your moans cause Curtis to groan and release deep into your mouth, gripping your chin until you swallow and show him. “Good girl.” 

You whine as both men pull out and watch through blurry eyes as they also sag into the chairs. Your head flops down onto the hardwood table, breathing heavily. “Do you think we are done with you, Doll?” Bucky steps up, a pink swirl in his eyes as he peers down at your used form. “There’s still three of us.” You gasp when he picks you up, wrapping your legs loosely around his hips while lining his tip with your entrance. Steve steps behind you, and his hand strokes his cock up and down. Your eyes roll back, and your head flops onto Steve’s shoulder as Bucky pushes in. A loud whine escapes you when Steve follows suit, slipping his giant cock through your tiny hole. 

Both men begin to take turns pounding in and out of you. Clark steps forward and grips your chin, turning your head to capture your lips with his. “Who knew Snow White was secretly a whore. You like being used by seven men, honey?” You moan, nodding and clutching onto whoever you can. Clark grips your throat softly, making your dazed eyes look at him. “Of course you do. Only a little whore like you would like being used. No wonder the Queen wanted to get rid of you.” He moves closer, smirking as Steve and Bucky pick up their pace, causing your mind to go fuzzy. “She couldn’t have any competition because you’d end up stealing the attention of men away from her.” You nod along, barely hearing anything that leaves his mouth, too focused on the intense pleasure coming from between your legs. 

Steve presses forward, his hands kneading your breasts as he buries himself deeper inside you. “You feel so good, Snow.” He begins to kiss your collarbone and shoulders, groaning as you tighten around him. He picks up his pace, feeling his balls tighten and his cock twitch, a loud groan escapes him as cum spurts out of him, filling you to the brim. “Fuck…” He pulls out, sagging into a chair, his eyes falling closed. 

Bucky moves you, pushing you against a wall and pounding hard into you. “Fuck, take my fucking cock.” He grunts, bouncing you against his thrusts, filling you repeatedly. “You better take my fucking cum, slut. It’s what you are made for.” His metal hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, feeling his cock throb when your eyes widen and your walls spasm, squeezing the life out of his cock. “Oh, what a dirty little slut you are. Who would’ve known you liked being choked.” Bucky smirks before he grunts, burying himself deep inside you and releasing large amounts of cum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The moment he pulls out, his body does the same as the others, and before you can fall, Clark catches you and gives you a dark smile. 

“Oh, poor Little Snow. You should’ve chosen another cabin.” Your eyes widen when his eyes flash, and his cock fills you immediately. Even though the Queen was dead, it didn’t mean her minions died along with her. They just now had a mind of their own, a darker, more twisted mind. Your moans and screams echo outside the cabin. Clark’s member was bigger than the others, practically splitting you open. He growls, gripping your throat tightly. “You better find a way to wake the others when I’m done with you because you are ours now.” You are suddenly bent over the table, surrounded by the sleeping men, your nails dig into the wood, and your eyes roll into the back of your head as Clark slams deep into you. 

Your vision goes white as he repeatedly hits your sweet spot. Your juices squirt out and cover him and everything around. Your head hits the table as he continues before filling you with his cum, mixing with the others. You barely have time to register Clark’s body dropping as the magic leaves him. You shakingly stand, your legs wobbling, and you grip the table beneath as you look around and take in the sleeping bodies, or so you thought. You stumble over to the closet man, which happens to be Steve and feel his pulse. 

Your eyes widen, and your body drops as a wail escapes you, magic exploding from your body as you release every emotion you’ve been keeping in. Your eyes begin to close, and the last thing you hear is the men coming back to life, their hands grabbing you and bringing you upstairs. 

Come morning. You would learn never to trust strangers. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[bucksangel]

please reblog for a bigger sampler size!

*if you picked other, please explain in the comments or tags!

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Oh my loveliest nonny writer. I'm in great need of some protective Sam vibes, with a sick or hurt reader who hides it to not make a fuss, she's afraid the others think she's too weak to be in the team, cause she's new. But Sam noticing her being hurt or sick and goes all in full blown protective mode. And takes cares of her 🥹😪 and makes sure that she can trust him. 💔

"my loveliest nonny writer" 🥹🥹 i'm swear my heart is ready to explode. you guys are just all so sweet. i hope you enjoy and thank you so much 💛

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader Sam Wilson Masterlist | Anon's 1K Celebration

i'll take care of you.

Sam Wilson is the epitome of caretaker. He is Caretaker with a capital C. He notices something off with you the moment he walks into the conference room, far before anyone else does.

Your head is tipped into your hand, eyes slightly glassy, flushed pallor.

"You look like hell."

You barely move - another sign that you're not feeling good. Your eyes dart over to him as he stands over you, "Thanks."

"Go get some rest. I'll catch you up on anything you miss," Sam offers, concern painting his face.

You wave him off, or at least, you try to wave him off, "I'm fine. It's just allergies."

He presses a hand to your forehead, his lips pursing in distaste, "Allergies don't give you a fever. Go back to bed. I'll check on you when the meeting's over."

You softly grunt in objection, "No."

You know you're being stubborn, but the whole reason you dragged yourself out of bed this morning was to prove a point. You wanted to prove you could handle whatever this team threw at you - even if that was just a little virus.

The point was getting a little murky with the fever, but it was a point nonetheless. You shake your head, making yourself a little dizzy.

"Listen, you're not helping anyone by being here like this. Help us by helping yourself," Sam softly explains like he can see exactly what's going on without you even having to tell him. "And if anyone gives you shit for it, I'll kick their ass. Promise."

"Sam..." you grumble.

"Go or I'll carry you out of here."

Your glare is softened by how miserable you look. "You're really bossy, you know?"

It doesn't stop there. Not with Sam Wilson as your Caretaker.

He was right, even if you don't want to admit it. Because after he sent you away, the second your head hits the pillow, you're out like a light. You're not sure how long you've slept until you're suddenly awoken by Sam's presence.

"Knock, knock," Sam announces himself, entering your room armed with the sick survival kits of sick survival kits.

You sleepily groan, "Aren't you supposed to do that before you walk into a room? How did you even get in here?

"The door," Sam cheekily replies.

"It was locked."

"I may or may not have a key."

"We'll talk about this when I can see straight."

Sam crouches down to the edge of your bed. He presses a hand to your forehead again. "You're still burning up. You might have the flu."

You halfheartedly push him away. "The flu is contagious, Sam. Go away."

"Just let me take care of you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." He tenderly strokes the hair out of your face. "This would be a lot more romantic if you weren't all sweaty."

"I hate you."

"And in spite of how mean you're being, I brought you a few things." He reaches for his bag, unpacking item by item. "Tissues. Cooling rags. Plenty of fluids, Gatorade, ginger ale, and some tea. But most importantly, my mom's world famous chicken soup. Perfect for when you're feeling sick."

"You take such good care of me," you hum, reaching out and gently stroking his cheek. "My favorite nurse."

"I think you're delirious," Sam chuckles. His heart fluttering at your sweet caress. He reaches over you, pulling your thick cover over you, tucking you in. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, "I'll always take care of you."

Anon's 1K Celebration Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064

[siancore]

After those particularly tough missions, Sam lets his frustrations out in the shower. Lets the water wash away that heavy feeling in his shoulders as his tears are lost to the warm stream. It feels forgiving as it cascades down his aching body, taking all of his tension down the drain along with the blood and the dirt; along with the fading screams. It feels like it absolves him. Almost like a warm embrace. There's something safe in that feeling. Sam stays there until the water runs cold.

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 12

@flufftober

Prompt(s): "This is Spooky." | "Really?"

Pairing: Sam Wilson x gn!Reader

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, discussions of kids/wanting kids, innuendo, flirting

FYI: Even though no gender is mentioned (and I tried to keep it as neutral as possible) this reader is more female leaning!

Summary: Sam and reader go trick or treating with Sarah’s kids and it leads to some sweet discussions about kids.

Word count: 758 words

A/N: I know I'm behind on the other challenge but I'm in my home country next week for my birthday so I'm trying to schedule everything so I can chill! 🥹 Hoping to get caught up tomorrow!!

Prev | Next | Masterlist

“This is Spooky.”

“Really?”

Your boyfriend looks over at you with a nonplussed expression. The house before definitely does not fall under Spooky category. There’s a few decorations in the yard and by a few it’s one Styrofoam grave with a skeleton sticking out of the dirt in front of it.

You grin over at Sam and give him a small nudge with your elbow, muttering “It’s for the kids.”

“Oh – oh. Yeah. Real spooky.” He says it through gritted teeth, beaming a smile and waving over at his nephews, who are returning from the not-spooky house with their candy bags just a tad fuller.

Their costumes were incredibly adorable. AJ was dressed as Captain America, complete with a cowl and plastic shield and Cass was dressed as some cartoon character you couldn't name. Seeing them dressed up and excitable with Halloween spirit made your heart melt. When Sarah had asked Sam (and by extension you) to take them trick-or-treating whilst she picked up an extra shift, you'd jumped at the chance to spend time with them.

However, seeing all of the young kids in their costumes (and after one particularly fat baby dressed as a pumpkin) you were beginning to feel... something. You couldn't quite pinpoint the feeling; you were ecstatic at the playing and laughter, the dressing up and how cute all the kids were. But there was an ache in your chest that nagged at you; moreso when a family trio walked by hand in hand, all three dressed for treats and trickery.

“Look Y/N!” Cass said excitedly, running towards you with his bag open. “Mrs. Brights gave us Reese’s Pieces!”

“Oh wow!” you respond enthusiastically, leaning closer to inspect the bag. You give Cass a big grin. “Must be because of how awesome you look, kiddo.”

Cass blushes and rushes to join his brother at the next house. You straighten with a sigh and watch from the end of the driveway next to Sam, who’s eyeing you curiously.

“What’s up with you?” He asks, keeping his eyes on his nephews.

“Huh?” you bluster and clear your throat. “Nothing.”

“Don’t nothing me.” Sam’s eyes narrow over to you, but he’s grinning. “You’ve been off all evening. Spill.”

“Its just...” You shift nervously on your feet. You hadn’t expected to have this conversation tonight. A pit of nerves twist anxiously in your stomach and a cold sweat inches down your spine. “Seeing that fat baby really got to me.”

Sam bursts a laugh. “He was pretty chubby.”

Silence falls as the kids come back and you walk briefly to the next house on the lot. Once they’re out of earshot, Sam continues.

“But that doesn’t explain the look you have.”

“What look?” You frown, annoyed your own face had betrayed your emotions so readily.

“I don’t know like.... almost sad. What’s that all about, honey?” Sam’s voice drops to a comforting whisper, a large hand rubbing small circles on your back.

"I uh.... just want one." You say nervously, trying extremely hard to say nonchalant. Sam almost trips at your words and looks at you wide-eyed.

"You.. want one?" He repeats and you're blushing furiously now. Oh God. You're brain panics until Sam continues with, "Like... right now?"

Your burst into giggles and Sam is red-faced with embarrassment. However, his nephews return and demand you both take them to the next block before you can continue your conversation.

"Not now now," You whisper when the kids are out of earshot. "But one day."

Sam clears his throat, adjust his shoulders. "Ah. Gotcha. I, um, - " He flashes you a playful grin. "Would like a fat little pumpkin baby too."

You smirk at him, quirking an eyebrow. Your heart feels a lot lighter than it did earlier. "Just the one?"

Sam shrugs but there's the mischievous glint in his eyes that you love so much. "Maybe a whole patch."

"Samuel," You hiss at him, nudging him with a grin.

"What are you two talking about?" AJ asks, scowling at you both. You hadn't realised they'd finished and thankfully only caught the tail end of your conversation.

"Pumpkins." Comes the unified answer and the matching look of sheepishness.

"Come on boys, we have one street left." You say, ushering them up the street, hand in hand with Sam. When the boys have run up the drive way, Sam pecks your cheek sweetly and you link your arms with his; cuddling closer with a warm, fuzzy feeling as you watch the boys get their final round of candy.

[allthosepeopleilovetofangirlover]

Dating Sam Wilson Headcanons

Sam is perfection. He's the perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for.

He's kind, he's brave, he's absolutely in love with you, he knows how to take care of you.

People underestimate him. It's obvious, since he hangs out with super soldiers like Steve and Bucky, but you're very happy for Sam, your boyfriend. You love Sam for what he is, you appreciate his abilities honestly, and give him credit where it's due.

Sam pretends to be happy and confident all the time, but you can see beneath his charming exterior.

He has insecurities, has low confidence, and a lot of self-doubt. He's an Avenger, and a lot of things come with that. You always try to reassure him that what he's doing is enough, and that he's more than enough, sometimes it convinces him, sometimes it doesn't.

His love language is acts of service. He's the kind of person who'd do anything to reduce your work, and try his best to keep you stress-free and happy.

Sam likes to talk to you. He's always trying to make you laugh, and he bear it when you, the love of his life, is sad. He'll do anything to make you happy.

You have your highs and lows, and each time, he's there to support you.

Sam's great at giving a pep talk, since he was like a counselor to war veterans. But for you, he adds personal touch, and gives you real, useful advices instead of painting pictures in thin air.

You two watch a lot of movies together, and Sam spends a large time explaining to you how unrealistic the action scenes are. You bite your tongue every time and try not to remind him of the fact that he's an Avenger, and fights like that too.

People try to tell you that you can do better than Sam, or in exact words, 'why Sam Wilson? why didn't you go for Captain America or his hot friend?'. You get tired of telling people that it's Sam you love, and you don't have eyes for anyone else.

Sometimes, when Sam hears this, he gets upset. A part of him believes that you deserve far more than what he has to offer, but you dismiss his doubts by saying that it's him you love and him you want.

Your boyfriend is a hero not only for millions, but also for you. But his hero is you, his beloved partner.

Masterlist

[amethystarachnid]

Hi, this is a request for

MARVEL MULTIVERSE - The Game

I am very interested in Greek mythology AU with Sam Wilson. (Female reader.)

I don't know how much you had planned for it but if you don't have anything planned for now this is what could work: (If you already had something planned, ignore this ^^)

Maybe a slight rivals to lovers? As I have something on the side with him cooking about an OC also using wings but as an owl, maybe something around that.

Thank you :D ✒️

WISDOM

⤷ SAM T. WILSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Sam T. Wilson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, action, fantasy

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: you and Sam never really got along, but maybe things between you two will change if you have to go on a quest together

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Hi guysss!! I'm back! the fever finally healed and I'm back stronger than ever!!

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

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 sun dips low over the horizon, a burning ember casting its last golden light across the sprawling cliffs of Mount Olympus. The air is thick with the scent of wild thyme and sun-warmed stone, the distant crash of the sea below a steady rhythm that pulses through the ancient land. You perch at the edge of the precipice, your talons scraping against the rock as your feathers ruffle in the evening breeze. You’ve always preferred this hour—when the day begins to yield to the velvet quiet of night. It is yours, as much as the wings on your back or the keen edge of your sight.

The humans below are lighting their lamps, preparing offerings to the gods. Some, no doubt, will be meant for you. They always pray to you for wisdom, for guidance in the dark. An owl’s keen vision, they say, pierces the shadows where secrets hide. It’s a role you fulfill willingly. Not for them, but for the small spark of satisfaction it brings—to know that when they’re lost, they seek you out.

The sudden rush of air behind you draws your attention, your senses flaring in instinctive alarm. A moment later, a figure lands with an easy grace, the wide sweep of wings folding neatly against a broad back. The feathers gleam dark in the fading light, their edges tipped in a soft bronze that catches the sun’s last rays. You sigh before you’ve even turned to face him.

“Sam,” you say, your voice flat, though your pulse has quickened. “What are you doing here?”

He grins, his expression annoyingly smug. He’s always grinning, as if the world exists solely to amuse him. You’ve often wondered how he can carry such irreverence in the face of divinity—as if being chosen as the God of the Sky is a casual affair, not a mantle that demands respect.

“Can’t a guy enjoy the view?” he says, spreading his arms wide to indicate the sweeping vista behind him. “Figured you might appreciate some company out here, Wisdom.”

You bristle at the nickname. “I don’t need company.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says, eyeing your solitary perch. “What is it with you and the whole lone-sentinel act? You’re not the only one with wings around here, you know.”

“Your wings are showy,” you snap, your gaze flicking to the sleek expanse of feathers at his back. “Built for speed and spectacle. They’re nothing like mine.”

“Showy?” He places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know these wings have saved countless mortals from storms, fires, and the occasional poorly aimed lightning bolt. But sure, let’s call them showy.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to the horizon. He always knows how to needle you, to find the exact tone of teasing that leaves you balancing precariously between irritation and… something else. Something you refuse to name.

“What do you want, Sam?”

“You’re no fun, you know that?” he says, stepping closer. His voice softens, just enough that it brushes against your defenses. “I wanted to see if you’d heard.”

“Heard what?” you ask, though you keep your gaze fixed on the distant horizon. You don’t trust him when he’s like this, his usual bluster replaced with something quieter, something that stirs a strange ache in your chest.

“Zeus has called another council.”

Your feathers twitch, betraying your annoyance. “He always calls councils. Half the time, it’s just to hear himself talk.”

“This one’s different,” Sam says, his tone serious now. “Word is, there’s trouble brewing in the mortal world. Something… unnatural.”

That catches your attention. You turn to face him fully, your sharp gaze locking onto his. “Unnatural how?”

“That’s what we’re supposed to find out,” he says. “But you know how these things go. A lot of posturing, a lot of blaming, and not much else.”

“And you came here to warn me?” you ask, suspicion lacing your words. “Why?”

He shrugs, the movement casual, though there’s a flicker of something in his expression that you can’t quite place. “Maybe I figured you’d want a heads-up. Or maybe I just wanted to see the look on your face when I told you.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re predictable,” he shoots back, the grin returning to his lips. “Come on, Wisdom. Don’t tell me you’re not even a little curious.”

You hate that he’s right. You’ve always prided yourself on being above his games, on keeping your distance from his reckless charm. But there’s a spark of intrigue now, a question that won’t be ignored. If there’s something unnatural threatening the mortal world, it’s your duty to understand it, to face it. And if that means enduring Sam’s presence… well, you’ve faced worse challenges.

“Fine,” you say, your voice clipped. “But don’t think this means I’m going to tolerate your nonsense.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, though the mischievous gleam in his eyes tells you otherwise.

The two of you take flight together, your wings slicing through the cooling air as the night deepens around you. You’ve flown alongside him before, but it’s never felt quite like this. The tension between you is a thread pulled taut, vibrating with each beat of your wings. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, noting the ease with which he moves, the confidence in every motion. It’s infuriating, how effortless he makes it seem.

“Try to keep up, Wisdom,” he calls over the rush of wind, and before you can reply, he dives, a blur of dark feathers and laughter.

You grit your teeth and follow, your wings folding against your sides as you plummet after him. The air tears past you, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sheer exhilaration of the fall. Then you snap your wings open, catching the wind and leveling out beside him. He glances at you, his grin wide and triumphant.

“Not bad,” he says, and you resist the urge to wipe that smug expression off his face.

The two of you streak across the sky, the world below a patchwork of shadows and faint light. You’ve always felt most alive in the air, where the burdens of divinity seem to fall away. And yet, with Sam beside you, there’s an edge to that feeling, a sharpness that leaves you breathless in a way you don’t quite understand.

When you reach the council chamber, the air is thick with tension. The gods are gathered in a semi-circle, their voices a low hum of discontent. Zeus stands at the center, his presence commanding as always, though his expression is grim.

“You’re late,” Athena says as you and Sam enter, her sharp gaze flicking between the two of you.

“Blame him,” you say, jerking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I’ll take full responsibility,” Sam says, his tone light, though his posture is respectful. “Wouldn’t want to tarnish her impeccable reputation.”

Athena sighs, clearly unimpressed, and turns her attention back to Zeus. “Shall we begin?”

Zeus nods, his voice booming as he addresses the assembly. “Mortals have been whispering of strange occurrences. Crops failing overnight, rivers running dry in hours, creatures appearing where they should not exist. These are not the workings of the Fates, nor of any god in this room. Something is amiss.”

The murmurs grow louder, and you exchange a glance with Sam. For once, his expression is serious, his brow furrowed as he listens. It’s a rare thing, to see him so focused, and it sends a ripple of unease through you.

Zeus continues, his gaze sweeping the room. “We must discover the source of this disruption. I will require volunteers to investigate.”

Before you can think better of it, you step forward. “I will go.”

Sam steps forward as well, his voice steady. “So will I.”

The room falls silent, and you can feel the weight of their gazes on you. Zeus nods, his expression approving. “Very well. The two of you shall go together. Find the source of this disturbance and put an end to it.”

You glance at Sam, your heart sinking. Of course it had to be him. This mission was going to be difficult enough without his infuriating presence. But there’s no turning back now. The path ahead is set, and you have no choice but to walk it—or fly it—together.

The mortal world feels strange as you and Sam step into its realm. Your wings, bound and hidden beneath heavy cloaks, feel unnatural, almost stifled. Every step on the uneven dirt road reminds you of the limitation you’ve imposed on yourself for this mission. Beside you, Sam walks with an easy stride, as if being forced to ground himself doesn’t bother him at all.

“You’re quiet,” he says, his voice low enough to blend with the evening breeze.

“Observation requires silence,” you reply curtly, your eyes scanning the horizon. The village where you’re supposed to start your investigation is just ahead, its cluster of thatched-roof houses dimly lit under the fading light of the sun.

Sam chuckles softly. “You can’t just say you don’t want to talk to me?”

“I thought that much was obvious.”

Despite your tone, his grin widens. He always seems amused when you’re short with him, which only irritates you more. But there’s no time for bickering now. The closer you get to the village, the heavier the air feels, thick with unease. You glance at Sam, and his face is serious for once, his jaw tight as he surveys the scene ahead.

The two of you enter the village cautiously, careful to keep your steps measured and your faces neutral. The streets are nearly deserted, and the few people you see hurry past without making eye contact. It’s a stark contrast to the lively villages you’re accustomed to, where mortals chatter and laugh late into the night.

“Something’s definitely wrong here,” Sam mutters, his gaze flicking between the shadows.

You nod. “We’ll find out more in the morning. For now, we need somewhere to stay.”

It doesn’t take long to find the village’s only inn, a small, creaky building with a faded sign swinging above the door. The innkeeper eyes you suspiciously as you step inside, his gaze lingering on your cloaks. You lower your hood slightly, revealing just enough of your face to disarm him.

“Travelers?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“Yes,” you reply. “We need a room for the night.”

His eyes dart to Sam, then back to you, before he nods. “Only one left.”

You sigh internally, already anticipating the argument that’s sure to come. But before you can say anything, Sam slides a coin across the counter and gives the man an easy smile.

“We’ll take it.”

The innkeeper hands over a key and mutters directions to the room. You follow Sam up the narrow stairs, your irritation simmering just below the surface. When you reach the room, you stop in the doorway, taking in the sight of the single, narrow bed pushed against the far wall.

“Perfect,” you say dryly.

Sam shrugs, dropping his pack onto the floor. “Hey, it’s better than sleeping outside.”

You glare at him. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, leaning against the bedpost. “You’ll be sore and miserable tomorrow, and we need to be at our best.”

“Then you take the floor,” you counter.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor either,” he says with a grin. “Guess we’ll have to share.”

Your feathers bristle beneath your cloak, but you keep your expression neutral. You don’t have the energy to argue further, and you know he’s right\u2014you’ll need to be rested for whatever comes next.

“Fine,” you say tightly. “But stay on your side.”

Sam chuckles, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Promise.”

You roll your eyes and turn away, slipping off your cloak and carefully tucking it into a corner. Without your wings bound, you feel slightly more at ease, though the thought of sharing a bed with Sam keeps your nerves on edge.

The two of you settle in awkwardly, lying as far apart as the narrow bed allows. You keep your back to him, your body rigid as you stare at the wall. For a while, the room is silent except for the faint creak of the inn and the occasional muffled sound from outside.

“Relax, Wisdom,” Sam says softly after a while. His voice is closer than you expect, and you can feel the warmth of him just behind you.

“I am relaxed,” you reply stiffly.

“Sure you are,” he says, his tone teasing but gentle.

You don’t respond, focusing instead on slowing your breathing. Eventually, your exhaustion begins to catch up with you, and your body starts to soften against the mattress.

When you wake in the middle of the night, the room is dark, the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the cracks in the shutters. It takes you a moment to realize why you feel so warm, so\u2026 comfortable. Then you notice the arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest pressed against your back.

Your first instinct is to pull away, but something stops you. He's holding you loosely, his body relaxed and unguarded in sleep. It's an intimacy you never expected from him, and for a moment, you let yourself simply feel it. The heat of his skin, the softness of his breath against your hair, it's almost enough to make you forget who you are, what you are.

But the moment doesn't last. Your mind catches up with your heart, and you shift carefully, trying to extricate yourself without waking him.

“Y/N?” His voice is groggy, barely more than a whisper.

You freeze, caught. “Go back to sleep,” you mutter.

He hums softly, his arm tightening around you just slightly. “You're warm,” he murmurs, his words slurring with sleep.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you don't trust yourself to speak. Instead, you lie still, willing your breathing to slow. It takes a long time for your racing thoughts to settle, but eventually, sleep finds you again, this time, with Sam's warmth still wrapped around you.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of birds outside the window and the faint glow of dawn creeping into the room. Sam is already awake, leaning on one elbow as he watches you with an unreadable expression.

“Morning,” he says, his voice soft but teasing. “Sleep well?”

You push yourself upright, your cheeks burning as you avoid his gaze. “Don’t read into it,” you say quickly. “It was an accident.”

“Sure it was,” he says, his grin widening.

You groan, shoving the blanket off and standing. “Come on. We have work to do.”

As you gather your things and prepare to face the day, you can feel his eyes on you, his presence a steady weight that you can’t ignore. This quest is going to be far more complicated than you anticipated, and not just because of the danger lurking in the mortal world.

The village stretches before you in the muted light of dawn, its narrow paths and crooked buildings casting long shadows across the dirt roads. Despite its eerie stillness, there’s an energy beneath the surface, a tension that vibrates in the air like a string pulled taut. You and Sam move through the streets side by side, cloaks drawn tightly to obscure your wings. His presence is a steady weight at your side, grounding you even as your senses remain alert for the slightest sign of trouble.

The innkeeper had mentioned strange occurrences—livestock disappearing without a trace, fields blighted overnight, people vanishing into the forest and never returning. There’s no clear pattern, no sense of what might be causing it, only an underlying fear that has driven the villagers to the edge. You suspect the answer lies deeper than what mortal eyes can see, and it’s your responsibility to uncover it.

Sam stops suddenly, his hand brushing your arm to catch your attention. His gaze is fixed on a group of villagers gathered near the well, their faces tight with worry as they speak in hushed tones. You glance at him, and he gives a small nod, a silent agreement to approach together.

The villagers stiffen as you draw near, their eyes darting to your cloaks. You’ve learned how to carry yourself among mortals without drawing too much attention, but their wariness is palpable.

“We’re travelers,” you say, keeping your voice calm and even. “We heard about the troubles in your village and wanted to offer our help.”

A man steps forward, his face lined with age and worry. He studies you carefully, his gaze lingering on Sam before returning to you. “What kind of help could strangers offer? The gods themselves seem to have turned their backs on us.”

“Perhaps the gods haven’t turned away,” Sam says, his tone light but firm. “Perhaps they’ve sent help without you realizing.”

The man narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced, but another voice cuts in before he can respond.

“They vanished into the forest last night,” a woman says, her voice trembling. “Three of them. My son among them. There was no sound, no struggle—just gone.”

You exchange a glance with Sam. The forest. It’s always the forest. In every tale of danger and despair, it’s the place where shadows deepen, where answers lie hidden beneath layers of mystery and fear.

“Take us to the edge of the forest,” you say. “We’ll look for them.”

The villagers hesitate, their fear a tangible thing that hangs in the air between you. Finally, the older man nods, gesturing for you to follow.

The walk to the forest is tense, the silence broken only by the crunch of dirt beneath your boots and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. When you reach the treeline, the man stops, his face pale as he stares into the shadowy depths.

“This is as far as we go,” he says. “If you’re wise, you’ll turn back too.”

“We’ll manage,” Sam says with a confidence that seems to unnerve the man further.

The villagers retreat, leaving the two of you alone at the forest’s edge. The air here is different, heavier, as if the trees themselves are watching. You feel a shiver run through you, not from fear but from the strange energy that pulses beneath your skin.

“You feel it too,” Sam says, his voice low.

You nod. “It’s not mortal. Something else is here.”

Without another word, you step into the forest, the canopy above swallowing the light and plunging you into a world of shadow and whispers.

The deeper you go, the stronger the presence becomes, a thrumming energy that prickles against your skin. The forest is unnaturally quiet, the usual sounds of birds and insects replaced by an oppressive stillness. You keep your senses sharp, your eyes scanning the underbrush and your ears straining for the faintest sound.

Sam walks close beside you, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by a quiet focus. It’s strange to see him like this, all of his attention honed in on the task at hand. You’d always thought of him as reckless, too carefree to take anything seriously, but now you’re beginning to see another side of him.

“Stay close,” he says suddenly, his voice soft but firm.

“I’m not a child, Sam,” you reply, bristling at his tone.

“Didn’t say you were,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Just don’t want anything sneaking up on you. You know, since you’re so predictable.”

You glare at him, but the faint amusement in his eyes disarms you. For a moment, the tension between you eases, and you allow yourself a small smile in return.

The moment is short-lived. A sound ripples through the forest, low and guttural, like the growl of a predator. You freeze, your hand instinctively moving to the hidden weapon at your side. Sam steps in front of you, his body tense as he scans the trees.

“Did you hear that?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Stay behind me.”

Before you can argue, something moves in the shadows—a blur of motion too fast to track. You barely have time to react before it lunges at you, a creature of sinew and shadow with glowing eyes that burn like embers.

Sam moves faster than you thought possible, his body a blur as he meets the creature head-on. His blade flashes in the dim light, slicing through the air with precision. The creature snarls, its movements erratic and unnatural, but Sam holds his ground, his strength and skill undeniable.

You shake off your shock and draw your own weapon, moving to flank the creature. Together, you and Sam fight as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, your movements instinctively synchronized. The creature is relentless, but it’s no match for the two of you. With one final strike, it lets out a piercing screech and dissolves into nothingness, leaving behind only the faint scent of sulfur.

You lower your weapon, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Sam turns to you, his face flushed but triumphant.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you reply, though your hands are still trembling. “What was that?”

“Something unnatural,” he says grimly. “Zeus wasn’t kidding about this.”

You glance at him, your irritation forgotten in the wake of the battle. For the first time, you feel a flicker of gratitude for his presence. Whatever lies ahead, you’re glad you don’t have to face it alone.

The rest of the day is a blur of tension and discovery. You and Sam uncover more signs of the creatures’ presence—claw marks on trees, patches of scorched earth, and the faint remnants of an otherworldly energy that clings to the air like smoke.

By the time night falls, you’re both exhausted, your bodies aching from the strain of the day. You find a small clearing and decide to make camp, the fire you build casting flickering shadows across the trees.

As you sit beside the flames, the silence between you feels less heavy now, less strained. There’s an unspoken understanding in the way you pass each other food, in the way Sam adjusts his cloak to shield you from the chill.

“You fought well today,” you say quietly, surprising yourself with the admission.

“So did you,” he replies, his voice warm. “Not bad for someone who’s ‘predictable.’”

You huff a laugh, the sound surprising you both. For a moment, the tension between you fades, replaced by something softer, something that feels almost like trust.

When you finally lie down to rest, the danger of the day lingers at the edges of your thoughts, but Sam’s presence is a steady comfort.

The forest feels endless, the thick canopy above blotting out the sun and casting everything in shadow. Days blur together as you and Sam press forward, following the faint trail of devastation left by the creatures. Every step deeper into the woods feels heavier, the oppressive energy seeping into your bones. Whatever force drives these monsters, it’s ancient and powerful, far beyond what you initially expected.

The attacks grow more frequent. It’s as if the creatures sense you’re getting closer to the source, their aggression increasing with every skirmish. The battles leave you winded and bruised, your divine strength tested in ways you hadn’t imagined. Even Sam, with all his confidence and skill, is beginning to show signs of wear. Still, he pushes forward, his determination unwavering.

You try to ignore how often his focus shifts to you—how his eyes flicker to check on you during fights, how his hand brushes yours when the silence stretches too long. It’s disarming, the way he looks at you like you’re more than just his rival, more than just another god forced to endure this quest. You don’t know how to process it, so you bury the thoughts deep and concentrate on the mission.

The final confrontation comes without warning. One moment, you and Sam are navigating a narrow ravine, the air thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. The next, the ground trembles beneath your feet, and the creatures emerge, their forms twisting and shifting like shadows given life. These are not like the ones you’ve faced before. They’re larger, more feral, their movements faster than your eyes can track.

You barely have time to draw your weapon before they’re on you. The battle is chaos, a blur of flashing claws and snarling teeth. You and Sam fight as one, your movements synchronized in a way that feels almost instinctual now. You’ve learned to anticipate each other’s actions, to move in tandem like two halves of a whole.

But even with your combined strength, the creatures are relentless. One swipes at your side, its claws tearing through your cloak and leaving a jagged gash across your ribs. You grit your teeth against the pain and strike back, your blade finding its mark. Beside you, Sam takes a blow to the shoulder, the force of it sending him stumbling before he recovers and drives his sword through the creature’s chest.

The fight feels endless, each second stretching into an eternity. You’re bleeding, your body aching with the strain of battle, but you refuse to falter. Beside you, Sam is equally battered, his movements slowing as exhaustion takes its toll.

Then, finally, the tide turns. With one final, desperate effort, you drive your blade into the heart of the largest creature. Its body convulses, a horrific screech tearing through the air before it collapses and dissolves into ash. The remaining creatures falter, their connection to the source severed. One by one, they fall, their forms dissipating into nothingness.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stand there, chest heaving, your weapon still clutched tightly in your hand. Blood drips from the wound at your side, staining the ground beneath you. Sam is equally battered, his armor dented and his face smeared with dirt and blood.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The realization of what you’ve done, what you’ve survived, crashes over you like a tidal wave. The euphoria is overwhelming, a rush of relief and triumph that leaves you dizzy.

Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you and throw your arms around Sam. He catches you instinctively, his arms wrapping around you as you bury your face in his shoulder. His body is warm and solid against yours, grounding you in the chaos of your emotions.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. When you finally pull back, your hands still rest on his shoulders, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

His eyes meet yours, wide with something that looks like shock. For once, he’s speechless, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. You’re not sure who moves first, whether it’s you or him, but suddenly the space between you disappears.

His lips press against yours, warm and urgent, and the world falls away. The pain, the exhaustion, the forest around you—it all fades into nothingness. There’s only Sam, his hands steady on your waist, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

You don’t know how long the kiss lasts. It could be seconds or hours, but when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer.

“Was that—” he starts, his voice rough, but you cut him off with another kiss, softer this time.

When you pull back again, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Shut up, Sam.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and for the first time, you feel the weight of your rivalry dissolve completely. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll face it together—and for now, that’s enough.

The ascent to Olympus is both triumphant and wearying. After days of trekking through mortal lands and battling shadows, your bodies ache with fatigue, yet victory fuels each step. The air grows lighter as you near the summit, the golden halls of the gods shimmering in the distance, their brilliance blinding after the dim forest.

Sam walks beside you, his cloak billowing in the crisp wind. His wounds, though tended to, still show faint traces of the battles you’ve endured. His steps are sure, though his occasional glances at you betray a quiet worry, as if even now he fears for your well-being. It’s a side of him you never expected to see, one that has burrowed deep into your thoughts and refuses to leave.

When you finally reach the gates of Olympus, the other gods await you. Their eyes are bright with curiosity and perhaps a hint of respect. Even Apollo, lounging against one of the golden pillars, seems to straighten slightly as you and Sam stride forward.

Zeus rises from his throne, his imposing figure framed by the glow of lightning that seems to pulse around him. He regards you both with a mixture of approval and something sterner, his gaze lingering on the faint scars and bruises you carry.

“You have returned,” Zeus says, his voice booming across the courtyard. “And victorious, no less. I confess I had my doubts, but you have proven yourselves worthy.”

“Was there ever a question?” Sam quips, though there’s no malice in his tone. His smile is easy, but you catch the tension in his shoulders as he stands before the King of the Gods.

Zeus’s lips twitch, as if suppressing a smile. “You’ve done more than I asked. The creatures that plagued the mortals are no more, and the balance is restored. For that, I owe you a debt.”

He steps forward, his presence dominating the space. “For your bravery and sacrifice, I will grant each of you one wish. Whatever lies within my power to give, it shall be yours.”

The offer hangs in the air, heavy with promise. The other gods lean in, their curiosity palpable. It’s rare for Zeus to grant such a boon, and you can feel their eyes on you, waiting to see what you will ask for.

You open your mouth, but Sam speaks first, his voice steady and clear. “I know what I want.”

Zeus nods, gesturing for him to continue.

“I wish to marry her,” Sam says, and your heart stops. His eyes meet yours, unwavering, as if daring you to object. “I want to build a life with her, not just as gods but as equals. And I wish for a domain of our own—a place where we can rule together, as others worship and honor us, just as they do the rest of you.”

A stunned silence falls over the courtyard. You can feel the weight of every gaze, every whisper of disbelief and curiosity. Even Zeus looks momentarily taken aback, his brow furrowing as he studies Sam.

“You ask for much,” Zeus says, his tone measured. “To bind yourself to another god is no small request. And a domain of your own… Where would you lay claim?”

Sam stands tall, his confidence unshaken. “The winds,” he says simply. “The skies already belong to you, Zeus, but the winds are untamed, wild and free. Let us rule them together. Let them carry the prayers of mortals to the heavens. Let them be ours.”

Zeus considers this, his gaze flickering to you. “And what of you? Is this your wish as well?”

You can hardly breathe. The weight of Sam’s words presses down on you, your mind reeling. You’ve spent so much of your existence keeping others at arm’s length, refusing to let anyone get too close. But now, standing before the gods, Sam’s proposal laid bare for all to see, you realize the truth.

You want this. You want him.

“Yes,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you. “It is my wish as well.”

Zeus nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “So be it.”

He raises his hand, and the air around you shifts, crackling with divine energy. The sky above darkens momentarily, the winds whipping around you in a frenzy before they suddenly calm. You feel the power settle into your bones, a new connection to the world around you, as if the very air has become an extension of your being.

“It is done,” Zeus declares. “You are now gods of the winds, your domain as vast and untamed as the skies themselves. As for your union…” He pauses, a faint smile curling his lips. “Let it be known across Olympus and the mortal world alike. You shall be husband and wife, partners in rule and in life.”

The gods erupt into applause, some more enthusiastic than others. Aphrodite claps her hands together, a pleased smile on her face, while Ares merely grunts in approval. Even Athena gives a small nod, her sharp gaze softening as she looks at you and Sam.

Sam turns to you, his eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. He extends his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, you take it. His grip is warm and steady, grounding you in a way that nothing else ever has.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other now,” he says, his grin crooked but genuine.

You laugh, the sound light and free. “Guess so.”

As the gods continue their celebration, you and Sam stand together, the weight of your new roles settling over you. But for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know you’ll face them together. And for now, that’s enough.

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤

welcome to the strawberry shack! where men from all over come to play with our sweet girls, using their holes for their pleasure and relieving their stress. come join us for more adventures in our dessert-filled room, sit back, relax, and read about these hunky, dreamy men.

18+ only please, do not copy, repost or translate our works. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

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𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥

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!warning! these fics will include size differences, innocent kink, age gaps, glory holes, use of women for men's pleasure, dirty talk, cheating kink, and possible dark content (depending on the character). all characters/reader are of age.

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𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬:

𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒃𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 - steve kemp

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𝒃𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒚𝒆𝒓 - andy barber

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𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏 - tangerine

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒋𝒐𝒄𝒌 - jake wyler

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𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒆 - colin shea

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𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏 - lloyd hansen 

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𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 - mark kincaid 

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𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒚 - lance tucker

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 - ransom drysdale

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒙𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏 - curtis everett

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𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 - luke danes

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𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒇 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 - mickey altieri 

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𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒆 - frank adler

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒑 𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒇 - lee bodecker

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𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏 - clark kent (henry cavill)

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𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒅 - jake jensen 

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𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒚 𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒆𝒔 - max burnett

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𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 - logan howlett

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 - billy loomis

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𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 - john winchester

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𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 - ari levinson

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𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 - steve rogers

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒙-𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒏 - sam wilson

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒌𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓 - willy wonka

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𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉 - patrick hockstetter

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𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 - johnny storm

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𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 - stu macher

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒏 - terry the terrific

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𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏 - clark kent (tom welling)

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𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒓𝒖𝒎 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌 𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 - captain jack sparrow

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𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒇 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 - charlie swan 

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𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓 - negan

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𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒚 - rick grimes

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𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓 - dean winchester

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𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏 - nick fowler

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𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒑𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 - lucas lee

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒃𝒐𝒚 - nathan young

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𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒎𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒙-𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒓 - bucky barnes

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[wwilsonbarness]

still not funny

pairings:  sam wilson x bucky barnes

summary: basically a continuation of the deleted scene <3 

warnings: fluff, tinyyyyy bit of angst

word count: 1932

a/n: I love them so much and after seeing the deleted scene I just had to write this!! 

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist

“Thank you for bringing us cake uncle Bucky!” Aj shouts across the table. 

“You’re welcome boys.” Bucky responds, playfully nudging Sam with a smirk. 

“I’m still their favourite uncle so don’t go getting any ideas.” Sam says shooting Bucky a glare.

“We’ll see.” Bucky returns the same look.

“Alright, alright I’m sure the boys love you both plenty, right boys?” 

A mix of “Yep” and “Mhmm Mama” come from Aj and Cass making everyone laugh lightly. 

Bucky couldn’t help but look to his side, focusing on the smile lines on Sam’s face. The way they moved as he looked around at his family. The way his smile kept growing as Sarah and the boys speak about the activities they’re planning tomorrow. He doesn’t realise how long he’s staring until Sam turns to him, toothy grin and all. “Something caught your eye Buck?” He says, his smirk only growing. 

He blinks as Sam’s voice breaks him out of his trance. “Hm? What? No I was just-” He rambles, only stopping when Sam moves his hand towards Bucky’s arm and squeezes slightly. 

“Chill man, I’m just messing with ya.”

Bucky laughs but before he can respond, Sarah calls his name. “You staying here tonight, Bucky?” 

“Oh, I- no that’s okay. Thanks Sarah.” Sam shoots him a look of confusion and answers again for him.

“Yes, he’s staying here tonight.” Bucky looks at him and mirrors the confusion on his face. 

“Guys I really don’t mind getting a room at a motel.”

“Nonsense!” Sarah exclaims as she stands up from the table. “Boys, get ready for bed and I’ll set up the couch for Bucky.” 

“It’s okay Sarah, I’ll do it. You just chill for the night.” Sam says. He gets up to hug the boys and Sarah goodnight. Bucky does the same.

“You sure?” She asks. 

“Yeah I got it.” He says. 

“Okay, goodnight then.” 

“Night!” Bucky says as she walks away before he turns to Sam.

“You know I really don’t mind getting a hotel room Sam.” He says slightly quieter than his normal voice. He didn’t really want to get a hotel room but he equally didn’t want to impose on Sam and his family.

“Come on now, you’re part of the family now Buck, there’s always going to be room for you here.” Sam reassures him with a pat on the back. They both begin to walk up to the house and Bucky heads for the couch. 

“Hey Sam?” Bucky shouts through to the kitchen where Sam was quickly finishing the clean up from the cookout. 

“Yeah?” 

“You got a spare pillow? Maybe a blanket?” 

“Yeah, in my room, hang on.” He puts away the last bowl and strolls through. Bucky could almost see a slight smirk on his face but had no idea why. 

“You know, I can’t really be bothered going all the way up, back down the stairs and all the way back up again.” Sam groans. He had been subtly hinting at Bucky to make a move but he hadn’t caught on, so Sam decided to up the stakes.

Bucky’s a bit confused but responds anyway. “Oh umm, I can get it? Where are they?” He heads for the stairs but stops on the first step, turning to Sam to wait for his answer. 

“Or” Sam trails off. “You could just stay in my room. Beds big enough for both of us.” Sam notices Bucky’s eyes practically fall out the sockets in surprise and suddenly worries that he might’ve overstepped. 

“Oh.” Bucky clears his throat before continuing, he pushes together his thumb and index finger, a nervous tic he had recently developed. “Yeah.. I- okay. If that’s okay with you?.” Truthfully the thought of sleeping in the same bed as Sam was a lot. He hadn’t even really admitted it to himself but there were feelings there, on his part anyway. Spending time with Sam, whether it was fighting on a mission or just sitting with him on the jet made him get a funny feeling inside his chest and he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Wouldn't ask if it wasn't.” Sam responds with a light chuckle. He follows Bucky up the stairs. Sam’s heart was beginning to race and he prayed Bucky couldn’t here it. 

Bucky walks into Sam’s room and looks around. He’d only ever seen it in photos and once on a video call, but it was just as he imagined. It was tidy but had loads of little trinkets around. He sees photos of Sam with Riley, his parents and a baby he assumes is Cass or Aj. There’s also a diary, it looks like it had been read a lot but it had a pen sticking out. Maybe a journal, Bucky thought.

Below the photo wall is a bottle of aftershave, he couldn’t smell it but he guessed it was the smell he had become so used to smelling on Sam. The one that he had grown so attached to recently. It made him feel silly, being attached to a smell but it also made him feel safe and that was a feeling he had been craving ever since he fell off that train in the 40’s. 

He turns to the left and sees Sam’s bed, it was covered in blankets and looked so comfy. It had been a while since he had slept in a bed, his apartment back in new york had a bed but he hadn’t once slept in it. He begins to think about whether he’ll be able to sleep okay but Sam’s voice cuts him off. 

“It’s a hard one.” 

Bucky turns around quickly and looks at Sam, he turns his head slightly, urging Sam to continue. 

“The mattress I mean. Soft beds are the worst. Ya know?” 

“Right.” Bucky says. He hated that Sam had those struggles but it  made him feel better that he wasn’t the only one who did.

Bucky goes to the bathroom first and changes into a pair of sweatpants and vest. He brushes his teeth and heads back to Sam’s room. Sam does the same but takes a little longer, he had a more detailed night routine. He changes into a pair of shorts and leaves his shirt off. He takes the time to wash and moisturise his face and walks back to the room. 

You got a side you prefer Buck?”

“By the door? If that’s okay with you?” 

“Yep.” 

They get into bed and Sam turns all the lights off, just leaving a lamp on his side table on. The room is silent but he can hear Bucky’s deep breathing. “You alright?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckles to try to hide his embarrassment but Sam notices his cheeks warming up and turn a shade of red. “Just been a while since I shared a bed with someone.” 

“Are you uncomfortable?” Sam asks. 

“No! God no!” He wanted to tell Sam he could never feel uncomfortable with him around but he held back. “I just.. The only time I ever really shared a bed was with a girl back in the day.” He admits with a shy grin. 

Sam’s eyebrows raise at that and he takes a deep breath before responding “Is this so different?” He can’t help but chuckle when Bucky’s eyes do that thing again, they really would fall out if it kept happening. 

“Hm?” 

“Is this so different from then?”

“Sam.” Bucky calls his name.

“Bucky.” Sam responds in the same tone.

“Do you..”

“Do I..” 

Bucky takes a breath, he knows what he wants to say but he just can’t get it out. “Do you feel this.. thing between us?” Sam really can’t help his full laugh coming out this time.

“Thing?” He asks, waiting for Bucky to say what he’s really thinking. 

“Sam, If I’ve taken this the wrong way please tell me now to save me the embarrassment.” 

“How can I know unless you tell me?” He was really gonna make him say it wasn’t he?

“Sam, I like you.” 

“I’d hope so, we are partners after all.” Sam teases, he regrets it as he sees Bucky’s face drop. 

“Right.” Bucky nods his head slightly. “Partners.” He starts to turn back and lie down but stops when he feels Sam’s hand on his arm. 

“Oh my god, you idiot! Come here.” With that, Sam pulls Bucky towards him by the neckline of his vest and plants his lips against Bucky’s. The feeling of Sam’s soft lips melting into his was one he didn't think could ever be beaten. It’s a messy kiss and both of them don’t want it to end. Bucky’s the one to pull away, needing a second to catch his breath. He pulls away only slightly and presses his forehead against Sam’s. 

Sam’s tongue comes out his mouth and licks along his lips, chasing the taste of Bucky he had finally gotten after craving it for so long. “I do.” He whispers. Bucky pulls away further and looks at Sam, urging him to continue. “I do feel that thing.” 

Bucky chuckles at that, he feels shy and hides his head in the crook of Sam’s neck for a second. He couldn’t believe he had finally gotten to touch Sam in the way he way too often thought about. 

“What took us so long?” He asks softly but it comes out as a mumble against Sam’s skin. Sam pulls away slightly and places his hands on Bucky’s face. 

“What was that?” He asks and Bucky repeats himself but can’t bring himself to look in Sam’s eyes. 

“I’d say we’ve had a lot on our plates, it didn’t exactly leave us a lot of time to be alone.” Bucky nods along, it’s true. There was always someone or something in their way. “Plus, I like seeing you flustered. It’s cute so I had to play a little.” Sam teases. 

“Hey! I was not flustered.” Bucky argues playfully to which Sam laughs at.

“Buck, I honestly thought your eyes were gonna pop out of your head when I suggested sleeping up here.” Bucky feels his cheeks heat up even more.

“How else was I supposed to react? Sleeping in your bed with you in it.” 

“Aw baby are you getting all flustered again?” 

“You’re so annoying Sam.” Bucky playfully rolls his eyes and hides his smirk.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” They look into each other's eyes for a moment before he responds. 

“Yeah, I really do.” The unspoken true meaning of their words float between them but neither of them bring them to light. 

“Alright enough swooning.” Sam teases. “As much as I’d love to look into your eyes all night, we need to sleep.” 

“Come here then.” Bucky responds, pulling Sam down towards the bed with him. He pulls Sam into his chest and lets him wiggle around until he’s comfy. Their legs tangle under the blanket and Sam rests his arm over Bucky.. “This okay?” Bucky asks. 

“Mhmm. S’perfect.” Sam mumbles. 

It’s silent for a few moments before Bucky breaks it. 

“Sam?” 

“Yeah Buck?” 

“You think Sarah is free after their plans tomorrow?”

“Buck! It’s still not funny!” 

Bucky can’t hold off his laughter.

“It will never not be funny Sam.” He speaks more softly as he continues. “Don’t worry, there’s only one Wilson I got my eyes on.” 

With that he pressed a gentle kiss onto Sam’s forehead and closed his eyes. 

“Goodnight Doll.”  He heard Sam giggle at that and it was the best sound he had ever heard, until Sam responded in his sleepy voice. “Goodnight Babe”

[gemstone-roses]

A song so sinful

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

summary: Sambucky tells you how good you are for them. Can be read as part of the 'good girl' fic world but also on its own. Kinda threesome? But There's no DP here sorry!

You can read my other two fics which exist in the same universe as this but there is no need to read them before this, here.

Warnings: smut, Lots of praise, like sooo much 🙌. This is so incredibly filthy I don't know what to say to be honest. Overstimulation, spit kink,? Breast/nipple play. Praise, unprotected sex! Pet names, Mentions of squirting at the end. NSFW minors be fucking gone from here I swear!

There shall be another, where Sam makes the reader squirt.

Note: it has been a while, sorry! be kind! Likes reblogs and comments are much appreciated thankyou 🥺🥺 remember I am not responsible for your media consumption if this is not your jam then do not click the read more!

"God your taking me so well, isn't our girl taking me so well Sam?" Bucky croons, thrusting his cock into your soaked pussy.

You choke out a moan, the two men going back and forth while one of them has their cock stuffed in you and the other is stroking your face so gently has you almost seeing stars instantly.

Your lay on your back in between Sam's legs, his long fingers cup your face as he praises you

"You are, taking him so well baby, so good for us" Sam agrees, swiping his finger across your lip before pushing it between your lips.

You swirl your tongue around his finger, drool dripping down your chin onto your bare chest, coupled with the sounds from bucky pushing into you makes Sam throw his head back, moaning.

"Your so fucking beautiful" Sam says, removing his fingers to trail down to your breasts, a line of saliva followed his finger from your mouth, Sam swipes his finger over your nipple, causing you to push off the bed slightly.

Bucky has slowed down slightly, thrusting in and out of you lazily as he watches Sam toy with your nipples.

Sam rolls it between his fingers, pinching at the same time, your walls clench around buckys cock as he does.

"Mm, your so responsive baby" Sam whispers, leaning forward to spit on your erect nipple.

"m fuck" you choke out, gripping the sheets.

"So good for us honey", Sam's deep voice soothes you as your mind begins to cloud with the amount of pleasure

"I think she's close, buck"

"Are you doll? Are you gonna cum for us?" Bucky asks, he angles his hips differently and brings his metal hand to toy with your swollen clit

"Fuck doll, your just divine" Bucky mumbles

You arch even further off the bed, whining, the coil inside you almost ready to snap

"sh baby it's okay, we got you" Sam says as he softly pulls at both your nipples

"Please" you moan, Buckys finger moves so slowly around your puffy clit, his other hand comes to press on your lower stomach, and bucky feels your walls clench his cock tighter

"Doll your pussys gripping me so good, you feel amazing wrapped around my cock"

"Ohmygod" you breathe, his actions and his words push you over the edge, waves and waves of pleasure roll over you, stars dot your vision as your eyes fall shut

"Eyes on me honey, your face is so pretty when you come, that's it, good girl, come for us baby, " Sam encourages, his hands gently caressing your face as bucky continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

"Good girl, good fucking girl" Bucky growls, spilling inside you.

Sam continues to stroke your face while you come round. Bucky is in the bathroom getting a warm cloth and a cold drink for you.

"You did so good for us baby, so fucking good" he presses a kiss to your forehead before wrapping you in his arms.

You feel the bed dip as bucky begins cleaning you up. His free hand gently rubs your leg, they both know how comforting you find little touches like that.

You smile as Sam holds you tighter, he leans in and nips at the skin between your shoulder and neck.

"You know how you mentioned you wanted to experience squirting?" Sam whispers, his warm breath making goosebumps rise over your skin

"Mm" you say

"why don't we give it a try, after some food and a movie?" He nips at your neck once more, waiting.

You remember how you shyly brought up you'd never done it, and the two men in front of you shared a look, something brewing behind their eyes.

You'd wrapped your arms around your knees, embarrassed and Sam had to coax you out with assurances it was nothing to be embarrassed about and how they would be honored to be the ones who made it happen for you.

"yes" you breathe out, your pussy beginning to throb again at the thought.

"Mm" he moans into your ear,

"I can't wait to have you drench my fingers and cock" he adds.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Midnight Rain

“I broke his heart because he was nice. He was Sunshine, I was Midnight Rain…”

Request from ao3- "ok but imagine a grumpy/sunshine fic with sam but the reader is the grumpy one 🤷" For one of my fave readers, @/badasswithafatass I hope you enjoy! 💛

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader Sam Wilson Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Anon's 1K Celebration

“You know, for a smart guy, you’re pretty fucking dense," Bucky mutters, taking another swig of his beer.

“Aw… you think I’m smart?” Sam sarcastically awes from the bar stool beside Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head, “Do you honestly think she had any real interest in me?”

Bucky doesn't miss the tick in Sam's jaw at the mention of you. Months had passed since the last time Sam saw you, and he wasn’t too keen on remembering that dreaded last night. Just the memory of you leaning over the bar counter, hand resting on Bucky’s chest, whispering something in Bucky's ear, was enough to make Sam's stomach twist into a knot.

Even before that night, he could tell that you were pulling away from him, but there it was, that night, the final nail in the coffin. That was the last time he’d seen or heard from you. You walked out of his life without so much as a goodbye.

Sam rolls his shoulders back, his mouth twisting in distaste, “Sure seemed like it to me.”

“See? Dense,” Bucky declares, tipping his beer in Sam's direction.

“Alright, I’ll bite. How does any of that make me dense?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Are you going to keep insulting me or are you going to actually explain?”

“Sam, she’s a spy, an assassin," Bucky explains like it should be obvious. "She knew you were standing there. She knew you were watching.”

"So maybe she wanted to make a point. It’s not like she was one for talking or communicating, maybe that was her way of letting me know how she actually felt. Trust me, I got the message loud and clear. That doesn’t make me dense."

"Sam..." Bucky takes a long breath. "We're a lot alike, me and her. And people like us, we cut and run, it's what we do. We don't wait for things to go bad, we live with the expectation that things will always go bad."

Sam tosses the rest of his whiskey back, flagging down the bartender for another one. "That's a depressing way to live."

“It keeps us alive.”

“We weren’t on a battlefield!" Sam spits through gritted teeth. "We were done with the fight, remember? We won, for Christ’s sake!”

“And where did that leave her, Sam? With a conditional pardon? People watching us 24/7?”

“With me!” Sam snaps, slamming his glass down on the bar. “It left her with me. We were good, Bucky! We were happy together. At least, I thought we were happy together. I even- I told her that after everything, that I would take her back home, meet my family, maybe settle down a little.”

"And while you're thinking about taking her home to meet your family, she's probably thinking how a family like yours is going to react to you bringing an actual assassin home."

"I... didn't think about it like that,” Sam confesses, faltering for a moment. He shakes his head. No. He refuses to accept that. It didn't excuse that he'd found you flirting with his best friend. It didn't change that you told him he meant nothing to you. “Because I don't think about her like that. And you know what? She could've talked to me, she could've told me she felt like that, Bucky, but she didn't."

"Sam, can I be honest?"

"Shoot."

"I don't think you two will ever work."

"That's a shitty thing to say to me," Sam spits.

"I don't," Bucky admits with a languid shrug. "Honest truth, I don't see it."

"You don't have to see it, I do,” Sam firmly states. “I see it working out."

Bucky claps a hand on Sam's shoulder with a tight lipped smile, "That's my point, Sam. That's the difference between you and us. You, you live for the hope of it all. She doesn't know how to do that. I don't know how to do that. We're broken, haunted people, Sam. We hurt people that get too close."

"You're wrong."

"Why else-"

"Because she was bored!" Sam angrily shouts, not caring at the stares his outburst brings. "She only wanted me because I was there."

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“Yes. I do believe that,” Sam hisses. “Unlike you guys, I believe the words that come out of people’s mouth. She was bored... She was bored and I was there.”

Bucky takes a long pull from his beer, rising from his seat with a defeated sigh. He turns to Sam to offer one last piece of insight, “All I’m saying is I wouldn’t go on the run with someone for two years because I was bored. Not unless I really gave a shit about them. Not unless I loved them, like really loved them.”

"Do you mean that?" Sam asks over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I mean that."

--

3 Years Earlier - Somewhere in Scotland

“Just let me do the talking, okay?”

Sam raises up his hands, “No arguments from me.”

The doorknob rattles for a moment, opening just enough for you to stand before them. You look at them and immediately try to snap the door shut, “No.”

Nat extends out her hand to stop the door from swinging shut. “Just hear us-“

“No.”

"You don't even know why we're here," Nat argues. “It’s important. Please.”

You relent, allowing the door to fling open. Standing tall in the doorway, your eyes rake over each of them, “Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov or whatever name you’re going by now, and Sam Wilson, all in the flesh, all the most wanted fugitives on Earth. So I don’t care how important it is, my answer is no.”

Sam’s eyes comically widen, his voice taking a slightly bewildered, high pitched tone, “How did - Do you happen to know the names of all strangers that show up at your door?”

Your eyes dart over to Sam with a grimace, “Strangers that show up at my door end up dead. Consider yourself lucky.”

“I want you to know I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” Sam quips, placing his hand over his heart. 

“Don’t worry, Sam," Natasha smirks over her shoulder. "She’s more bark than bite. And this is me calling in a favor.”

Your eyes narrow at Natasha, "Which favor?"

"Budapest."

Your mouth narrows into a thin line as you glare at her. You hated that favor.

You look back at the three of them. Even dressed in street clothes they all stuck out like sore thumbs. They’re all disheveled, clearly exhausted, and you did owe Natasha. You convince yourself that there is no good in this deed, it’s just a repayment. Even as your eyes linger back to Sam for a second too long. You tell yourself you don't care what happens to any of them. It's just paying a debt. “Fine. Just keep me out of it.”

Natasha nods, offering a small grateful smile, “Thank you.”

You turn on your heels without another word, striding down to your room. You slam your bedroom door shut, leaving the others on their own.

“It was nice meeting you,” Sam calls after you.

You don’t bother to reply.

After a few hours, the sun sets and your safe house returns back to its normal quiet state except for the soft snores of Steve Rogers in your spare bedroom. You’re certain that they’ve all gone off to get some rest. That is, everyone, except Sam Wilson.

“Have a good nap?” Sam greets you, sitting on the small couch in the middle of your living room.

Your eyes snap over to Sam, lightly scoffing, “Actually, I was avoiding you.”

Your brutal honestly doesn’t phase Sam. The corner of his mouth twitches up as he playfully tugs on the collar of his t-shirt, “I tend to have that effect on the ladies… That sounded better in my head.”

“For you and me both,” you quip.

“You know, you’re kind of a jackass.”

“I know. Thanks.” That's the only conversation you plan on having with Sam Wilson. You continue walking to the kitchen without saying anything else.

"So how long have you and Nat been friends?" Sam asks, trailing you as you walk to your kitchen, clearly not taking the hint that you don't want to talk to him.

You scoff over your shoulder, "Who said we were friends?"

"So you're not friends? Because the whole letting us hide out here, housing us, letting us eat your food, not turning us in, sorta gave me a different idea."

"We're not friends."

In truth, your relationship to Natasha was much more complex than that. At one point, you were like sisters. In the Red Room, she was all you had. Your only friend. Your confidante. And still, you could never quite live up to her, always second to her. You knew all her secrets, all the blood spilt, all the skeletons in her closet, and she knew all of yours.

The night before your graduation, you ran. As far away and as quickly as your legs could carry you.

You were never quite sure if it was irony or simply Dreykov’s own cruelty, but she was the one tasked to find you and collect you. You never stood much of a chance against the person that spent almost two decades besting you. She found you in Budapest. It would’ve taken a single shot. And still, it never came.

But you weren’t going to tell that to Sam.

"You're not friends?”

"No."

After that, your paths crossed only once in a blue moon. Once Natasha left Dreykov, she never sought you out. And you didn’t bother to either. You weren’t friends. You weren’t enemies. She was the sister that became little more than a stranger.

"Do you help all your not friends run from the law?"

"Natalia and I have an agreement of ... mutually assured destruction."

"Mutually assured destruction?" he dubiously repeats, quirking an eyebrow. "...So best friends."

In spite of your best efforts, your outwardly stoic expression gives way as a chuckle bubbles out of your mouth.

"Did anyone see that?” Sam proudly announces to the empty house. “I want it on the record that I made a Black Widow laugh!"

"Don't push it," you warn, though the hint of a smile that pulls at the corner of your mouth dampens the threatening undertone of your words.

"You've got a nice smile," Sam compliments.

You wipe the smile off your face, but there's nothing you can do to tame the slight blush creeping up your face, so you say the first thing that comes to mind, "Fuck off."

--

That's how it went between you and him. Push and pull.

Their time at your safe house in Scotland was short lived. No more than a few weeks. And even in those few short weeks, he saw it, saw the good that you desperately tried to keep hidden. Even then he knew, he knew you cared so much more than you would ever let on. Cooped up in your little cottage, he found that behind your barbed words and tough exterior, was a person that he really liked. You didn't let him see very much of it. Most of the time, it was in little slip ups, little cracks in your armor, but he saw it. He swore he did.

Sam ambles alone through the streets of New York, the pavement is still damp from the midnight rain, the noisy cityscape is the only thing keeping Sam from fixating on the endless loop of memories playing in his head.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t think about you anymore. He did. All the time.

He thinks about how good it used to be. How even on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, it was good. He'd like to think you were as happy as he was.

In truth, he wasn't sure how or when it happened. You weren't very nice to him - to any of them really. You kept them at arm's length. He had to earn every glimpse of the person behind the armor. He had to earn every smile, every laugh, but he found each one was worth it. To him, you were worth it. You were worth all of it. 

And when that time came, when that safe house wasn't safe anymore, you stayed by his side, you became his home. 

--

You simply walked up to the breakfast table and announced that it wasn't safe to stay much longer. "You have to leave."

"What?"

"We've been here too long. People in town are beginning to talk."

Natasha didn't miss a beat. "How long?"

"Tonight."

Sam watches the interaction closely. You refuse to look at him. For a moment, Natasha's eyes look at you, imploring. She utters a quiet question in Russian.

You don't respond, only shaking your head once.

"I understand." She softly inhales, her shoulders slumping slightly, "Thank you."

You nod, turning on your heels and heading to your room. You didn't expect Sam to follow after you.

There's some part of you that's unsettled by how easily Sam fits into your life. You don't like how he speaks to you like you're friends. You don't like that there's a part of you that would love to know what being in Sam's life would feel like. And you most certainly don't like that Sam has no problem questioning you. Prying into your life. He won't like what he finds. He'll run the moment he sees the number of skeletons in your closet. No, you don't like that at all. 

And you definitely don't like that he feels comfortable enough to follow you back to your bedroom. He wedges himself into your doorway, leaning against the wall, "So what about you?"

You don't turn to look at him as you pack your duffle bag, "What about me?"

"Where you gonna go?"

"I have other places."

"By yourself?"

"Typically."

"Why don't you stay with us?"

You pretend like you're surprised by the offer. As though Natasha didn't offer the same thing two minutes ago. You just didn't expect Sam's kindness to extend past his need for your safe house. "What?"

He takes a step off the wall. Even turned away from him, you can practically hear the grin he wears in his words. "We could always use the help. You seem like kind of a pro at being a fugitive."

"I don't think your team would appreciate my presence."

"I would. I want you to come." Sam turns back at the doorframe. He pauses for a moment, looking back at you. "You should come with us."

--

You never told him why you ended up joining them. It was the one question he couldn't ever get a straight answer for.

He couldn't really remember how or when you ended up in his bed - or more accurately, when he ended up in your bed.

All he knew was that for two years, you were his sanctuary. Each and every night. He held you. Kissed away your fears. You allowed him to see parts of you that you buried long ago. 

It made the moment you walked away hurt even more. 

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing here. He's pacing through the streets of New York in the middle of the night. It won't bring you back. It won't change what happened. You still left him.

It was easier believing that you left him because you didn't love him. 

The other option hurts. It hurts too much. His heart almost shatters at the though of you leaving him because you didn't see it working out, because you thought you would hurt him. 

That's the worst part - he believes Bucky. He believes that no one, not even someone as prone to finding trouble as you are, would ever go on the run with someone for the hell of it. Not unless you cared. Not unless you loved him. 

He should've seen it. The panic in your eyes when he suggested going back to Louisiana. The pain when you lost Natasha, the last person you considered family. 

It eats at him. He didn't even try. Not really. Yeah, you walked away, but he could've gone after you. He could've believed in the love he knew you shared. 

He reaches for his phone, tucking into the crook of his neck as he hails a cab, and calls the one person that could possibly help him, "I need your help. Can you find someone for me?"

--

1 Year Earlier - Somewhere in Eastern Europe

“Stop watching me sleep.”

Sam kisses your bare shoulder, resting his chin on your arm, “It’s the only time you’re not frowning. Except when you’re with me, of course.”

You sleepily sigh, trying to suppress the smile that Sam so effortlessly puts on your face. You halfheartedly push him away, rolling further away from him, “I’m going back to sleep.”

Sam’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him, “No, come back.”

“We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, we should get the rest while we can.”

“I miss you,” Sam whines.

“I’m right here.”

“But we’re always talking about work, about the world ending, I just - I just want a minute, just me and you.”

You finally turn around to face him with a cheeky grin, “You had me to yourself all night, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

You settle against him, resting your head on his chest, “So why couldn’t you sleep?”

He smiles down at you, absentmindedly playing with your fingers, “I was thinking.”

“About?” you urge.

“What comes next. After the fight, after everything, about going home, finally seeing my family again. My sister would love you. I can't wait to introduce you."

Your smile slips from your face. "What?"

"I mean, I know we're on the run and everything, but I'm still holding onto hope," Sam confesses. "You'd love Louisiana."

A sinking feeling overtakes you. Those survival instincts you've spent your entire life cultivating bubble up. You could see Sam's family picture where he left it on the dresser. His picture perfect, shiny family.

That wasn't you. Not even in your wildest dreams could that be you. The closest thing you had to a family was the Black Widow sitting in the other room cleaning her knives. You weren't meant for domesticity. You weren't built for the happy ending that Sam deserved. The happy ending he wanted. 

Sure, he loved you now, but would he love you when his family looks at you with disdain? Would he love you when Sarah refuses to let you anywhere near his nephews? 

Or even worse, what if he did? What if he loved you through it all and you broke him in return? What if he loved you and he lost everything else because of it?

You could tell Sam. Right here and now. Tell him that you weren't built for that life. He would listen. He would hear you. Like all of your other scars and imperfections, Sam would take it in stride. You knew he would. 

But could you really do that to him? Doom him to a life tethered to someone so tainted.

He was perfect. In every conceivable way. He was Sunshine. And though you'd done unspeakable things, there would be nothing quite as vile as dragging him down to the dim, murky depths of the wasteland you called home.

He deserved more. More than you would ever be. 

--

6 Months Ago - A Bar in New York City

"You don't have to do this."

You bitterly chuckle. It was too late. You'd made up your mind. You gave yourself until the war against Thanos was won. You gave yourself that time to say your silent goodbyes, to memorize the one and only love you would ever allow yourself to have. You were selfish in that way.

Now was the time to save Sam while you still could, to finally set him free. Even if you had to break his heart to do it. You rest your hand on Bucky's chest, the furthest you could allow yourself to go without making your stomach turn. "Do what?"

Bucky's jaw ticks, "He's a good man."

"I know." It's the only time your voice reveals even an ounce of your pain. Your eyes flicker to over Bucky's shoulder. It's too late. Sam stands a few feet from you, watching you with anguish in his eyes. For good measure, you lean in closer, whispering in Bucky's ear, "But I never did well with sunshine."

"Can I talk to you outside?" Sam demands. 

You roll your eyes and snort, "If we have to."

"We do."

Sam doesn't waste a single moment. The second you step outside, he points back to the bar, "What the hell was that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you kidding me? I saw you. You were all over him. He's my friend!"

"I was just having a little fun, Sam."

"A little fun?" Sam scoffs. "Are you kidding me?"

You don't allow a single ounce of remorse to show. You don't allow him to see the regret. Your face is purposely blank, cold and uncaring. You were good at this part. You were good at hurting people. It's exactly why you have to let him go. "I don't see what the big deal is, Sam."

"You don't see what the big deal is?" Sam's voice wavers. "You were just coming onto my friend! What about us?"

"What about us?" you scoff. "I was bored, Sam, we had our fun but it's done now. We're not on the run anymore. It's not a big deal."

"Just like that, we're just done?"

"You were there, Sam," you lie through your teeth. Acid churns in your stomach, rising up through your esophagus and coating your every word. "There's nothing more to it, nothing more to us."

You'd done a lot of bad things in your life, but nothing made you feel quite as wretched as watching Sam's heart shatter before you. It was better this way. He didn't know it, but it was for the best. You couldn't ruin his life anymore. You couldn't hurt him if you walked away right now. Those were the last words you ever said to him. 

--

He did it. He couldn't believe it. He'd found you. There you were, standing out on a rooftop, out in the pouring midnight rain. He almost laughs because of course you wouldn't even realize how theatrical this whole scene was. "Do you realize how dramatic it is to be standing out in the pouring rain all by yourself? And without an umbrella?"

"I'm working, Sam."

"Shooting your next romantic comedy? Is this the breakup scene?"

You don't even turn to look at him. “You shouldn’t be here, Sam.”

Sam scoffs, “That’s all you have to say? That I shouldn’t be here?”

“Go home, Sam," you demand. "I don’t want you here.”

“You’re such a jackass, you know that?”

It pisses him off that you still refuse to even look at him. If you were going to break his heart all over again, the least you could do was look him in the eye. You speak through clenched teeth, "I know."

He storms around, planting himself in front of you, forcing you to look at him. "No, I mean that, I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart, I mean that. You're such an asshole. You're one of the most difficult, abrasive, cold, and selfish people I've ever met."

You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. You look just past him, mustering every ounce of your training to stay stone faced, "I know."

"Do you know how hard it was to find you?"

"I didn't ask you to come here," you spit at him. "I didn't want you to come looking for me. You knew that."

"And you're a liar!" Sam exclaims, a bitter laugh bubbling up from his chest. "A damned good one, too."

"I never lied to you about who or what I was."

"But you did lie, didn't you? You've lied to me before."

“Yes, I have," you softly admit. You catch yourself, reminding yourself of why you're being so harsh with Sam. You force yourself to speak with that venomous tone you know all too well, "Many times, so if you’re done insulting me, I have to go.”

"God, you're so selfish, and- and you're mean! You brood way too much. You're so fucking angsty all the time. You act like the tortured character in every shitty teen movie every made. You're inconsiderate. You don't listen. I swear, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. And sometimes - sometimes, I want to hate you so much."

It takes everything in you to sound as unaffected as you do. You quirk an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, "Is that why you came here? Because you're upset?"

"Upset?" Sam incredulously repeats, taking a step toward you. He's still several feet away from you, still far out of your reach, "No, I'm not upset. I was upset six months ago. Now, I'm angry. I'm pissed off - with you. I have never been so mad at another human being in my entire life."

"I didn't do anything to you. You knew who I was - who I am."

"You think that's why I'm pissed? I'm pissed because you made me like you. I'm pissed that you made me fall so hopelessly in love with you."

For the first time in six months, your eyes find his. His warm eyes, the ones that grounded you through storms of midnight rain. He'd never said he loved you before - there's no taking that back. You suck in a breath, "Sam."

"I'm pissed because I believed you when you said you were bored. But mostly, I'm pissed that I let you go, that I let you walk away without fighting for you."

You try to warn him, beg him to stop before he says something that'll make it too hard to walk away from him. "Sam."

"Because I'm in love with you."

Your voice wavers as you beg him, "Don't do this, Sam."

"I'm in love with you," Sam announces again to his audience of one. "And I know you don't think you're good for me. And I know that it won't be easy, but I am. I am in love with you. Every part of you. Especially the parts you don't like. I like that you're mean, I like that you're tougher than any other person I've ever met, I like that you're grumpy. I like that you don't see how dramatic it is to stand in the pouring rain all by yourself! I love you. I love all of you."

"Sam..." His name leaves your mouth in a whisper. It's too late. You're not strong enough to survive walking away from him. He's doomed himself.

He takes a step closer to you. "And maybe it wasn't real... but I think it was. I think you feel the same." And then another step. And yet another. Until you're face to face, close enough that you could reach out and touch him for the first time in months. The rain beats down on the two of you. The dampness on your cheeks has nothing to do with the rain. "Tell me that you don't love me and I'll leave. Tell me and I won't bother you again, I promise."

You can't. You can't bring yourself to say any of it. "Sam, it'll never work for us. You have to know that."

"We're not at war anymore." His hand skates across your cheek. "We don't have to hide. We don't have to run."

"I'm not - I'm not good, Sam." And you are, you want to say.

“No, no, you’re not good. You’re great. You’re amazing. And it’s a damn shame you haven’t stepped into the daylight long enough to see how incredible you are.”

You jerk your face away from his hand, “And what if I can’t give you what you want? What if I can’t be what you want?”

“What do you know about what I want?”

“You want a bride. You want someone to bring home to your family - that’s not me, Sam. I don’t think that’ll ever be me.”

“I want you." Sam takes your face in between both hands, begging you to see the sincerity in his eyes. "I want you in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“I’m not worth it," you softly exhale. "You have to know that I’m not worth the trouble and the heartache I’ll put you through.”

“Break my heart," Sam offers without hesitation. "Do it over and over again. Do it for the rest of our lives. It’s all yours. You’re worth it.”

“Sam…” You didn’t have any other defense. He’d broken down each and every argument you spent years cultivating. You didn’t know where to go from here.

“Do you love me?” Your lips press into a thin line, eyes squeezing shut to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling. The rain slows to a halt. His thumb and pointer finger grip your chin, forcing you to meet his warm brown eyes. “Do you love me?”

“I love you.” You don't think you've ever said those words before. You don't think you've ever seen the daylight until you saw him. It'll take time for your eyes to adjust, but he's worth it. "I love you so much it hurts, so much that I let you go."

“You don't have to let me go anymore. We'll figure the rest out together."

Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy

[lunarbuck]

Kinktober Week 1: Phone Sex

header: @jen-with-a-pen

Pairing: Sam Wilson x f!reader (any race)

Word Count: 692

Prompt: Phone Sex

Warnings: phone sex, swearing, masturbation, pet names [baby, sweetheart]

my masterlist | kinktober masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary

Your phone rings, and you look around on the bed for the offending device. You try to have at least two hours of screen-free time a day, and today, you’ve spent that time reading. Your book rests against your chest as you see Sam’s photo flash on your screen. 

“Hello,” you grin. When Sam is off on a mission, he rarely has time to call, so you relish each opportunity to hear his voice.

“Hey, cutie, what’re you up to?” You can hear the roar of an engine in the background. He probably just got off the jet. Heat blooms in your chest, knowing that his first thought was to call you.

“Trying and failing to curb my screen addiction, what about you?” Sam laughs, the sound warm despite some distortion from the speaker. 

“Just thinkin’ about my girl.” You don’t miss the slight rasp in his voice, the way he practically growls the words. That heat in your chest migrates, warming you all the way to your belly. You press your thighs together, giving your clit the slightest bit of friction.

“Yeah? What about me?” Through the phone, you can hear Sam’s footsteps pick up speed before a door slams shut. His breaths come out ragged and rushed. He’s just as worked up as you are. Your book slides off your chest, falling shut, but you barely even notice.

“Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” A smile tugs at your lips while you trail your fingers down your body underneath the blanket. “I’m thinking about your perfect body, your soft skin. The way you fit so perfectly against me.” You trace the band of your sleep shorts, gently teasing yourself the way Sam always does. It’s not quite the same, but with the rasp of his voice in your ear, you can almost imagine that he’s here.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper, dipping your fingers into your shorts to slide over the fabric of your panties. 

“Me too, baby. I’m so fucking hard right now. I love the way you suck my cock. Love how you look with my dick in your mouth, so fucking beautiful.” You hear the snick of a zipper on the other end and shuffle your shorts down your legs. “Are you gonna touch yourself, baby? You gonna make yourself feel good until I get home?”

You whimper in response, circling your clit with your finger.

“Such a good girl for me, sweetie. If I were there, you know I’d be in between your legs, eating that perfect pussy of yours. I’d slide my fingers inside and warm you up for my cock just the way you like.” Your fingers follow your imagination, pressing inside your warm entrance. They’re not as big as Sam’s, but you still moan when you hit those spots.

“You sound so beautiful, baby. Keep fucking yourself on your fingers, just like that. I’m aching for you, sweetheart.” Your fingers are slick as they slide in and out of your pussy, but you want more. You manage to hit the speaker button and position your phone on your pillow to free up your other hand. You circle your clit while you fuck yourself, the sensations slowly working you toward your orgasm.

“Sam, I need you,” you moan, wishing it was his cock filling you, stretching you. You wish he was here, pressing you down into the mattress with his big, calloused hands. You wish you were grabbing onto his muscular shoulders, hanging onto him for dear life.

“I need you too, baby. I need you to come for me, please, baby. Need to hear you come.” You apply more pressure to your clit, imagining it’s Sam, and you screw your eyes shut. His cologne lingers on the pillow, and you inhale deeply as your orgasm barrels toward you.

You come moaning his name, electricity shooting through your body. Sam follows close behind, rasping your name as he comes. You suck in deep breaths and go limp against the mattress. 

“Shit,” you giggle, smiling to yourself. “Somehow, I miss you even more now.”

“I’ll be home soon, baby. Promise.”

i am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when i post new writing. must be 18+

[awesomerextyphoon]

An Unintended Valentine's

Summary: You wanted Sam to have the best Valentine's Day, but the day had other plans.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 280

Rating: 16 / Teen

A/N: I wanted to write short (<400 words) something for Valentine’s Day and I haven’t written for Sam in some time. This popped into my head over the weekend and I knew I had to share. Thanks to @mrsmischief209 for the beta.

Back to Masterlist

“Could you tell Sam that I’m sick? Thanks.” you sigh-coughed as you sent Sarah the weary text.

It was Valentine’s Day and you planned on making Sam’s favorite dinner and dessert—your award-winning Toffee Crunch Chocolate Chunk Skillet Cookies—then you woke up with the flu.

Why did this shit always happen at the worst times?!

You were ecstatic at being Sam Wilson’s girlfriend. You finally confessed to your feelings and told him despite the nagging voice in your head calling you a loser.

Sam was understanding and always managed to find time for you. It made you feel special, but it sometimes had your anxieties and insecurities claw their way into your heart.

The disparaging whispers and biting gossip about Captain America ‘debasing himself’ by dating you certainly didn’t help.

A small part of you wondered why Sam even bothered with you.

You barely made it to your bed’s blanket fortress, nose running while your body was freezing hoping Sam wouldn’t see you in such a sorry state.

A stream of tears flowed down your face as you waited for the cold’s icy embrace. You failed Sam once again.

“Hey,” you gasped as Sam’s handsome face peered through your blanket cocoon and his body cradled you in his warmth.

“Wha-”

“Sarah texted me. Said you were sick,” Sam answered as he set you on his lap.

“What’s wrong?”

“No! No! I don’t want you to see me like this!”

Sam resisted the urge to caress your cheek, “Why not?”

“You’ve been working so hard and I wanted today to be special, but I blew it!”

Sam chuckled hugging you even harder, “That’s impossible. Every moment with you is special.”

[late-to-the-party-81]

A Court of Screens and Squishmallows

AN: So back earlier in the year, when I had my 1.5k follower event, you all voted for a third part to the CamBoy Sam story, meaning it becomes a series. With other challenges, plus a case of writer’s block, this took a lot longer to get to than planned, but better late than never.

This is also dedicated to my babies, @mrs-elsie-barnes and @christywrites.

Please feel free to send asks about Camboy Sam and Squishy.

Unbeta’d but thank you to @endlesstwanted for letting me bounce ideas.

Moodboard by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

If you would like to be on my tag list, then please click here

Master List | Series Master List 

Summary: Part of your and Sam’s relationship is you helping him plan his live streams and then watching them on your laptop in real time. This time, you got to plan his entire outfit, and if it happens to be based on your favourite book boyfriend you can be forgiven for being a little excited…

Relationship: CamBoy! Sam Wilson x Room Mate! Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

CW: Explicit Sexual Content (Masturbation, M & F), Implied Sexual Content, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Domestic Fluff, Banter, Established relationship, Sam Wilson is a hedonist, Fantasies.

It’s not as though you’d been a shy, retiring virgin when you met and got together with Sam - far from it - but since being with him you’d definitely had your eyes opened to how boring and mediocre sex had been in your previous relationships. And while, yes, sex wasn’t the be all and end all of a relationship, that early relationship spark - that initial burst of lust - was still burning brightly. That fire, first stoked into life in a dingy nightclub as you watched a sexy camboy gyrate and pleasure himself through your friend’s phone screen, still licked under your skin every time Sam smiled at you, that mischievous twinkle in eye. Together you’d explored so many facets of your own sexuality that you’d never even considered.

You’d never pegged yourself as a voyeur, but yet, twice a week, you devoured Sam’s exhibitionist performances from your shared room despite him being just down the hall in his studio - his old bedroom. And speaking of pegging… there was something you’d never imagined yourself doing either, but you rather enjoyed it, reducing Sam to a whimpering, wrung out mess. Mirrors were also good. And toys. So many toys. You adored how Sam wasn’t intimidated by the use of toys, seeing them as tools to help enhance and prolong pleasure and not as any kind of comment on his masculinity.

The only downside to your relationship was having to move your beloved Squishmallow collection to the lounge - there was no way you could do the dirty with them staring at you with their innocent little eyes.

As you shut the apartment door behind you, and made your way to the bathroom to wash off the day leaving a trail of clothes in your wake, you couldn’t help but smile as you remember Sam’s joy on the delivery of the last package of items he’d ordered from the adult store. Most of the contents had been for his shows, thongs, strokers and vibes, but he’d slipped in a couple of extras and had wasted no time in riling you up so he could use them on you, over and over until you’d had to tap out. You’d had to explain away your aches and pains as overexertion from a gym session to your work colleagues the following day. From the grins thrown your way, you weren’t sure they’d been convinced.

The hot water from the shower head washed over your body, soothing the stress that only came from participating in meetings that could have been emails, and you reached for your washcloth and favourite shower gel. The gentle, delicate scent filled the bathroom and you hummed a random tune to yourself. It was Friday night and Sam had one of his scheduled live-streams. He’d be done by 9.30pm and then he’d be all yours for the weekend and you couldn’t wait. Tomorrow you had a day out planned - a morning at the farmer’s market and then an afternoon’s walk through the hills with a picnic made from their purchases. Sunday would probably be a combination of lazy and domestic, because unfortunately there were always chores to do. You were hoping to persuade Sam to do the laundry if you offered to go grocery shopping and you weren’t above pulling out a few sexual bribes if you had to. You hated laundry - you and the washer just didn’t get on and the less said about the drier the better.

First, however, there was this evening, and as you walked through to your bedroom, your towel wrapped tight around your body, you thought about all the preparations that needed to be made. You’d already planned a light supper that wouldn’t fill him up too much, and as you were home first, you’d boot up his computer and check the camera connection. Luckily, as the room was now his full time studio and didn’t have to do double duty as a sleeping space, he’d been able to set up the backdrop, set dressing, camera and lights last night. You just needed to grab your own laptop so you could watch the show play out. Maybe you’d get out a toy or two just to help yourself along until Sam finished and came to join you. 

That was always your favourite part of a streaming night - watching your man perform and display himself for the lustful eyes of his subscribers, knowing that when the camera turned off it was your bed he came to. Your body that his wrapped around. The pair of you knew each other inside and out, forward, backward and upside down, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Caught up in your musings, you didn’t register Sam’s return until his spandex covered, slightly sweaty body plastered itself to your back. “Eeewww,” you squealed and you fought your way out of his loose grip as he chuckled in your ear. Unfortunately, your towel didn’t survive the struggle and you let out a huff of amused frustration as it landed on the floor with a soft thump.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Sam joked. “I just appear and your clothes just fall off. It’s a superpower.” 

So cocky, you thought. Good thing he’s sexy as hell. You still rolled your eyes at him before purposefully turning and bending over to pick the errant fluffy cotton up from the ground. You heard his strangled groan and smiled to yourself.

“Squishy. Fuck. Why you gotta do that to me? Maybe I should sack off the stream and just take you to bed right now?” As you straightened and turned back, he took a step toward you. However, you held up your hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Nuh-uh, buster. First off, you are sticky and gross and need your own shower. Secondly, if I don’t get to see you in that outfit and get my voyeurism fix, then I won’t be happy.”

Sam smiled back slyly and gripped the hem of his cycling top. With a sway in his hips, a move you recognised only too well, he slowly pulled the skin tight fabric up. As he bared his torso, he rolled his abs, and despite your best intentions you couldn’t draw your gaze away. Which meant you didn’t see the balled up, sweaty top making its way towards you until it hit you in the face.

Your affronted shout was just met with a hearty belly laugh as your boyfriend shed his clothes across the floor as he took himself for his own ablutions. “You’re lucky I love your dumb ass,” you shouted at his departing, and frankly disgustingly attractive, posterior. Sam just flipped you the bird and you snorted. Fuck, you loved him so much it was nauseating.

Slipping into a lacy bralet with matching panties, you left the bedroom and made your way to the studio. The backdrop, made to look like stone walls that you’d find in a castle in Europe, hung from the back wall, and in front of it a large chair that the pair of you had worked on to make it resemble a throne. You could also see the zipped garment bag, an unusual bulge to it indicating that it wasn’t just a suit inside. You really hoped your vision had come together as well as you imagined it. You smiled, just thinking about what was to come, and crossed over to the computer with a swing in your step. Once you’d powered it up, you switched on the lights that were already aimed at the ‘stage’. Satisfied that you’d done as much as you could to help Sam prepare, you made your way into the kitchen.

After taking all of your dinner ingredients out of the fridge, you decided to make you both a cup of tea as well. You put the kettle on the stove and then reached down your mugs from the cupboard, unable to keep the soft smile from your face as you did so. Your fingers traced over the handle of Sam’s mug, the silly approximation of a bicycle being the thing that made you realise what had been  - literally - in front of you.

When Sam hugged you behind this time, it was a far more pleasant and welcome experience. The clean smell of his own shower gel surrounded you as much as the man himself did. Yes, his skin was still damp, but as it was with water and not sweat, so you didn’t mind. 

“You looking forward to tonight then, baby?” His voice was a deep purr in your ear and your core clenched in response to his laden words. Somehow you managed to drag yourself from his embrace, shooting him a smile over your shoulder as you went to pour the hot water into your mugs.

“I always look forward to your streams.”

“But this is the first one where you a hundred percent picked the outfit.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been totally mean not letting me see it all put together.” You handed him his drink and looked at him, still a little in awe of his beauty as he leant against the side of the island, with droplets of water still dotted over his skin and only a small, white towel wrapped around his waist.

“Can you blame me for wanting to make an impact,” he responded, right eyebrow slightly raised.

You leant forward, pressing your lips against his softly, tasting the camomille lingering on them. “I thought it was my turn with the paddle,” you teased and enjoyed the brief moment of satisfaction as Sam’s eyes went large before he started to chuckle. 

“Whatever you want, Squishy. You know it’s all good to me.”

You adored the way the two of you could tease and joke with each other. “Hhmm, I’ll keep that in mind for later on then. But for now,” you pushed a plate across the island toward him, “you need to eat so you have enough energy for what I’m gonna want to put you through after your stream finishes.”

With a grin splitting his face, Sam saluted you before picking up the plate of cajun chicken salad. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready for action, ma’am.” He sauntered - fucking sauntered - over to the couch and placed his mug on the coffee table. He also spread his legs, letting his towel fall open and giving you a glimpse of everything going on under there, absolutely paying you back for your earlier teasing. You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, then picked up your own plate and went to join him.

As the pair of you ate and drank, you shot the shit about your respective days and your plans for the following day.

“Ooo,” Sam exclaimed, “do you think they’ll have those little pastries again? The ones with the sour cherries and the vanilla cream stuff?”

“Creme patissiére? I hope so. They were so delicious last time. But I want some of the sour-dough bread, and the goat’s cheese. And the onion relish…”

Sam laughed at your enraptured food based ramblings. “I’ll make sure to go past the ATM on the way, shall I?” You elbowed him and stuck out your tongue, eliciting more laughter. Eventually though, 7pm rolled around and Sam excused himself with a soft lingering kiss that left your fingers and toes tingling with anticipation.

As he went into his studio, you busied yourself by tidying up after your meal, and preparing a snack platter for later on - you were both likely to be peckish after you’d worn yourselves out. Then you had to retrieve all of your strewn clothes and move them to the washer. Why either of you had thought that undressing as you walked was a good idea, you didn’t know. With the chores done, you returned to your bedroom, with five minutes to spare - just enough time to switch on your own laptop and load up Sam’s subscriber page. As the wait screen with its countdown timer appeared, you settled on the bed and drew your trusty vibrator out from the drawer at the side of the bed.

Then it was show time.

The backdrop and throne appeared in front of you, with some old-timey, almost ‘Ren Faire’ like, music playing in the background, but your attention was quickly diverted when you caught sight of part of Sam’s costume making its way into shot. Black leather arched into view, pulled taught and shaped like a giant bat’s wing. You squeezed your thighs together and leant a little closer to the screen. As Sam himself moved into frame, you let out an involuntary whimper. Black leather pants were moulded to his legs, ass and crotch - there was no hiding what was going on down there - and his upper body was encased in a black, lace necked shirt. The cord was loose, leaving the shirt wide open, giving a frankly scandalous view of the upper curves of his pecs and the sleeves - oh god, the sleeves! - were rolled up to just before his elbows. Over the shirt was a leather harness, with shiny chrome buckles and other decorative elements. That’s what the fake wings were attached to, but it still made a statement. A leather effect half mask covered Sam’s face from the nose up, however his eyes still glittered out of it like dark precious gems that, even through the camera, seemed to shine a light on the very essence of your soul. He’d even gone as far to attach fake ear tips, giving him an even more other-worldy appearance. He looked like every wet dream you’d ever had.

“There you are, little mortal…”

You almost combusted at his dark tone, but Sam acted as though it was nothing and reached out to the side to bring a goblet into the shot with him. He took a slow drink, never drawing his eyes away from the camera. His strong fingers, covered in rings, gripped the metal neck of the drinking vessel, and when he pulled it away from his mouth, the sheen of red wine could be seen on his lips. His tongue poked out, wiping away the residue and from your bed your breath hitched with need. He hadn’t said anything, but the power in his stance - his demeanor - had you flooding your panties. 

He placed the goblet down, just out of view, and trailed one beringed hand down his shirt, the light reflecting off the jewellery, a poor mimic of the sparkle that was in his eyes. His long fingers grazed over the bulge in his pants and you saw his cock twitch under the restriction of the material. He did it again, a moan leaving his lips and his eyelids fluttering. Without really thinking about it, you picked up your vibe, turning it onto its lowest setting, and began tracing it over your damp underwear. Sam’s hands moved to his belt, and he deftly unbuckled it before pulling out of the loops quickly with one hand. You pressed the vibe against yourself more firmly. 

There was a soft thunk as the belt dropped to the floor and Sam gave a predatory smile to the camera as he unbuttoned his fly. There was enough of a view of his skin and the hair of his happy trail to make it clear he had no underwear on. You watched as he slid his hand inside, cupping himself. He prolonged the eye contact as he stroked himself, teasing you - and his audience - with brief glimpses of the head of his cock.

He picked up the goblet once again and walked backwards until he reached the ‘throne’, whereupon he sat upon it insouciantly, lounging against its tall back. You wondered what he was thinking about as he put on his show. Was he imagining you standing in front of him, putting on some display of your own for his idle pleasure? He took another drink of wine then lazily pulled his cock from his pants. He stroked it slowly, from root to tip and back up again. From the sheen you could tell he’d lubed his cock up before he started, and you wished he was here right now, so you could take him in your mouth. Instead you just moved your vibe inside your panties.

“Join me,” he entreated with a purr, encouraging you to touch yourself even more.

This stream was so unlike Sam’s previous one. In those he’d been obviously performing - every move was calculated to titillate , but this was different. It was as though he was the viewer, watching his hundreds of fans touching themselves in the hope of being touched by him in return. He groaned and closed his eyes again, pleasuring himself with a firmer grip and a twist to his wrist. He was the epitome of a ruler - a High Lord or a General - who did as he pleased. The dominant aura he exuded was heady, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was something the pair you should explore further.

Jolts of pleasure arced through you as you pinched and rolled at your nipples. It was getting more difficult to hold yourself back as you watched Sam ‘watching’ you. And then he spoke again.

“That’s it, darling. Just like that. I love watching you touch yourself for me.”

Fuck! It wasn’t that dirty talk was alien to the pair of you - you’d indulged in it on numerous occasions, but the outfit, his demeanor. Was this awakening something within you?

“Keep going, sweetheart. Show me how pretty you look. I bet you wish I was touching you back.” 

Your breathing picked up and your skin was clammy. You were so close - closer than you normally got while watching him. Your vibrator slid effortlessly through your folds, nudging your engorged clit with each pass as you watched Sam pleasure himself. You had the fleeting thought about whether his other subscribers felt the intimacy in this, but quickly returned to thoughts of your own pleasure and how, soon, Sam would be in this room, kissing you. Touching you. Fucking you.

You came. Your body tensed and tingles shot up and down your body from head to toe. Somehow though, over your own cries of release, you heard the soft grunt that Sam reserved for his on-screen orgasms. He was still regarding you through the camera lens, his milky spend splattering over the leather of his pants and his lower lip looking especially plush - he must have bitten it when he came.

Sam took a deep gulp from his goblet, before tucking himself back into his pants, although he didn’t fasten them. Then, somehow not trembling with the aftershocks of his pleasure, he rose to his feet and stalked back toward the camera.

“Thank you, darling,” he said in a low voice. “I enjoyed that.” And that was that. He walked off out of frame and the screen went dark.

“Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath and tried to regain some of your equilibrium. If he was that hot from the other side of your apartment, what was going to be like in a few minutes when he appeared in the room? Speaking of which…

You somehow managed to move your laptop onto the floor just as you heard footsteps coming down the hall, accompanied by the unusual sounds of something bouncing off the walls and Sam’s soft curses. “Goddamn wings. Too fucking wide.” You giggled. Somehow this was both unserious and sexy at the same time.

The door to your room burst open and Sam - turned sideways - walked through. How was he hotter-looking in the flesh? His wings swept out behind him, partially blocking out the light from the hallway and making him seem even more imposing. You were glad he’d ditched the mask though - you loved seeing his full facial expressions.

You reclined on the bed with a coy smile, leaning back on your elbows. “Very Illyrian coded,” you purred. 

“Did you enjoy that, darling?” Sam stepped closer, looming over you, and you fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. He bent forward and rested his hands on the mattress either side of your legs.

“I did. Very much, my Lord.” You hoped you weren’t overdoing the coquettishness, but it wasn’t every day that you managed to convince your real boyfriend to dress up like one of your book boyfriends, and you planned to wring every last bit of enjoyment from it.

“What do you think about my big… wingspan?” He wiggled his eyebrows and you couldn’t hold back your giggle at the silly double entendre.

“It provided a lot of… stimulation,” you countered and he smiled broadly at you.

“Well I hope you didn’t wear yourself out too much. I’m not done with you yet, mortal” He dropped to his knees and you peered down at him owlishly, before letting out a shriek, part surprise and part excitement, as Sam grabbed your ankles and yanked you towards him. As his tongue started to trace over your lace covered core, the leather of his wings brushed tantalisingly over your knee, and your last coherent thought was whether he’d be up for fucking you against the wall as you held onto his harness…

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