#sam Wilson x you

[lives-in-midgard]

Steve: Why did you hit Sam?

Bucky: He made y/n cry.

Steve: Y/n always cries!

Y/n: That's not true. [starts crying]

Bucky: Steve what did you do!

[of-many-incorrect-quotes]

Bucky: *shyly* are you uncomfortable?

Y/N: *also shyly* I’m not uncomfortable, are you?

Bucky: *blushing* no

Sam:

Sam: I’m uncomfortable

[romanoffshouse]

Bucky: Y/N, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

Y/N: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

Bucky: Alright, I love you too, I'll ask Sam.

Y/N: Wait- Bucky , no-

[marvellover76]

Zemo: I had planned on tearing the Avengers apart from the inside out. Making them hate eachother as they remained oblivious to my intentions. Now I go after the Flagsmashers and the remains of the super soldier serum.

Sam: *horrified*

Bucky: *not even phased*

Zemo: *looks over at y/n* Turkish delight?

Y/n: *shrugs* sure why not.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

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

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

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

i'll take care of you.

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

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

"You look like hell."

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

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

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

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

You softly grunt in objection, "No."

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

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

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

"Sam..." you grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The door," Sam cheekily replies.

"It was locked."

"I may or may not have a key."

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

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

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

"Just let me take care of you."

"You don't have to."

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

"I hate you."

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

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

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

Anon's 1K Celebration Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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

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

[mintyys-blog]

PLEASE NOTE: that some of my writing contains content that is not suitable for all readers. there are warnings on each fanfic, please read them before continuing. I am not responsible for any media consumption.

MARVEL:

first masterlist— peter parker, bucky barnes, steve rogers, sam wilson, thor odison, loki laufeyson, pietro maximoff, avengers.

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑— master list

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒— masterlist

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒— masterlist

𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅— masterlist

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍— masterlist

𝐋𝐎𝐊𝐈 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐅𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍— masterlist (coming soon)

𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍— masterlist (coming soon)

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 12

@flufftober

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

Pairing: Sam Wilson x gn!Reader

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

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

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

Word count: 758 words

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

Prev | Next | Masterlist

“This is Spooky.”

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[multiversefanfics]

Hands Off - Chapter 1

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader Warning: Cussing, arguing, mild age gap (Sam is mid 30's Reader is late 20's), mention of death, mental illness, small anxiety attack, this is a somewhat dark fic, it's more on the depression side after losing someone. If you need someone to talk to my inbox is always open, no judgement at all. Suicide and Crisis lifeline: 988 Official website Please talk to someone if you're experiencing suicidal thoughts or depression. People close to you would rather hear your story than attend your funeral.

Summary: You lost both of your parents while they were on a mission, Steve wasn't your blood uncle, but he's always treated you like the two of you were blood, when you lost your parents, Steve stepped up and offered to take you in, you had the avengers and basically a smart house to protect you, I think you'll like it there.

You lost your parents while they were on a mission, and you lived in an apartment with them, they weren't home much because of their jobs, but they did make it home for Sunday dinners. One Sunday they didn't come home for dinner and your mind began to race but quickly calmed down maybe they had to stay longer and couldn't let you know, but when Steve came to your door with a defeated look on his face you knew something was wrong. He sat you down and told you the bad news, he held you while you cried and checked on you periodically throughout the week and you seemed to be getting worse as the week went on, Steve thought maybe it was the apartment since you shared it with them, so he offered to take you in that way you were looked after 24/7 whether by him or the rest of the avengers.

You fell into a huge black hole of depression, that you so desperately wanted to get out of, luckily you had Uncle Steve and his friends. You did one more walkthrough of the apartment making sure you didn't leave anything behind. You sighed, then shut and locked the door behind you, you turned the keys in and met Uncle Steve at his car "Ready to go kiddo?" You rolled your eyes and nodded "I'm ready." Steve opened the door for you, and you climbed in. The ride to the compound was long and you zoned out for most of it.

"We're here, you ready to go inside?" You took a deep breath and nodded. Steve walked around the car to open the door for you, you thanked him and got out grabbing your duffle bag from the back seat. "Are you sure it's okay that I stay here?" He nodded and took the bag from you "Of course, we have plenty of room, plus there's like a million people here you'll never be bored, and I made sure to get you a room that had a bathroom attached to it for more privacy." You looked over at him and sighed "I would've been okay with sharing a bathroom."

"I know you would've been okay, but Bucky and Sam are home all the time and I know you value your privacy and men sometimes are gross. I don't want you sharing a bathroom with them." He unlocked and opened the door, stepping aside so you could walk in you smiled and walked in looking around. Bucky and Sam were already there I guess he wasn't kidding when he said they're home all the time "Hey guys, the rest of Y/N's stuff is in the truck do you mind grabbing it and taking it to her room?" You looked over at Steve and shook your head "I can grab it." Sam and Bucky chuckled

"That's cute, she's independent and stubborn. That stuff doesn't work on us, you won't lift a finger while you're here." You rolled your eyes and watched all three of them walk out to the truck. You walked in more, and looking around again, you knew the compound was big but not this big, super high ceiling, and large windows. You sighed and sat down on the couch in the living room, this is where you will be living from now on, do you even fit in here? You've known them for a while but living with them is a lot different than just hanging out with them.

"Hey, Mini-Captain America" You heard a familiar voice from behind you, you turned and saw Tony walking toward you, you smiled and stood up to greet him "Mini-Captain America?" He chuckled and nodded "You know, since your uncle is Captain America and you're small" You rolled your eyes and watched Sam, Bucky, and Steve bring in all your belongings. "Do you guys need help?" All three of them said "No" in unison, you sighed and followed them up the stairs and into your new room. "This is my room?" Steve nodded and showed you your closet and bathroom.

After the tour of the rest of the compound, you found yourself in your room staring at the ceiling, it was one of those moments where you felt so lonely even though you were surrounded by people, people who care a great deal about you, yet don't know that you're silently drowning. You knew how to communicate and had no problem with it, but you also didn't want to be a bother to anyone. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. You turned on your side, curling up in a ball, and continued to sob, you couldn't control how loud you were and honestly, you didn't care.

You knew the walls were thick, so you didn't really have to worry about anyone hearing you. You wanted to scream, and you opened your mouth to do so, your throat was dry and hoarse, but nothing came out. There was a soft knock on your door, and you chose to ignore it. "Y/N? Are you okay?" Was that Sam? Could he hear you? He tried the doorknob, but it didn't open. You forgot that there weren't keys in the compound, all he had to do was ask Jarvis to open the door and boom it was open.

Sam wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him "Y/N, what's wrong? You can tell me." You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Sam rocked you back and forth rubbing your back "Shh, it's okay, I'm here just let it out." As if on cue, you sobbed harder. Sam kissed the top of your head and continued to rub your back, Sam lifted your head and pressed his forehead to yours closing the space between you two, the softness of this man helped you calm down

"Come on, love breathe. In for 4 seconds, out for 4 seconds. You got it" You followed his instructions and did the little breathing exercise; he brought his hands to your cheeks and rubbed his thumb over them. "See, babygirl you got it, you okay?" You nodded against his forehead and let out a deep breath your lips inches apart from each other, just then Uncle Steve walked in

"Sam! What did we talk about!?"

Main Masterlist - Sam Wilson Masterlist

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @kjah97

A/N: I hope you guys like this, this actually is a short one and I wrote it when I was feeling depressed and in my feelings about losing my own mom, the fic will get lighter i was going back and forth with posting this or just leaving it in the drafts but not everything is gumdrops and lollipops, please if anyone is feeling these emotions no matter how big or small please please please reach out to someone whether it’s me or someone close to you even if you send an anonymous ask. don’t let it build up, it doesn’t help i promise i love you all!💜🫶🏽

[pixiexdusts-world]

Incorrect quote

Bucky: What does ‘take out’ mean?

Steve: Food.

Sam: Date.

Natasha: Murder.

Y/n: IT CAN MEAN ALL THREE IF YOU’RE NOT A COWARD!

[super-marvel-dc]

Y/N: I’m gonna die alone.

Sam: Y/N, you’re not gonna die alone.

Y/N: Tony, was my safety net, okay? He got married and now I have to get a snake.

Sam, dialing Bucky: Uh-huh. Why is that?

Y/N: If I’m gonna be an old lonely person, I’m gonna need a thing, you know? A hook. Like that guy in the subway who eats his own face.

Y/N: So I figured I’ll be “Crazy Person With A Snake”, you know? Crazy snake person.

Y/N: Then I’ll get more snakes, call them my babies. Kids won’t walk past my place, they will run! RUN AWAY FROM CRAZY SNAKE PERSON!

Sam, on the phone with Bucky: Uh, I'm gonna need you to bring the straight jacket-

Y/N: *Still ranting*

Sam: Now would be great.

[romanoffshouse]

[Steve and Sam texting]

Steve: Bucky is in court right now. :(

Sam: And I broke my leg. Why is he in court?

Steve: Bucky hit someone with his car by accident but I don't know who.

How did you break your leg?

Sam: Someone hit me with their car.

Steve: Oh

[winters-hysteria]

Sam: L is for the way you look at me

Loki: 0 is for the only one I see

Tony: V is very, very extraordinary

(y/n): E is for everyone shut the fuck up it's 2am go to bed before I kill you all

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Oh, Honey (mafia! Sam Wilson)

Summary: you were sent to destroy Sam Wilson, but he had other plans.

Warnings: some angst?

WC: 800ish

Read on ao3!

Request: Honey by the Hush Sound I could see you writing something wild with either the lyrics or music video as inspiration. I just have to gird my loins for the absolute angst you could write with this because you're #gifted @blushingrn

--

The nightclub pulsed with a rhythm that seemed to echo the quickening beat of your heart. Beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers, bodies swayed in perfect ignorance of the man seated at the corner booth, the epicenter of power and fear.

Sam Wilson.

He watched the room like a hawk, his eyes dark and calculating, yet unreadable. You’d heard the rumors about him—the sharp-tongued leader of a crime syndicate who made his enemies disappear with a smile. Tonight, though, he wasn’t just the man everyone feared. He was your target.

The package in your hands felt heavier than it should as you weaved through the crowd, your steps purposeful despite the nervous energy coursing through you. You’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times, but now that you were here, under the weight of his gaze, your confidence began to crack.

“Miss,” his voice stopped you in your tracks before you could even set the package down.

It was low, rich, and dangerous. You turned to face him, finding his sharp eyes trained on you. A flicker of recognition crossed his features—a spark you didn’t expect.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

“I wasn’t planning to stay,” you replied, setting the package on the table.

“And yet here you are.” His smirk was small but cutting. “Indulge me.”

Reluctantly, you sat. His eyes lingered on you, probing, peeling back layers you’d worked hard to conceal.

“This,” you said, nudging the package toward him, “is from your associate. I was told to deliver it personally.”

His fingers hovered over the box for a moment before he leaned back, ignoring it completely. “And who are you, really?”

You stiffened, your pulse roaring in your ears. “Just a messenger.”

“Liar,” he said smoothly, his smile sharpening. “You think I don’t notice the way your hand shakes or the fact that you’ve been watching me from the balcony for weeks?”

The air between you grew heavier, suffocating.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you snapped, more defensive than you intended.

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I know you don’t belong in this world. And I know that whatever you’re planning is going to get you killed.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not working.”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you, honey,” he said, the nickname falling from his lips like a knife wrapped in silk. “I’m trying to save you.”

The words hit harder than you expected. You clenched your fists under the table, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I don’t need saving.”

For a moment, his expression softened—just enough to make you wonder if the rumors about him were incomplete. But then he stood, holding out a hand.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“What?” The request caught you off guard.

“If you’re going to lie to me, at least do it while we’re moving,” he said, his tone laced with sardonic amusement.

Against your better judgment, you took his hand. As he led you to the dance floor, the band transitioned to a slower, haunting melody. His hand found your waist, his touch warm despite the cold calculation in his eyes.

“You can stop pretending now,” he murmured near your ear.

“Pretending what?” you asked, though your voice betrayed you with its tremor.

“That you’re just a messenger,” he said, his grip tightening slightly. “We both know you’re here for more than a delivery.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to let him see you falter. “If you know so much, why don’t you just say it?”

“Because I want to hear you admit it,” he said, his voice as smooth as the silk tie he wore.

The song swelled, the tension between you suffocating. You felt the weight of the truth pressing against your ribs, desperate to escape.

“I was sent to destroy you,” you finally said, the words barely audible over the music.

Sam’s movements slowed, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I figured as much.”

His words stung more than they should have. You expected anger, maybe even violence—but not this quiet resignation.

“Then why…?” you started, but he cut you off.

“Why haven’t I stopped you?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. “Because I wanted to see if there was something worth saving in you. Something real.”

Your breath hitched as his hand brushed yours, but this time, it wasn’t the heat of attraction—it was the chill of inevitability.

“Was I wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with something fragile.

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came. Because the truth was, you didn’t know.

And as the music faded, leaving the two of you standing in the dim light, you realized the game you were playing had no winners.

[buckyalpine]

Okay so my cousin is looking for a fic that she was reading but she can't remember what it is. Here is the highly detailed, very very specific description she typed out:

Bucky and Steve are in the middle of some smutty fun. The reader sees them, and Sam then engages with the reader while both of them watch Bucky and Steve.

...the roles may not be accurate - i.e. it may have been Bucky and Sam together and the reader and Steve watching...

I cannot for the life of me think of anything but if any of you have read something like this or could recommend anything similar please let me know, we will love you forever <3

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Midnight Rain

“I broke his heart because he was nice. He was Sunshine, I was Midnight Rain…”

Request from ao3- "ok but imagine a grumpy/sunshine fic with sam but the reader is the grumpy one 🤷" For one of my fave readers, @/badasswithafatass I hope you enjoy! 💛

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader Sam Wilson Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Anon's 1K Celebration

“You know, for a smart guy, you’re pretty fucking dense," Bucky mutters, taking another swig of his beer.

“Aw… you think I’m smart?” Sam sarcastically awes from the bar stool beside Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head, “Do you honestly think she had any real interest in me?”

Bucky doesn't miss the tick in Sam's jaw at the mention of you. Months had passed since the last time Sam saw you, and he wasn’t too keen on remembering that dreaded last night. Just the memory of you leaning over the bar counter, hand resting on Bucky’s chest, whispering something in Bucky's ear, was enough to make Sam's stomach twist into a knot.

Even before that night, he could tell that you were pulling away from him, but there it was, that night, the final nail in the coffin. That was the last time he’d seen or heard from you. You walked out of his life without so much as a goodbye.

Sam rolls his shoulders back, his mouth twisting in distaste, “Sure seemed like it to me.”

“See? Dense,” Bucky declares, tipping his beer in Sam's direction.

“Alright, I’ll bite. How does any of that make me dense?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Are you going to keep insulting me or are you going to actually explain?”

“Sam, she’s a spy, an assassin," Bucky explains like it should be obvious. "She knew you were standing there. She knew you were watching.”

"So maybe she wanted to make a point. It’s not like she was one for talking or communicating, maybe that was her way of letting me know how she actually felt. Trust me, I got the message loud and clear. That doesn’t make me dense."

"Sam..." Bucky takes a long breath. "We're a lot alike, me and her. And people like us, we cut and run, it's what we do. We don't wait for things to go bad, we live with the expectation that things will always go bad."

Sam tosses the rest of his whiskey back, flagging down the bartender for another one. "That's a depressing way to live."

“It keeps us alive.”

“We weren’t on a battlefield!" Sam spits through gritted teeth. "We were done with the fight, remember? We won, for Christ’s sake!”

“And where did that leave her, Sam? With a conditional pardon? People watching us 24/7?”

“With me!” Sam snaps, slamming his glass down on the bar. “It left her with me. We were good, Bucky! We were happy together. At least, I thought we were happy together. I even- I told her that after everything, that I would take her back home, meet my family, maybe settle down a little.”

"And while you're thinking about taking her home to meet your family, she's probably thinking how a family like yours is going to react to you bringing an actual assassin home."

"I... didn't think about it like that,” Sam confesses, faltering for a moment. He shakes his head. No. He refuses to accept that. It didn't excuse that he'd found you flirting with his best friend. It didn't change that you told him he meant nothing to you. “Because I don't think about her like that. And you know what? She could've talked to me, she could've told me she felt like that, Bucky, but she didn't."

"Sam, can I be honest?"

"Shoot."

"I don't think you two will ever work."

"That's a shitty thing to say to me," Sam spits.

"I don't," Bucky admits with a languid shrug. "Honest truth, I don't see it."

"You don't have to see it, I do,” Sam firmly states. “I see it working out."

Bucky claps a hand on Sam's shoulder with a tight lipped smile, "That's my point, Sam. That's the difference between you and us. You, you live for the hope of it all. She doesn't know how to do that. I don't know how to do that. We're broken, haunted people, Sam. We hurt people that get too close."

"You're wrong."

"Why else-"

"Because she was bored!" Sam angrily shouts, not caring at the stares his outburst brings. "She only wanted me because I was there."

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“Yes. I do believe that,” Sam hisses. “Unlike you guys, I believe the words that come out of people’s mouth. She was bored... She was bored and I was there.”

Bucky takes a long pull from his beer, rising from his seat with a defeated sigh. He turns to Sam to offer one last piece of insight, “All I’m saying is I wouldn’t go on the run with someone for two years because I was bored. Not unless I really gave a shit about them. Not unless I loved them, like really loved them.”

"Do you mean that?" Sam asks over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I mean that."

--

3 Years Earlier - Somewhere in Scotland

“Just let me do the talking, okay?”

Sam raises up his hands, “No arguments from me.”

The doorknob rattles for a moment, opening just enough for you to stand before them. You look at them and immediately try to snap the door shut, “No.”

Nat extends out her hand to stop the door from swinging shut. “Just hear us-“

“No.”

"You don't even know why we're here," Nat argues. “It’s important. Please.”

You relent, allowing the door to fling open. Standing tall in the doorway, your eyes rake over each of them, “Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov or whatever name you’re going by now, and Sam Wilson, all in the flesh, all the most wanted fugitives on Earth. So I don’t care how important it is, my answer is no.”

Sam’s eyes comically widen, his voice taking a slightly bewildered, high pitched tone, “How did - Do you happen to know the names of all strangers that show up at your door?”

Your eyes dart over to Sam with a grimace, “Strangers that show up at my door end up dead. Consider yourself lucky.”

“I want you to know I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” Sam quips, placing his hand over his heart. 

“Don’t worry, Sam," Natasha smirks over her shoulder. "She’s more bark than bite. And this is me calling in a favor.”

Your eyes narrow at Natasha, "Which favor?"

"Budapest."

Your mouth narrows into a thin line as you glare at her. You hated that favor.

You look back at the three of them. Even dressed in street clothes they all stuck out like sore thumbs. They’re all disheveled, clearly exhausted, and you did owe Natasha. You convince yourself that there is no good in this deed, it’s just a repayment. Even as your eyes linger back to Sam for a second too long. You tell yourself you don't care what happens to any of them. It's just paying a debt. “Fine. Just keep me out of it.”

Natasha nods, offering a small grateful smile, “Thank you.”

You turn on your heels without another word, striding down to your room. You slam your bedroom door shut, leaving the others on their own.

“It was nice meeting you,” Sam calls after you.

You don’t bother to reply.

After a few hours, the sun sets and your safe house returns back to its normal quiet state except for the soft snores of Steve Rogers in your spare bedroom. You’re certain that they’ve all gone off to get some rest. That is, everyone, except Sam Wilson.

“Have a good nap?” Sam greets you, sitting on the small couch in the middle of your living room.

Your eyes snap over to Sam, lightly scoffing, “Actually, I was avoiding you.”

Your brutal honestly doesn’t phase Sam. The corner of his mouth twitches up as he playfully tugs on the collar of his t-shirt, “I tend to have that effect on the ladies… That sounded better in my head.”

“For you and me both,” you quip.

“You know, you’re kind of a jackass.”

“I know. Thanks.” That's the only conversation you plan on having with Sam Wilson. You continue walking to the kitchen without saying anything else.

"So how long have you and Nat been friends?" Sam asks, trailing you as you walk to your kitchen, clearly not taking the hint that you don't want to talk to him.

You scoff over your shoulder, "Who said we were friends?"

"So you're not friends? Because the whole letting us hide out here, housing us, letting us eat your food, not turning us in, sorta gave me a different idea."

"We're not friends."

In truth, your relationship to Natasha was much more complex than that. At one point, you were like sisters. In the Red Room, she was all you had. Your only friend. Your confidante. And still, you could never quite live up to her, always second to her. You knew all her secrets, all the blood spilt, all the skeletons in her closet, and she knew all of yours.

The night before your graduation, you ran. As far away and as quickly as your legs could carry you.

You were never quite sure if it was irony or simply Dreykov’s own cruelty, but she was the one tasked to find you and collect you. You never stood much of a chance against the person that spent almost two decades besting you. She found you in Budapest. It would’ve taken a single shot. And still, it never came.

But you weren’t going to tell that to Sam.

"You're not friends?”

"No."

After that, your paths crossed only once in a blue moon. Once Natasha left Dreykov, she never sought you out. And you didn’t bother to either. You weren’t friends. You weren’t enemies. She was the sister that became little more than a stranger.

"Do you help all your not friends run from the law?"

"Natalia and I have an agreement of ... mutually assured destruction."

"Mutually assured destruction?" he dubiously repeats, quirking an eyebrow. "...So best friends."

In spite of your best efforts, your outwardly stoic expression gives way as a chuckle bubbles out of your mouth.

"Did anyone see that?” Sam proudly announces to the empty house. “I want it on the record that I made a Black Widow laugh!"

"Don't push it," you warn, though the hint of a smile that pulls at the corner of your mouth dampens the threatening undertone of your words.

"You've got a nice smile," Sam compliments.

You wipe the smile off your face, but there's nothing you can do to tame the slight blush creeping up your face, so you say the first thing that comes to mind, "Fuck off."

--

That's how it went between you and him. Push and pull.

Their time at your safe house in Scotland was short lived. No more than a few weeks. And even in those few short weeks, he saw it, saw the good that you desperately tried to keep hidden. Even then he knew, he knew you cared so much more than you would ever let on. Cooped up in your little cottage, he found that behind your barbed words and tough exterior, was a person that he really liked. You didn't let him see very much of it. Most of the time, it was in little slip ups, little cracks in your armor, but he saw it. He swore he did.

Sam ambles alone through the streets of New York, the pavement is still damp from the midnight rain, the noisy cityscape is the only thing keeping Sam from fixating on the endless loop of memories playing in his head.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t think about you anymore. He did. All the time.

He thinks about how good it used to be. How even on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, it was good. He'd like to think you were as happy as he was.

In truth, he wasn't sure how or when it happened. You weren't very nice to him - to any of them really. You kept them at arm's length. He had to earn every glimpse of the person behind the armor. He had to earn every smile, every laugh, but he found each one was worth it. To him, you were worth it. You were worth all of it. 

And when that time came, when that safe house wasn't safe anymore, you stayed by his side, you became his home. 

--

You simply walked up to the breakfast table and announced that it wasn't safe to stay much longer. "You have to leave."

"What?"

"We've been here too long. People in town are beginning to talk."

Natasha didn't miss a beat. "How long?"

"Tonight."

Sam watches the interaction closely. You refuse to look at him. For a moment, Natasha's eyes look at you, imploring. She utters a quiet question in Russian.

You don't respond, only shaking your head once.

"I understand." She softly inhales, her shoulders slumping slightly, "Thank you."

You nod, turning on your heels and heading to your room. You didn't expect Sam to follow after you.

There's some part of you that's unsettled by how easily Sam fits into your life. You don't like how he speaks to you like you're friends. You don't like that there's a part of you that would love to know what being in Sam's life would feel like. And you most certainly don't like that Sam has no problem questioning you. Prying into your life. He won't like what he finds. He'll run the moment he sees the number of skeletons in your closet. No, you don't like that at all. 

And you definitely don't like that he feels comfortable enough to follow you back to your bedroom. He wedges himself into your doorway, leaning against the wall, "So what about you?"

You don't turn to look at him as you pack your duffle bag, "What about me?"

"Where you gonna go?"

"I have other places."

"By yourself?"

"Typically."

"Why don't you stay with us?"

You pretend like you're surprised by the offer. As though Natasha didn't offer the same thing two minutes ago. You just didn't expect Sam's kindness to extend past his need for your safe house. "What?"

He takes a step off the wall. Even turned away from him, you can practically hear the grin he wears in his words. "We could always use the help. You seem like kind of a pro at being a fugitive."

"I don't think your team would appreciate my presence."

"I would. I want you to come." Sam turns back at the doorframe. He pauses for a moment, looking back at you. "You should come with us."

--

You never told him why you ended up joining them. It was the one question he couldn't ever get a straight answer for.

He couldn't really remember how or when you ended up in his bed - or more accurately, when he ended up in your bed.

All he knew was that for two years, you were his sanctuary. Each and every night. He held you. Kissed away your fears. You allowed him to see parts of you that you buried long ago. 

It made the moment you walked away hurt even more. 

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing here. He's pacing through the streets of New York in the middle of the night. It won't bring you back. It won't change what happened. You still left him.

It was easier believing that you left him because you didn't love him. 

The other option hurts. It hurts too much. His heart almost shatters at the though of you leaving him because you didn't see it working out, because you thought you would hurt him. 

That's the worst part - he believes Bucky. He believes that no one, not even someone as prone to finding trouble as you are, would ever go on the run with someone for the hell of it. Not unless you cared. Not unless you loved him. 

He should've seen it. The panic in your eyes when he suggested going back to Louisiana. The pain when you lost Natasha, the last person you considered family. 

It eats at him. He didn't even try. Not really. Yeah, you walked away, but he could've gone after you. He could've believed in the love he knew you shared. 

He reaches for his phone, tucking into the crook of his neck as he hails a cab, and calls the one person that could possibly help him, "I need your help. Can you find someone for me?"

--

1 Year Earlier - Somewhere in Eastern Europe

“Stop watching me sleep.”

Sam kisses your bare shoulder, resting his chin on your arm, “It’s the only time you’re not frowning. Except when you’re with me, of course.”

You sleepily sigh, trying to suppress the smile that Sam so effortlessly puts on your face. You halfheartedly push him away, rolling further away from him, “I’m going back to sleep.”

Sam’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him, “No, come back.”

“We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, we should get the rest while we can.”

“I miss you,” Sam whines.

“I’m right here.”

“But we’re always talking about work, about the world ending, I just - I just want a minute, just me and you.”

You finally turn around to face him with a cheeky grin, “You had me to yourself all night, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

You settle against him, resting your head on his chest, “So why couldn’t you sleep?”

He smiles down at you, absentmindedly playing with your fingers, “I was thinking.”

“About?” you urge.

“What comes next. After the fight, after everything, about going home, finally seeing my family again. My sister would love you. I can't wait to introduce you."

Your smile slips from your face. "What?"

"I mean, I know we're on the run and everything, but I'm still holding onto hope," Sam confesses. "You'd love Louisiana."

A sinking feeling overtakes you. Those survival instincts you've spent your entire life cultivating bubble up. You could see Sam's family picture where he left it on the dresser. His picture perfect, shiny family.

That wasn't you. Not even in your wildest dreams could that be you. The closest thing you had to a family was the Black Widow sitting in the other room cleaning her knives. You weren't meant for domesticity. You weren't built for the happy ending that Sam deserved. The happy ending he wanted. 

Sure, he loved you now, but would he love you when his family looks at you with disdain? Would he love you when Sarah refuses to let you anywhere near his nephews? 

Or even worse, what if he did? What if he loved you through it all and you broke him in return? What if he loved you and he lost everything else because of it?

You could tell Sam. Right here and now. Tell him that you weren't built for that life. He would listen. He would hear you. Like all of your other scars and imperfections, Sam would take it in stride. You knew he would. 

But could you really do that to him? Doom him to a life tethered to someone so tainted.

He was perfect. In every conceivable way. He was Sunshine. And though you'd done unspeakable things, there would be nothing quite as vile as dragging him down to the dim, murky depths of the wasteland you called home.

He deserved more. More than you would ever be. 

--

6 Months Ago - A Bar in New York City

"You don't have to do this."

You bitterly chuckle. It was too late. You'd made up your mind. You gave yourself until the war against Thanos was won. You gave yourself that time to say your silent goodbyes, to memorize the one and only love you would ever allow yourself to have. You were selfish in that way.

Now was the time to save Sam while you still could, to finally set him free. Even if you had to break his heart to do it. You rest your hand on Bucky's chest, the furthest you could allow yourself to go without making your stomach turn. "Do what?"

Bucky's jaw ticks, "He's a good man."

"I know." It's the only time your voice reveals even an ounce of your pain. Your eyes flicker to over Bucky's shoulder. It's too late. Sam stands a few feet from you, watching you with anguish in his eyes. For good measure, you lean in closer, whispering in Bucky's ear, "But I never did well with sunshine."

"Can I talk to you outside?" Sam demands. 

You roll your eyes and snort, "If we have to."

"We do."

Sam doesn't waste a single moment. The second you step outside, he points back to the bar, "What the hell was that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you kidding me? I saw you. You were all over him. He's my friend!"

"I was just having a little fun, Sam."

"A little fun?" Sam scoffs. "Are you kidding me?"

You don't allow a single ounce of remorse to show. You don't allow him to see the regret. Your face is purposely blank, cold and uncaring. You were good at this part. You were good at hurting people. It's exactly why you have to let him go. "I don't see what the big deal is, Sam."

"You don't see what the big deal is?" Sam's voice wavers. "You were just coming onto my friend! What about us?"

"What about us?" you scoff. "I was bored, Sam, we had our fun but it's done now. We're not on the run anymore. It's not a big deal."

"Just like that, we're just done?"

"You were there, Sam," you lie through your teeth. Acid churns in your stomach, rising up through your esophagus and coating your every word. "There's nothing more to it, nothing more to us."

You'd done a lot of bad things in your life, but nothing made you feel quite as wretched as watching Sam's heart shatter before you. It was better this way. He didn't know it, but it was for the best. You couldn't ruin his life anymore. You couldn't hurt him if you walked away right now. Those were the last words you ever said to him. 

--

He did it. He couldn't believe it. He'd found you. There you were, standing out on a rooftop, out in the pouring midnight rain. He almost laughs because of course you wouldn't even realize how theatrical this whole scene was. "Do you realize how dramatic it is to be standing out in the pouring rain all by yourself? And without an umbrella?"

"I'm working, Sam."

"Shooting your next romantic comedy? Is this the breakup scene?"

You don't even turn to look at him. “You shouldn’t be here, Sam.”

Sam scoffs, “That’s all you have to say? That I shouldn’t be here?”

“Go home, Sam," you demand. "I don’t want you here.”

“You’re such a jackass, you know that?”

It pisses him off that you still refuse to even look at him. If you were going to break his heart all over again, the least you could do was look him in the eye. You speak through clenched teeth, "I know."

He storms around, planting himself in front of you, forcing you to look at him. "No, I mean that, I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart, I mean that. You're such an asshole. You're one of the most difficult, abrasive, cold, and selfish people I've ever met."

You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. You look just past him, mustering every ounce of your training to stay stone faced, "I know."

"Do you know how hard it was to find you?"

"I didn't ask you to come here," you spit at him. "I didn't want you to come looking for me. You knew that."

"And you're a liar!" Sam exclaims, a bitter laugh bubbling up from his chest. "A damned good one, too."

"I never lied to you about who or what I was."

"But you did lie, didn't you? You've lied to me before."

“Yes, I have," you softly admit. You catch yourself, reminding yourself of why you're being so harsh with Sam. You force yourself to speak with that venomous tone you know all too well, "Many times, so if you’re done insulting me, I have to go.”

"God, you're so selfish, and- and you're mean! You brood way too much. You're so fucking angsty all the time. You act like the tortured character in every shitty teen movie every made. You're inconsiderate. You don't listen. I swear, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. And sometimes - sometimes, I want to hate you so much."

It takes everything in you to sound as unaffected as you do. You quirk an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, "Is that why you came here? Because you're upset?"

"Upset?" Sam incredulously repeats, taking a step toward you. He's still several feet away from you, still far out of your reach, "No, I'm not upset. I was upset six months ago. Now, I'm angry. I'm pissed off - with you. I have never been so mad at another human being in my entire life."

"I didn't do anything to you. You knew who I was - who I am."

"You think that's why I'm pissed? I'm pissed because you made me like you. I'm pissed that you made me fall so hopelessly in love with you."

For the first time in six months, your eyes find his. His warm eyes, the ones that grounded you through storms of midnight rain. He'd never said he loved you before - there's no taking that back. You suck in a breath, "Sam."

"I'm pissed because I believed you when you said you were bored. But mostly, I'm pissed that I let you go, that I let you walk away without fighting for you."

You try to warn him, beg him to stop before he says something that'll make it too hard to walk away from him. "Sam."

"Because I'm in love with you."

Your voice wavers as you beg him, "Don't do this, Sam."

"I'm in love with you," Sam announces again to his audience of one. "And I know you don't think you're good for me. And I know that it won't be easy, but I am. I am in love with you. Every part of you. Especially the parts you don't like. I like that you're mean, I like that you're tougher than any other person I've ever met, I like that you're grumpy. I like that you don't see how dramatic it is to stand in the pouring rain all by yourself! I love you. I love all of you."

"Sam..." His name leaves your mouth in a whisper. It's too late. You're not strong enough to survive walking away from him. He's doomed himself.

He takes a step closer to you. "And maybe it wasn't real... but I think it was. I think you feel the same." And then another step. And yet another. Until you're face to face, close enough that you could reach out and touch him for the first time in months. The rain beats down on the two of you. The dampness on your cheeks has nothing to do with the rain. "Tell me that you don't love me and I'll leave. Tell me and I won't bother you again, I promise."

You can't. You can't bring yourself to say any of it. "Sam, it'll never work for us. You have to know that."

"We're not at war anymore." His hand skates across your cheek. "We don't have to hide. We don't have to run."

"I'm not - I'm not good, Sam." And you are, you want to say.

“No, no, you’re not good. You’re great. You’re amazing. And it’s a damn shame you haven’t stepped into the daylight long enough to see how incredible you are.”

You jerk your face away from his hand, “And what if I can’t give you what you want? What if I can’t be what you want?”

“What do you know about what I want?”

“You want a bride. You want someone to bring home to your family - that’s not me, Sam. I don’t think that’ll ever be me.”

“I want you." Sam takes your face in between both hands, begging you to see the sincerity in his eyes. "I want you in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“I’m not worth it," you softly exhale. "You have to know that I’m not worth the trouble and the heartache I’ll put you through.”

“Break my heart," Sam offers without hesitation. "Do it over and over again. Do it for the rest of our lives. It’s all yours. You’re worth it.”

“Sam…” You didn’t have any other defense. He’d broken down each and every argument you spent years cultivating. You didn’t know where to go from here.

“Do you love me?” Your lips press into a thin line, eyes squeezing shut to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling. The rain slows to a halt. His thumb and pointer finger grip your chin, forcing you to meet his warm brown eyes. “Do you love me?”

“I love you.” You don't think you've ever said those words before. You don't think you've ever seen the daylight until you saw him. It'll take time for your eyes to adjust, but he's worth it. "I love you so much it hurts, so much that I let you go."

“You don't have to let me go anymore. We'll figure the rest out together."

Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

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

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[lunarbuck]

Kinktober Week 1: Phone Sex

header: @jen-with-a-pen

Pairing: Sam Wilson x f!reader (any race)

Word Count: 692

Prompt: Phone Sex

Warnings: phone sex, swearing, masturbation, pet names [baby, sweetheart]

my masterlist | kinktober masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary

Your phone rings, and you look around on the bed for the offending device. You try to have at least two hours of screen-free time a day, and today, you’ve spent that time reading. Your book rests against your chest as you see Sam’s photo flash on your screen. 

“Hello,” you grin. When Sam is off on a mission, he rarely has time to call, so you relish each opportunity to hear his voice.

“Hey, cutie, what’re you up to?” You can hear the roar of an engine in the background. He probably just got off the jet. Heat blooms in your chest, knowing that his first thought was to call you.

“Trying and failing to curb my screen addiction, what about you?” Sam laughs, the sound warm despite some distortion from the speaker. 

“Just thinkin’ about my girl.” You don’t miss the slight rasp in his voice, the way he practically growls the words. That heat in your chest migrates, warming you all the way to your belly. You press your thighs together, giving your clit the slightest bit of friction.

“Yeah? What about me?” Through the phone, you can hear Sam’s footsteps pick up speed before a door slams shut. His breaths come out ragged and rushed. He’s just as worked up as you are. Your book slides off your chest, falling shut, but you barely even notice.

“Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” A smile tugs at your lips while you trail your fingers down your body underneath the blanket. “I’m thinking about your perfect body, your soft skin. The way you fit so perfectly against me.” You trace the band of your sleep shorts, gently teasing yourself the way Sam always does. It’s not quite the same, but with the rasp of his voice in your ear, you can almost imagine that he’s here.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper, dipping your fingers into your shorts to slide over the fabric of your panties. 

“Me too, baby. I’m so fucking hard right now. I love the way you suck my cock. Love how you look with my dick in your mouth, so fucking beautiful.” You hear the snick of a zipper on the other end and shuffle your shorts down your legs. “Are you gonna touch yourself, baby? You gonna make yourself feel good until I get home?”

You whimper in response, circling your clit with your finger.

“Such a good girl for me, sweetie. If I were there, you know I’d be in between your legs, eating that perfect pussy of yours. I’d slide my fingers inside and warm you up for my cock just the way you like.” Your fingers follow your imagination, pressing inside your warm entrance. They’re not as big as Sam’s, but you still moan when you hit those spots.

“You sound so beautiful, baby. Keep fucking yourself on your fingers, just like that. I’m aching for you, sweetheart.” Your fingers are slick as they slide in and out of your pussy, but you want more. You manage to hit the speaker button and position your phone on your pillow to free up your other hand. You circle your clit while you fuck yourself, the sensations slowly working you toward your orgasm.

“Sam, I need you,” you moan, wishing it was his cock filling you, stretching you. You wish he was here, pressing you down into the mattress with his big, calloused hands. You wish you were grabbing onto his muscular shoulders, hanging onto him for dear life.

“I need you too, baby. I need you to come for me, please, baby. Need to hear you come.” You apply more pressure to your clit, imagining it’s Sam, and you screw your eyes shut. His cologne lingers on the pillow, and you inhale deeply as your orgasm barrels toward you.

You come moaning his name, electricity shooting through your body. Sam follows close behind, rasping your name as he comes. You suck in deep breaths and go limp against the mattress. 

“Shit,” you giggle, smiling to yourself. “Somehow, I miss you even more now.”

“I’ll be home soon, baby. Promise.”

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