#sam wilson x joaquin torres x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rqgnarok · 9 months

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catalogue - sam wilson

fandom: marvel, the falcon & the winter soldier

wc: 4,368

warnings: implied smut, mentions of injuries and scars, blood and bruises. neutral pronouns, no use of (y/n).

summary: you and sam don’t get to see each other often, but when you do, there’s a ritual you insist on going through to deal with your time apart.

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

You’re a sight for Sam’s sore eyes.

He hasn’t seen you in over six months. It’s an occupational hazard, he knows, but it’s the worst. Being the Falcon made his personal life take a step back in his list of priorities, and becoming Captain America meant setting the list on fire and declaring Sam Wilson’s downtime practically nonexistent. As far as he’s aware, Sarah and the boys are the only exceptions to the rule.

It’s not all on him. You’re an Avenger, too, even if you’re semi-retired. Semi, because the new kids still look for guidance as much as they can and you still keep a room at the Avengers compound because of it, even if scarcely decorated.

You make your entrance by scaring the shit out of him because of course, you have to.

“Is this what you call watching your six?”

Sam puffs out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. It’s always an interesting mix of emotions with you, Sam has never felt so safe and yet unbalanced than when he’s in your presence. It creates a sort of vacuum in his belly that has him feeling like a kid with a crush, but he’ll die before he ever admits that to anyone. Especially you.

“You know you don’t have to sneak up on me every time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you quip, raising your brows and extending a hand that Sam takes to haul himself back on his feet. You click your tongue. “Gotta say, though, it’s a little less charming now that you’re Captain America. Where does that leave national security?”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he’s about to give himself a headache, dusting off his ass and giving you a quick once-over, taking advantage of your sudden closeness to do so freely. “Thank Jesus the world still has you, then.”

“Only half time,” you shrug, unaware that Sam knows you’ve spent more time at the Avengers compound than your own apartment lately. If he has a few eyes that check up on you when you’re there, well. It’s only cause he worries. “You and Barnes playing in the Big Leagues leaves a lot of unfinished business for little guys like us.”

“Says the little guy who’s been to space,” Sam uses the same argument he always does when you try to downplay your importance in the job you do. It’s like a script, these meetings of yours, always under the excuse of responsibility until it’s not– until the conversation flows into what Sam has been aching for since the last time he saw you.

You roll your eyes like he knew you would. You’ve been an Avenger since before they had the name for it, so if anyone deserves the semi-retirement, Sam concedes, it’s gotta be you. He won’t pretend it won’t be a big hit when you choose to walk away completely, though. Whether that’s to the business or Sam’s life, well. That’s another conversation.

He misses you. It’s hardly a crime.

“And they’ve still got us doing intel like we’re rookies,” you shrug, lessening your significance anyway. As if you weren’t up there in the cosmos chasing after freaking Thanos, but Sam won’t argue with you about this. You already spend so little time together to waste it building conflicts between you.

“Please,” Sam’s a professional, so he doesn’t make a bitchface and say girl with disbelief coating his tone, but judging from the amusement that glints in your eyes, you read through the lines with ease. “Like we’d let the children anywhere near this.”

“Okay, Dad,” you snort. “How are Torres and Barnes anyway?”

“The kid and his grandpa are fine,” he goes for annoyed but his grin is boyish and unrestrained. “Jealous they weren’t authorized to drop by. This is practically a vacation, you know.”

You shake your head, but all in good fun. “If your bosses have you thinking that then you desperately need some real downtime.”

“This is as close as it gets, these days.”

Torres had flown him all the way to Switzerland just so Sam could go and spend a few weeks in a rustic, semi-abandoned town on the outskirts of the city where an old SHIELD safehouse still stood against all odds.

Why he had to go to the other side of the world for some intel, he asked and got no answer. Now it comes to mind how he has no idea where you– his contact– have been stationed lately nor what kind of work you’ve been pulling for whoever it is you answer to these days.

You don’t tell him about it, and he’s quit on trying to ask. Whether it’s because you don’t think he’ll approve of what you’re doing or because it’s strictly classified, Sam doesn’t know.

“Blink twice if they’re holding you hostage,” you say in all seriousness, and he peels his eyes at you without blinking, getting close to your face. You laugh, pushing him away. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re one with the nation. Let me show you these files and see what Mr. America makes of ‘em.”

The physical files you actually bring with you are minimal, and most of the data you’ve been ordered to skim through is kept in a USB you hand to Sam as soon as the coffee has kicked in. Neither of you are exactly sure what it is you’re looking for so you’re stuck in the studio of the tiny, look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-crumble safe house for over three whole days before you finally start gathering some worthy intel.

“I was told we’d known when we found it,” you shrug, not visibly bothered by the fact that you’ve most likely been sent on a wild goose chase. “Or if we didn’t. We might go back empty-handed after all.”

It’s not encouraging but it’s what you’ve got, even if Sam isn’t sure he’s able to be out of commission for that long. He’s realized people get antsy when Captain America isn’t seen somewhere in the world after a few days, but despite how hard he tries he’s not able to be in two places at once.

“Yet,” he tells you when you take a food break and you allow him to rant about these troubles. “Haven’t figured it out yet, but Steve kind of managed it after a few years, right?”

“Steve was superhuman,” you remind him helpfully behind your coffee cup. You’d found some old whiskey at the back of a cabinet and doused your drink with it, so you make a face when it goes down.

“You don’t think I’m super?”

“I think you’re something, alright.”

“Aw. That was almost a compliment.”

“Can’t let it get to your head, hotshot. Ego’s already too big for your body.”

It’s so fucking domestic Sam feels the ache of it in his teeth. You, sitting at the table in your tiny kitchen while he sits on the counter, each drinking your coffee how you like it as the sun sets through the window above the sink. Talking for hours until you realize you’re practically sitting in the dark as the afternoon flew by while you were taken with each other’s company.

But then you go back to looking at intel until your eyes are burning and you excuse yourself to pass out on the couch. You do it almost half an hour to the dot before Sam gives up himself, and he’s pretty sure you know enough of his tells to know when he’s getting tired and make an early escape so he doesn’t take the couch himself.

“You take the bed,” he’d offered the first night, having a little trouble not making it sound like an order. By how you’d raised your eyebrow, he’d failed by a mile. “God knows where you’re sleeping these days. It’s the least I can do after dragging you all the way out here.”

“You’re the one who keeps saying he’s on vacation,” you take your bags from his hands and drop them unceremoniously on the coffee table, marking the living room territory as yours. “And I’m sure the US government will kill me if I bring you back with a fucked up back.”

He almost suggested you could share. You have before, both out of necessity and leisure, but Sam’s sure that topic’s on the list of Things Not To Talk To You About. It might be the first one up there, in all caps and underlined with bright red.

Sam has both held you down to fuck your brains out and held your bleeding body in his hands, pressing against a gunshot wound to keep blood flow to a minimum. It’s a fucked up type of intimacy he doesn’t share with anyone else, but he’s still hesitant to bring it up. Somehow both events keep happening whether he intends for them or not.

It’s like he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, and it finally does on the fifth day of your assignment.

You ultimately get a lead from the USB. It guides you to search for a random code you insist it’s on a file you’d read through already. You make a noise of victory under your breath when you spot it across the table and when you shift to reach for it, your breath hitches.

It’s a quiet thing Sam wouldn’t be able to acknowledge if he weren’t good at his job, but he is.

“What is it?” he asks, suddenly alert, fingers twitching with the urge to hover over you worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. Whatever shadow of hesitance had fallen over you is pulled back into place, tucked away for Sam to blissfully ignore.

You both know that shit won’t fly, but Sam thinks it’s cute you try anyway.

He stares at you and you avoid his eye long enough, face buried in the file, to know you know he’s noticed. It’s a silent request to let it pass.

Tough fucking luck. Sam calls your name, admonishing.

“Sam,” you say right back at him in the same tone, still not looking at him. Sam grinds his teeth in annoyance, jaw tight.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. You know how it is.”

It’s not a no.

“I do know,” Sam agrees, but his mood’s a short fuse. “Are you grounded? Is that why you’re here? Because you’re hurt?”

Fucking jackpot. You exhale through your nose and tighten your jaw at the question but refuse to answer. You’re a couple of feet apart, divided by the desk filled with files and information, but somehow this is the closest he’s felt to you since you got here.

You’d been hiding something since the beginning; taking the couch when you could’ve been sharing the bed from the start, touching him less than usual so things wouldn’t go further, and moving around the house with rigid, calculated movements.

“Manning the desk,” he says with a little too much bite, and he can physically watch your hackles rise; the annoyance in your eyes when they finally meet his, the biting of your cheek to stop yourself from rising to his sudden passive-aggressive hostility. “Handing me files, giving me intel. You’re flying halfway across the world to keep yourself out of the field.”

“Sam,” you say through gritted teeth.

“You’re hurt,” he replies, not a question, nodding at your torso. It’s all suddenly painstakingly clear, the past week flashing through his mind like a movie from a different point of view. “And you’re hiding it from me, for some reason.”

“Is that all, Captain?” you ask, creating distance with the use of his new title in a way he despises and you know he does. You’re good at that, finding where it hurts and pressing methodically until the skin gives. Sam’s just not used to the trick being used on him. “Or is there something else about my person that you’ve figured out and have yet to enlighten me about?”

“Let me see,” he ignores you. It's easier than trying to match your level of cruel cleverness. He stands to cross over to your side of the desk, staring down at you expectantly with arms crossed. “Come on, show me.”

“No,” you deadpan, but the way you wrap your arms carefully around yourself shows the defensiveness underneath your nonchalance. “Sam, come on, what the hell are you doing?”

“If you’re not hurt, then show me,” he insists but doesn’t reach to touch you without your permission. It’s a line he won’t cross.

“Is that an order, sir?” you snap.

“I’m not your superior,” he replies, even though he is, technically, but not when you’re alone. Not when you’re hurt. “I’m your friend. And right now my friend is in pain, I’d like to be able to do something about it.”

“Like what?” you ask, and it’s as exhausted as it is conflictive. Thunder rumbles outside the house and inside Sam’s chest, two storms coming in. “Huh, Sam? What are you gonna do? It’s part of the damned job. Don’t tell me you’re injury-free right now.”

Sam isn’t. Both old and newer scars put a heaviness on his body he’s not supposed to carry, but he’s not the one hiding right now.

“I can hold you,” he offers and watches the way you look away, imagining the sting in your eyes as they glisten with sudden tears. You very visibly refuse to shed them, tightening your jaw and passing saliva like it’s gravel. “If you’d let me. Let’s not pretend we haven’t done it before.”

“It’s different now.”

“Why?” he wonders, brow furrowing. He does his best to relax his stance and reaches to touch your tight fists where they lay on your lap. With his fingertips barely there on your skin, the tension bleeds out of them like magic almost against your will. “Because I’m Captain America? Because you won’t tell me where you’re stationed half the time?”

“It’s–”

“Classified,” he finishes for you, unmoved. “But you’re still you, and I’m still me. As far as I’m aware, that doesn’t change a damned thing.”

You close your eyes like the words pain you, resolve crumbling right before Sam’s eyes. “I don’t wanna fight with you.”

“Then don’t,” from Sam’s perspective, it’s as simple as that. “Let me see. Let me be with you, please. The last week has been torture.”

You let out a breath of a laugh that’s a little too miserable. “You’re telling me,” you say, and the slope of your shoulders falls from its tense, defensive curve. Sam takes it as the green light it is.

You stand straighter as he kneels in front of you, his hands hovering over the hem of your shirt. He looks to you for permission and you give him a tight nod, staring at the wall instead of him, gulping down your anxieties.

Sam’s breath catches when he lifts your shirt and sees your torso, skin showered in black, blue, purple, and green bruises. “Jesus.”

“It’s worse than it looks,” you say automatically. Sam can’t see how that’s true. It looks like it hurts to even breathe, it’s unbelievable how you were able to hide it from him for so long. “Nothing’s broken, I swear.”

“What the hell happened?” he asks even if he knows you can’t– or won’t– answer. You sigh, and he watches blemished skin shake with the effort it takes.

“I’m alright,” you say instead of the answer he wants, but your voice has softened and lost all fight response. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve been with him since you arrived and it has nothing to do with showing your skin. “Hey, I’m okay. That assignment’s over for good. I’m not going back there, I promise.”

The sigh of relief Sam lets out is shaky and doesn’t relinquish all the tension he’s been carrying. The possibilities of what must’ve happened are gonna haunt him long after this mission’s over.

“I hate it,” he says, and he knows you know what he means. Not knowing where you are, spending more than half the year apart with zero contact, this unease between you that doesn’t let you be honest.

You say, tired. “I know. Sam–”

Sam isn’t touching you– not yet. He’s careful so there’s no skin-to-skin contact, and you look at him with guarded eyes when he lowers your shirt back into place, standing up and towering over you.

“What?”

You breathe air out of your nose, frustrated. “You know.”

A beat. “You sure?” he says, as plainly as he can with the tension that’s grown between you pulling him forward.

“Yes.”

He hums.

“Oh. You gonna let me touch you now, then?” he asks, still under the excuse of medical purposes only. But Sam can’t help the way his voice deepens, molten like honey. His eyes trail over skin that isn’t blemished: the curve of your neck, the lines of your arms, the slope of your fingers.

You shiver under the attention, helpless to hide such a reaction to his voice. “Mmm? Honey?”

“Fuck you,” you say automatically, already opening your legs slightly for Sam to slip in between them, reaching for your jaw. You close your eyes at the touch, sighing away whatever tension remained in you.

You’re too fucking easy, despite the fight you insisted on going through before letting yourself be touched, and something in Sam’s belly tightens at the idea of it being just for him.

Sam’s hands remain on your jaw and throat as he tilts your head up for a kiss, slow and deep, lingering. It’s not long before you open up for him, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it was always meant to be there, coaxing a whine from you while you search for steadiness and settle your hands on his belt. Not pulling, not searching for more– not yet– but keeping him close.

The storm comes and goes and the files in the studio remain forgotten. Sam finally gets you on the bed and, better yet, with him in it.

He’s a little too careful, hands cupping your ribs with extreme caution after finally getting rid of your shirt for good and laying you down against the sheets. You roll your eyes fondly and grab onto his wrists to direct him where you want him.

He doesn’t complain as he takes your directions. The man will greedily take anything you give him in calloused, expert hands as he does his best to pull sounds out of you that are music to his ears.

After it’s over, you both lay in bed, naked and breathless. You find a new scar on him and trace the ragged line of skin gently with your fingertip, touch featherlight, almost nonexistent. It’s been over half a year since you last did this, but only a couple of months since he got himself injured and stitched up by Bucky in the Brazilian jungle. “This one’s new.”

It had been a quick job, good enough considering the circumstances, which is to say Sam now has an ugly, uneven scar a couple of inches above his hipbone that saved him from bleeding out on his partner.

The memory holds no gentleness, but your fingers do. The haze of his previous orgasm leaves Sam pliant under your touch, melted against the sheets and uncaring of your scrutiny. “Barnes?”

Sam makes an affirmative noise, a valid enough question since sometimes he’s admitted to doing patchwork on himself for the sake of the mission, uncaring of how bad it hurts as long as it’s quick and efficient.

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell,” he admits, feeling safe enough to do so in the cocoon you’ve built for yourselves. Sam runs a hand up and down your naked back as if trying to soothe the brunt of the memory. “Did the job, though. Got us out alive.”

At that, you lean to kiss the skin, only slipping a bit of tongue into it. Sam sighs, ignoring the prick of discomfort that’s trying to crawl up his spine and leaning towards the softer, more tender sentiment that takes over him whenever you get like this. It’s not easy for him to accept such gentleness, to let himself be cared for and lay there, unable to give something back.

He will, in a minute. But he knows you like him like this, and that alone pins him down in his place to let you work. It’d be hypocritical of him, he thinks as his hips twitch with renowned interest, to not let you fret after him when his own worry is what got you here in the first place.

After you’re satisfied, you trail the path Sam’s grown accustomed to, the very same you follow every time you sleep together after a terribly long amount of time:

The knife scar under his pec from when they were chasing after Bucky, still the Winter Solider, superficial enough not to have caused concern at the time. The mark from when he got his appendix out, thinking nothing of the stabbing aches to his belly until he was doubling over in his bed and waking up half his platoon as he retched in the bathroom.

The dot on his finger where Riley accidentally stabbed him with a pencil once, sleep deprived and with two shots of whiskey on him. The wound had healed with ease but the mark made a permanent home on his skin, barely visible unless you leaned in close enough to look for it.

The scab on his knee from falling off his bike when he was six. Sarah had screeched bloody murder until their parents came out of the house to see what all the fuss was about. The scar left behind by a bullet on his right shoulder during his second tour in Afghanistan.

The cut on his lip he got shaving for the first time is always last on your list. Sam has long stopped calling you out on it, how convenient it was that the cataloging of his scars always ended with a thorough, slow kiss to his mouth that usually bloomed into a second round.

He found that you got skittish when he did so, pulling back into yourself and laying tensely in bed for a couple more minutes before you started looking around for your clothes, called out.

Now Sam only cups your jaw, tugs a little so it opens your mouth and he can slip in his tongue and steal a taste of your sigh. He wants you like this for as long as possible; vulnerable, unguarded, desperate to touch him and be touched back. Safe enough to know that you never have to ask for something he wants to give you so willingly.

You always forget. The second you meet again, you have to start the whole dance over. Fish for excuses to meet each other in the middle, hoping for new scars to lengthen your time together.

Sam isn’t a masochist by any means, and he’s not an adrenaline junkie asshat who chases the danger just to have proof on his skin that he can take all the grievances life throws at him.

But. But–

“We’re alright,” you say against his mouth, body warm and seeking on top of his. He’s mindful of your injuries but can’t help himself, the urge to touch you overrules any other instinct he owns. It makes him weak, on the field, but happy off of it. “Aren’t we? We’re gonna be alright.”

“‘Course we are, honey,” his southern charm pops out and you’re both parts equally pleased and unamused, a funny expression on your face that has him laughing as he cups the back of your neck to bring you in for another kiss. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Nothin’, pumpkin,” you imitate his accent and Sam focuses his ministrations on your jaw and neck, trying to get you to break character. “We’re gonna be just fine, sugar plum. You’re sure lookin’ very pretty tonight, peach fuzz.”

Sam splutters out a laugh. “Peach fuzz?”

“That’s what you sound like!”

“See if I ever call you something nice ever again.”

“You can’t resist me,” you say seriously, though a smile keeps trying to break your facade. “You literally lasted five days before taking me to bed. That’s on being weak, Wilson.”

“Some might say it’s a world record for me, baby,” he says, poking at your face until you show teeth, happy and at ease in his arms. “The six months before that were a little bit of a stretch, too.”

Your mood dampens a little but Sam won’t let it, nudging his nose against yours to catch your attention again. “Hey. What did I just say? We’re gonna be alright. Five days, six months, five years, it’s nothing. They mean shit when I get to see you again.”

The mention of the Snap unguards you further. He’d been gone while you tried to keep your life together, ignoring the Sam-shaped void in your surroundings. The first time you got together after he came back had been tainted by the grief of losing three of the best people you’d ever known, and he’d done his own reconnaissance of your skin as he took in new scars, new hurts that had happened and healed while he was gone.

You smile again, but it’s softer, fonder, a tender tilt of the lips for the man you managed to find in this chaotic line of work that became your whole life.

In another five days, you’ll once more be on opposite ends of the world without any idea of when you’ll see each other again or what new marks you’ll have on your skin that describe your time apart. You haven’t even put a name to this– this relationship that both of you are still too hesitant to define as such, but that’s okay.

It’s okay. It’s more than enough. The path of scars will be there to take when you meet again, permanent proof that you’ve survived to find the way to each other over and over and over again. The map that leads to you, every goddamn time.

___

hi!!!

hope you like this one! i’ve been putting this fic on the back burner for almost a month now, but i’m so glad to finally have finished it! i hope to put out the tommy miller sequel for dial drunk next week before school starts :)

thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, etc.!

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson #anthony mackie #marvel fanfic #reader insert #captain america x reader #captain america and the winter soldier #catws #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #joaquin torres #danny ramirez #falcon x reader #leo writes #sarah wilson #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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cristinatheloser · 1 year

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One thing about me is I’m reading a fic whether or not I’ve watched the show/movie that the certain character has been in! Am I confused half of the time? Yes, but is the character and plot line immaculate?Yes

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tom-holland-parker · 2 years

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Heat on High - Cookies

Summary: Deciding to thank Bucky for putting out the fire leads to him asking you out

Pairing: Firefighter!Bucky x Single Mom!reader

Word Count: 853

Masterlist /Series Masterlist/ Previous Part

Two days passed before you had the chance to see bucky. He’d been busy with work so you decided to properly thank him for putting out the fire by delivering homemade cookies. The garage doors to the fire station were open but you hesitated to enter, unsure if you were allowed.

“Can I help you?” You turned toward the unfamiliar voice, the man was tall and stared at you with a smile. Your eyes glanced at his shirt, noticing the firehouse logo on it, “I’m looking for Bucky Barnes”

A look of realization spread across his face as his smile widened, “Are you Y/N?”

You nodded which only made him happier, “My name is Sam. It’s great finally meet you, Barnes will not shut up about you”

You chuckled, “Well I hope he’s only told you good things”

He shrugged, “He should be inside, Follow me”

You trailed behind him not wanting to get lost. Sam kept small talk with you, telling you about the different rooms that you passed and asking you about your day. “There he is” He pointed to where Bucky sat playing cards with the others, “Barnes you’ve got a visitor”

Bucky looked confused but when he saw you his eyes softened, “Y/N is everything okay?” He stood up for his seat, throwing his cards on the table before walking towards you, “what are you doing here?”

“Um” You handed him the container in your hands, “I thought I should properly thank you for putting out that fire so I made you cookies” You watched as the men behind him looked at you then at each other, all trying to hide the smirk on their face, “I would’ve waited until you got home it’s just you’ve been so busy and I’ve been running around with lily and-”

“Thank you” Bucky smiled, setting the cookies on the table. It took all but three seconds for the other firefighters to starting grabbing them and eating, “while you’re here I actually have something for you”

He grabbed your hand, gently leading you further into the building, “We usually give these to the kids but I think you’ll find them useful too” He stopped just outside the office door with the name plate, Lieutenant Barnes. You tried to hide a smile, “this better not be what I think it is”

Bucky laughed as he opened the door. The office was small, a simple desk in the corner and a bed on the opposite side with two duffle bags with clothes folded neatly on it. There were few pictures on the walls but for the most part it was neat and plain. He quickly grabs paper off his desk and hands it to you, “It’s a fire safety pamphlet”

“I’m never making you cookies again” You smiled, nudging his shoulder, “in fact I should take back those cookies”

“Good luck with that, Im sure Sam and Torres have eaten them all”

You grinned and glanced at the clock, “Shit I have to go pick up lily”

Bucky’s smile dropped, sad to see you leaving even though he knows he’ll see you at home, “Let me walk you out” The walk back to the exit was quick, you smiled and waved goodbye to Sam before turning to Bucky, “Well I guess I’ll see you at home”

“My shift doesn’t end till 3am but I’m sure I’ll see you when you leave in the morning” He wanted to kick himself. Why couldn’t he just ask you out like a normal person?

“Okay then” You smiled and started to walk away. Bucky sighed silently screaming at himself to chase after you.

“Are you serious? You’ve been talking our ears off about this girl for weeks and you didn’t even ask her out.” Sam slapped Bucky’s back, “She obviously likes you and if you don’t do it I will”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Shut up Sam, I’m working on it”

“Ya know you could invite her to the opening of the new firefighter museum” Torres spoke, chewing down on another cookie, “We have to go anyway might as well make it a date”

Sam smiled, grabbing Bucky’s phone, “that’s a perfect idea”

“Sam stop it” Bucky moved to take the phone back but it was too late he had already called your number. “Hello? Bucky?” You voice came through the speaker, he could hear Lily giggling in the background

“Hey Doll” Bucky said, trying not to sound awkward, “I’m I was just thinking maybe if you weren’t busy next weekend you’d want to maybe”

“Just do it” Sam whispered giving him a thumbs up

“Be my date to a museum opening” Bucky wanted to slap himself in the face, this was going terrible

You smiled, “Yeah I’d love to, just send me information”

Bucky let out a breath of relief, “Great, it’s a date then, see ya soon”

He hung up quickly, looking over at Sam and Torres who stared at him with stupid smiles. Bucky rolled his eyes as he grabbed the container of cookies “wipe the smirks off your faces and get back to work”

TAGLIST:

@wildxwidow @nelly-belly @marvelgurl @inas-thing @hehehehannahthings @prancerrparkerr @abiseifried @randomwriter1021 @hunnybunimdun @raajali3 @liltimmyst @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @enchantedbarnes

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tom-whore-dleston · 1 year

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MCU Characters Masterlist

*Updated Dec 23, 2023*

☞ Xu Shangqi/Shang-Chi

☞ Loki Laufeyson

☞ Thor Odinson

☞ Marc Spector

☞ Sam Wilson

☞ Xu Wenwu

☞ Frank Castle

☞ Matt Murdock

☞ Peter Parker (TASM)

☞ Kate Bishop

☞ Layla El Faouly

☞ Joaquin Torres

☞ Adam Warlock

☞ Bucky Barnes

☞ Steven Grant

#shang chi x reader #shangqi x reader #marc spector x reader #sam wilson x reader #wenwu x reader #frank castle x reader #matt murdock x reader #peter parker x reader #kate bishop x reader #thor odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #layla el faouly x reader #joaquin torres x reader #adam warlock x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steven grant x reader

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happypopcornprincess · 2 years

Note

hey babe, I'll make this oneshot request to you cause I know you can make this wait better than I'm sending you ❤️

Joaquín has a crush in reader and Sam always teasing him about it till one day he kinda get over Joaquín not doing anything and while they both walk pass reader in a hall Sam goes like "hey, Joaquín has a crush on you" Joaquín brushes and says "hola cómo estás" waving reader answers "mejor ahora que te veo" and it goes however you like from now on lol

@onlyhereforthefics ... I could not thank you enough for this request I have tried to make it a cute fluff with a hint of angst that Joaquin and the reader deserves! plus, Sam Wilson is the best matchmaker, who are we lying?!??! hope you like it :)

Hola cómo estás

Pairings - Joaquín Torres x Avenger!Reader (Ft. Wingman Sam Wilson)

Premise - When Sam Wilson gets tired of watching Joaquin dance around his feelings for Y/N, he steps in, saving the day.

Avengers Compound

Sam took a deep breath as he looked over at the scene.

Her hair fell on her face for the second time. As she wrote the report, she tucked her hair behind her ear, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and her notes and pens lay strewn across the table. And Joaquin stood in the hallway, gazing at her.

It has been four months of longing gazes, crashing into walls of the friend zone (that was virtually nonexistent at this point), sleepless nights, and hand-holding between you and Joaquin. And neither of you did anything about it.

Sam was getting frustrated. Because inevitably he was caught between the two of you.

"What are you doing?" he asks as he approaches him. Joaquin looks towards him and stands straight, “nothing, just… on my way to the lab.”

“The lab, what for?" he asked, knowing full well he was lying. “Uh… to meet… Yelena,” he said, brow furrowing because he himself couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You want to meet Yelena. In the lab,” Sam asks with a straight face. “Yes.” “Just admit you were staring at Y/N” “No.”

“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” her voice traveled through the room as both of them turned towards her.

She was looking at the pair from her seat with a smile on her face. Joaquin couldn’t help but smile himself. Her smile was the most infectious thing ever, no one could escape it.

“Just catching up,” Sam places his arm around Joaquin’s shoulders, “talking about how we haven’t had a Movie Night since that dog movie.”

She and Joaquin both groan remembering the team’s reaction after watching “A Dog’s Purpose”. Everyone was bawling their eyes out by the end and Tony had put a ban on Movie Nights since then.

“Yeah that was a disaster," she grimaced. “Tell you what,” she playfully slaps Joaquin’s arm, “I was on my way to Tony’s lab, so I’ll convince him for a movie night if and only if we watch Clueless.” “What-” "Clueless." She stared at Sam, who was about to protest. “Okay. Fine.” he huffs out. “C’mon Sammy, I know you secretly love it.” she laughed and returned to collect her things.

Sam looks toward Joaquin to see him giving her the same dreamy look as before. He just knew the slap on Joaquin's shoulder by her was not as playful as it seemed.

And that was his final straw.

As she walked through the hallways towards the elevator, he shouted, “oh, and Y/N,” She turned, “yeah?”

“Joaquin has a crush on you.” He smiles and goes away.

Joaquin broke out of his trance hearing what he just said, “What?” He turned to look at Sam but he was already absent. “No, what?” he let out a nervous laugh looking at her and then behind him, "no, I- I don’t” “You don’t like me?” she says. “No, No I do. Everyone likes you. I- Sam-” he gives up and laces his fingers through his hair. She smiled at her shoes, desperately trying to hide a smile.

"Hola Y/N cómo estás" he shyly smirks. <hi Y/N how are you?>

"mejor ahora que te veo" she says, smirking at him mischievously. <better now that I see you>

That startled him. “Wh- what?”

"I'll save you a seat during the movie, okay?" she bites her lip mischievously and goes inside the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, he punched the air and laughed.

Looking over, Sam smiles at the scene, glad he won't be subjected to all the puppy love anymore.

He didn't know it was going to get worse once Y/N and Joaquin started dating.

---/---/---//---/---/---

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Any and all requests, headcanons, and drabble requests about this AU is mostly welcome. Love y'all, Take Care!

Requests are open! Feel free to request anything.

Tag List:

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @thefandomqueenuno @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @hoennsficrecs @samwilson-mylove @xbuchananbarnes-deactivated @jenniweaslee @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty @ladiesluver

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demonpoxballad · 2 years

Text

Wedding Night

Pairing: Sam Wilson x fem!Reader

Word count: ~1k

Summary: Sam is Best Man, you're Maid of Honour... exciting times ensue :)

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, fluff, implied smut, 18+ only! Sam and reader are both intellectual sluts and I love them for it

Masterlist

Hello! First time writing Sam on his own and it's been so fun, enjoy <3

“Are we going to have sex, then?”

Sam quirks an eyebrow. “Do you want to?”

The bartender walks nonchalantly away. You consider that they have far superior restraint concerning eavesdropping than yourself. You would be ducking underneath the bar for some juicy gossip if you were in their shoes.

But you wouldn’t have asked that scandalous question under any normal circumstances, let’s be clear. It was the cosmos, of course.

And the heat. And the Maid of Honour stress. And the despicably sexy Best Man.

Definitely, determinedly, absolutely not your fault at all.

You sigh, offer up a lopsided smile. Fiddle with the bar mat resting beneath your fingertips. The bride and groom are swaying absentmindedly in the centre of the room. One more dance, Carmen had said. I need to get her home, Joaquín had said. Soon they’ll be gone, and the floor will be open for you to strut any kind of tango you wish.

“I’m trying to decide whether you’d think me easy and then struggle to respect me for the remainder of time or not.”

You say this, and a fanciful applause echoes inside your ears. YEAHHHH, the crowds roar, SHE’S DONE IT AGAIN. It was a droll line, perhaps one of your best. And you’re calm, composed. Like a duck, or swan: graceful and poised at first glance, frantically flapping beneath the surface.

You see Sam gearing up for his reply. This conversation reads like a tennis match. Tense gasps, whiplashed necks. Perhaps any enthusiastic grunting will commence before you even make it to a hotel room.

“Nah, don’t worry.” He’s smirking. This better be good. “I’m a man that respects female pleasure. Reveres it, even.”

Your reaction is casual, professional. Raised eyebrows, tilted head, but from a short distance you could be talking about the thrills of aggressive eBay auctions. Or stocks.

“How very progressive,” you reply.

“I try.” The music fades, and you turn to watch the newlyweds exit the building. Carmen only waves – you’ll talk tomorrow, clearly there’s more pressing business you both have to be getting on with. Your attention is diffused for a moment; Sam hasn’t completely caught it like he might have dreamed, and he notices. The smirk falls, he tries to turn things around: “Too much, maybe?”

“Hm.” Your eyes still wander around the room, enjoying this game you have devised. Out the corner of your eye you see him shake his head, scoffing. You’ve got him hook-line-and-sinker, and he knows it. “You could afford to chill out a little.”

“Duly noted.”

You meet his eyes. They’re so pretty, luminous. “It might make you seem more sincere; you see. At the moment I feel like you’re just placating me.”

You want this; you deserve this. You’ve spent the day holding Carmen’s surprisingly heavy train – over damp mud and grass, the wedding aisle, the bathroom as she peed three times every hour. And it’s practically the Maid of Honour’s duty to get off with the Best Man, isn’t it? Especially if he’s single and literally Captain Sexy himself. You imagine he could always do with some stress relief as well, being the incredibly righteous and upstanding gentleman you frequently watch bossing speeches on TV.

This is a win-win situation. You’re thoroughly convinced.

Sam takes a small step back. “We don’t actually have to--”

“Come on, then.” You hold out your hand for him to take, grabbing your martini glass in the other and leading him towards the hotel foyer.

“Don’t you want to bring your drink?” you ask. His beer is left behind on the bar.

“I was thinking I’d go onto red . . .”

“God, you’re so hot.”

He laughs, rubs your thumb with his own. He’s that intoxicating concoction of nerves, excitement and complete self-assuredness that has your breaths catching and falling, your ankles wobbling in your heels. Inside the elevator, you bend to slip them off.

When you straighten again, Sam is closer, his hands rising to hold your face. Your mouth falls open, you might be . . . panting?

“I don’t want to be that guy,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be that guy that you sleep with once and only ever see online, or every once in a while at events like this." He grimaces. "I don’t want it to be awkward, you know?”

“Okay,” you say.

“Can we go on a date tomorrow? Dinner, or just lunch? Hell: breakfast!”

You giggle. “Okay.”

He finally presses his lips to yours. “I like you,” between kisses.

“Mmph,” you protest. “You don’t even know me.”

“I do.” He’s insistent, the elevator doors open and you’re immediately dragged through. “I know you a little bit.”

Blindly along the corridor a little way and tumbling onto a hotel bed, Sam is heavy on top of you. He tries to relieve some of the pressure, propping himself up on his elbows, sliding off to the side of you, but you resist, tugging him down with your hands, locking him in with your legs.

The friction is heavenly and he struggles to find his words amongst your lips. “And soon I’m gonna know what you look like naked, and when you come, and what your favourite breakfast food is.” He tugs your dress up impatiently, knowing exactly where to find the zip, and ever so quickly there’s goosebumps crawling all over your skin.

A choked: “Shit,” as the lace cups of your bra are pulled down.

You have to get his shirt off now. You’re being too rough, really, yanking his neck with the tie, stretching the buttonholes. You promise yourself you’ll calm down in a second, but you need to see him.

“I know that you’re smart, and funny,” he carries on. “And you make me feel like an idiot.”

You’re running your hands over his chest and it’s even better than you imagined, god, he’s so soft and full. His abs tighten as you touch him and he’s grinding into you now, you’re both ready, this needs to happen.

“We’re gonna talk on our date, and I swear, y/n, I’m going to know you. If you’ll let me.”

“Fuck,” you whisper. You weren’t prepared for this. This level of intimacy. He’s got you now, no doubt, and you’re letting yourself fall.

“I want to know you too.”

Tags: @writing-for-marvel @mayasreadingnook @hallecarey1

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x fem!reader #sam wilson smut #sam wilson fluff #joaquin torres #falcon #the falcon

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redwingstan · 1 year

Text

requesting rules!

What I Do:

-sfw - angst or fluff

-Headcannons (I LOVE DOING THESE)

-Requests that include a prompt/no prompt

-fem or gn reader

What I don't do:

-nsfw/smut

-extreme gore, suicide, verbal/physical assault, incest, etc

-character x character, character x oc, character x sibling!reader

Who I write for:

Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Namor, Loki, Thor, Torres, Clint Barton, Kingo

#redwingstan #sam wilson x reader #bucky x reader #namor x reader #loki x reader #joaquin torres x reader #clint barton x reader #thor x reader #muc x reader #mcu reader inserts #reader insert rules #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction

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writing-for-marvel · 7 months

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For the Stardust Reblog Challenge: Summer Edition hosted by @liraketo

These are all the fics I've read in September. Please go show all these amazing writers some much deserved love! Also please remember to read the warnings for each individual fic

🔥 - smut | 💗 - fluff I 💧- angst | 😈 - dark

Dividers by @saradika

Bucky Barnes

💧 Time After Time (series) by @intrepidacious

🔥😈 Devour (series) by @buckets-and-trees

💧💗🔥 Secret Door (series) by @buckyownsmylife

😈🔥 A Stranger Arrives by @witchywithwhiskey

💗 Rained Out by @mindingmyownbusiness

💧💗 Blood Sweat and Tears by @treatbuckywkisses

🔥 Dirty Little Secret by @vellicore

💗 Don’t Tell Bucky by @lives-in-midgard

💗 Hypothetically Speaking by @littleseasiren

🔥 Distracted by @sunshinebuckybarnes

💗 Screen Lesson by @vilentia

💗 Post apocalyptic Bucky by @fluffyprettykitty

💧💗🔥 Replace Me by @fandoms-writings

💗🔥 Hold Me Down by @flordeamatista

🔥 Impure Thoughts Part One | Part Two by @samodivaa

💗 Imagine calling Bucky while he’s at work by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

Steve Rogers

💗 Tall and Two Sugars by @sarahghetti

💗 The Moment He Knew by @/sunshinebuckybarnes

💧 imagine Steve’s anger when you go off book during a mission by @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

💧💗 He Comes Back by @imtryingbuck

💧💗 Handsome Stranger by @/lives-in-midgard

🔥 Can’t Wait That Long by @worksby-d

Sam Wilson

🔥 Touch Me by @galatially

💗 Contentment by @/fluffyprettykitty

💧💗 Don’t Tell My Boyfriend, It’s Not What He’s Made For by @wwilsonbarness

🔥💗 Dancing’s When I Think of You by @targaryenvampireslayer

💗 You and I Were Fireworks by @feelmyskinonyourskin

💧💗 Desperately Seeking Sam by @onceuponastory

Joaquin Torres

🔥 Inexperienced Joaquin by @/fluffyprettykitty

💗 Mixup by @blackbat05

Peter Parker

💧💗 Shaken (Not Stirred) by @cocoamoonmalfoy

Joel Miller

💗 Dancin’ in the Dark by @jobean12-blog

💗 Fall In Love by @/jobean12-blog

💗 Late Night Movie by @holacia3

💗 Date Night by @/holacia3

Multiple Characters

💧💗 Sleep Deprivation by @brandycranby [Steve Rogers, Andy Barber, Curtis Everett, Ari Levinson, Jake Jensen & Ransom Drysdale]

💧💗 Romance Tropes with Marvel Characters by @angelltheninth [Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, Tony Stark, Kate Bishop, Peter Parker]

#fic rec #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers fanfic #Sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #Sam wilson fanfic #Joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #Peter Parker #Peter Parker x reader #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic

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buckysmischief · 1 year

Text

designated spider killer - 1

Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Yelena accidentally plays matchmaker, Bucky pretends he doesn't want to live out his friends to lovers dream, and you're just trying to live your life... too bad a stalker wants to be apart of it.

Warnings: none?

AN: I'm wrapping up this story after uploading this so I promise this will actually be completed lol. I've missed writing, it's actually fun again. I'm a little rusty though, hope y'all enjoy :)

masterlist | series masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #Bucky Barnes imagine #wanda maximoff #yelena belova #sam wilson #joaquin torres #friends to lovers #idiots to lovers #reader insert #mcu fanfic #designated spider killer

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cymrucwtch-blog · 9 months

Text

Age Appropriate

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

AN: Takes place after TFTWS. Torres initiates a meet-cute for Bucky after showing Sam he's ready to be the new Falcon to his new Captain America. Bucky gets unwanted visitors who want him to lead a rouge group (Thunderbolts). Will Bucky's lady bring stability to his life or will her "average" life mean chaos?

This story is a Work in progress. Will eventually have some violence. This chapter is pure fluff.

------------------{-------------------<3----------------------------------------------------------

Joaquin Torres stands atop the abandoned factory and looks out across the green field. A bead of sweat slides down his temple as he contemplates the deep troughs in the grass. He shouldn’t be alone. He should have called someone. But if he can just get this roll right, he will be ready to show Sam his wings. Ready to prove himself as a worthy partner. The new Falcon to the new Captain America. He’s floated the idea with Sam before but he’s not sure Sam is catching on to his hints. He takes a steading breath and jumps. Flinging his wings out to makes his move. He has no idea someone is watching.

“You don’t need a partner, Sam.” Bucky says, eyes trained on Joaquin.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Loaner. He looks good so far. Who knows, maybe I do need a partner.”

“You know what I mean. He’s trying to impress you.” Bucky sighs. “He does look good. It’s not like he doesn’t have your personality, too.”

“Damn, he almost had it. There at the end. Ouch. Let’s see if he’s ok.” Sam tells Bucky. They stride across the field toward a crumpled Torres laying defeated in the grass. Barely moving, not because he’s hurt. Just regrouping his thoughts. He’s pulled from his self-deprecating thoughts by Sam’s booming voice. “You almost had it! You ok, Torres?”

“How’d you know I’d be here?! It’s not ready for you to see yet, I can do better!” Torres panics.

“I got your clues when we last spoke. Oh, that gash is goin’a need stitches. I’ll show you where you went wrong after we get that fixed up. To the hospital first.”

“No, no, it’s not hospital worthy. I got it. I also think I have a prototype of my own Redwing that I need you to look at back at my apartment. Wil you come look at it while I get this stitched up?”

The three walk quickly out of the elevator at Torres building. The boisterous sounds of Duke Ellington are floating out of the first apartment on the left. Bucky’s brows furrow and he stops for a moment. That’s a record, not a digital recording. Torres guides them to the first apartment on the right. While Joaquin and Sam are deep in discussion about all the work Joaquin has done, Bucky stays at the doorway listening. The record changes. He has so many questions.

“Torres, who lives down the hall? The one playing the records?” he asks.

“Oh, that’s Abuelita.” He offers no more explanation. But now she’s playing Bucky’s favorite record. He never bothered to get a record player or collect records since he moves around so much. Seemed frivolous to even think about with aliens and the flag smashers keeping him busy. He didn’t’ realize he missed it until they came out of the elevator today.

“This is my favorite record…” he says almost to himself, stepping into the doorway more to stare at the door, willing it to open. Joaquin smiles. Sam’s left eyebrow raises watching his friends with curiosity.

“I need to head down there, she’s great with stitches. Go ahead man, I’m sure she will loan you the record. She’s super sweet. Knits and paints in her spare time. You’ll love Abuelita. She’s about your age too.” Torres spouts off while he grabs a rag to wet down. Determined to start treating his wound before he joins Bucky. Bucky steps tentatively out into the hall. Torres’ neighbor is over 100 years old too? Bucky looks back at Sam, and Sam starts to follow but Torres grabs his arm keeping him in the doorway as Bucky presses on. A knowing smirk and quick finger pressed to his lips to quiet Sam’s protests. Sam feels like a kid again, watching his friend go to talk to a girl. But this is a grandma who knits that lives next to Torres. Why did Torres stop him. What’s with the smile? What on earth is going on!? He was too curious to question it all. He could only watch Bucky approach the door and see what unfurled.

Bucky reaches the door and knocks. Nothing happens. He knocks again, a little louder. Abuelita apparently has bad hearing seeing as the record is so loud. Nothing happens.

“Knock like you mean it, Barnes!” coaches Torres. And so, Bucky does. Bucky’s enhanced hearing picks up a small squeak of shock from Abuelita. Oh no, he scared the poor old lady. The record halts. “There ya go, man!” Bucky wonders why Torres is so excited. It’s just a record from the little old lady down the hall and Bucky’s not going to take advantage of the loan she’s about to give him. Maybe she also knows where he can get more. And a record player. He’d ask when she finally opens the door. He can hear cautious footsteps coming to the door. The locks slide free, and the door opens. Just enough that Bucky can see the most gorgeous woman in her mid-thirties to early forties he has ever seen. It quickly dons on him that Torres meant old like Bucky looks, not like Bucky is. His gaze shifts down the hall to Torres and he sets free the biggest glare he can. Abuelita is still peaking at him in shock. Who is this stranger at your door? Torres decides it’s time to help you both and screams “Abuelita!! That’s my friend. He wants to borrow that record. And I need your help, I’ll be there in…oof.” but he never finishes the sentence. After he called you, you poked your head out the door to see him. When Sam catches a good glimpse of you, he punches Torres mid-sentence for the slight to Bucky. And you. Maybe Torres does have Sam’s personality. Sam sees Bucky’s satisfied smirk as he steps back to make room for you to see Torres. What are friends for?

“Get in here, Torres! And push that rag harder, no blood on my carpet this time.” You scold. “Any friends of Torres’ are friends of mine, come in.” Torres almost runs inside, impressed with his handy work and charade. Sam and Bucky close behind as he introduces them.

“Abuelita, this is Sam and Bu- (Bucky glares harder this time) James.” He knows you already know who they are from previous conversations together.

“Well, Sam, did you teach him how to perfect that move or am I taking care of more stitches later?” You jab at Sam, surprised to see him since Torres told you he hadn’t called him yet. More surprised to see bleeding Torres since he told you he was taking today off. And then there was James. You knew of him from the Smithsonian. And Torres had mentioned him and his infamous parachute-less jump. Torres was already in the bathroom getting the first aid kit. “Buh-James, let’s get you that record.” You smiled. Bucky wants you to do it again. And again. And aga-wait, what did you say to him? He silently followed you into your apartment and toward the record player.

“I’ll teach him later. He almost had it. This is quite the first aid kit.” Sam interrupts. Well, Bucky feels he has interrupted. He’d prefer neither of the other men be here. He feels on display. As do you. It’s over whelming.

“Well, Torres is clumsy.” It was a deflection. Thankfully they allowed it. Sam even laughed a little. Torres scoffs and then laughs as Sam helps him treat his wound, so you don’t have to.

Sam and Torres are finished but wouldn’t interrupt for the world now. They have moved out of the bathroom and are openly staring at you and Bucky while you talk. The conversation having gone on for some time and crossed many subjects before you put the record back in the sleeve and hold it out to Bucky. “There. All set. Keep it as long as you like. It’s a favorite of mine too. Do you have a player?”

“Uh, no. I mean, I used to, but I don’t have one right now. I, uh, where do you even buy records these days? This is amazing.” He was cute when he rambled.

“There’s a specialty shop down the street. Owner had a record player the other day, it may still be there today.” You hinted.

“Maybe. Maybe you could show me the place after coffee tomorrow?” He asked. Sam and Torres smile. They are finished but wouldn’t interrupt for the world now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Great. It’s a date.”

#bucky/reader #bucky x reader #joaquin torres #sam wilson #james bucky barnes #fluff

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