#best friend sam wilson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeeysagee · 3 months ago

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Supernova Chronicles #2: Games

Part One: Star Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, you decided to play.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you like to eat or whatever?”

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

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

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

Plus, you had looked at his files.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam nodded in understanding, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of concern. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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meowmeowgrrrl123 · 7 months ago

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I found an unpublished one-shot from my Marvel fanfic I wrote back in high school

#It actually gets funnier #the best part is Tony Stark telling Jackie’s best friend that the muggers are #“Among the trash“#And then the friend says “As they should be“#marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #tony stark #Sam Wilson #quotev

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thatmexisaurusrex · 2 years ago

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Here it is! The first chapter is based on the @sambuckylibrary's SamBucky Valentine's Day Bingo 2023's prompt "Candlelit Dinner". It'll also count for my 4K: "Secret Relationship" fill and my 4Y: "First Time" fill for the @winterfalconevents' WinterFalcon Bingo Round 2. Enjoy! 🥰

You'll Never Be My Maybe

Summary: Is Sam Wilson dating Bucky Barnes?

Excerpt:

Oh wow, Bucky was red now. Wait, was this a date? Nope. Just a. Candlelit Dinner of Friendship. With a vase that sort of looked like Sam that was filled with flowers. Yeah. It was that. Just a friend dinner. With Candles. And flowers. Definitely a friend dinner. Sam tried not to think of that intrusive question as he turned his gaze down to the food.

READ THE REST ON AO3!

#sbvdaybingo2023 #winterfalcon bingo round two #sambucky #sambucky fic #sam wilson #bucky barnes #friends to lovers #didn't know they were dating #a one-sided version of that 😂#tooth rotting fluff #crack treated seriously #best friends to lovers #secret relationship #where only sam doesn't know he's dating bucky 😂#my fic #You'll Never Be My Maybe

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sorryiwasasleep · 1 year ago

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Saw the most big brained MCU take in a fanfic and I literally haven’t stopped thinking about it for two weeks when it’s also the dumbest thing and I barely even engage with the MCU anymore

(The stucky that will always live in me has recently re-activated for some reason despite not engaging with any MCU content literally since I saw GoTG3 in theaters and before that MoM. I got viewer burn out hard and I also stopped having time irl so I just kinda… stopped. But Idk man i started reading shrinkclink fanfics again recently tho cause I wanted to read Them and forget the fuckery that is Endgame!Steve and his choices)

Anyway, the take was that this man was fucking FLIRTING with Sam in this scene and like my GOD if I remember the fanfic this came from I will tell the author directly that they have fundamentally shifted something in me and I will absolutely be incorporating this into my own HC’s cause they were so right.

Steve SO was shooting his shot in the fucking funniest way ever by antagonizing Sam

#Steve Rogers #captain America #Sam Wilson #Steve Rogers captain America #sam wilson captain america #captain America the winter soldier #the winter solider #ca:tws #Steve Rogers is BISEXUAL #AND BEST FRIENDS WITH A BLACK MAN #HE WOULD NOT FUCKING GO LIVE IN THE 1940S AGAIN #HE JUST GOT BUCKY BACK #HE WOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT FUCKING GO LIVE IN THE 1940S AGAIN #I HATE YOU RUSSO BROTHERS #bisexual Steve Rogers #bisexual captain america #Steve Rogers x Bucky barnes #shrinkyclinks #anybody got any shrinkyclink AU recs?#Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson #i don’t ship them but like #i do love the hc that Steve was flirting here and Sam just wasn’t receptive but still was like we can be besties #the context in the fic was that Sam knew about Steve and Bucky #cause Steve was fucking FLIRTING WITH HIM the first time they met #and the author was SO FUCKING RIGHT for that #steve rogers headcanon #captain America headcanon #MCU #MCU takes #MCU headcanons

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junipum · 2 years ago

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the fact that house knows how much wilson hates milk in the fridge door and not even his ex wife + current gf doesn't

#sorry for spam posting but there's so much to talk about this season #like literally this entire sam arc is just house watching out for his best friend slash bf #i literally love this season so MUCH nothing compares #james wilson #gregory house #hilson #house md

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sesamestreep · 9 months ago

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a little friend-iversary gift 💕

for the amazing, magical @firstelevens: a fic set in her critically acclaimed and universally beloved teachers AU. Thanks for all the good advice and hand holding and 8 hour video calls this past year, and for always generously welcoming me to play around in the sandboxes you build!

The idea starts innocently enough. Well, okay, maybe “innocently” is a bit of a stretch. Sam’s an English teacher; he should know better than to try and make words mean something they don’t. Perhaps the best way to explain it is that he didn’t come up with the idea himself. Everything that comes after is definitely his fault, but the inception of the idea? That can definitely be blamed on his students.

It’s during the period where he’s got study hall that the fateful conversation happens. He normally doesn’t pay attention to what the students chat about as long as they don’t get too loud or rambunctious. He usually has his own work that he needs to get done, and it’s better to just leave them to their own devices rather than micromanage their behavior. But on this particular day, Aida comes in late with a pass from the guidance office and barely responds to Sam’s greeting before she’s sliding into a desk next to her friends and urgently whispering about something to them. That captures his attention pretty effectively. And it’s not his fault that they’re sitting close to his desk, close enough to overhear with minimal effort.

If it had been about other students or personal matters, Sam would have probably checked out immediately and gone back to his work. He makes it his policy not to get overly invested in student gossip, unless someone’s in danger or the student involved comes to him personally to talk about it. This isn’t that. This, it turns out, is faculty gossip.

“Heartbreaking news,” Aida declares somewhat dramatically.

“Oh, God,” Courtney says, “did something happen with your scholarship application?!”

“What? No. I mean, Mr. Murdock helped me finish it, so it’s, like, all set now, yay! But that’s not the news!”

“What happened?”

“Mr. Murdock BROKE MY HEART!”

Sam’s eyebrows raise at that. Matt’s been working at this school for a few years now and he’s always seemed totally solid in Sam’s opinion. Sam has never once seen him be weird or inappropriate with any student, to the point that Foggy often teases him for being too guarded with them. Most of the students adore him anyway, though, so this conversation is more than a little surprising.

“Oh, here we go,” Courtney says, and Sam doesn’t have to look over to see an eye roll when he can hear one in her tone so clearly. “Aida, you’ve gotta stop listening to every rumor about the teachers here! They’re not all secretly dating or like mysteriously independently wealthy.”

“Yeah, but that thing about Coach Barton LARP-ing in his spare time turned out to be true, though!”

“Okay, good point.”

“Besides, I’m like convinced that Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson are dating.”

“Mr. Nelson wears a ring, dingus,” Bridgit chimes in.

“And Mr. Murdock doesn’t,” Courtney adds. “Case closed.”

“Listen, I won’t go through all my evidence again,” Aida replies. “Because…I’ve finally seen the light.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Are you feeling alright?!”

“Yes,” Aida says, bravely. “I just came from Mr. Murdock’s office and we were talking about my scholarship applications and that got us talking about how I volunteer at the senior center and I was saying that I was going to help at their Valentine’s Day event this week and then I asked if he was doing anything special for the holiday and…”

“Aida!” Bridgit shrieks “You did not!”

“It’s not that weird to ask!” She pauses for a second, clearly thinking it over. “I mean, is it?”

“It’s so weird. What’s wrong with you?” Courtney says.

“Well, he was more normal about it than either of you. He just said he didn’t have anything special planned, that he’d probably have a chill night in.”

There’s a significant pause, before Bridgit asks, “Sorry, how does this qualify as heartbreaking news exactly?”

“Um, maybe because Kris had a meeting with Mr. Nelson yesterday where he said he was going to cook this big, fancy meal for his partner and said that it was going to take days to prepare?? And Mr. Murdock isn’t doing anything, so they’re obviously not together.”

“We literally already knew that.”

“I didn’t!”

“That’s because you’re delusional,” Courtney says, not quite gently. “And you have a weird parasocial relationship with our guidance counselors.”

“That’s not true! I just thought, based on how they are when they're together at school, they must have something going on outside of it!”

“Despite the fact that one of them wears a wedding ring and references a partner all the time, and one of them doesn’t and refuses to confirm or deny the existence of a significant other at all.”

“Despite the fact that Kamala and Miles totally saw him with a beautiful, blonde woman at a Nationals game that one time.”

“He can have beautiful female friends, you know,” Aida protests. “I stand by that. I was just maybe wrong about him and Mr. Nelson.”

“Listen, everyone knows those two are, like, work married. They’re just not married married for real. There’s no way.”

“Yeah, Mr. Murdock is for sure straight, too.”

“You don’t know that,” Aida replies, defensively. “I mean, not that I’m speculating, but you can’t know. Not for sure. He’d never talk about that.”

“No, of course not, but like…he is. Just look at him!”

“That’s offensive,” Aida sniffs. “You can’t tell anyone’s sexuality by looking at them!”

“Sometimes you can.”

“Yeah, some people are just so straight, you know?”

“Ugh, whatever,” Aida says, sliding down further into her chair. “No one understands the depth of my despair.”

“Penny told me that she doesn’t even think Mr. Murdock’s met Mr. Nelson’s partner.”

“That’s crazy! Even if they’re not dating, they’re like besties, right?”

“Maybe it’s just at work,” Courtney says. “Maybe they’re indifferent to each other in real life.”

“I guess I just always imagined like, even if they were dating other people, they still like hung out together outside of school, you know?”

Bridgit snorts. “If I was dating a guy and he was that close to his co-worker, I don’t think I’d want them hanging out outside of school, to be honest.”

Aida gasps. “God, you’re so right. Their partners must be so jealous!”

Next to her, Courtney sighs in frustration. “I feel like you almost learned a lesson about not getting too obsessed with other people’s personal lives there and then you went right back to making shit up again.”

“What? I was just saying, hypothetically, if they are dating other people, it must be weird!”

“Yeah, okay. I need help with my Calc homework, if you’re done being creepy about the faculty here.”

The conversation obviously loses Sam’s interest there, but he spends the rest of the day thinking about it, formulating a plan that he can only call, well, evil.

“I have a really, really stupid idea,” he says to Bucky later, while he’s grading papers on the couch and Bucky is frowning at the saucepan he’s got on the stove. “And I need you to talk me out of it.”

Bucky looks up at that to frown at Sam instead. Luckily, frowning at things is kind of Bucky’s love language, so Sam isn’t worried.

“When have I ever successfully talked you out of anything, Sam?” he asks, amusement peaking through in his tone and the way he tilts his head. “I don’t think I’m the man for the job.”

Sam sighs and tells him the whole study hall gossip saga anyway, which just ends with Bucky looking even more confused and concerned.

“God,” he says, rubbing his forehead, “you don’t think they talk about us like that, do you?”

“Oh, I’m sure they say worse about us,” Sam replies, feeling both pity for Bucky’s poor nerves and amusement at his innocence. “I’m sure they say worse about Matt and Foggy, honestly. This was probably on the tame end.”

Bucky considers this for a moment. “You know, I’ve heard students talking about Matt having a girlfriend before, or a wife or whatever, and how she must hate how close he is with Foggy. I didn’t know this was a thing, though. I just thought it was two students being crazy, you know?”

“Oh, no. There’s lore. And it’s been getting more intense since Foggy came back from break with a wedding ring. The kids have been going bonkers over it. They’re convinced there’s some mystery afoot.”

Bucky shakes his head. “We might need to give them more homework, if they have the time to come up with this stuff.”

Sam stifles a laugh at that. “Or at least a unit on creative writing so they can get this kind of thing out of their systems.”

“These are all good ideas, though,” Bucky says, with a small smile. “So I don’t understand what your bad one is. You want me to talk you out of giving these kids detention? Or telling Foggy what you overheard?”

“God, no! Nothing that sensible. I told you it was a stupid idea, Buck. Remember?”

“It’s apparently so stupid that I can’t even conceive of it, based on what I know now.”

“I want to fan the flames a little,” Sam admits, only slightly embarrassed to own up to such a thing in front of his boyfriend.

“Fan the flames…how exactly?”

“Listen,” Sam sighs, as he pushes himself up to a seated position, “I know I’m supposed to be a grown up about this stuff, but Foggy gave me so much shit when you and I were…”

“Dancing around each other for the better part of a year?” Bucky suggests, with a smile.

“I was going to say ‘figuring our stuff out’, but sure, that works too,” Sam says. “I just want to give him a little grief back.”

“You still haven’t told me your plan, you know,” Bucky says, knowingly.

“I—” Sam starts to say and then pauses. “I just want to remind you, before I explain this, that you love me and you think I’m a cool, mature person most of the time.”

“Well, half of that’s true.”

Sam narrows his eyes at him. “It better be the first half!”

Bucky smiles. “It is. Proceed.”

Once Sam is done explaining the plan, he fully expects to see Bucky standing there, hands on his hips, frowning in a classic disappointed dad pose. Sam also expects that will be all it takes to talk him out of this, that another adult’s disapproval is all he needs to act like an adult himself. What he’s not expecting is for Bucky to open and close his mouth a few times and clearly struggle with what to say first. Sam’s at the point of formulating an apology and maybe, you know, fleeing the country in embarrassment, when Bucky finally speaks up.

“I don’t know how to say this right, Sam, like in a way that conveys the depths of my love and admiration for you, but I guess…do you want my credit card?”

Sam beams, and does not tell Bucky to return anything he’s bought for him in preparation for Valentine’s Day because this is all he’ll ever need, but he does think it. He thinks it very much.

Sam wishes he could say that his own childish antics didn’t fully distract him when Valentine’s Day comes around, but he’d definitely be lying. He’s giddy to the point of antsy to hear what happens, as a matter of fact, and, luckily for him, he has study hall on the day in question. He trusts the students who started this all will be able to give him some updates, at the very least.

Aida doesn’t disappoint. She sprints into Sam’s classroom just as the bell is ringing, towing Bridgit behind her, and basically Tokyo drifts into her seat next to Courtney.

“Oh my GOD,” she whisper-shouts while trying to catch her breath. “You will not believe what Bridgit and I just heard!”

“What is it?” Courtney asks, not sounding that intrigued despite the theatrics.

“Mr. Nelson’s spouse sent him this huge bouquet of roses—”

“Like freaking enormous,” Bridgit interjects.

“Yeah, like, whatever you’re thinking of for a massive bouquet of roses, think bigger,” Aida says. “Anyway, he got this ridiculous floral arrangement delivered to the school and it took up, like, his whole desk and everyone in the office is giving him such a hard time about it, because it’s just so much, and now he’s giving away roses to everyone!”

“Ew, he gave you a rose?” Courtney asks, horrified.

“No, not students,” Aida replies, affronted. “He’s giving them to the staff and stuff. Although I heard there’s a small arrangement of them at the front desk and they were letting students take from there, if they wanted. But I only know about it because Nurse Palmer had like four of them in a little cup in her office when I went to see her.”

“Oh my god, why were you at the nurse?!”

“She got smacked in the head with a volleyball in gym,” Bridgit supplies. “Again.”

“My peripheral vision sucks, okay? I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Fine. Why is Mr. Nelson giving away the flowers? Won’t his partner be mad?”

“Nurse Palmer told me that he can’t bring the flowers home because he said his cat would just attack them and make a mess.”

“Aren’t roses toxic to cats?”

“No, that’s lilies,” Bridgit says, wisely.

“Still,” Courtney says, scandalized, “I feel like his partner would know that! Why would they send him flowers he can’t bring home?”

“I don’t know,” Aida replies, smugly. “Maybe they just wanted to remind a certain co-worker of his that he’s taken…”

“Oh my god! Not this again!”

“Well! It’s like you said, his partner would know that their cat would destroy the flowers! So, clearly, the flowers were never meant to make it home! It was obviously all for show!”

“Sending your partner flowers to their place of work always is,” Courtney says, darkly.

“So petty,” Bridgit agrees.

“I like flowers,” Aida objects, pulling a notebook out of her backpack hesitantly.

“There’s nothing wrong with flowers! It’s the method of delivery that I find tacky.”

“Yeah, that’s true, I guess.”

“How did Mr. Murdock take it?”

“I don’t know,” Aida says. “I haven’t been to the office today.”

“I think my lab partner Gabe has a meeting with him this afternoon,” Bridgit adds. “I should tell him to snoop.”

“Oh my god,” Aida coos, delightedly.

“You’re both maniacs,” Courtney says.

“Oh, yeah, like you’re not a little curious! Be for real!”

“I’m not! I don’t care about this at all!”

“Okay, so if Gabe finds out anything, I shouldn’t tell you?”

There’s a meaningful pause while Sam is turned away, pretending to look through his file cabinet. “I mean, obviously you should tell me,” Courtney grumbles. “But only because I like to be included.”

“Right, of course,” Aida says.

Sam finishes with the pretend business he had with the filing cabinet and turns back towards his desk. “Hey, Courtney,” he says, feigning casualness. “You got that big game against Horizons this week, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Friday, Mr. Wilson,” she replies.

“How’s the team feeling?”

“Okay,” she says. “I think we’re ready but, you know, they’re having a good season, so…could go either way.”

“I hear ya,” he says, settling back down at his desk. “Well, good luck!”

“Thanks!”

“Mr. Wilson, have you been by the main office today?” Aida asks, sweetly, and if he hadn’t been anticipating it, he might have missed the wide-eyed look Bridgit shoots her immediately afterwards, but he doesn’t. He does catch it, though, and enjoys it immensely.

“Not since first thing this morning when I came in,” Sam replies, innocently. “Why?”

“I heard they’re giving out roses.”

Sam schools his features into a mildly perplexed look. “Roses? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Aida says. “One of the teachers or someone got a bouquet delivered for Valentine’s Day or something?”

“Huh,” Sam replies, channeling his inner Angela Bassett and turning in what he hopes is an Oscar-worthy performance. “You know, maybe it’s just me, but I’ve always thought sending someone flowers at their place of work for Valentine’s Day is a little…much.”

“Totally,” Bridgit agrees.

“I was just saying,” Courtney adds, pleased.

“Are you doing anything special for the holiday, Mr. Wilson?” Aida asks, matching Sam’s faux-innocence with some of her own.

“Besides spending my day with the best students in the world, you mean?” he asks, all charm.

“Yeah,” Aida says, with a discreet eye roll in her friends�� direction. “I meant besides that.”

“Nothing much, really. I’ll probably go get a rose from the main office, though, since you gave me the tip on that and since no one bothered to send me any flowers at work.”

The girls all exchange an unimpressed look at that, which mostly tells him that they save gossiping about his personal life for when they are, mercifully, not in his classroom. All things considered, he appreciates the restraint.

Sam is still cleaning what remains of his last class’s lesson off the whiteboard (because several students lingered behind to ask him questions about their assignments that he definitely answered in the handout for it that he gave them already) when he hears a knock on the doorframe of his classroom. He turns to find Foggy leaning there with a single red rose in his hand.

“Hey there, Romeo,” Sam calls. “How can I help you?”

“Sam Wilson,” Foggy says, too earnestly, as he approaches, “will you accept this rose?”

“Oh, thank God,” Sam replies, as he reaches out to take it. “I was dreading having to debrief with Chris Harrison after this, if you didn’t pick me.”

“How could I not? After all, I believe I have you to thank for making today one of the weirdest days of my life.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam says, twirling the stem between his fingers.

“Really? You mean to tell me you’re not responsible for sending me a frankly absurd amount of roses with a note that implied I’d always be your sugar plum?”

“The note was meant to say outright that you’d always be my sugar plum, Foggy. I hope the kid at the flower shop accurately captured my vision. I certainly paid enough for it!”

Foggy shakes his head, smiling. “I still don’t know what you were up to with this, Sam, but it must have cost you a fortune.”

“Well, I figured that your no-good husband would never shower you with lavish gifts at work and I thought you deserved something nice.”

“Listen, I know I’ve been upping my skincare game lately, but I don’t think I look good enough to pass for having been born yesterday,” Foggy says. “What’s your angle?”

“I still can’t believe you knew it was me.”

“It has the trademark Sam Wilson charm all over it.”

Sam smiles and leans against the edge of his desk. “I didn’t really embarrass you that bad, did I?”

“Only a little,” Foggy replies. “I assume I did something to deserve it.”

“Yeah, you made the mistake of befriending me in grad school and staying in contact ever since.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s a rookie move, for sure.”

“And you didn’t invite me to your wedding.”

“No one was invited to my wedding! We got married at City Hall!”

“A likely story.”

“If you’re really upset about that, you’re going to have to get in line,” Foggy says. “My mom is definitely more annoyed at me than you are.”

“It wasn’t that, don’t worry. The kids in my study hall were just gossiping again,” Sam adds, finally dropping the bit. “About how Matt’s girlfriend and your partner are probably jealous of your bromance.”

“God, these kids,” Foggy laughs, shaking his head. “Couldn't you assign them more homework or something?”

“Bucky and I are on it.”

“Thanks.”

“Some of it’s on you for just showing up for the new semester with a wedding ring and no explanation, you know.”

Foggy sighs. “I know, but it’s always weird finding the line with students. I don’t care what they know about my personal life, but I don’t want to find out I overshared when it’s too late and I’ve got some upset parent emailing me about how I’m setting a bad example for their kid by implying I date sometimes.”

“Well, your dating days are done, at least,” Sam says, sympathetically.

“Yes, but my gay marriage days are just beginning, which is a whole new can of worms.”

“True enough,” Sam replies. “Hey, if you learn anything about navigating this kind of thing, be sure to report back to the rest of us.”

“Why is that, Sam? You got gay marriage on your mind for some reason?”

Sam feels his face heat. “Shut up,” he says. “This whole situation today was supposed to give me a reprieve from you being smug about my love life for once.”

“There’s nothing on earth that could stop me being smug about that, sweetheart, but I applaud you for trying.”

“Applaud Bucky too,” Sam replies. “He footed the bill for this overture.”

“Did he?” Foggy asks, sounding reluctantly impressed. “Well, I hope you two weren’t saving up for anything important, because these flowers probably bankrupted him.”

“We’ll manage. Consider it a wedding present from us.”

Foggy nods, absently. “You know, speaking of Bucky…sorry, I actually don’t know the right way to say this…”

Sam feels himself tense. Even though he trusts Bucky completely and is happier with him than he can remember being with anyone else, the look on Foggy’s face is giving him pause. What if Foggy’s about to say he’s never actually liked Bucky? What if something happened to him and Sam somehow hadn’t heard? That seems pretty unlikely, but it’s not like Foggy to be cagey about anything.

“What is it?” Sam asks, pretending as hard as he can to be normal.

“It’s just—and maybe this isn’t my place to say, but—I just think, if Bucky’s not meeting your needs and you feel the need to act out like this, well, I have to say something—”

Sam sputters as he tries not to laugh and fails miserably. “Goddammit, Foggy!”

“I’m just saying, if you’re not feeling satisfied, I’d be happy to take him aside and give him a few pointers, you know, maybe point out a few erogenous zones he’s never heard of…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sam replies, getting himself under control.

“I know it would be an awkward conversation,” Foggy says, hand to heart, “but you’re my friend and I’d do it for your sake.”

“Thanks, man. That’s really too kind of you. But why don’t you save that mojo for your husband?”

“Well, not to brag, but I’m doing well enough in that department that he doesn’t feel the need to send people prank bouquets just to start rumors about them.”

“I bet he wouldn’t even be able to find the time to think of it honestly.”

“Nope,” Foggy replies. “He’s far too sexually satisfied for such puerile pranks.”

Sam snorts. “I’m also perfectly satisfied, thank you!”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Sam says, just as another knock sounds on his door. “Come in!”

“Hey, Sam,” Matt says, as he enters. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No worries. Foggy was just insulting my boyfriend’s lovemaking skills.”

“Sounds about right,” Matt replies, coming to stand next to Foggy. “You ready to head out?”

“If you are,” Foggy says, and Matt inclines his head. “Thanks again for all the unnecessary drama, Sam.”

“You’re so welcome, Foggy. Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your mysterious, jealous partner and to Matt’s beautiful, blonde girlfriend.”

Matt’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “My what?”

“Some woman a couple of students saw you with at a Nationals game, apparently,” Sam says. “I didn’t even know you liked baseball.”

“I can take it or leave it, honestly,” Matt says, “but Karen loves it, so we went to a game when she was in town.”

“Oh, okay,” Foggy says, comprehension dawning. “I heard that one too and I could not for the life of me figure out who they were talking about.”

“You were at that conference and your flight home got delayed,” Matt supplies.

“Right. Lucky me.”

“You fared better than the Nationals did, at least,” Matt says.

“Though, that’s not a high bar to clear,” Sam adds.

Matt acknowledges that with a tilt of his head. “True enough,” he says. “That’s really where that rumor came from?”

“Apparently. Unless you’ve been cavorting around town with multiple beautiful, blonde women.”

“Not that I know of,” Matt says. “Though, you’re blond, right, Foggy?”

“Yes, and in the right light, I can be mistaken for a beautiful woman.”

“I can’t tell if that’s the sort of comment I should agree or disagree with to avoid insulting you.”

“And they say keeping the mystery alive in your marriage is difficult,” Foggy replies, with an arch look in Sam’s direction.

“Hey, is that why Matt refuses to wear his ring at school?” Sam asks. “Just to keep everyone guessing? Or is it something like how some couples will pretend not to know each other at parties and pick each other up as if they’re strangers?”

“Sure, let’s go with that and not the fact that Matt keeps conveniently forgetting to get his ring resized.”

Matt frowns. “I resent the implication that I’m deliberately avoiding it for no apparent reason.”

“Matt, it’s been like two months!”

“And I’m very easily distracted!”

Foggy sighs. “You see what I have to deal with?”

“This is why I sent you flowers,” Sam replies. “To remind you that you have options.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Matt says, darkly. “I’ll get the ring re-sized this weekend, I promise.”

“Well, actually, you might do better to wait,” Sam says. “Just think of how many idiot boyfriends are going to propose tonight without checking their girlfriend’s ring size beforehand. Jewelers are going to be busy for a few weeks from that alone.”

“That’s a good point,” Matt replies, thoughtfully.

“Why are you discouraging him?” Foggy asks, desperately. “Haven’t you interfered in my relationship enough for one day?”

“Foggy, you and Matt could get matching neon signs installed over your heads that say ‘happily married’ and the students would still think you’re seeing other people. A wedding ring on Matt’s finger is not going to do the trick.”

“Yeah, you’re right. In fact, it’s almost like I don’t care at all what the students say about my love life. I’d just like the man I love to wear the damn ring I bought him.”

“It’s actually because he wants other people to stop hitting on me at the grocery store when he’s like two feet away,” Matt says, leaning into Foggy’s side in an obvious bid for attention, which Foggy immediately indulges by putting his arm around Matt’s shoulders.

Sam snorts and then feels bad about it. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Let’s just say I mostly go grocery shopping by myself these days,” Foggy says. “The masses cannot be trusted around Matt and his beautiful face.”

“You’re a brave man, Foggy Nelson.”

“For what? Going grocery shopping alone? Or being in love with Matt?”

“Both,” Sam replies.

“The dangers of marrying up,” Foggy says, and Matt elbows him immediately for it. “Someone ought to warn Bucky.”

“Hey now,” Sam warns, but he ruins the effect by laughing. “Bucky’s very handsome.”

“And you’re stunning! You’re a literal earth angel, Sam! They wrote that song about you!”

“Damn, if I’d known all it took to get these kinds of compliments from you was a floral arrangement, I’d have splurged years ago.”

“Sure, I go to one baseball game with a female friend and the rumor that I have a girlfriend persists for a year,” Matt says, grouchily, “but you guys talk like this all the time to each other and there’s no rumors about you two dating.”

“That’s true,” Sam concedes. “It is kind of weird, now that you mention it.”

“It’s because there’s no drama there,” Foggy says. “Sam and Bucky get rumors because there’s tension. They’re in the same department. You and me get rumors because there’s the potential for scandal. Me and Sam, our relationship is too pure to speculate about.”

“Too pure? Did I not just walk in on you offering to give his boyfriend sex tips a few minutes ago?”

“Yes, you did,” Foggy says, unapologetic. “And I stand by that offer, by the way. It could help!”

“No, thank you,” Sam replies, firmly. “As I said, save that energy for Matt.”

“Yeah, save that energy for me,” Matt says, giving Foggy a significant look. “And don’t think I missed that ‘marrying up’ comment a while back. I heard it and we’re going to discuss it in the car.”

Foggy sighs. “This is what I get for marrying a guidance counselor.”

Sam smiles at him. “Good thing you love him, huh?”

“A very good thing,” Foggy says. “Otherwise these persistent rumors about how he’s got a beautiful model girlfriend at home because he’s so straight would really get me down.”

“A beautiful model girlfriend who’s insanely threatened by his relationship to you, though.”

“Good point.”

“Well, I hope you and Bucky didn’t spend all your money on flowers for my husband,” Matt says. “That would make your own Valentine’s Day plans pretty bleak.”

Sam laughs. “We’re not literally bankrupt, don’t worry.”

“Just morally, then,” Foggy replies.

“Yeah. And my only regret is that you couldn’t even take the flowers home. Seems a waste. Ziggy would really go after them?”

“Oh, Ziggy would take any flowers or plants in the apartment as an act of warfare,” Foggy says.

“We tried to bring home a fern once,” Matt adds, looking haunted. “Didn’t survive the night.”

“He still hasn’t forgiven me for bringing Matt home,” Foggy says, shaking his head.

“My bad,” Sam says, considering the rose in his hand and thinking how Alpine would feel about it. After a moment of consideration, he realizes he’s getting a little ahead of himself and banishes the thought to the back of his mind.

“Honestly, it might have been more fun distributing them to everyone here than it would have been to just keep them at our house,” Foggy says, with a shrug. “Really got me in the spirit.”

“You’re welcome, then.”

“I still don’t know if I’d go so far as to thank you for it.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam replies. “I was talking to Matt.”

“I’m welcome?” Matt asks, perplexed. “For what, exactly?”

“Getting your husband in the Valentine’s Day spirit,” Sam says, with a wink.

“Sam just winked at you,” Foggy adds, for Matt’s benefit.

“Makes sense.”

“I believe he’s trying to imply that any sex we’ll be having tonight is his doing.”

“I’m following, Foggy. Thank you.”

“Little does he know—”

“We really should be going,” Matt says, grabbing Foggy by the arm. “Have a good night, Sam.”

“And remember: my offer to give Bucky some pointers is always open,” Foggy calls over his shoulder as Matt drags him bodily from the room.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says, waving them both off.

Once they’re gone, he focuses his attention back on cleaning up his classroom and getting his things together, which takes only a few more minutes. When that’s done, he shuts off the lights and closes the door behind him before making his way down the hallway to Bucky’s classroom.

Pausing in the doorway, he sees Bucky glaring at something on his laptop screen, which probably means he got a parent email right as he was trying to wrap up for the day and it fully derailed his routine. Sam knocks on the doorframe twice with no response before letting himself in. Once he’s standing next to Bucky’s desk, still without being noticed, he pokes him in the shoulder to get his attention.

Bucky does a comical double take, as if he can’t believe Sam is actually there, and then very clearly takes in the time on the clock on the wall and realizes how long he’s been distracted. Then, he notices the rose in Sam’s hand.

“Don’t tell me I have a rival for your affections,” he jokes, even as the scowl doesn’t fully disappear from his face.

“Of course not,” Sam smiles. “This is for you.”

“Really?”

“Yep. The last remains of our little Valentine’s Day gift to Foggy.”

“Oh,” Bucky replies, taking the rose gingerly from Sam’s outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Sam says, grandly, trying to put his dumb feelings into nice words. “There’s, uh, nobody I’d rather do stupid, immature shit with than you.”

Bucky puts a hand to his chest. “Honestly, Sam, if you make me cry at work…”

“That will be on you for still being at work at this hour.”

“You’re still here too!”

“Waiting for you,” Sam fires back. “And on Valentine’s Day, no less!”

Bucky sighs, but closes his laptop anyway. “Alright, you win. This will keep. Let’s go home.”

“At last he sees sense!”

Bucky stands up and starts packing his things into his bag. “Did Foggy enjoy the flowers, at least?”

“Apparently, he got a lot of shit from the faculty for being the recipient of such an obvious and desperate romantic gesture. And our efforts were aided by Ziggy, who apparently doesn’t tolerate any plants in the house, which means Foggy had to give away the flowers and it only added to the supposed drama according to the students.”

“What a tangled web,” Bucky replies, shaking his head as he throws on his jacket.

“He said to thank you for the mild humiliation and the bankruptcy you risked to achieve it,” Sam says, and leaves out the other stuff Foggy said about Bucky for now. That’s more of an ‘at home’ conversation.

“Oh, I’m always happy to torment people with you, Sam. It was truly my pleasure!”

“Well, the feeling is mutual.”

Bucky pauses as he’s hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder, looking serious again. “I mean it, you know. What you said before, about how there’s no one you’d rather do stupid stuff with…?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“There’s no one I’d rather do anything with than you,” Bucky says, earnestly. “I hope you know that.”

Sam smiles, even though the feeling swirling in his chest right now is not precisely happy or amused, but rather everything mixed together. Happy and amused and overwhelmed and confused and delighted and scared and…well, everything.

“Now who’s trying to make someone cry at work?” he asks, rather than admit to any of that. Yet another ‘at home’ conversation.

“You’re right,” Bucky acquiesces, with a small smile. “Let’s get out of here, so we can cry as much as we want.”

“Romantic,” Sam quips, barely holding back his own smile or the still very possible tears. “Home, then?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, looking right at him. “Home.”

#lmao I don’t know WHAT this is #it got very out of hand #I hope you like it Zainab!!!#happy valentines/galentines/friendiversary!! I love you!!!!!!!!!#here’s a fic about all our boys being weird antagonistic best friends in a school #homelywenchsociety #that’s my writing tag! don’t worry about it!#sambucky #mattfoggy #sam wilson #bucky barnes #foggy nelson #matt murdock #sambucky and co teachers au #a fic for an audience of one but I simply had to!!! 💕💕💕💕💕

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velvetcloxds · 2 years ago

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if you're too shy- send me a character and a scenario and I'll write a little baby blurb for it

sam wilson + fake dating bc reader's parents really just won't leave her alone or the reader really needs a plus one at her cousin's wedding and also bc the reader doesn't want to be teased about how she "can't get some"

WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR | S.W.

word count: 0.6k

warnings: two oblivious idiots, pretend sam isn't outside in the gif lol

"I'm sure they didn't mean it like that," you're pacing, missing the sympathetic smile on your best friend's lips as he watches you from your couch, cold beer in hand as he waits for a reply, knowing you're not even truly listening to him.

"Like why would they assume that I'm coming alone? Is it really that unbelievable that I could find a plus one?" you paused, eyeing Sam for his reaction, pouting at him, silently begging him to set your mind at ease. "I could, couldn't I?" his eyes were soft as he nodded at you, beer abandoned on the coffee table, hand gently taking hold of your wrist to pull you towards him.

"Of course, you could, baby," he was convincing, the friendly nickname aiding in his plea as he guided you to sit down on the table in front of him, thumb brushing over your pulse point in an attempt to keep you settled long enough to actually hear what he's saying. "Look at me," he insisted with a little scoff, waiting ever patiently for you to stop being stubborn and meet his gaze and it took a second, a minute, but you finally looked up from your knees, pout very present still as you did. "Don't let this get to you so much, you could get any guy you want if you tried."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Well, I am," he wasn't pleased with your objection, finding it very much offensive that you'd question his word when he considered himself a very honest and straightforward man, very rarely wrong but he'd never tell you that. "You want me to go with you? Haven't been to a wedding in forever, plus the world should get the chance to appreciate my dancing."

"I don't want a pitty date, Sammy," you sighed, carelessly taking his hand into your lap, fiddling with his fingers, tracing the lines on his palm, something you would've questioned in its casualty if you weren't so comfortable with him. "I want someone to want to go on a date with me because they like me, maybe cause they find me pretty."

"I like you," he argued with a scoff. "And I think you're way past pretty," he added and you were the one to scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, demanding some contradiction to his statement and receiving none as he shrugged. "Come on, you know I like seeing you all dolled up and looking fine, it'll do my ego good being seen with a stunner like you," his tone was teasing yet the way his eyes roamed your features made it clear that he was sincere. After all, you were his girl in every way but the way he wanted, his best friend, his human, the only person he'd be caught being so soft with, and even though he always thought there was more there, he wasn't going to force it, not until you showed any sign of wanting the same.

"You know my mom already thinks we're secretly hooking up," you mentioned and he shrugged again, smiling as you looked down shyly, heat rising up your neck at how casual he was being about this. "The rest of them would eat their hearts out at the sight of someone as good-looking as you walking in with me," you were starting to cave, seeing the pros to this little ruse and selfishly, you always enjoyed the way Sam pulled you just a little too close while dancing with you.

"So, you going to let me take you then? I'll buy you a corsage and everything," he offered and you laughed, not fighting against the grip that pulled you onto his lap, booping your nose as you giggled.

"That's for prom, Sammy, not for a wedding," you smiled, content as his arms wrapped around you in a platonic embrace, a comfortable position as you reached over to bring his beer back to him. "Will you go dress shopping with me too?" you quipped, watching with curious eyes as he took a slow sip, following his adam's apple as he swallowed, cursing the way it made your stomach flutter.

"Course, I will, you could give me a little fashion show while you fit them."

"Then yes, you can definitely be my date."

#best friend!sam #best friend!sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x yn #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fanfic #sam wilson fic #sam wilson blurb #sam wilson drabble #sam wilson imagine #marvel baby blurbs #monique's event days #monique's baby blurb days #right where queue left me #monique's writing events

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sergeantrosabellaswan · 6 months ago

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Am I a Monster? Disney Frozen & MCU Corssover, CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Summary:

Elsa and Anna Arendelle. Sisters first, best friends forever. Even with Elsa being the one with cryokinesis- the enhanced abilities to control snow, ice and the cold. Struggling to make ends meet with Elsa attending college and Anna finishing up her senior year of high school, they accidently attract the attention of both SHIELD and HYDRA.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORESS:

I’m back! this is a rewrite of a past project that I had abandoned due to Covid and lack of brain cells. Let’s hope that I don’t lose interest in this little project of mine!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1089

Elsa shut the door with her foot, carrying two bags of groceries for the week. An exhausted sigh escaped her mouth at the silence that filled with dingy apartment, located in the poorer parts of New York. Despite the fact that the twenty one year old college student was raising her sickly high school student sister on a fixed income, the sad apartment was fixed up to the best of their ability. The thin walls were decorated with blankets to keep the warmth in, the sagging bookshelf was crammed full with textbooks and cheap adventure novels, the outdated kitchen had a fresh tray of double chocolate chip cookies on the counter and a damp towel was neatly folded next to the stove.

All in all, the two sisters did the best that they could with what little they had access to.

“Hey,” Anna, her little sister, greeted with a weak smile over from the couch, where she was working on her chemistry homework. “How were classes?”

“Alright,” smiled the pale blonde with a small smile. “I’m just happy that winter break starts next week. Speaking of which- I went and got you another blankie.” She reached into one of the grocery bags and pulled out a fuzzy fleece blanket in hot pink and electric purple.

“Thank you!” Anna happily squealed, snatching the blankie from her sister and promptly wrapping herself in a warm cocoon.

“Well with how easily you get cold, I just figured that I should just wrap you up in blankies and have myself a little Anna burrito,” Elsa teased her said with a laugh. “Especially with Paul being such a grade A sleazebag excuse of a landlord and flat out refusing to fix the heating system.”

“Yeah.” All that could be seen of Anna were her eyes and nose, causing for Elsa to reach across and tap her little sister on the nose.

“Speaking of which, how are you on medication?” Elsa asked as she began to put the groceries away. “Do I need to go out and make a drug store run?”

“I don’t think so- my inhaler is half full,” Anna said, taking her glasses of to scrub at her eyes. “But I think I’m coming down with another ear infection and a head cold.”

Elsa groaned under her breath as she figured the cost of the medicines that Anna would require to get to her bubbly self once more.

“I’m so sorry Elsa,” Anna apologized. “I truly don’t mean to be so sick all the time.” Elsa didn’t have to look to see her sister was trying not to cry.

“I know you don’t,” Elsa took out a saucepan that had seen better days. “Does chicken noodle soup sound good for tonight?” Anna nodded, setting her homework aside as she curled up into a little ball to keep herself warm.

“Oh Elsa, before I forget, you got a letter today,” Anna said in an excited voice. “Had to sign for it and everything. I put it on our bed. it has an official looking seal- who do you think it’s from?”

Elsa smiled her thanks through a mouthful of food before standing to place her now empty bowl into the sink. She entered the only bedroom in the crap excuse of an apartment and immediately saw the letter- an official looking envelope of heavy cream colored parchment.

“Well, well, well… what have we here?” Elsa muttered, eyeballing the otherwise innocuous white envelope- Miss Elsa Arendelle it was addressed to in stern typewriter’s font. 1450 West Snow Hill Drive, #237, New York NY, 00097 was addressed underneath her name, making her anxiety skyrocket for some unknown reason.

Elsa was shaking as she used her gloved thumbnail to peel the flap open and pulled out a single sheet of paper, the same font from the front of the envelope. Elsa took in the bolded header, which had STARK INDUSTRIES stamped in a simplistic stylist font.

Elsa eyeballed the cream colored letter envelope as she set her backpack onto the rickety chair next to the sisters’ shared chest of drawers. She continued to read, her hands trembling as her pale blue eyes took in the words that were scattered across the page. Elsa could literally feel her face losing all color as she closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath of air.

I should have been more careful, she scolded herself, thinking back to that day when she had interrupted a mugging between a pimply faced teenaged young man and a heavily pregnant woman.

Dear Miss Arendelle, the letter read.

Your unique abilities have recently come to the attention of the Avengers, as well as your current living situation. Mr. Stark would like to propose a simple deal: you come and work for the Avengers Initiative, and in return, you will get put onto the team’s medical insurance, which will cover all of your sister’s medical expenses- visits to her cardiologist, audiologist and her ear nose throat doctors, all her medications including her asthma inhaler and her pacemaker and any furture surgeries that she may require.

I’m also including my phone number in case you have any questions at all.

Anothny Stark

Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist.

(571) 998-7850

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

TAGLIST

@captain-ariel-barnes

@ofstarsandvibranium

@invisibleanonymousmonsters

@itsanerdlife

@crushedbyhyperbole

@brooklyn-boy

@yours-bucky

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sambuckylibrary · 2 years ago

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Friday: Best Friend's Best Friend

It's the final week of the TFATWS Anniversary Event 2023! This week's theme is SamBucky Specific Things. The prompt today is:

Click here to read the FAQ and rules about this event.

Have fun and we look forward to your TFATWS Anniversary fics and art!

- The Mods

#tfatwsanniversaryevent2023 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #tfatws #tfatws anniversary event #best friend's best friend #sambucky fanfic #sambucky art #sambucky edit #sambucky moodboard #mod: thatmexisaurusrex

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autumnrory · 2 years ago

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it is still so funny to me that people really think sam wilson, former counselor, would see his friend avoiding dealing with trauma by going back in time, and have no issue with how unhealthy such a choice would be and instead just be happy for him

#the fact that it's portrayed like that........like SAM one of the most clearly reasonable characters in the mcu?#but also of course sam wilson best friend of steve rogers would also know that's not fucking steve rogers #sam wilson #steve x sam #anti endgame

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honeeysagee · 3 months ago

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Supernova Chronicles #1: Star Girl

{dad's best friend!sam}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How long have you been in college?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Call me Sam."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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