Welcome to the Sam Wilson Library. Here I am trying to compile fics written for Sam Wilson. Feel free to send in recommendations or even promote your own works (^_^) (please do that!!!!)
I can help you find fics or share new fics written by the amazing amazing authors here or on AO3.
This is a library for ONLY Sam Wilson centric fics, so if you want to find fics for others (Bucky, Steve, others) I won't be able to help you here. But you can search on my main, I have fic recs for other characters there!
Serious stuff
This account is run by an adult ( @n00t-no0t shocking :o) so there will be fics that are not suitable for minors. All the works do have their own warnings tags, so please read them before continuing on. If I do see any minors interacting with those posts I will block them.
Please put your age in the bio, otherwise I will have to block too!
Your media consumption is your responsibility. Please do not be aggresive or send hate to any of the writers or me (for that matter) because you read something that you don't like or did not feel comfortable reading.
Hey Noots! I see you are on hiatus, so hopefully itâs okay I submit this!
I just wanted to make sure our Captainâs accomplishment was well known! Anthony received an honorary doctorate today so thatâs Dr Mackie to all those pursed lipped tight asses who like to forget about him. Letâs here it for Captain America!
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Please check out the Mynoise Index for yourself, donate if you can, and tell your friends who might be interested âĄ
youâre all very quick to beg for âpart 2 of this!â in our inboxes for a bunch who every now and then remember to share our work or give us any other indicator of what you find âwowâ/how much you liked X or Y in the story instead of just demanding for more.
maybe the day you learn that if you interact with the people who give you art (for free) and treat them like human beings youâd get to see more of it youâll find that reblog button that seems to escape you guys 9 out of 10 times!
He'll watch you set the phone down, defeated. Another reminder of the things you've done wrong, expectations you haven't lived up to. Another round of guilt and shame because you're not what your family wants you to he like. Hands on the kitchen counter, head lowered, you puff a breath as you try to keep your tears at bay. His hands find their way on your shoulders, kneading the tension away. Your head comes to rest against his shoulder and he'll kiss your temple with pride, "I'm so grateful I get to have a life with you," Sam says. His arms wind around your waist and you sway.
He'll always kiss your forehead and say he loves you before he leaves for a mission. You'll burrow yourself into his chest, desperate to become him so you wouldn't have to worry about what's happening to him while he's away. He'll hold you tighter, before walking you to bed again, tucking you in, reminding you that he's always with you. He'll put his shirts in the dryer to warm them up for you to wear later because that's the closest he'll come to holding you in his arms for a while.
He'll send you pictures of random things when he's on his morning run- cute animals, trees to picnic under, clouds that are funky shapes, rocks. You have to keep backing them up on hard drives because your phone only has so much memory. But that's okay, Sam's cute enough. He'll take pictures of you when you're napping on him, all drool and lines imprinted on you from his shirt's creases. He doesn't send those to you. Those are for him to remember you by when he's away. And for blackmail when you threaten to show Bucky and Joaquin his baby pictures.
He'll watch you give your all to everyone but yourself. You listen when all you want is to be listened to, you'll let grudges go because 'life is too short, Sam', he'll watch people take you for granted because you'd rather that than live without giving love away. He loves you for it but it also hurts him to see it. So he'll do for you what you do for everyone- listen, understand, love those parts of you that you've learned to hate. There's no changing you but he can always love you. It's not hard for him in the slightest.
_____________________________________________
A/n: Hey I'm back! I hope you liked this one. Please comment, reblog and like- keeps me going. Love youuu <3
For the Drabble Tuesday, could I possibly trouble you for hurt/comfort with Sam Wilson đđ
For you lovely, always and never any trouble. I hope I've done this justice for you.
Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader
Word Count - 1017 ( a little over but Sam deserves our love)
Warnings - fluffy goodness. Taking care of Sam.
A/N - Drabble Tuesday
Summary - Sam always takes care of others, today you show him he deserves to be taken care of, even if it means hanging up on Generals for him.
Early morning sunlight bathed the kitchen in dazzling rays. The blue green glass bottles on the windowsill glistened flecks of colours across Samâs shirt you wore, as you quietly pottered about. The scent of fresh coffee brewing mixed with buttery croissants baking in the oven made for a delicious, homely feeling. It wasnât often you got to spend your morningâs baking, not with the recent influx of missions the Airforce and GRC were sending you all on. Trying to ease the growing tension that the world now faced as new threats seemed to surface every week. Old enemies trying to regain what they had lost during the blip, while new enemies tried to hold on to what they had gained in those five years.
You snorted at the thought, holding no love for the GRC and their methods, or the way they were attempting to tie strings to Sam now that they recognised him as Captain America.
After he saved their asses, and then handed their asses in a speech, nobody was going to forget in a hurry.
You had never been very good at holding your tongue with politicians, and both you and Bucky were ready to throw punches if they continued to push, but Sam took it in his stride. Taking the weight of the world on his shoulders, right alongside the weight of the mantle, Captain America seemed to hold. It was for his sake, and his sake alone, you held your tongue now.
The sound of a phone vibrating pulled you out of your thoughts, and absently you reached for it. You had stolen Samâs phone from his side of the bed the moment you had woken. Wanting to give him a few more hoursâ rest, before the world demanded his attention.
The name that flashed on the phone brought with it a wave of disgust.
We have only been back five hours, and already they want Sam for something.
âHello.â You greeted, barely able to keep the heat from your tone.
âAgent L/N, I need to speak to the Captain.â
âIs the world ending?â You snapped.
âAgent?â
âIt was a simple question. Is. The. World. Ending?â
The stutter at the other end of the phone, a clear sign your tone, surprised him. âUm, no. We need to debrief, and new intel has come in regarding the Flag Smashers.â
âNo.â
âI beg your pardon, Agent L/N.â
âI said no. You donât get to click your fingers and Sam comes running. We have spent the last week on a mission. He is getting today to unwind. He is getting today to do whatever the hell he wants to do. Unless the world is ending, you are going to have to wait.â
âAgent!â
âEx-Agent. Iâm freelance, and you donât hold that kind of authority over me anymore. I said no.â
Your heart thudded against your chest as you hit the end call button, and promptly switched Samâs phone off. Using your own, you fired a quick message to both Bucky and Sharon to give them the heads up, before turning your own phone off.
Sam needed a day to let his body rest. To take a breather from all the blood and violence that they emerged themselves in daily and you would move mountains to make sure that he got just that.
The timer dinged on the oven, bringing your focus back to the task at hand at making Sam breakfast in bed.
You plated up the croissants, tossed some fresh fruit into a bowl and poured the coffee into two cups, and arranged it onto the tray, before carrying it back into the bedroom.
With the covers pushed down to his waist and tangled between his legs. You took a moment to admire the physique of your lover, the slow steady rise of his chest, one arm above his head. His eyes still closed.
God, did you love this man with all your heart.
You stepped further into the bedroom, careful to not make a sound. Worry creasing your brow. Already you could see the darkening of bruises along his torso, and arms, a painful reminder that as strong and as skilled a fighter Sam was, at how well he kept up and took out super soldiers and aliens, he didnât have the serum to help him heal after being injured.
âHoney, did you hang up on the General?â He asked, one warm brown eye opening as he looked at you.
âYou heard that?â You asked in surprise.
âI was waking up and heard you on the phone,â he drawled.
âThey need to leave you alone,â you huffed as you placed the tray on the bed between you and slipped back between the covers. âI made sure the world wasnât ending before I hung up. I have a heart. I just care about you more.â
His lips turned into a smile as he tilted his head to look at you from his pillow.
âIs that the scent of fresh croissants I can smell?â
âIt is,â you nodded slowly, popping a blueberry in your mouth.
âHow long have you been awake?â He asked, giving you a small frown, worry filling his gaze.
You shrugged. âA few hours. Couldnât sleep. Iâm always wired after a mission for a couple of days.â
Sam sighed softly as he pushed himself up to rest against the headboard, swallowing the wince as he stretched too much.
âYou could have woken me and you didnât have to go to all this effort for me.â
You threw him a look.
âYou needed your rest. You deserve to be taken care of, Sam. Iâm more than happy to do that.â
He leaned over, capturing your lips with his own. A soft tender kiss that left you breathless and dizzy, before pulling back. A cheeky grin on his face, and a glint in his eyes.
âSo I get today to do whatever I want?â
You nodded slowly, your heart fluttering in your chest as the way he seemed to undress you with his gaze.
âWhatever you want, baby. Today is yours. Iâm here to take care of you in any way I can.â
âIn that case, today I want to do you as many ways as I can.â
You smiled at him.
"How about, you let me take care of you baby. I can kiss it all better."
The groan that escaped Sam's lips, made your smile widen as you looked at him with lust-filled eyes. Yes, today was going to be a day all about Sam.
Warnings: smut only, use of sex toys, p in v, daddy kink, pet names, dirty talk.
NSFW UNDER THE CUT MINORS DNI
"Give it to me, come on, give one more to daddy, baby."
Another moan escapes from your lips as you roll your hips and take a deeper breath. Sam presses the vibrator harder against your clit, keeping you warm and secure inside his lap. It was only an hour ago when he started teasing you, testing your new toy, wondering how much you can take. Not a minute in and you were already begging for his cock and yet he wasn't giving it to you. What's the use of a toy when you can the real thing and yet he insisted. His own cock stayed throbbing inside the condiment of his sweatpants, you could feel it pressing hard against your back.
"Sam, please, please, fuck me. I- fuck!" Your orgasm hits you, taking over your whole body as Sam softly kisses your neck and turns the vibrator off. He sets it aside and then slowly he massages your breasts while he openly kisses your neck, trying hard to catch your breath. Your legs have grown weak and you desperate hold on to your biceps trying to convince him to turn around.
"Easy, easy, baby girl." His voice is low and soothing yet he seems unbothered by your movements.
"You've been good, very good. Daddy might just give you exactly what you want."
"Yes, daddy, please, I'll be good, I promise." You nod your head frantically escaping from his lap and kneeling yourself on the bed. With quick hands you tug at his waistband, pushing it down, and without wasting another moment you straddle him. Wouldn't want him to change his opinion anytime soon.
"Finally!" You whine out while you take his cock in your hand, using his leaking precum you spread it on his cock and stroke him once or twice eliciting low groans from him. Then you push his cockhead inside your pussy lips, a loud moan leaving your lips throwing your head back as you begin to sink down on him.
His hands go to your hips, softly caressing your skin before gripping it tightly. His beautiful brown eyes are fixated on you, taking in your sight and the way your breath hitched.
"Are you good?"
"Never better." You breathe out and slowly roll your hips against him holding on to the chain around his chest.
Now, you weren't planning on letting his cock leave your cunt anytime soon.
This is my fic for the Stardaya fic exchange by @zendayacsââ and @palestxrlightââ! This fic was written for @darezaddyâ, so I hope you enjoy it! <3
Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader (gender neutral)
Word count: 1055
Warnings: None
Summary: Every time Sam comes home from missions, he wants nothing more than to just be with you.
Pairing: Sam Wilson x reader (no other specifications or gender)
Word Count: 377 words
Outline:Â Coming home to your boyfriend baking.
Warnings: Use of pet names (pretty boy, angel). Not Beta'd, all mistakes are mine!
Authorâs Note: my second submission for this challenge for @late-to-the-party-81, and @yarnforbrains. I used the following prompts (..."A Whatcha doing? B Learning a new language/recipe/trick." "Well, this is new."...). Did I write this today because I looked at the date? Maybe so.
P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphicsâ
đ Please reblog and comment if you want to, all feedback is appreciated and warmly encouraged and allows me to know what people are interested in readingđ
Main Masterlist || Sam Wilson Masterlist
The sweet smell is the first thing pulling you in once you set a step inside your shared apartment. Placing your keys and your coat by the close by table, you take more steps inside calling your boyfriend's name but to no answer.
Following its trail, you find your handsome boyfriend wearing a tank top and some sweatpants, working on kneading the dough between his calloused fingers. What a beautiful warm sight to greet you home.
âWhatcha doing there?â You ask curiously, is no lie that Sam liked cooking, what you didnât know was if he liked baking too. That was definitely the first time you witnessed something like that.
âLearning a new recipe. Thought my beautiful partner would love me even more if I treat them a little extra today.â
âWell, this is new. Your partner is not going to complain about having some more love from the sweetest man in the world.â
âYou do know how to flatter a man, y/n.â
"You make it oh, so easy, pretty boy."
He lets the dough sit aside as he is drying his hands on the kitchen towel and steps closer to you to greet you with a tender kiss.
âI know how much you like apple pie. Thought I could learn to make some myself. Just for you, angel.â
His words flatter you, how could you ever have been so lucky to score such a perfect man? Basking in the glory of your love, he instructs you to wash your hands, and then he is wrapping an apron around your body.
"I bet it will taste amazing."
"Anything you make with love will taste like heaven is what my grandma used to say."
You agreed. Grandma isn't wrong. You wash your hands while musing about your day and then you're listening to him as he tells you how many cooking videos he studied. Forty-four. This apple pie will taste like heaven purely out of spite. (and hard work!)
The rest of the evening passes quietly, cutting apples together, mixing up ingredients, and preparing the cream. Two hours later you were finally making the apple pie. Hands working together, arm over arm, soft glances, and big laughs. The start of something new; Beautiful sweet little moments in time.
a/n: first full fic for MY captain america, sam wilson đ title from "un-thinkable (i'm ready)" by alicia keys
âYou stare at the orangey water stains on the hotel room ceiling, cringing. Even through the thin bedding you had yanked off the closet shelf and laid out for yourself, the floor suddenly feels slimy under your back.
âA puff of steam hits your skin when Sam leaves the bathroom. His immediate disapproval falls on your ears. âNuh-uh, câmon.â
âYou flex your fingers, intertwined behind your head. âWhat?â
ââGet up.â
âWith effort, you keep your gaze fixated on the bloated off-white paint, not Samâs half-naked body, freshly showered. âIâm fine here.â
ââArenât we professionals?â He chuckles, shutting the door and grabbing some sleeping clothes from his backpack. âItâs just one night.â
ââAnd as professionals, we shouldnât sleep in the same bed.â
ââAw. You scared of what might happen?â In your mindâs eye, you can see his face perfectly: eyebrow raised in challenge.
âYour shower takes twice as long as Samâs. Not only do you use the moment to avoid thinking about him waiting on the other side of the door, but also to scrub the dirt underneath your nails after an entire day of trying to make headway on this case.
âUnlike him, you bring your pajamas to the sink counter so you can slip out of the bathroom fully dressed, thank you very much. When you emerge, you scrub your neck with the scratchy towel.
âSam lays on the far side of the mattress, his big chest rising and falling beneath his folded hands. He blinks slowly at you, drowsily, despite his uncomfortable position above the covers. âHey.â
âA sharp seizing in your heart. This is a terrible idea. Maybe the worst.
âStill, you sneak into the bed, the blanket forming a slight ramp over your body and beneath his. The solid headboard presses against your spine as you lean toward your bag, grabbing your computer. âIf we hit another dead end, with this, SamâŠâ
âSigning in, you reopen your research, maps and newspaper articles and police reports. All connected, yet not enough to make your path any clearer.
ââMmm?â
ââI think Iâm done.â
âYou never thought youâd miss the monotony of DC, but the faraway city tugs you: the countless bare-branched trees outside your apartment window in the fall, the reliability of your clean microwave and laundry machine. Your home since your freshman year of college, every corner of every street evokes a memory. Some good, some bad.
âFor example, the convenience store near your place, where, a month ago, your pocket buzzed with a text from your ex-boyfriend inviting you for coffee. You almost dropped your phone, along with the snacks and toiletries precariously balanced in your grasp.
âA day later, Sam picked you up at your apartment, knocking like the proper gentleman he was at the beginning of your relationship. Before he learned he could just walk in, stepping right into your welcoming embrace.
âIn the car, his breath formed a white cloud of smoke as he laughed politely at your customary chastisement of his clothing choices. You should wear gloves, itâs so cold.
âEven with your mittens, you covered your mouth, letting your palms steal the warm air stored in your lungs.
ââYou look good,â he said, his gaze flicking over you. More of a statement than a compliment.
âAt most, you styled your hair differently and wore a new sweater. Otherwise, you felt exactly the same, your purse stowed in your lap, Samâs seatbelt strapped across your torso, as you half-watched the icy road and half-watched him drive. âYou too.â
âHe ordered for you, your favorite drink, and you didnât quite know whether to find this endearing or a little annoying. Once you slid into a booth, his hand wrapped around a thick ceramic mug, letting the steam seep into his skin.
âSam was seeking expertise for his latest mission or whatever, which youâas a failed private investigator, turned journalistâapparently had.
âNow, eyes closed, Sam murmurs, âThatâs fair.â His fingers, spread and relaxed over his stomach, twitch slightly. âI donât expect you to do this forever.â
ââEspecially because youâre not paying me.â
ââEspecially because Iâm not paying you,â he echoes.
âAs much as Sam was a bona fide Avenger now, Tony Stark had never been known for his generosity. You recall thinking that Sam should have access to better resources, people to help him that arenât civilians like you. Yet, you agreed, not truly knowing how long it would take, or what you were really getting into.
ââHow did you end up chasing a hundred-year-old assassin, anyway?â
âYou wanted to ask this question before, in the coffee shop, but it hadn't mattered then. Sam was offering an adventureâan endeavor far more important and thrilling than the ultimately meaningless articles you had been churning out for two yearsâand you sorely needed to run.
âHe hums. âFavor for a friend.â
ââOh, boring.â
ââBoring, huh?â Sam laughs, deep enough for you to feel vibrations through the bed. His eyelids float open. âIsnât that why youâre here, doing me a favor?â
ââBut I thought youâd be avenging the fallen or something cool like that.â You click the dozens of windows and tabs, ignoring the way Sam rolls to face you, his arm curling beneath his cheek. âArenât you a superhero after everything you did for Captain America?â
âHe scoffs, reaching under himself to pull at the cover. âThatâs a stretch.â
âYou watch nervously as he lets the duvet float over him, too conscious of how your thighs are bare and just a touch away.
âSam loved your thighs. You liked them for their strength, but when he would get his hands and lips and gentle teeth on them, heâd insist that they were so soft. Perfect.
âYouâd nip at his sculpted shoulders in retaliation.
âYour fingertips drum on either side of your laptopâs trackpad. You should keep quiet and let him sleep, yet your current circumstances renew a level of intimacy you havenât experienced with anyone, let alone Sam, in a long time.
âDark rooms and soft clothes and low-pitched voices. You remember countless nights with him, cheeks laid against chests, the thoughts spilling recklessly and comfortably from your throats.
âIf you had the wings, and you could fly anywhere, where would you go?
âRubbing your sleepy eyes, you pressed your smile to his collarbone. Depends, am I flying with you?
âYou and me, baby.
âYour guard is dangerously low, being so near to him. So, you try to force your overactive mouth to at least stick with business talk. âIsnât it your job to bring him down?â
ââYouâre sayinâ that like I could.â Sam cranes his neck to read the headline of an article on your computer, pronouncing another mysterious death. He swallows.
âUnexplainable, precise, brutal.
âHe swallows. Probably hopes you don't notice.
âIt sends a shiver trickling along your spine. Distantly, you wonder if your name or IP address has been flagged, put on a list somewhere. Youâve covered your tracks as much as possible, but with a bit of digging and above-average skills, someone might ascertain that, for the past three months, youâve been looking for The Winter Soldier.
âYou shrug, a futile attempt to lighten the mood. âWith the mods youâve made on the suit and Redwing, maybe.â
âLast night, in your proper, two-bed hotel room, Sam had tinkered with the drone Tony Stark gifted him. It rested belly-up on the desk, dimly illuminated by an overhead lamp. His concentrated expressionâthat cute furrow of his browâwas the final thing youâd seen before falling asleep, a pillow crushed between your arms.
ââHeâs a super soldier,â Sam says matter-of-factly, as if super soldier isnât the most ridiculous name. Something a child would have made-believed.
âYou sink further into the mattress, seeking the warmth that Sam radiated. A deflated, starchy pillow props up your shoulder blades.
âYou twist your fingers together, cracking a couple. Distantly, you worry that these assassinations will somehow permeate your dreams, poisoning them into nightmares.
ââStill.â You shut your laptop and stow it away. âShouldnât somebody take him down?â
ââItâs not always about that.â
ââButââ
â"No, I need you to understandâ"
â"Samâ"
ââHeâs Steveâs friend.â His jaw ticks.
ââAnd youâre mine.â
âYour retort cracks apart the quiet of the room, sharp and echoing.
âCarefully inspecting a single spot on the ceiling, you fight the temptation to wrap yourself around him, to feel all those curves of his body along yours. You canât remember the last time you did that, or why you ever stopped.
âSome pathetic reason, something to do with long distance. Your new career as a journalist, travelling. Feeling so far from each other, too often.
ââSam, heâs killing people.â
âHe releases a lengthy sigh, his frustration fading. âWasnât by choice.â
âOh, Christ. You tilt your head to the right to confront him, your mouth opening to speak, but his half dozed-off look, with all its gentleness, stings the space right beneath your ribcage.
âSo you lay on the bed, full contact, thinking about how soon you can book a return flight to DC. You havenât handled this situation very well, this inevitable way youâre getting closer to Sam again. Especially when it happens at a rate a hundred times faster than you getting any closer to solving this fucking case.
âStill, it would be effortless. To reach over. To confirm that, at least in this moment: heâs here, heâs safe, heâs yours.
âHe always used to fall asleep before you, a skill you envied. But, it had given you the chance to admire the peace on his face until you finally followed him into unconsciousness.
ââYou must have a much better moral compass than me.â
ââI know for a fact that I do,â he teases.
âFrigid air flows through the gap between your bodies, raising goosebumps along your arms. âYou donât wanna get on this guyâs bad side,â you add, watching as he reaches behind him to turn off the lamp. "Right?"
âRight? you want to push, when he doesn't answer immediately. He would never be that stupid. You hope.
ââI know what Iâm doing.â He settles, eyes closed and smile tight-lipped. âYou worried about me?â
âIf only the darkness could conceal the strain in your voice, like it does for the two tears spilling down your cheeks. âAlways.â
âIf I had the wings, Iâd fly us somewhere thatâs warmer than DC in fucking January.
âYou inhale sharply when he clutches your waist, dragging you until your belly presses into his. His thick arm weighs you, helplessly, in the present.
âNo more reminiscing about the past you lived together or agonizing about the future youâll spend apart, just Sam, Sam, Sam.
ââSâfreezing,â he mumbles. âThis okay?â
âHe knows the answer to that, the bastard.
âYou rest a palm on his sternum and hook your leg over him, the curve of your Achilles tendon a familiarly perfect fit against his calf. âSamââ
ââGo to sleep.â
âMaybe you can now, with him right there next to you.
âYou close your eyes and bury your nose in his clean shirt, and itâs like youâre home. Teleported back to your bedroom.
âThe soft whir of air conditioning, the sheets tangled between your legs. A calloused hand lazily sneaking around, a playful shush when you squeaked at your thigh getting pinched.
âThe bustle of city traffic had been distant, the sound of Samâs rhythmic breathing anything but.
ââJust friends, huh?â His chest rumbles with a laugh.
âYou squeeze him, pretending to be too far gone to answer.
