— the sun goes down; he takes the day, but I’m grown
pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes
summary: you meet him once at your favorite place and assume that you won’t meet him again, regardless of how good the conversation was, but alas, fate always seems to have other plans.
wc: 6.8k+ (no self-control and I actually planned this series out)
genre: slightly angsty, flirting, good banter, medium burn
Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 01
The room buzzes with the clanking of machines, snippets of conversation, and the quiet energy of caffeine tapping into the bloodstream, feet tapping against floors, legs bouncing uncontrollably. It would be lying if you claimed that you didn’t appreciate the white noise of it all. You could be standing in line, absentmindedly admiring the mahogany walls with original artwork in monotone shades and not worrying about seeming aloof or cold.
This whole establishment was a piece of artwork, something to be admired by anyone who endeavored to traverse the outrageous traffic and lack of parking in New York. It gave you a sense of home and comfort among the noise, the energy vibrating through the air calming any rising anxieties.
You ordered your usual and stood, your computer bag slung over your shoulder and a light jacket hanging around your frame. It only took a few seconds to get your drink ready as they slid it across the metal counter, your name written in jagged script. “Started working as soon as I saw you walk in.” Mark, one of the baristas, smiles at you and you flash him a thankful grin back. “Where would I be without you?”
He only smirks, returning to the espresso machine and preparing the next drink. Your first sip is heavenly, flavors traveling across your tongue at a lightning fast pace and blending into a richness and warmth that can only be attributed to the feeling of this place. Safe and comforting, inviting and welcoming.
You pick your usual seat, right up against the wall, resting against the wood that acts as a divider between the line and the seating area. The tables are all carved from trees with a cherry veneer whipped across before a sealing, clear coat. You run your fingers against the surface, searching for any lingering crumbs, but also to take in the feel, the smooth gloss against your hands, the sturdiness against your fingertips.
Somehow you wish you could take the emotions that rise as you come into this place with you as you go home, but you can’t. The only thing you can do is savor it all as you do the same thing every time you come in.
You zip open your computer bag and pluck your laptop from its case, setting it on the table and waiting for it to boot to life. It whirls and displays a start up screen as you take another couple of sips of your drink, trying to make the cup last for the next hour or so you’ll spend here, glancing out the window at passing traffic.
It’s a pain to find parking—you had to park a good way down the block just to make it here—but it’s all worth it. Just for this. Just for the feeling of sitting here and admiring the light outside as it splashes against the buildings, swathing them in wonderfully rich whites and browns and blues. The sunlight reflects against cars and shining sequins, its rays spreading every which way with its brilliance.
It’s wonderful.
Then your computer finally finishes its load up sequence as you dig around for your earbuds, fishing them out to plug into your phone, opening up a calming playlist as you click the web browser on your computer.
Today’s topic will be about how light plays an integral role in the consumer’s experience between the home and their enjoyment they get from it. You’re not a realtor per-say, but you have a deep respect for architecture and how it connects with people.
Just like this coffee shop is comforting to you, you wonder what are the elements that make buildings enjoyable for other people. Is it the light? Is it the noise level? Is it the people and culture that a building attracts? The location?
So in order to explain these questions, you’ve kept lists of them, stored on the hard drive of your phone in a note keeping app. Then, you come here, the place outside of your home that you enjoy coming to and focus an hour of your time on researching these things, discovering answers to problems and questions that need solutions.
It’s relaxing, lets you get away from some of the problems that you might be having in daily life, like work or in your relationship. It gives you time to delve into something that doesn’t relate to you personally, gives you another subject to focus on while you strive to find those answers about personal issues that you can’t quite come up with yet.
Your music is calming, the various voices speaking around you fading away as you open ebook after ebook, article after article, searching for responses and research that points to a connection between light allowed in the house and customer satisfaction. Surveys come up, testimonials offered, research specialists all weigh in on the topic and you ravage through it all.
The explanation of the connection between sunlight and serotonin can’t be denied and even without the research, you’d be able to tell people that, yes, you’re much happier when out in daylight and fresh air. You feel better. The science is there to back it up, but what happens when architecture is applied?
What about the location of the home? The size of their windows? Where on earth they live?
What if they explored this furt-
“Hello.” The voice sounds foggy and far away and you draw an earbud out of your ear, gazing out of your article to find someone actually standing in front of you. “Sorry to distract you, but is this seat taken?” He gestures at the seat in front of you.
You spare a glance around the restaurant for half a second and observe the empty tables lingering all around you, wondering why he would want to sit right in front of you when there’s all that space lingering around.
You nod, slowly, with apprehension, and scoot back to allow for more shared leg room. “Thanks.” He sits down as you write a few more notes onto a notebook you slipped out of your bag a few minutes ago, trying to keep your place and appear busy to him.
If he were to try to strike up a conversation, at least you’d remember where you were and what you still needed to look up, but if he saw you writing furiously with that pen like your life depended on it, maybe he would leave you to your work.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.
“Do you always sit here?” He sips on his drink encased in a white mug, sunglasses still resting over his eyes. His voice is kind, but holds weight to it, like he’s trying to pull you out of what you’re working on. You’re not rude, so you appease him.
“Yeah, it’s kind of my spot.” You smile and close your laptop, taking away the temptation to keep searching and just ignore him. You sip your drink in your paper cup and lean back, placing your pen back on the notebook, about ready to put your stuff away.
“Interesting.” He sits forward, pushing the sunglasses out of his eyes, the deep chocolate of them apparent to you now, not that you were looking that hard in the first place. You tell yourself that you definitely weren’t looking that hard. Or that you noticed the slight abrasions on his leather jacket. “You’re not the first to claim this table.”
“Oh?” Your eyebrows shoot up and you take a sip to hide your shock. “This is your spot too?”
“Clever girl.” He leans back and observes you and you laugh at his nonchalant approach to the situation. “Though, I do accept company every now again. Good to allow the table some exposure.”
“How gracious of you.” You muttered over the lid of the coffee cup while the stranger just smiles at you, appreciating your joke and humor in the situation. “I bet Rachel loves being introduced to new people.”
“How do you know her name?” He fakes surprise, setting down his mug. You nearly burst out laughing at his expression, all twisted with his mouth and eyes wide open. “That was supposed to be our little secret.”
“Well I happen to know Rachel pretty well, thank you very much.”
“I can see.” He narrows his eyes and leans back, looking down at the table as he shakes his head. “No loyalty.” He sips his drink, foam sticking to his lip. “Where’s the trust?”
You giggle and hand him one of your napkins, pointing to your upper lip. He gives his thanks as he wipes away the evidence.
You check your watch and jump at the time it reads. You were supposed to leave five minutes ago, planning to meet up with Bucky just down the block. Hastily, you grab your notebook, pen, and earbuds and stuff them into the right pockets.
“Blowing this joint, huh?” He acts cool but you see the curiosity lingering behind his eyes and you stop for a second.
“Um...yeah. I’m late to meet someone.”
“Do you need help with anything?”
You slide your laptop back into the bag. “No, but thank you. I appreciate it.” You grab your jacket from the booth beside you and slide it over your shoulders, the material scratching against your skin. “Take care of Rachel for me.”
You slide your bag over your shoulders and begin to walk out when he stops you. “Hey, Coffee Girl.”
You turn and smile at him. “Yes, table parent?”
“When do you think we can discuss more options about custody over the table?” His smile is warm and there’s something else underneath. Something you don’t recognize, something that sounds like intrigue. You haven’t seen someone look at you with that in, well, a while. It nearly scares you right out of your skin.
“I’m..” Your voice begins to falter and you hang onto your coffee cup just a little tighter. Not out of a general fear of him, he seems really sweet and kind, but for yourself. No one, no one, ever looks at you like that. “I’ll probably be here, next week.” You manage to get out. “Same time.”
“Hmm.” He watches your demeanor change and his smile becomes less beaming, more soft and subtle. “May I ask for a number.” Your face erupts with astonishment, eyebrows shooting up. “Just to confirm, of course.” He adds, trying to placate your sharp change in expression.
“Um…” You look around to see people watching you and notice how awkward the situation is becoming. Closing your eyes for a brief second, you open them to see his smile now gone and replaced with confusion. “I’ll meet you here again and then I’ll swap digits.”
“Okay.” He nods, seeming still confused. “Have a good one.”
You want to punch yourself in the gut.
“Yeah. You too.” You turn away and nearly run out of the coffee place, the bell ringing like a gong of judgement as you swing the door open just a bit too hard.
There was going to be nothing wrong with giving that man your number, nothing at all. There was just...just this feeling of overwhelming disbelief and a deep piercing sorrow at the fact that he wanted your number at all.
You didn’t see the conversation swerving in that direction. You liked him, thought he was great to talk to and seem genuinely interested and intrigued by what you were saying, but the thought of him having a deeper interest terrified you.
Because he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.
He didn’t know what a bore you were, let alone how uninteresting you could be.
He wouldn’t be happy with someone like that. How could he be? He was the sun and you would only swallow him in shadow, drowning out his humor and smile and inescapable light.
He would die with you by his side.
He doesn’t want you, not really, because he doesn’t know you. Because he would be horrified by you.
….
“Hey, doll!” His eyes light up as he sees you, crinkling in the corners as he opens his arms wide to trap you within his embrace.
You loved when the bright blue of his eyes did that. Their shape turns into splits and his happiness seems to vibrate from his gaze into you, warming you up, making you feel alive. His arms are sturdy and warm, safe and bracing. You don’t feel like you could ever fall with him by your side.
But he smelt foreign to you, like jasmine and lavender. He always smelled like fresh pine and the forest. It was the thing you always loved about him.
He was corrupted, but he was still beautiful. Still the Bucky you knew.
“How are you?” He kept his hands resting on your arms, drinking you in, smiling down at your grinning figure.
“Good. Are you ready to go?” He nods, slipping his hand in yours. “Where’d you go today?” You stare at your linked hands and grin, not noticing the way his mouth turns into a fine line before a small, pretend smile takes its place.
“Oh, just to the gallery down the street.” Your eyes snap to his and for just a split second, hurt crosses your features before you smooth it over. It all comes back to the gallery. Every single thing.
But if you ignore it, maybe he’ll still be happy with you, happy with the way things are. If you try to fuss about it, he’ll run away or get angry, and you don’t want that. You don’t want to see him upset. He’s not very reasonable when upset.
He seems to see how your face changes and silence takes hold as you walk down the street filled with warmth and sunlight. Although you feel his heat bleed into your hand, you feel as if you’re next to an iceberg, a stranger, someone you want to put distance between, not someone you feel you love.
Bucky shifts, reaching for something to soothe your hurt. “Come on, doll. Don’t be like that.” He laughs, and you try hard to believe him, to fill the air with your warm giggles, but you can’t. You're physically unable to. “She’s just a friend.”
Liar.
She’s not just a friend, no matter how much he tries to convince you. You don’t have any evidence to support your theory, not any true evidence that he can’t refute, but you know a bold faced lie when you hear one.
That’s why you try to be good, be interesting, because maybe being interesting will bring him back to you, back to your side.
He’s here now, but he’s never really here. He’s not as devoted to you as you are to him, but that’s your fault. You’re just not good enough for him, but you could be better. You can be better. You just have to show him.
You just have to hold on. Just give him a chance. Show him how exciting you can be.
Taking in a healthy breath of air, you sigh. “Right.” You shake your head as if you’re trying to clear these treacherous thoughts from your mind. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” You smile at him, as much attempting to convince him as you are trying to make it all right in your head. This is the correct way to handle things. This is how you pull him back. Just forgive and move on.
He relaxes at your acceptance, deflating at your calmed hostility. “You know you’re the only one for me.”
“I know, Bucky.” You rub his arm and his happiness is not as apparent as his serenity over solving the previous conflict. He presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to your head, leaving an impression there that makes your skin crawl, but these feelings will dissipate as time goes on.
Time will heal everything.
“You still remember that party tonight?” He drawls, as if proud that he’s secured an invitation. The party is for his friend at the art gallery, a celebration of her achievements. It’s supposed to be a small gathering, but with how many people were there at her opening, you would be shocked if the numbers were really that low.
You nod, leaning away from how Bucky’s face hovers so close to you. “Yep. I remember. I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He pulls you closer and you would be lying if you didn’t feel your stomach warm, butterflies recklessly taking flight without fear of slamming into the lining around your gut.
Your chuckle isn’t quite a lie and Bucky catches on to your honesty, seeming to grow taller and believing himself completely absolved from all original misdeeds.
Then you hit him with your next topic. “A man tried to get my number today. At the coffee shop.”
He stops walking completely, his arm falling from around your shoulders. “He did what?” His voice is tightly coiled, ready to spring at any moment.
You keep walking, not waiting to see what his face would look like. You know his brows are well furrowed and eyes are dark, devoid of any lighthearted fun. They’re not the blue of a gentle stream but a churning and violent ocean.
“Oh, come on, Bucky. I said tried. I didn’t give it to him.” You roll your eyes in front of him, turning to hold an arm, beckoning him forward and into your arms. He doesn’t move. You stop and cross your arms over your chest.
“Don’t tell me that you did this to make me jealous.” His words carry bite, but they fall harmlessly from your frame made of metal and steel. Impenetrable. After what you’ve seen and know, nothing he could say or do to you could truly harm you.
“That’s rich, considering he asked me.”
He sees that his tone has no affect on you and stalks closer, ignoring your arm that now begins to fall back into its place by your side. “But you won’t go back there, right?” He grins, malice and hope curling together, like he wants to lure you into a complete false sense of security, urging you to agree. “You know how I don’t want anyone else stealing you away from me.”
He drips with imitation honey and you’re too smart to believe the gold of it is real. “Bucky, you know that’s my spot.”
“And I’m telling you, (name), that you can’t go back there.” His teeth make each syllable sharper and harsher, but it doesn’t scare you.
But maybe if you back off, get him to stop fighting, he’ll just let this one go. You only told him just to make him aware, not to cause a real argument. This isn’t worth turning into a complete debacle. You’re not going to allow his anger to grow any larger.
“You can’t stop me from going there, but I won’t go back at the same time or on the same days. I probably won’t even bump into him again. It was the first time I’ve ever seen him there anyway.” You turn, holding out a hand to him that he takes and squeezes so hard your hand aches when he relaxes his grip.
“But,” He drills holes in the side of your head. “If you see him again, tell me.”
“Sure thing, oh great shining knight.” You nod fervently, like you’re completely devout to him. And in a way you are. There’s something about him that keeps you just hanging on, refusing to let him go completely.
He laughs with acid behind it. “You know I’m just trying to keep you safe.” He looks wounded as you spare a glance at him. “He might try to take advantage of you.”
“Well good thing you’re here then.” Your face adapts to pure happiness, his concern for you starting to trump all of these horrible things you’re beginning to feel. It always makes you feel important and wanted when his protectiveness jumps out, his vulnerability unlocking something in you.
He grins just as strongly back at you, gently running circles over your hand. “What did he look like?”
“Bucky!”
“What?” He holds up his other hand, looking like he can’t understand what he’s done wrong. “I need to be ready in case you call.”
“Well I’m not the damn police. I wasn’t really looking that hard.”
“Oh cut that out. I know you got a good look at him.”
You sigh, thinking of a way to get out of having to actually answer his questions without him becoming angry again. You can’t, so you give him crumbs. “He had brown eyes, darker skin. Sunglasses.”
“Doll, I know you can do better than that.” He smirks but it’s strained.
He doesn’t believe you.
“Not really.” And that’s kind of the truth. You weren’t really paying attention to his attire, besides the rip in his jacket. “I wasn’t really paying that much attention to him. Research remember?”
“Hm.” He consents. “I’ll give you that.”
You breath out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
“But just remember to call me, alright?”
“Sure.”
“Doll.” He stops, turning to gaze deep into your eyes.
“Okay.” You hold up your hands and cross your fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
He searches your gaze for just the inkling of a false statement and doesn’t find it. “Alright. I trust you, doll. Don’t make me regret it.”
You nod, your stomach feeling just a little sicker as your hands rejoin and the sun begins to set, the buildings turning a deep shade of crimson.
…
The party is more like a college frat palooza than a respectable meeting for supporters of a budding artist. Red solo cups line the room and the kitchen is stocked with all sorts of wine, tequila, whiskey, and bourbon.
Drinks for respectable people, of course.
Bucky already has a buzz going from taking two shots of whiskey before you even came to pick him up. You insisted on driving so he could enjoy the full effects of the alcohol before you even made it to the party. Somehow that BS worked and he was getting a little loopy and handsy before you made the door.
His hand now rested at a respectable place on your hip, but you had to keep his hand from drooping lower and lower. Now, his arms spread wide as he saw his red-haired friend, wrapping her into a hug and placing a bottle of rose into her hands. He spun out his congratulations in a slur of wonderfully crafted and charming phrases to which she blushed deeply at, at least until she saw you.
“Willow, this is (name).” He gestured back towards you and you stepped forward, shaking her hand with a polite smile on your face. Even her name was beautiful. Figures he would choose her.
Her smile was nice enough, but her eyes still dragged back to him, lingering on his beautiful face and warm eyes. Of course, any one would be drawn to him, you would be a fool if you ignored that, but there was just something a little too warm and knowing behind her stare. Like she was blushing at meeting her long-lost childhood love again.
It made you slightly sick but you ignored it and tried to send her your best in the only way you knew how. Words that weren’t quite a lie but still sounded nice. For the most part. “Congrats on your art display. Your work is very colorful and has a really cool avant-garde aspect to it. You really could be on to something, Willow.” You winked at the end and she laughed, seeming to take your compliment well.
“Thank you. I know it’s not super conventional, but I hope it opens a new interpretation into art.”
“I’m sure it will.” Yeah, if you’re a lunatic or a complete believer in work that makes absolutely no sense.
She grins and the room erupts in starlight. Her smile is like starting at jewels under direct light, beautiful and dazzling. No wonder everyone seems to gravitate to her. You start to fold inward while Bucky dismisses you, telling you to “make yourself comfortable” and “introduce yourself to people.”
You nod and immediately make a B-line to the corner, standing away from all of the people in overly priced clothing and drinking strongly proofed wine. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy a good bottle of wine or even something stronger from time to time, but if you had ever learned anything from being in college, it’s that if you’re unsure of drinking something while you’re there, don’t drink it.
You briefly wonder if there’s a regular can of pop to be seen in this place.
Then you look at your surroundings, admiring the wood of the walls, the accent tapestries adorning them and then start to think that this girl might have good taste. The current tapestry you observe has burgundy and gold blended together in a beautiful amalgamation and you play with the strands between your fingers. It’s soft and strong, wonderfully crafted.
The wood behind it is hard and sturdy, easy to run your fingers along and feel the stronger edges behind every cut. It’s beautiful. A good selection.
But there’s almost no windows. No light. No opportunity for incorporating the day with the dark atmosphere her home carries.
“(Name)! Come over here.” You sigh, peeved by your disturbance from being silent in your corner. You follow his voice till you’re beside him, letting him put an arm around your shoulders. “I want you to meet, Chris Tallow. He designed this place.”
Chris was probably one of the most famous architects in the whole state. Standing in front of him made your knees wobble. “Hello, nice to meet you.” You timidly were able to get out and he smiled warmly at you, reaching out to shake your hand.
“James tells me that you’re quite the architectural connoisseur.” He grins and you nod, enthusiastically.
“I love your work! It’s ingenious and visionary. It’s amazing how you’re able to work with multiple mediums and incorporate them seamlessly.” The words pour out of your mouth before you’re able to stop them, now embarrassed at your unrestrained confession.
“Girl knows her stuff.” He seems impressed and appraises you accordingly.
“She’s quite the fan-girl.” Bucky laughs, pulling you a little closer. “She’s obsessed with buildings, sometimes in neglect of other things.”
You almost glare at him, but then you remember where you are and who you’re in front of, so you let out a reserved snicker and unwrap yourself from around him, Bucky a little uneasy on his feet. “Nice to meet you. Bucky you want anything to drink?” You look at him expectantly, but he just leans in and presses a kiss on your cheek, waving his cup.
You dismiss yourself again, frustrated with how he brushed your passion off like that.
You travel back to the kitchen, right about to pop the lid open again when you see the man from the cafe, staring you down. You duck under the table and try to catch your breath after the lightning bolt that went firing through your veins. What in the world is he doing at the flighty girl’s party? How does he even know her?
“Nothing you’re gonna want is in there.” He states plainly, but not in a rude way, just in a I-don’t-think-you’re-the-beer-type kind of way.
He would be right. “Oh,” You stand up, wiping the condensation on the fabric of your jeans, “Right.”
He watches you with such an unabashed directness that you can hardly breathe. He’s dressed in a tan leather jacket that sets off his deep red sweater and dark jeans nicely, pulling against his strong physique. He’s still as bright as you remember him to be and you’re lost as to what to say to him to continue the conversation.
The mystery man seems just as distracted until he sets down his coke to reach into the fridge to pull out another one for you, handing it to you politely, fingers sparking as you hands graze. “Here.”
“Thanks.” You mutter as you crack the can open and take a long sip, needing a distraction from the man in front of you and your growing unsteadiness around him. At least you have something in your hands that you can cling onto. “I didn’t think that opening a cold one with the boys would be the smartest thing I could do.”
He chuckles, warmth pouring out of him. “Me neither.” He leans against the counter as you drink, surveying the party and drawing his eyes away from you for a moment. It’s a relief as you still don’t think you’re going to be able to think straight. “Not one for parties?”
“What gave it away?” You speak, your voice warbling after your drink and you try to steady it, cringing heavily at its harsh quality.
If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “In the corner. Where I usually take up my post.”
“Oh, don’t tell me the sunglasses aren’t a hit?” You lean next to him and his eyes graze yours with a twinkle. You smile back as his teeth shine against the hazy lighting the string of lights behind you provide.
“Well,” He leans a little closer, bumping his shoulder with yours. “I’ll give you a hint. It might not be the sun glasses.”
You gasp.
“I know. I know.” He chuckles taking another sip, still grinning at your reaction. You feel a warmth start to spread and fight down the urge to lean closer, to prompt him with far more personal questions. “It’s hard to believe that all this could be such a mood-killer.”
“You know, full disclosure, I do find that a bit startling.” You watch as he looks to you with perplexity and something deeper. You ignore the warmth again as you explain yourself. “I mean, come on, you’re hilarious.”
“Okay, Coffee Girl, what’s your excuse?” It’s your turn to be bamboozled. “You’re funny and intelligent and witty. Why aren’t you out there killing the game? These people would be on the floor if they heard you.”
You look down at your drink, taking effort to pull your eyes away from his deep orbs, keeping you from falling in. You take a deep gulp before you think about answering. He sobers up at your actions and watches gently, waiting for response.
He’s not so demanding as Bucky, watching you with soft interest not with blatant scrutiny. You actually feel like you can talk with him and not be judged by your responses. You decide to take the leap. “I have a deflector for that.” You tip your coke towards your “plus one” that’s so absorbed in what strawberry is saying that he doesn’t even notice you talking with the man whose name you still don’t know.
“Ah.” He sighs, swirling his drink around, his energy collapsing. “Your boyfriend.”
You turn to him and watch him pointedly avoiding your eye, searching around the room without settling on an object.
His words sting for whatever reason and you feel that you need to correct him, stop him from getting the wrong impression. That you need to make him understand. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” He scoffs, taking another swig.
“I mean that we’re not together, together. Yes, I came with him. Yes, I’ll probably leave at some point with him to stop him from passing out on the street dead drunk, but we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend or anything like that.” You don’t look at his face as he turns to you, knowing he’s trying to find any evidence of deceit.
“Was that who you were meeting after leaving the shop?” He’s open, asking for honesty.
“Yes.” You look at him then, taken aback at the unabashed staring he’s doing, not even looking away as he observes you with such a gentle intensity, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen. He’s wrong, but the way he’s looking would convince you otherwise.
“Okay.” He drinks again, placing the empty cup down on the table. “So, this boyfriend of yours doesn’t let you speak to any guy in any sort of flirting fashion?”
“More or less.” You wash more cold liquid down your throat as he looks away and scoffs. “What?” You prompt, genuinely interested.
“He’s one of those types.”
You purse your lips but say nothing.
“As he should be. You’re so unaware of yourself.”
You almost choke, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he grabs another coke from the fridge and pops it open. You look around the party and find Bucky and Willow conveniently absent. What a host. Doesn’t even make sure she sticks around to receive guests.
A pang settles against your chest as he comes to lean beside you on the counter, a little closer than normal. He must read your expression as he looks around for them as well and his face settles into disdain when he can’t spot them either, looking back at you. “You know, you never told me your name.”
You chuckle and take another drink, finishing it and placing it next to his original empty one. “You first.”
“Okay,” He turns and offers you his hand. “Sam. Friends call me Falcon.”
“Quite the nickname you have there, Sam.” You take his hand and shake it, feeling the buzz shoot through your arm at the contact and try to ignore how your skin heats up.
He doesn’t respond for a minute, just looking at you. “Your turn,” He manages after a while, a miniature smirk taking his face, much different from his usual open grins.
“(Name),” You breathe back, trying to act confident. “But people call me Coffee Girl, sometimes.”
“Oh?” He grins fully this time, unconsciously holding your hand still. “Your good friends?”
“Maybe.” You coyly offer and his eyes light up with challenge.
He laughs to himself as he finally lets your hand go, searching through the crowd again. “I saw you admiring that woven work on the wall over there.” He nods his head in the direction of the tapestry.
“Yeah.” You sigh. “It’s got great hand work. One of the finest I’ve seen.”
“Are you a collector?”
“Not really. Just a fan, I guess.” Your tone drops at the end. Sam looks at your dismal expression, eyes wondering. He searches a second more and then drops the topic. You stand close to each other, the heat wafting from your thin shirt meeting the warmth coming from the collar of his jacket and you take it all in.
The noise of the party seeming far away from the space that you and Sam have created. It’s peaceful and comforting. It feels like the coffee shop.
Guilt rises at the way you left, at the plans to avoid him completely. Because of Bucky. Because of a man that is overly jealous over the slightest things.
You clear your throat. “Um, Sam. I want to apologize to you.”
“Why, (name)?” Warmth crackles down your midsection at the use of your name and wonder if your usage affected him similarly.
“When I left at the cafe, I wasn’t the kindest and know I made you feel terrible for approaching me.” You watch as he grins and lose your nerve and silence yourself.
“If I felt terrible, do you think I would have come over? Even when you hid from me?” You cringe and he laughs harder.
“I’m sorry.” You peak out of the corner of your eye and watch him laugh even harder. Your laughs mix for a couple of a seconds, a beautiful symphony, comfortable and happy. “I just…” You hold onto the counter, propping yourself up a little. “I’m just not used to that kind of attention.”
“Your boyfriend doesn’t look at you with pure adoration in his eyes?” He takes a sip and then frowns when you stay silent. “(Name)?” You can’t look at him as you play with your fingers. “Oh.”
“Yeah...” You weave your left fingers around your right pinky, trying to calm your heart down after your confession and the feeling of intense shame about ready to spill over.
“I’m sorry, if I made you feel uncomfortable.” He carries his words with a look of sincerity and you feel awful for making him feel as though he needs to apologize.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just out of practice, that’s all.” You look down. “I’m not good with that sort of thing, you know?” You glance over to see his eyes are already on you, electricity threatening to shoot between you.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean.” But he doesn’t look away, just moves a little closer. “If you’re comfortable with it, would you reconsider that number thing? I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, I’m just showing my interest.”
You can tell.
And something in you tells you that he’s definitely trustworthy, someone worth giving your number to. He just has this draw and for a moment, you forget about Bucky completely as you watch Sam. You nod, slipping out your phone and placing it in his palm, turning the back of his hand over.
His skin burns.
He smiles softly and enters his number in your contacts. He then slips his phone out of his pocket, furiously typing on it. Your phone lights up in your hand a second later, a text flashing across the screen: This is Falcon, paging Coffee Girl.
You laugh at the nickname. His name reads Falcon in your contacts, his real name hidden to your message app as it rests in the nickname section, which is turned off on your display.
You text him back.
Coffee Girl on stand-by.
He laughs at your response and you loosely smile as you're distracted by his light, by the beauty in his smile. He doesn’t notice and you duck your head to keep it that way.
Your stomach drops as you look up to see Bucky paving a stumbling path through the party to you, eyes ablaze and slightly unfocused. Sam stands to his full height, putting some distance between the two of you. “(Name). Where have you been, doll.” Alcohol slides over your cheek as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, glaring past you and into Sam.
“Here.” You draw his attention back to you as you take in his swollen lips and disheveled hair. Your shadows start to creep back into your skin, originally chased away by Sam, his light burning them away. Bucky’s eyes, despite how intense they look, are unfocused. He’s not in his right mind.
He pulls you closer as he looks down at you. “Who’s this?” He smiles at you but frowns as he spares a glance back at Sam.
“A friend.”
He looks Sam up and down a couple of times before he looks back to you, a goofy smile coating his face. “Okay.”
You turn around and at Sam’s face distorted in anger, all traces of his original kindness obliterated. It startles you, but when he glances over at you, his face softens. “I’m going to take him home.”
“Nice seeing you.” He bids you goodbye with such subtle hints at his awareness of the situation. You get the feeling that he’s not mad at you or the situation, just at Bucky. You silently thank him for his understanding.
He imperceptibly nods his head at you and you turn back to Bucky, slipping his arm over your shoulder.
You feel a buzzing in your pocket but ignore it as you drag a half-functional Bucky out of the house and into your car.
…
After hours of dragging him around his apartment and laying him down for bed, you leave him with one glass of water and a few pills for the massive headache he’s going to have tomorrow.
He mumbles for you to stay, but you push his arms off of you as if they’re disgusting chains, attempting to keep you sedated in one place.
When you break free from his place and safely make it back to yours, you collapse on your bed, crawling under the covers, not caring that makeup still lingers on your face. The fact of your phone buzzing dawns on you and you pull your phone out of your pocket, clicking the screen to life to see Falcon appearing on your screen.
See you around, Coffee Girl.
Your heart warms and you send a quick text back before turning out the light, plugging your phone in, and placing it on silent as you drift off.
Scritch scratch went Clockwork’s feather pen as he used up page after page of his parchment on his stand. So many notes. So many things that could happen in a month. So many details that needed fussing. At least he could leave detailed advice. Most would throw the new person into world with nothing.
But not Clockwork. His job was too big to just leave a replacement with nothing. Time was fickle; everything had to be kept in order to keep a good, stable path. Just one journey through time could ruin everything if it wasn’t managed correctly. And one month was too long for Clockwork to come back to and fix things should something go wrong.
As he finally stopped writing, some books and glasses rose up from his shelves and drifting in front of the ghost. He tapped his chin for a moment, gazing into the future to see which pair of glasses would be the best. Then, with a wave of his hand, he sent all but one pair back to his shelf. Clockwork placed the books, papers, and glasses on the stand he’d been using. He used a last sheet of parchment to write a quick note, which he taped to the side.
Once all that was done, Clockwork rounded up his medallions and stored them in his vault. He placed his staff in there as well before closing the vault. He didn’t think anyone would steal them while he was gone, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Then he took the wood staff he’d bought from Inky. He decided to leave it somewhere for his temporary replacement to find. It would make things more exciting for them.
Only then did he take out the potion he’d bought from Inky.
The ink inside contained the basis for a new person, a creature made of ink. Using it would create a new being. It would put Clockwork in a sort of stasis as this person used his form to explore the world and learn for one month.
He smiled to himself. “I trust you won’t mess things up,” he murmured. “Good luck.” Then he pulled off the cap and let the ink begin to pour over his arm.
At first, it just dribbled over his form. It dripped down across his gloves, creating tiny ink rivers. Then, it began to surge fourth and cover Clockwork’s body. More ink than should have been possible slowly flooded out of the bottle until not an inch of Clockwork’s original form could be seen. And as it did, it lulled Clockwork into a dreamless sleep.
A moment passed before the new shade blinked his eyes open in confusion.
pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes
summary: you and sam having a myriad of bonding moments and the thought of falling for him becomes nearly unbearable, but, just when things get serious, there’s always something in the way.
wc: 6.5k+
genre: flirting, good banter, heat, awkwardness and tension
Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 04
Sam makes sure to bring you to everything now. It’s as him disclosing his place of complete secrecy has opened up another side of him that you’ve never seen before. Dancing is more exciting, you laugh consistently when you’re together, and you meet up when class isn’t in session.
It’s as if the almost kiss was erased wholly from your memory.
You find out about his obsession with Marvin Gaye and the Trouble Man soundtrack. He’s got the whole album and listens to it almost everyday, but it took you a little bit to pry that slightly embarrassing detail from him.
“Oh, you must really like him.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty good.” He laughs into his coffee as you sit at the table you’ve officially decided to co-parent.
“To have over 300 listens to the same songs is pretty impressive considering that you only recently bought the whole album.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he tries his best to keep a straight face, sputtering into his drink. You grin at his momentary lapse in restraint.
“Well, like I said, Marvin Gaye is the best.” He watches you with a mirthful gaze and you squint your eyes at him, knowing there’s a part he’s not telling you.
“Well, Rachel knows that that’s only partially true.” You lean your head down and pretend that she’s agreeing with you, nodding your head enthusiastically. “That’s exactly right Rachel, he’s hiding something from us. He doesn’t love you like I do, Rachel.”
“Rachel, don’t listen to that. You know that I’ve been coming here consistently these past few weeks and we’ve been listening to the soundtrack together.” He folds his arms and leans back as if he’s won this battle. Ha.
“Everytime, huh?” You nonchalantly take a sip.
“Yep.” He purses his lips in triumph.
“Sounds like this is an everyday occurrence.”
“‘Cause it is.” He retorts and you point directly at him. He sputters through his drink, realizing he’s been caught, trying to scramble for a response.
“Ah—the truth finally comes out. He is legally insane.” You spread your arms in victory, sweet sweet victory. “He’s completely addicted to the soundtrack and cannot go a day without listening to it. Your honor, this case is officially closed; you have all of the evidence you need to convict this man.”
“You can’t prove that.” He chuckles, snatching his phone back to put it safely back in his pocket.
“If you were in love with Marvin Gaye, Sam, all you had to do was say the word.” You take a sip while grinning and he fakes annoyance and rolls his eyes before breaking down in laughter. You follow closely behind him.
…
He also takes you rollerskating. He tries to talk you through it and reassures you that it’s pretty easy. He just wasn’t aware that you used to hit the rink every Friday as a kid and although it’s been a while since you’ve gotten back on the rink, you used to be a pro.
This was going to be easy, but it wouldn’t be that hard to play a little prank on him.
He’d helped you lace your skates up tight enough that your ankles wouldn’t roll and you let him, pretending to be all dainty and unaware of the roller skating experience. You did enjoy taking his hands again as he hoisted you to your feet and held most of your weight, making sure you kept your balance.
He was extremely careful, walking you through the steps as you wobbled and shook heavily on phoney weak and unpracticed legs. His hands were strong and steady, a calming pulse about as soothing as his warm voice guiding you how to weave one foot in and out to create some speed.
“There you go, you got it.” His encouraging voice made you smile, a genuine display of teeth. Of course, it wasn’t because you were making small, fake steps of progress, but because he was willing to be patient with you as you moved through the steps. It made your heart soften and a warmth of pure adoration erupt in your core.
“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Your legs shook violently and you pretended to stumble. He caught you, his hands gripping your forearms determinedly, not allowing you to even think of falling, drawing you into his strong chest.
He breathed a little slower, looking down at you with concern and laughter. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” You breathed shakily, laying your performance thick. “Let me try again.”
You stood up straight again and gently tugged against his hands. “I want to see if I can do it without you.”
“Okay, just be careful.” He didn’t look convinced that you could do it, but he slowly let go of you, keeping his hands out just in case you needed the security of them again. He made sure to stay close and you allowed yourself a small smirk at his protectiveness and concern.
You winked at him and spun around, taking off around the circle of the rink, sure that your legs and previous experience would be more than capable of supporting your own weight. You even ignored the stopper on the front and slowed your speed by dragging the side of your wheel.
His mouth hung open as you drifted right next to him, turning around to skate backwards. Then he let out a huff in disbelief. “You lied to me.”
“I thought it’d be a great opportunity to find out how good of a teacher you were.” You shrugged in false innocence and made sure to stay slightly out of his reach, even when he started to drift closer.
“And after I laced up your shoes, after I took all this time to walk you through all of the steps.”
“It was a nice added benefit.” You laughed.
“Oh, okay. I see how you wanna play this.” His eyes turned to something darker, losing the bright light they held and morphing into a deeper expression of humor and resolve.
You wasted no time in turning around and taking off, squealing as he rode fast on your heels. Giggles escaped you as his fingertips brushed against your clothing now and again. He eventually gained enough speed to pull you right next to him, forcing you to slow down and face him.
The vestiges of your laughter died down while you looked at him. He wasn’t mad at all. His chest heaved up and down, his teeth spread into a huge grin. “You’re not getting off that easily.”
The ensuing roller skating dance battle was epic.
…
“Keep up, Coffee girl. I saw the way you moved on those skates!” He called over his shoulder as he lapped you, the tall tower near the Lincoln Memorial loomed in the distance as you tried to catch up to him near the reflecting pool.
You huffed, your lungs squeezing with flame, and you struggled to take in air, your mouth crumbly and dry. You’d sweated through your exercise shirt and were about three seconds from passing out.
You should have expected this. Sam was in the military after all and it made sense that the regimen never really goes away that easily, but you hadn’t expected to get ran into the next century. Sure, you could move your way around roller skates, but the wheels did a lot more for you than you actually did for the skates. The running shoes you wore right now weren’t going to assist in keeping your pace. This was all manual labor.
And you hadn’t tried to run in years. Middle school P.E. was likely the last time you ever tried to pace yourself through a measly mile.
You saw him make his way around the halfway point and came to a stop, placing your hands tightly on your knees and taking in as much air as you possibly could in the moment. You closed your eyes, feeling the sweat creating small rivets down your neck and back, clinging to your hair and your clothes. You felt dirty, in deep need of a hot shower and three healthy gallons of water.
“On your left.” Sam huffed past you, but you kept your eyes closed and took in more air until you could feel like you would be able to form a response.
When you opened them, Sam was watching you with that mixture of mirth and worry. “You alright there?”
“Yeah,” You could barely speak the words, the syllables filled with air instead of the ringing of your vocal chords. “I’m okay. Just need a minute.” You closed your eyes again and took deep breaths until you could get your breathing under control.
You heard Sam tread over to you and crouch down in front of you. “Hey.” Your eyes peeled open slowly, and he was right there with a soft smile on his face. “Let’s take it slow.”
You nodded and stood up straight, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through your side. Sam took his place beside you and started on what was undoubtedly a slow jog for him, but was a manageable pace for you. You ignored the pain, fighting to stay moving.
Sam didn’t treat you with pity or that you would crumble. He stayed right next to you, bringing up topics that you could bicker over or discuss to a deep enough degree to keep your mind off your jog. He was kind and supportive. He took breaks with you when you needed to stop and would slow your pace if you were beginning to struggle again.
He showed you time and time again that he was everything Bucky was not. He was giving you so many reasons why he was better. Why you should choose him.
And everytime, you thought you didn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve someone caught up in a relationship with someone else. The longer you dwelled on these thoughts, the sadder you became. A hole opened up, eating through your thoughts of him.
Because you wanted to be that supporting shoulder that he was for you, but you weren’t sure that would ever happen. By the time you got out, it might be too late for Sam. Besides, you had to prove that you weren’t boring, that you could be exciting too. That you could keep a man interested.
Sam picked up on your change in mood and slowed your pace even more. “What’s going on? Thinking about him, again?”
“No.” You shook your head and gave a sad smile. “Something else that’s more important.”
He nodded and smiled. “Well get your head out of the clouds, Coffee Girl. We got three more laps to do.”
You huffed in frustration and gave a sad attempt at a laugh. “People must really call you Falcon for good reason. You just fly around those corners don’t you?”
“You have no idea.”
...
Another day, another dance class. Sam spins you around as usual and dips you down, supporting you as you grab onto his arms. He whips you up and around with a flourish before pulling you back in, the both of you back to swaying to the beat. You let off a giggle as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.
You’ve all been learning choreography for the main dance that will take place pretty soon after the first dances. It’s been fun so far and everyone is picking everything up fast. It’s nice to feel like you’re part of something important.
It will all suck when he finally gets a replacement and he’ll get to dance with some other, more impressive girl. You just try to enjoy it all while you’re still here with him and he’s still willing to entertain your mess of a social life.
You and Natasha spin around each other, changing partners. Clint keeps you at a respectable distance while making sure you get your timing and steps right. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He grins as he spins you.
“Not at all.” You huff, twirling back to him as you glide around the dance floor. “I trust you and Natasha are having a good time?”
“As always.” He smirks and you dance in a good silence before it’s time to change partners again. “Have fun.” He wishes you with a subcurrent of intentional enthusiasm. You just laugh as he passes you back, Natasha’s red hair becoming a blur. You catch her eyes mid-turn and she winks at you. You grin back.
Sam catches you easily and pulls you back in, making sure you're comfortable before moving. You didn’t notice how close you normally stand while dancing, but the apparent gap between you and Clint made it that more clear. You’re nearly touching his chest and your toes are just a breath apart.
But it wasn’t unusual to you before. It’s comfortable, easy. You don’t bother to change it now, because you like it this way.
You shouldn’t.
But you do.
The instructor moves closer to you. “Great form. You make excellent partners.” She claps in excitement and you both grin abashedly at the direct attention. “I’ll bet you’ll be the next ones to get married.”
Your blood runs cold and your eyes widen involuntarily. The statement carries more weight than she probably intended, but the fact that you’re technically still bound to Bucky brings the world back into focus. Until you can get the current boyfriend situation figured out, there couldn’t be a you and Sam. Not permanently.
No matter what your heart wanted.
No matter how much that statement, as much as it took you off guard, excited you.
Sam sobered as much as you did and stopped moving entirely. He looked to you to gauge your reaction and when he saw your face open in shock, his own frowned, his light dying slightly. Then he steeled himself. “Depends on who catches the bouquet.”
She laughed and gestured for you to continue. You took a deep breath and looked up to him. You both didn’t say anything to each other, but you shared a look of deep understanding of how serious a statement like that was.
…
You step out at a beautiful building with glass doors and racks on racks of differing pants and shirts, ties and cuffs. It’s even more impressive inside. Sam waits for you in a chair outside of the dressing room.
“Hey.” You breathe watching him get to his feet and walk over to you.
“Thanks for coming.” He nods and glances over your outfit. It’s a casual glance, but it sparks a hum of electricity down your spine.
“Yeah, well, the bridesmaid’s were having a fitting and I’m not technically invited so it’s probably a good thing I’m here.” You shrugged, flipping your hair over your shoulder and he laughed richly, rolling his eyes at your show.
Sam shows you to your seat just inside the dressing room, leading you to a place with a good deal of mirrors and a pedestal for the model to stand on. You take a seat on the plush chair and scroll through some ambient notifications, catching up on social media, and sending a few text messages.
Sam asked you a few days ago if you’d come be “quality control” over his choice for a suit. The only stipulation that Steve put on his groomsmen is that the suit needs to be white. It seemed oddly out of character for a man that appeared traditional and old fashioned, but you welcomed the change. You’d heard the bridesmaid dresses were going to be red instead of the pale pink that was usually encouraged. But then again, Peggy did rock a red lip better than anyone else you knew; you had no doubt that her lip color of choice influenced her decision.
Why Sam really needed your help, eluded you. He was a perfectly capable man that was more than equipped to make his own choices and could definitely shop for himself, but you weren’t complaining. He was getting you out of a ridiculous dinner date with Bucky and whatever other work friend he was so hellbent on impressing. Not being there gave you all the energy you needed to focus.
When Sam steps out, your breath catches in your throat. He waves his arms out, letting you see the white suit in action as he spins around. He adjusts his red tie in the mirror before looking back at you. “What do you think?”
You can’t form words. Your brain is having a hard time catching up to what’s going through your mind. How handsome he looks, how the suit is fitted perfectly, how he looks outstanding and beautiful. It’s like you’re back at the boardwalk again.
The white stands out starkly against his chocolate skin and makes it even more heavenly. It’s like white was his color. The only one he should wear for the rest of his life.
“It looks fantastic on you…” Your mouth still hangs open as you speak and it takes effort to control your eyes, keeping them at a normal wideness. You know your tone is dreamy and slightly slurred, but you can’t help it. “You-You look amazing.”
Sam just stares.
“You like?” The tailor flutters around him, adjusting his suit jacket and his pants. It wouldn’t matter if the suit was ill-fitted. He’d still look fantastic and your breath would still have suddenly disappeared from your body.
You nodded absentmindedly, drifting closer to get a good inspection of him. Your fingers reached for his tie, fiddling with it in your grasp and feeling the soft, silken texture. He froze completely now, just watching you adjust his slightly crooked tie. You straightened it.
“Well, good thing quality control was here to fix it for you.” You breathed out, softly chuckling at the end. It helped cover up some of your nerves. Your fingers shook as you kept your hands closed.
His smile was delayed by a good few seconds, but it was followed by a timid laugh, shallow and not a deep as you were used to. He must have felt the same jittery anxiety that you were.
You knew the reasons that you felt this way, but his were even more muddy and less clear.
“You know how these things work, Coffee Girl?” His voice was low, but took on a light and joking tone as he gestured to the tie.
You shook your head with a smirk. “Yes, bell bottoms, I know how to tie a tie properly.”
His following laugh was covered in nerves. He then lowered his eyes so that they were almost leveled with yours, all dark and warming. A fire ignited someone near your core at his gaze. “You don’t have to worry about my tie so much.”
You cleared your throat and turned him around, letting him get a good observation of himself in the mirror. You let your hands linger on his shoulders for a second longer than necessary, feeling the strength of his arms underneath his suit.
The tailor hums in approval. “Yes. Very good. Doesn’t he look good to you?”
The question was a bit more direct than you were prepared for and you sputtered for a second, Sam’s eyes catching yours in the mirror and sending another wave of fresh nervousness pulsing through your system. “Uh, yeah. I guess.” You want to slam your head into the nearest wall. What was that response?
You scratch the back of your head and step out of the way of his continuing adjustments. “No need for bashfulness. I can see the way you look at him.” He flashes a dazzling smile your way as you pointedly duck Sam’s inquiring eyes.
There’s not a response in the world that would be able to fix the conversation or steer it onto a path that would allow you to be honest while ignoring the feelings inside of your chest. You’re really in it now.
You just settle for an, “oh”, as you turn and resume your place on the chair, far out of the reach of touching Sam and away from the tailor’s focused stare.
It’s not the answer that the tailor was expecting and he must have picked up on the growing tension and awkwardness in the room. He weaves around the lapse in conversation like it’s nothing, quickly asking another slightly personal question that’s only that much harder to answer with certainty.
“You two are going to the wedding together, right?” Sam catches your eyes in the mirror and the pressure of a response once again falls on you. You have no idea how to answer this question correctly. It doesn’t seem like Sam has anyone else in mind, but your spot hasn’t been solidified for sure.
Plus, Sam’s looking like he wants you to say yes. Like he knows that there’s no one else, but he wants you to agree, to confirm that you’d be willing to go with him.
You try somewhere in the middle, hoping to not to give anything away.
“We’re dance partners right now, at least until his date can step in.” Sam’s face falls half an inch and he looks away. The tailor doesn’t notice, nor does he catch how instantly you deflate.
He just hums and pauses, watching Sam for a reaction.
Sam shrugs, turning his focus all on the business of tailoring his suit. “More or less.” He concedes.
“The woman that comes to see the tuxedo is always the one that goes to the wedding.” The tailor winks and returns to adding pins where the suit needs material eliminated. Your face still feels heavy and you feel guilty, like you gave a wrong answer on a test.
You stand then, determined to find something else to do to take your mind off of overanalyzing the situation at hand. “I’ll be over here.” You point at the racks near the back of the store full of dress shirts.
You meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror and see all traces of hurt or disappointment are gone. He just smirks at you and nods. You return it the best you can, going over to see what shirts would look good on Bucky, but your heart isn’t in it. It probably wasn’t in it for some time now.
But if you could just prove to Buckty that you could be interesting, then maybe you’d finally be interesting enough for someone else. Maybe you would be good enough for Sam.
You shook your head sadly to yourself.
You could live millions of lifetimes and still never deserve him. He needed someone that wasn’t caught up with someone else or preoccupied with improving herself. He needed someone that knew who she was. You weren’t there yet.
…
“Thank you.” He brushes against your shoulder as he says it. It could be written off as accidental, you do have to be close together on the sidewalk to avoid getting pushed over, but it’s a bit too firm for that to really be the case. His tone is low and courteous. “I’m sorry the tailor was so curious. He likes to keep the conversation going so that it doesn’t become awkward. He has a habit of asking personal questions.”
You smile to yourself and try to ignore how easy it would be to reach out and take his hand. These thoughts are fickle and dangerous. It’s becoming harder and harder not to do the thing you shouldn’t be doing. “It’s not a big deal, Sam, really.”
He cocks his head to the side at your use of Sam. He doesn’t comment on it though and you walk side by side through the streets. At times, he gets a little ahead of you to warn off some of the people that are beginning to get too close for his liking. It’s like he’s creating a path for you.
Then his walk changes; it carries an agitation that it didn’t before. Something’s weighing on his mind. “What’s wrong?” You ask nonchalantly, but know that he’ll recognize you picked up on his subtle changes in body language.
He looks down as you come to a pause at a red light. He searches around the street before he looks at you, taking a deep breath. Your anxiety raises at his hesitation. “I have a preposition for you, Coffee Girl.”
He looks straight at you now and that responding jolt spreads through you again, like it always does now. You try to ignore it as you look right back at him. “Shoot.” You step near him and narrow your eyes, like he’s a criminal spilling his master plan.
He laughs and you breathe a bit better. It’s not too bad if he’s willing to crack a smile at your approach. “What if...I never got a date to replace you? What if you went with me?”
His eyes look so pure and pleading now, it’s hard to look away. But you take a few steps back because you shouldn’t be so excited at the notion of going with him at all. This electricity is wrong, but it’s still happening, regardless of what’s going on in your life right now.
Sam sees the war happening all on your face and tries to backpedal. “Sorry if that was abrupt. If you’re uncomfortable, I can find someone else...”
“No, I want to go.” You fire back the response fast and his shoulders stop climbing, like a weight has been lifted off of them. “I just think I should talk to Bucky first.” And you should, he doesn’t know that he didn’t get another partner and Bucky is your significant other. If you’re going to a wedding with another man, it would be right to let him know about it.
“Okay, so,” He leans in a bit further than necessary, but you let him. You like being in his space. You like being close to him. “If that conversation goes well, you’ll come with me?” His eyes twinkle with hope and you blush at how open it all is. He’s letting you see that, whether he wanted you to or not.
You pretend to think about it, raising your hand dramatically to your chin and stroking it with finesse and refinement. You tilt your nose to sky to emphasize the deepness and complexity of thought that should be going through your mind right now. The pro and cons, the good parts and bad parts of the conversation that you’re going to have to have with Bucky, but it’s all absent. You already know your answer. You knew when he asked.
“Yes, bell bottoms, I’ll go with you.”
…
A day later, you’re knocking on Sam’s door, standing outside pacing to yourself after getting a cryptic text message about getting some extra practice before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. You don’t really know what’s going through his head, your moves are fine and you’ve both got the steps down to a science, extra practice shouldn’t really be a problem.
But you knew what jitters felt like and you could understand wanting to do it one more time to calm your nerves. Your heart rate flew and a tingling sensation lingered in your fingers and your stomach.
Sam swings the door open, a pleasant smile on his face and a glimmer wafting behind his chocolate eyes.“Come on in.”
His living room is illuminated by soft candle light and the golden glow from a floor lamp. Another Marvin Gaye song echoes gently around the space, its place of origin a boombox on his countertop. You wonder if this is a passtime or if this was something more special. You hope it’s more special.
“Woah, you didn’t tell me you were an interior decorator, bell bottoms.” You’re so in awe of your surroundings, you missed that he’s standing right next to you.
“Are you ever going to let the teasing over the Trouble Man album go?” You smirk at him as you turn, eyes squinted and goading.
“Where do you think the bell bottoms nick-name came from?” You bump his shoulder with yours, but he doesn’t move away or create space when you do; he makes sure to stay just close enough to keep your arms in contact.
“Uh huh.” He hums deep from the core. It sends a buzz through you and you fight down a blush. Then he moves, spreading his arms and taking a few steps back. “Shall we or is this too old-fashioned for your liking?”
You roll your eyes and place your hand firmly in his, putting your trust in him once again, knowing that he won’t let you down. He draws you in, your breath thinning out at the proximity. It’s becoming more tolerable now and doesn’t throw you off as much as it used to, losing your breathing rhythm around him. It calms you down, helps you focus.
He’s eyes are dark and alluring as he watches you, adjusting his positioning until he’s satisfied that you’re comfortable. “Are we going to be letting Mr. Gaye sing us through this one?” You inquire in faux innocence and watch as his face twists into a humorous disdain.
“You, Ms. (last name), need exposure to real music.” He takes a step which you take with him, already knowing where he’s going from here as you begin the spins at a slightly faster pace than you’re used to in order to keep up with the beat.
“Real music, huh?” He spins you outward before drawing you back close in again, another jolt shooting through your blood.
“Yes.” He says it with a seriousness that silences you, but then he’s all smiles and smirks again and you wonder what you were expecting from a man with the nickname of Falcon. “Now just listen.”
“I’ll try.” You sway together, waiting for your cue before the next performance of turns and spins occur. You like this. You like his warm hands and eyes and glowing personality. How you can relax around him and not feel like you have to watch everything you say. How you fit together, like two halves of a charm that only fit around each other.
You close your eyes and listen, catching a few lines before you’re twirling away from him in a mix of gold and brown.
Yeah, darling you're not wasting my time
What I see baby is so hard to find
…
A lightheadedness from all the dancing put a pause on your swaying session and giggle marathon. There were numerous times that you had to completely redo moves from laughing so hard. You almost fell over each other at times.
A funny spasm moved through your chest as you leaned your neck against the back of his sofa, trying to cool off while Sam brought water over. He placed the glass in your hand, a stark contrast from the warmth that he always pulsed into your skin.
You thanked him before drinking a bit, nodding along to another soft Marvin Gaye song in the background. You felt him watching you as he sat next to you, downing half of his glass. “Never met someone who likes Marvin Gaye so much for a person who claims they don’t like old music.” He smirked knowing over at you.
You shooed him with your hand. “I never said I didn’t like old music; I just mention and frequently tease you about your addiction to the music from the 70s. That’s got nothing to do with the quality of the music.”
Sam grins widely as he goes to get another sip of water before setting the glass down and smiling. You cup your drink in your hand, letting the coolness of the glass keep your body temperature lowered.
He leans back, sighing with happiness and you can’t help the small smile of happiness that spreads across your cheeks at his contentment. He’s infectious. “You know, I haven’t had this much fun in a while, thank you for coming.”
You let your head roll back as you look over to him. “Me neither. Thanks for being such a gracious host.”
His grins at your goofy head angle and weirdly moving eyebrows. Then he looks down and sobers up, his face losing some of the glow it already had. You sit up. Something’s coming, you can feel it.
You set your glass down and lean forward. “Did you ask him yet?” He doesn’t look at you, even when you stare at him for a minute before responding. You wish he would. You just need him to look so you can know what he’s feeling.
You hate putting him here. You hate that Bucky’s such a problem between you two.
You sigh and run your fingers through your hair, angling your body away from him. You don’t want him to feel like you’re pressuring him to accept the response you’re going to give him. “No. He’s out of town right now. He has been for a day or two.”
Sam narrows his eyes and fixes you with a hard stare, his tone ice compared to his smooth and gentle character. “He’s gone a lot for someone who loves to watch your every move.”
“Oh, he’s cheating. But then again it was never really official to begin with.” Sam’s eyes bug out of his head, but you know better than to take that at face value. He already knew. He’s just trying to act shocked for your sake.
“He what?” His voice sounds dumbstruck, but it’s still not enough to fool you.
“You don’t have to pretend to be surprised. I know you know.” You reached down to take another sip of your drink and let the liquid cool you down, slow down your brain so you could give clear answers that weren’t riddled with anger.
Sam sits for a moment watching you. He sighs, looks away, and then turns towards you. His jaw works and no words come out so you fill the silence.
“I’m just waiting. I think this will go away at some point. I’m just trying to be more interesting and exciting. I think that’s why I lost him the last time.” You fiddle with your pants to keep from facing Sam’s pointed stare.
“So dancing with me is just to be more interesting?” He sounds hurt and starts to turn away, but you catch him.
“No.” You make sure that’s firm and look directly at him as you say the word. He freezes in place and has to look away. “I’m dancing with you because that was genuinely something I was interested in doing. That had nothing with trying to make him jealous or trying to get him back, that was completely my own choosing.”
He had to understand, this whole thing had nothing to do with Bucky. It had everything to do with your choice and what you wanted to do. It wasn’t something you felt like you had to do to win Bucky back. You wanted this.
Sam doesn’t seem completely convinced. You scoot closer and place a delicate hand on his shoulder, squeezing it to get him to look at you. His eyes cut, but you’re determined to make him understand. To make him believe you. “Do you think I would still be here if I didn’t choose this. If this was my strategy, obviously it’s doing nothing to get him back and it would be in my best interest to leave, right? Why am I still going to classes and hanging with you if I didn’t want to be here?”
He nods and you breathe out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. You start to let your hand fall from his shoulder, but he catches it, pulling it closer to his chest and drawing your eyes to his sad and pleading gaze. “You deserve better.” He utters it softly and an emotional wall breaks at his words.
You feel tears start to form near your eyes. It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone tell you that you’re worth more than what you’re in. You have to look away, too caught in his eyes and the way that walls are starting to come down.
You take a breath and when you’re sure that there are no traces of sadness or pain, you gently draw your hand and it hurts. You don’t want to pull back, but you have to do the right thing. You have to do what’s right, even when it’s the most painful thing you could do.
“I think I should go,” You stand and Sam jumps up inhumanly fast before you, slightly blocking a straight shot to the door. You don’t feel trapped, more like he doesn’t want you to leave. “I don’t want you to feel any worse about the situation.”
“Wait.” He says in a soft whisper. He takes your hand again, slowly, curling your fingers together delicately. “Just one more dance.”
Sam doesn’t let your hand go as he clicks to another song, a sweet and simple guitar and vocal combination filling the room. He rests his hand on your hip, his warmth bleeding through the fabric of your shirt, tucks you close to him, and sets you to a sway.
You don’t perform any of the moves you’ve learned in class, no waltzes or spins, just you and him and a beat.
Eventually, from enough courage and fatigue catching up with you, you lean your head against his chest, wrapping your free arm around his torso and listening to his fast but steady heartbeat. You feel his head dip down to lean where your head lays, a hand splaying on your back to curl you into him. The tears almost well up again, but you just close your eyes and feel him, concentrating on his closeness and the caring way he responds to you.
Just like a song in my heart
A hand on your cheek pulls you back and your gaze flashes up to his, a deep fire simmering in your chest reflected in his eyes. You can feel the kiss coming this time and you know you’re not strong enough to resist it. You close your eyes and tense, waiting for his lips to meet yours.
But they never do.
Instead, a soft kiss presses against your temple and lingers.
When you open your eyes, your heart almost breaks from his open eyes and the adoration and sorrow in them. You hope he can see how sorry you are. Maybe in another place in a different time. It’s the only thing you can trust to do, silent communication. Anything else, and you’ll completely crumble.
Sam presses an invitation into your hand. Come, his eyes say and you smile and tuck it into your pocket for safekeeping.
The song ends bittersweetly and Sam walks you to the door, still holding your hand tightly in his. You stand on your tippy toes, the kiss still warm and pulsing from your forehead. He begins to lean down, knowing what’s coming and eager to make it easier for you. Just when you’re about to give him another kiss on the cheek, you get a text.
Bucky: It’s done. I broke up with her. You’re the one for me
pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes
summary: he doesn’t want to talk. he doesn’t even want to see you again.
wc: 5.8k+
genre: angsty for sure, fluff, cuteness, flirting, sweet boi
Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 05
Bucky’s eyes are bright and excitable. They are expecting and gracious, like he’s done the thing to finally get the girl, to win the prize, to secure the deal. And it makes you want to wipe the smile right off of his dumb face.
His arms are spread wide and empty, just like how they’ll stay.
“What’s wrong, doll?” He sees the anger contorting around your features. “Aren’t you glad? I chose you.”
There are many things wrong with what he just said, but the part that cuts the deepest is that he was well aware that you knew. He knew you knew and let it just sit there unsaid. Like you were worth nothing to him. Like you were just an accessory.
You didn’t want his love, you didn’t want him. You just thought you needed his approval, that somehow his opinion would solidify your standings and chances with other men.
But you were wrong, so wrong.
And it desperately ached, ripped your soul to pieces, that it took you this long to figure it out. That you left Sam, beautiful, sweet, encouraging Sam, at his house, eyes hurt and broken as you took off, like he knew that you would choose Bucky over him.
You weren’t racing over to choose Bucky. You were coming over to end things, to finally face this gaping hole in your chest.
“Why are you back now?” Your words drip with acid and the words push harshly against your closed teeth. You could feel your eyes darkening, morphing into something spiteful and fueled with hate. There’s no point in pretending like everything was fine and pleasant now. The truth was coming out soon enough.
“Doll…” His arms lowered slowly, dramatically, and it burned your skin to think that he was genuinely surprised at your reaction. What if it had been him on the other side of this? What if you had cheated on him? “What are you talking about?”
“What went wrong, Bucky. Why change now?”
He looked down and scoffed, fixing the collar of his jacket while watching you glower, unimpressed at his attempts to charm and welcoming you back to him like he was opening his eyes for the first time instead of realizing you were there the entire time.
“Because...she wasn’t understanding of our arrangement.” The words were about as hard to choke out as it was for you to hear them, but you kept a neutral expression. Arrangement. You were just a guise, something to keep the daring ones interested and the weak ones away. The respectful ones. The girls who knew better than to mess with a man already dating someone else.
“And I am? I’m just sort of business arrangement to you?” Your tone stayed dry and neutral the whole time, not betraying an ounce of the anger you felt.
“Well…” The scratching of the back of his neck was enough to tell you everything he couldn’t.
You folded your arms and gave a pitiful, “ha,” and looked away from those electrifying blue eyes that you fell into that day. The day, years ago, that you would come to regret for some time. They were still beautiful and he was still undeniably handsome, but that meant nothing to you now.
Now you had something lightyears better than before. Someone that was beautiful in more ways than one. Someone who’s internal heart and soul encompassed a mind far more delicate and compassionate than Bucky’s. Bucky was handsome externally, but was an internal bog of self-centered thoughts and actions.
He wasn’t someone you wanted to stay with.
“Go away.” You ordered, stepping into his personal space to convey the depth of your command. You never broke eye contact; you wanted him to feel every bit of the rage he conveyed in you, every bit of the fury that raised itself in his name. “And don’t come back.”
Bucky’s eyebrows lifted incredulously, like he’d been honestly shocked at your reaction. “What? Why?” His blue eyes felt like ice after knowing the depth and warmth in Sam’s chocolate brown ones. “Come on, Doll.” He scoffed and walked closer to you only to be pushed back by your firm hand against his chest. The touch revolted you, but you stood firm, not allowing your hand to drop. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”
“I don’t want to be second place for you.” Your voice lowered so much, it sounded like a growl. He heeded the warning and took a step back as the weight of your dark, sharp eyes cut against his stunned gaze. Good. Let him recognize what he’s dealing with. “I deserve better. I found someone better.”
The words don’t truly register until after you’ve said it, because this means that you’re ready to admit it out loud. You’re ready to tell the world, and even the person you were almost dating, that you’re ready for things to work out with Sam.
You’re ready to admit that Sam’s the one for you.
You didn’t school the shock on your face and Sam’s face angled in anger at your response. “It’s him isn’t it?”
“Leave.”
“He’s just using you, you know.” Bucky stayed rooted in place, but as you walked towards him, his body language altered, changing into showing signs of running and fleeing.
As you come to a stop in front of him, you say one last dumb statement to his face. “Oh, I bet.” You stalk a little closer and he throws his hands up, turning around to leave.
The buzz that started when he opened his mouth begins to fizzle out, draining your energy and focused concentration. You felt jittery and depleted, like you’d just run a 5k and crossed the tape. That would never happen, of course, you’d already witnessed the results of running with Sam. A running career or even running for leisure would never be for you, but the exaltation and exhaustion that would come with it you could sympathize with.
You opened and closed your apartment door with an extra umph as you tread over to your couch and plopped down, a face of surprise still plastered onto your face. You really said that. Those words were a reality, those words were real.
You scoffed in shock and then quickly reached for your phone, fingers trembling, hands shaking. You needed to call him, to tell him everything that happened, to let him know the truth and that things were over. He was the one. He was the person you wished to spend the rest of your days with.
Your teeth work the bottom of your lip as you pace your leg, waiting for a response, but a generic voicemail greets you, announcing his unavailability and patiently asking you to wait for the beep. You try again, but within seconds you get the same message.
What was he doing?
You try a third time, hoping he’ll pick up and you’ll hear the dazzling deepness of his rich, warm voice, but nothing, clicked right to voicemail. Like he intentionally turned his phone off.
A pit of despair grows in your core.
You shouldn’t have left him. You should have ignored Bucky and stayed. But if you did that, you wouldn’t be free. Free to live without Bucky so firmly rooted in your side, agonising over your every move and breath. You wouldn’t be able to run to Sam without that chasm separating you two.
But now everything felt wrong.
Agony burrowed into your heart, fretting over the reasons behind dodging your calls. He never ignored you, why start now?
Maybe you should go over there, try to reason with him and make things right. But you knew. You wouldn’t have to reason with him if you didn’t already know the reason.
He thought he lost you. He thinks that you somehow chose jealous zealot Bucky over him. Over your gorgeous ray of light and warmth. That you would choose that horrible man over someone who makes you feel like the most important thing in the world.
You could never, would never.
But Sam didn’t know how to separate your inability to kiss him out of respect and moral obligation to whatever was going on with Bucky and thinking that you weren’t interested that way. But he must have known; didn’t he see your eyes. Your orbs that pleaded with him for forgiveness and took on a tenderness that could only be attributed to him.
You set your phone down and ran your fingers through your hair, crushed.
Oh Sam, please forgive me.
…
Sam doesn’t come to the next dance practice or the next. Your heart grows heavier and heavier each time, tears threatening spill from your closed lids. The others in the class are sympathetic and offer to switch with you in between dances, but you respectfully decline and leave.
On your way to the last practice, little hope flutters inside of your heart. You doubt he’s coming, but you’re not ready to give up on him. You’re not ready to throw in the towel just yet.
Sam is nowhere in sight when you enter the room and Peggy smiles sympathetically at you, making her way over to give you a hug. “I’m so sorry, (name).” She whispers sweetly, and you return her hug, letting this small gesture wash away the horrible sinking feeling of guilt and regret that hits you like a tidal wave.
“Thanks, Peggy.” You manage to answer her and she steps away to look at you. “How is he?”
“He’s okay. He and Steve have been in contact.” She nods at you and you deflate at the look on her face. That’s all you’re going to get, all she can convey to you.
“Okay…” You breathe and look down. Peggy rubs your shoulder soothingly and you nearly crumple under her gentle touch. “I just really want to speak to him. He hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts and there’s so much I want to explain to him. So much I need to talk to him about.”
“He just needs some time.” Peggy’s smile is sincere and hopeful, it lifts your spirits ever so slightly. “I know he’ll want to hear everything you have to say. Sam is a good man and he’ll listen; he just needs to be alone right now.”
You nod slightly, but feel better. Peggy was always good at encouragement and knowing the right thing to say. “Do you have a dress?”
“I’ll be there, Peggy. For you and Steve...and Sam.” You smile smugly at her and she gives you one of her signature grins back at you.
“I look forward to having you there on our big day. I know Sam will be happy to see you, whether he admits it or not.” Her happiness bleeds into yours and you begin to leave, feeling more optimistic that things will get better, no matter how hard the climb is right now.
“Thank you, Peggy.”
“You’re family to us now, (name). We’ll always be here for you.”
You nearly cry in your car.
...
You travel all the way to his house. It feels weird being there, after everything that’s happened in the last few days. Your dance together feels like it was just yesterday, like it was just a few hours ago that you were wrapped in his arms, listening to the calming sound of his heart. A heart that you knew and trusted. A heart that you unknowingly held and dropped.
You wanted to fix this. You needed him to see that this was just a misunderstanding. He was the one you chose. He was the one you wanted.
You just hoped that he would let you get the chance to explain.
Tentatively, you walk up the steps, trying to keep your breath even the whole time. Your heart beats erratically at the idea that this could be it, this could be the moment that could change everything. Your hands are already shaking by the time you knock and your breathing is ragged.
You tense, wringing your hands together to stop the nerves and calm the anxiety. It builds to a crescendo, the emotions threatening to burst, but it deflates quickly.
He doesn’t answer the door.
You take a breath and knock again, but approach the door more closely, almost laying your whole ear against the door. You catch it then, a slight shuffling of feet, and then quiet again, stillness. A broken, quiet sigh escapes your lips and your head feels like it’s a hundred pounds.
He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t even want to see you again.
You deserve it. You should never have left the way you did without explaining; you should have told him what you were planning to do.
But you didn’t.
And now you were sitting here with regret and heartbreak. He may never forgive you or want anything to do with you again. It hurts, it’s a hard pill to swallow, but if that’s what he wants then that’s what you’ll give him. You gulp down the tears and tread back to your car, pulling away in a quick fashion.
You just didn’t notice Sam peeking out the blinds to watch you go.
…
You write a letter. It’s not the greatest in the world, but it doesn’t have to be. Your apology is brief, but your explanation is very detailed. The piece of paper gives him time to ignore it and read it when he’s truly ready; you just hope he’ll come around.
…
The banquet hall is perfect. Its glowing chandeliers and sparkling glasses remind you of times long gone and memories uncovered. At the center of the table sit Steve and Peggy, Natasha and Clint sit near the edges, along with Wanda and Vis.
The seat at Steve’s side remains stubbornly empty.
You pace around to your seat next to your would-be date. He still refuses to answer any of your previous text messages or calls, but you haven’t tried to contact him in the last day or two. You want to give him the time and space he needs, but it still crushes your soul.
The pang only intensifies as you take your seat, see his name tag, Sam Wilson, and realize he’s not coming. It feels wrong, like a universe without a sun to warm it. It’s cold and empty without him there next to you. Where you’re used to him being.
But that’s the big word, used to.
You took it all for granted. You made the biggest mistake of your life and with every place you feel his absence, you feel your error more clearly.
Peggy turns and mouths to you, flu, and you nod more out of trying to appease her than belief in that excuse. He’s healthy, you were just at his house and knew he was fine, but you were the source of his disappearance. You were the sickness that he fled so desperately from.
That made everything so much worse.
You buried your head in your hands, raking your fingers through your scalp. You bit your lip to prevent the tears from spilling over, to prevent your emotions to be read plainly on your face.
Taking a breath, you let your body lean back against the seat and pick up your utensils with shaking hands to prepare yourself for the rehearsal dinner you’ll have to sit through.
You spare one last glance at the empty seat beside you and refuse to let your eyes drag to that spot again.
…
It’s every bit the nostalgic, traditional, retro inspired design that you imagined it would be. There’s a whole jazz quartet as you walk in, serenading everyone with their inspirational and emotional trumpet player. It’s a whole new world of white and wood and vintage and you love every part of it. It’s so fitting for them and they deserve every happiness in the world.
It took a lot of courage and pep talks before you even considered showing your face at the actual wedding, but you came this far. You wanted to congratulate them and support them on their big day. They’ve been nothing but warm and welcoming to you from the moment you met them, Peggy even considered you family.
Family doesn’t just give up because everything gets hard. They’re there no matter what they're going through. This is you showing up. This is you taking the initiative and hopefully showing them the same love and respect they gave you.
Your hands were sweaty and you palmed them off against the lavender gown you decided on. It was a safer color. The bridesmaids were wearing red and, although you would have preferred to wear something in a mahogany hue, this would be a good compromise.
You couldn’t ignore the erratic beating of your heart or the way your eyes flashed off the object of your attention to look for your sun. How it was so easy to work through the boring small talk because you weren’t really paying attention at all, your heart was a million miles away and your mind racing through the clouds.
He was captivating your every thought, every breath, every movement. And you couldn’t find a trace of him.
You snuck back behind the bridal dressing room and lost your breath at the sight of Peggy. She was beautiful, as you expected, but she looked like the perfect angel in white. She wrapped you in a warm hug and flashed a dazzling smile as you pulled apart.
“It’s good to see you here. I’d hoped you’d be here.” The words were just as sweet and sincere as you remembered her to be.
You smiled genuinely, the first time in days, and held her hands tightly in your own. “You look absolutely beautiful. Steve is going to be crying some big man tears when he sees you.”
She laughs and you chuckle with her. “He better. I spent the last three hours getting ready.”
Natasha steps through the door and nods to you, a smirk on her face. “She decides to come anyway. I’ll give it to you, (name), you’ve got tenacity.”
You shake your head and step out of the way as she places the veil right upon Peggy’s dark curls, making sure to weave it like it was a halo on her head. Peggy looks even more breathtaking now. Steve should be sobbing when he sees her.
“Thank you.” She adjusts the piece and for the first time since you’ve known her, you see her hands tremble, her nerves finally getting the better of her.
“Peggy.” You crouch next to her, placing your hands on her shoulders and giving them a slight squeeze. Her open brown eyes stare at you in the mirror, slightly embarrassed and shaky. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re beautiful, intelligent, strong, and can do anything. Steve is going to be right there, ready to hold you up the moment you step into his arms. We all love you. No one is going to let you fall, especially not the man walking you down the aisle.”
She takes a couple steadying breaths and licks her lips quickly. A small, soft smile forms on her mouth and Natasha places a hand on her shoulder. “What she said. And if he drops you, I’m gonna pick you up, give you the walk you deserve, and then politely kick his ass.”
Peggy laughs. “Oh I don’t doubt it.” She sighs and gives both of your hands a tight squeeze. “Thank you.”
You answer her with smiles that convey much more than words could ever have.
…
Your leg bounces traitorously in your seat on the pew as you wait for the ceremony to start. Nerves from anticipating watching the most beautiful woman you’ve met leads to your hasty movement but a stronger sort of anxiety coils around your stomach and sends it churning uncontrollably.
In the back of your mind, you really hope Sam is here to support Steve and Peggy of course, but it also gives you a chance to explain in person, where things can’t get muddle over text.
That’s when you see white suits travel down the aisle and your breath gets stuck in your chest. Your heart jolts and then speeds, racing uncontrollably while you pointedly avert your eyes. You can’t be caught staring; that wouldn’t be your proudest moment.
You pretend to be interested in the carpeting when you catch the hint of dark skin sticking out of a white suit and your eyes flash without warning towards its source. Sure enough, there he is, in all of his beautiful glory and you’re rendered speechless again at the sight of him. He’s handsome. That’s all your brain can compute at the moment.
To explain the source of its lapse in processing, he’s watching you, almost as if he’d been searching for you, discreetly in the crowd and spotted you by chance. You can’t break eye contact and your heart still beats incredibly hard and rapid, like you’ve been sprinting.
It feels like a lifetime has passed before you regain enough mental fortitude to look away, but your eyes are pulled back to him like a magnet. You manage to resist the pull as he walks to his place, but your gazes draw together like they were never meant to be apart.
He’s not mad, not in the way you thought he would be, but he seems relieved and upset at the same time, that slight furrow still set between his eyes. His stare probs yours intensely, searching for answers that you can’t give at the moment.
You just admire him, glad to see him healthy and in-person. That’s all you needed. You’d be content with just this, even if you never got the chance to see him again. This was more than enough for you.
When Peggy began her walk (and Steve’s eyes were red after she took three steps down the aisle), it was incredibly hard to break eye contact, as if you were afraid that if you looked away now, you would never be able to see him again. Your breath returns for a moment; you are able to concentrate on your bodily functions again and the buzz starts wearing off.
You take an opportunity to share a smirk with Peggy, watching as her steps are perfect and precise, practiced and elegant. There’s no way she’s going to fall. She’s too confident to let anyone have to hold her up or support any of her weight. That’s the Peggy you knew, even in the short time you’ve known her.
You glance back at Sam and see him softly smiling in your direction. You sever the connection to avoid him from seeing your face turn an unseemly shade of red.
Peggy makes it up the steps and into Steve’s arms and now the blonde man is smiling through his tears, sniffing and blinking rapidly. You allow yourself a short laugh before you look back at Sam. He chuckles in their direction as well, but glances quickly towards you, eyes furrowed and searching for something?
He looks beside you, behind you, and even in the back of the chapel before he stares at you again. A question lingers in the air as he squints at the open seat next to you and then shifts his gaze back to yours. You tilt your head in a quizzical manner. What is he talking about?
He does it one more time, more dramatically, and you break eye contact to process what he’s trying to hint at. Seat open next to you, no one else here that you should have a connection to besides the bridal party and Sam, maybe waiting for someone? Or someone missing?
Bucky.
He’s wondering where Bucky is.
You look back to show him that he’s not a part of your life any more, but now the ceremony has begun and the time for silent communication is over.
It’s gorgeous and you couldn’t be happier for them, but an intense feeling of obligation makes your movements more jerky as you sit to witness the wedding. Sam only spares one look at you, trying his best to appear the picture of concentration and focus.
You start counting your breaths until the kiss happens, which you cheer excitedly with everybody else, your enthusiasm overshadowing the intense will to speak to Sam.
Then, as the bridal party starts to exit, Sam spares another glance your way, making the same eye movements. You shake your head vigorously in denial. Bucky isn’t and won’t be with you today and that’s how desperately you wanted him to know that. You nearly got whiplash from how hard you shook your head, but you needed him to see that the Bucky thing was long gone.
He frowns.
Then he turns and offers his arm to another bridesmaid to escort her down the aisle.
You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Was it not the answer he wanted? Did he read the note? Does he even believe me? Your confidence took a huge hit, but you stood to take your turn walking out of the building and tried to keep your head up. Your eyes would say a different story, but at least your walk wouldn’t give room for any questions.
The crowd guides you the building over, where the real events are happening, and you play the happy wedding goer. You don’t really know anyone in the crowd, but you take time to smile and look at the scenery, the luscious trees, the white flowers contrasting the deep brown wood, the way the white lengths of fabric catch and twirl in the air.
It distracts you, at least long enough to make it to the building without wallowing in self-pity.
You’re just about to walk in (you’re determined to stay through the entire evening, no matter how bad the Sam situation might get), when a hand rests gently on your elbow. You’re about to turn around completely, but notice the deep brown hue of the hand’s skin tone and know immediately who’s got a hold of your arm.
He gently steers you just out of earshot of other people and releases you. You look at him, hoping to see some happiness or relief there, but find none. He pointedly avoids eye contact. His arms are folded tightly over his chest.
“What happened?” The words are coated in sour flavor; you can taste bitterness on your tongue. “I thought prince charming came running back.”
You see all of it, the hurt, the betrayal, the broken bond. Everything that helped create this amazing space between you two, thrown away in an instant. But, as much as it caused you intense agony to see him this way, you knew that you had made your choice.
You were willing to fight for it and that meant standing your ground against his cold demeanor.
“I turned him down.”
His eyes flash over to you and he leans in closer, as if he didn’t understand the words you said. A jolt lights up in your core, but you swallow it down, trying to stay focused.
“What?” It’s nearly a hiss, but the tension isn’t as overbearing as it used to be. It’s calmed down considerably and for the first time in your few minutes of interaction, you notice a subtle thawing.
“I turned him down.”
Deep creases cut his forehead, but his face is smoother in places that are tells for you. His eyes aren’t flat or pinched; they’re open, watchful, like when he’s analyzing something. “Why?”
You watch him, smirking ahead of your next words. His eyes grow larger with surprise and confusion. “Because, I already found someone better.”
You’re held in the suspension of time as he processes the emotions running through his system. Jolts still skirt through you as he continues to stare, but his eyes melt. Over time a small smile reaches his mouth. Slowly, he reaches for your hand and presses a warm kiss to the back of it.
Your knees feel like jello.
“Well,” His eyes dazzle you and you knew in that moment, you would do anything he asked, anything at all. “There’s hope for you yet Coffee Girl.”
He doesn’t let go of your hand, but tugs you along with him, keeping you firmly rooted at his side. It’s not controlling or possessive, rather loving and protective. You’re happy to stay as close as he wants.
Elation doesn’t even come close to the obvious relief you feel in your bones, in your soul. His warmth bleeds into your hands like it should; everything feels right.
But he accepted you so quickly. As good as it feels to be back by his side, you wonder why he would accept your explanation so swiftly. Something else must be going on here.
“Sam.” You gently call his name as you stand together, watching the first dance of the bride and groom.
His face tilts in your direction, a lingering grin still on his features. “Hmm?”
Your core ignites at his deep hum and you blink a second to clear your head. “Did you read my letter?”
He sobers, his facial features evening out, but a small smile still holds his lips suspended. He brushes a lock of hair from your cheek to behind your ear, softly skimming your skin. It leaves a pleasant trail of warmth behind.
He nods in response, a knowing smirk on his face.
You pretend to be outraged and swat him playfully on the shoulder. “Sam! You read my letter and still did all this to me?”
“Well, a guy’s gotta be sure. I didn’t really know what was going on at the time and I didn’t know if you would eventually go back on what you said in the letter about breaking up with him. About me.” His grin sends a burst of heat rushing through your core. “So, I had to play it tough and safe, for me.”
Your face falls and you look away in shame. “I’m so sorry Sam. I didn’t mean to cause you so much pain over this whole thing.” You squeeze his hand and turn to him as he looks away. “I just realized how much I was worth. Being around you helped, you made me feel so special and seen and understood, and it helped, but when I looked around and saw what a beautiful example of what real love could look like, I recognized that I didn’t have anything to prove any more. I didn’t have to prove my worthiness, because there were people out there that saw it before I could.”
He’s smiling down at you now.
Before he can say anything, it’s time to get out on the floor and do the job you were originally there for. You and Sam take your places, he pulls you close, and you hold on tight to his hand, like he’s a lifeline. “I’m wearing the wrong color.” You mention as you glance around and see the burgundy dresses around you.
“You’re perfect.” He whispers and your eyes lock, just like it did in the chapel, just like they were magnets. A shock buzzes through your hands, but you don’t have to fight it now. You let it wake you up, let it bring you two closer.
Your cheeks burn hot at his incessant eye contact, but you don’t look away.
You never look away once, even as he dips you and twirls you around like you practiced, even when you trade partners, even when your steps are so insync that you could close your arms and dance with him, you’re looking at him every second, every moment.
Everytime.
…
The beach greets you with a gentle roaring as your footfalls line up perfectly. Your fingers are interlaced and the quiet wraps you together in a world of your own, just for you two.
Stars twinkle. The moon casts a soft glow on the water. The night brings its secretive but alluring energy. You’re here with Sam.
He squeezes your hand.
“How are the dreams?” You voice softly, so as not to disturb the storm of horrific images in his mind.
He sighs and tugs you closer so he can wrap an arm around you. “I don’t think they’ll ever leave for good, but they’re quieter now.”
You nod and bury into his side, breathing in his woodsy scent and his comforting touch. “I think it’s because of you.”
You feel Sam’s face look to yours, but you only smile and wrap your arms around him while you continue your pace down to the edge of the boardwalk.
His temperature warms.
The breeze is cooler here, still warm but carrying a bite at the end. Sam tries to give his jacket completely to you, but you lightly press his arm. “I’ll move closer. That way it’ll cover us both.” As you sit, you stay as close as you can to him while he drapes his jacket over you both.
He laughs as you smile like a little kid. “It’s only a jacket.”
“It’s your jacket.”
Your warm, soft eyes watch as he adjusts it, his harder angles and lines interplaying beautifully with his soft cheeks and smooth skin. He’s a masterpiece. Too gorgeous for the world. “You’re beautiful,” You murmur unconsciously.
A deep flush crosses his cheeks as he watches you skeptically. The contrast is hysterical. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You curl your head into the crook of his neck. “Stop playing.” You giggle as you close your eyes and you feel him chuckle with you. It vibrates through your cheek and you smile in perfect content.
After you sit next to each other for a few hours, he helps you stand up, careful to watch your dress and get you on your feet without falling. You thank him with a small blush and move to go back to the car (you’ll get your own tomorrow) when Sam pulls you against his chest, his face serious.
“Hold on.” He whispers and slowly leans in. You move closer and only when he’s sure you want this too does he crash his lips against yours. His full lips are soft, but they roam and press into yours with fervour, a fiery jolt going all the way down to your toes. Your brush your fingers against his hair and his fingers splay against your cheek, pulling you closer with intensity. The last kiss feels like a feather and your closed eyes flutter open slowly.
Your lips are red and very puffy, as are his. “Finally,” He breathes and keeps your foreheads together for a moment, before pressing one last lingering kiss right behind your ear. Your breath hiccups.
He smirks deliberately and weaves your fingers together, pressing his lips against your hand again. “So, see you in class on Monday?”
You push him away playfully, but he makes sure to wrap an arm around you as you walk back, his lips pressing swiftly and warmly against your temple.
