Summary: After weeks of flirting with his ex-Widow teammate, Sam finally gets a date. Their dinner is filled with playful banter, and by the end of the night, he realizes this is just the beginning of something real between them.
Word count: 2077
Notes: no Captain America: Brave New World spoilers :)
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Sam Wilson had always been a flirt. It wasn’t something he planned—it just came naturally. A well-timed smirk, a smooth compliment, a playful wink. It worked more often than not. But not with you.
You were different.
Ever since you started working with him, assisting on missions as part of your post-Red Room life, he’d been laying it on thick. Nothing serious—just harmless teasing, soft smiles, lingering glances. But no matter how hard he tried, you never gave him anything back.
No blushes. No flustered reactions. No teasing remarks in return.
Nothing.
And yet, that only made him want to try harder.
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“Nice work out there,” Sam said as the Quinjet settled down after a mission. “Didn’t know deadly could look that good in combat boots.”
You glanced at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know Captain America had time to flirt mid-fight.”
“Multitasking is a skill,” he shot back with a grin. “And I’m great at it.”
You shook your head, unbuckling your harness. “Uh-huh.”
Sam sighed, watching you walk off. Another swing, another miss.
Bucky, sitting across from him, chuckled. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“Not when it comes to her,” Sam admitted, rubbing his chin. “I mean, I’ve faced off against aliens, rogue supersoldiers, and angry government officials, but this?” He gestured toward you as you disappeared down the hall. “This is my toughest battle yet.”
Bucky smirked. “Hate to break it to you, man, but I think she’s immune.”
“Nobody’s immune forever,” Sam muttered, determined.
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Over the next few weeks, he kept at it.
Casual compliments. Light touches on your arm. Offering you his jacket when the night got chilly. Always being the one to check in after missions, making sure you were okay.
And still, nothing.
At this point, it wasn’t just flirting anymore. It was a challenge.
But more than that? It was real.
The more time he spent with you, the more he wanted to know. Not just about your combat skills or your past as a Widow—but about you. What made you laugh? What made you smile? What made your eyes light up, just a little?
So he kept trying.
Until, one night, everything changed.
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The two of you were alone, finishing up after a mission. The others had left, but Sam had stayed behind, claiming he had “Captain America duties” to take care of. In reality? He just wanted more time with you.
“Let me guess,” he said as you wiped down your weapons. “You’re about to run off without saying goodnight?”
You paused, glancing at him. “Would you rather I salute you first, Captain?”
“Damn, that’s cold,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “Here I am, keeping you company, being all charming, and I don’t even get a ‘goodnight, Sam’?”
You shook your head, setting your weapons aside. “You never stop, do you?”
“Not when I know what I want.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “And I think you know that by now.”
You held his gaze for a long moment. Then, before he could say anything else, you stepped forward, grabbed the front of his suit, and kissed him.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t hesitant. It was firm, decisive—like you were making a point.
Sam barely had time to react before you pulled back, staring at him like you were waiting for some kind of response.
He blinked. “Okay, hold up. Did I just win?”
You sighed. “Not everything is a battle, Sam.”
“Then what was that?”
You crossed your arms. “That was me making sure you finally shut up.”
He grinned. “Damn. You could’ve done that weeks ago.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright. Since I clearly am getting somewhere now—how about dinner?”
You raised a brow. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“I am asking you on a date,” he confirmed. “No missions, no weapons, no Quinjet. Just me, you, and a very overpriced restaurant.”
You considered it for a moment. Then, with a small smirk, you nodded. “Alright, Captain. One date.”
Sam grinned. “See? I told Bucky you weren’t immune forever.”
You rolled your eyes, but for the first time, he caught it—the small, amused twitch of your lips. And just like that, he knew he was in trouble.
Because he was going to want so much more than just one date.
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Sam Wilson had faced high-stakes missions, political pressure, and life-threatening situations. But standing outside your door, waiting for you to answer, was somehow way more nerve-wracking.
When the door finally opened, he had to take a second.
“Damn,” he said, looking you up and down with a slow grin. “You clean up nice.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t hide the slight smirk as you stepped out. “You’re acting like I don’t look good in tactical gear.”
“Oh, you do,” Sam assured, offering his arm. “But this? This is unfair.”
You gave him a dry look but took his arm anyway. “Let’s go before you start reciting poetry.”
He chuckled, leading you to the car.
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The restaurant was nice. Really nice. White tablecloths, dim lighting, expensive wine—definitely a step up from their usual post-mission takeout.
“You trying to impress me, Wilson?” you asked as you sat across from him.
Sam smirked. “That depends. Is it working?”
You took a slow sip of your drink, watching him over the rim of your glass. “Jury’s still out.”
Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. What would impress you?”
You shrugged. “You’re the one who’s been trying for weeks. Shouldn’t you have figured that out by now?”
Sam exhaled a laugh. “See, that’s the thing about you—you don’t make anything easy.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Not at all,” he admitted. “Frustrated? Absolutely. But surprised? Never.”
You smirked, setting your glass down. “And yet, here you are. Buying me dinner. Trying to win me over.”
“That’s because I like a challenge.”
The way he said it—low, smooth, confident—made something flicker in your expression, but you covered it quickly.
“You must, considering you’ve been at this for weeks,” you teased.
“More like months,” Sam corrected. “But who’s counting?”
You quirked a brow. “So you’re saying you were flirting with me before I even noticed?”
Sam grinned. “Oh, you noticed. You just pretended you didn’t.”
You leaned back in your seat, tilting your head. “And what makes you so sure?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Because nobody ignores me that perfectly unless they’re trying to.”
You exhaled a small laugh, but didn’t argue.
Sam took a sip of his drink, watching you carefully. “So what changed?”
You met his gaze, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “You didn’t give up.”
He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue.
“Most guys? They stop trying when they don’t get what they want right away. They lose interest. Move on.” You paused, then looked at him. “You didn’t.”
Sam’s expression softened. “Because I meant it.”
You held his gaze for a long moment.
Then, you smirked. “And because you don’t like losing.”
Sam laughed, shaking his head. “That too.”
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By the time you left the restaurant, the city had settled into a quiet hum, the streets glowing with soft yellow light. Sam walked beside you, hands in his pockets, stealing glances your way.
“Y’know, this is the part where most people say they had a good time,” he teased.
You hummed. “Most people aren’t me.”
Sam chuckled. “Right. Forgot who I was dealing with.”
You stopped walking, turning to face him. “I did have a good time,” you admitted. “You’re not a bad date, Wilson.”
Sam grinned. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He stepped a little closer. “No promises.”
There was a pause—a small, charged moment where neither of you moved, neither of you spoke.
Then, without warning, you grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him into a kiss.
It wasn’t cautious, wasn’t slow. It was firm, certain—decisive, just like the first one.
Sam barely had a second to process it before he kissed you back, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you even closer. The world around him blurred, the sounds of the city fading into nothing. All he could focus on was you—the warmth of your lips, the press of your body against his, the way you kissed like you had nothing to lose and everything to give.
When you finally pulled away, Sam exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Damn,” he muttered. “You really don’t do anything halfway, huh?”
You smirked, your fingers still curled around his jacket. “Not my style.”
Sam grinned, shaking his head. “I think I’m in trouble.”
You stepped back, your smirk still in place. “Took you this long to figure that out?”
He laughed, running a hand over his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Sam tilted his head. “So… what now?”
You shrugged. “That depends. Are you gonna keep flirting, or are we past that stage?”
Sam’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m never gonna stop flirting with you.”
“Good,” you said, turning to walk away. “I’d hate to think you were getting lazy.”
Sam chuckled, falling into step beside you. “Careful what you wish for, sweetheart.”
You shot him a glance. “Did you just call me sweetheart?”
Sam smirked. “What, you want something else? Doll? Baby? Mrs. Wilson?”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, bumping his shoulder against yours, “you’re still here.”
You didn’t answer right away.
But when Sam felt your fingers brush against his, just for a second, before you pulled away, he knew.
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