Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bucky Barnes

Song: “Something bad is 'bout to happen to me I don't know what, but I feel it coming Might be so sad, might leave my nose running I just hope she don't wanna leave me” Dark Red-Steve Lacy

Major:Literature

Minor:Photographary

Sexuality:Bisexual

Bucky’s a sweet talker when it comes to adults, but with his classmates he’s a certified menace. The bad boy of campus, he wears the labels—player, fuckboy—like a leather jacket, and people still can’t get enough. Maybe it’s the danger, maybe it’s the ridiculous hair, or maybe it’s the way his drumming makes you wonder what else those hands can do. Girls and boys alike eat it up. Childhood best friends with golden boy Steve Rogers, Bucky’s the drummer for Stars and Stripes, the band he and Steve started back in high school with Natasha Romanoff. Now in his second year of college, he’s just trying to get through classes… and maybe break a few more hearts along the way.

Sam Wilson

Song: “You should stop focusing all of that negative blocking the positive Trying to find, you're my blindspot, it's fine n*ggas Ruin me every single time” Crybaby-SZA

Major:Medicine

Minor:Psychology

Sexuality:Gay, Trans

Sam Wilson is the sweetest guy on campus—Student Council President, star football tackler, and the owner of the most angelic body in his dance class(Second to Nat and his sister). It’s no wonder everyone calls him Sunshine Sam; his smile and warmth can light up any room. Loyal to a fault, he leads with his heart but isn’t afraid to think things through—or to call you out when you’re being ridiculous. Still, he’ll be the first to defend you when it counts. With a personality like his, Sam is easily one of the most wanted people at school, but he’s very much a look-don’t-touch kind of guy. After two relationships left him worse for wear, he keeps his heart guarded and only lets people in when he’s sure they’re worth the risk.

Tony Stark

Song: “Don't do love, don't do friends, I'm only after success. Don't need a relationship, I'll never soften my grip” Oh No!-MARINA

Major:Engineering

Minor:Business

Sexuality:Pansexual

From the moment he was born, Tony Stark was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps and take over Stark Industries—but that doesn’t mean he can’t have fun along the way. Known for throwing the best parties on campus (and maybe even pulling more than Bucky), Tony balances his wild side with razor-sharp brilliance. His “thing” with Steve Rogers—dating? hooking up? friends with benefits?—is a mystery no one’s been able to pin down, mostly because the label changes every time someone asks. What isn’t a mystery is his friendship with Sam Wilson. Sam was the first person who wanted to know Tony for him, not his money or his father’s alumni status, and that’s why they’ve been close ever since. On top of it all, Tony’s head of the Modeling and Fashion Club, Treasurer of Student Council, and the guy to call if you want to have a truly unforgettable night at college.

Steve Rogers

Song: “Little darlin' The smile's returning to the faces, Little darlin' It seems like years since it's been here” Here comes the sun-The Beatles

Major:Art

Minor:Medicine

Sexuality:Bisexual

Quarterback of the Red Hawks, resident frat bro of the Howling Commandos, lead vocalist and guitarist, and a surprisingly talented artist—Steve Rogers is living one chaotic, golden-boy life. He’s the guy everyone calls perfect, and honestly? They’re not wrong. People have literally caught him helping old ladies cross the street. His situation with Tony Stark is… complicated, but what isn’t complicated is his loyalty to his best friends. Bucky’s like a brother, Sam’s like family, and Steve would do just about anything to make sure the people he loves are happy. Family means everything to him, and if you manage to make it into his circle, you’ve basically won the lottery: one incredible big brother and one hell of a friend. Wherever Steve goes, kindness and love aren’t far behind.

OTHER CHARACTERS!

⭐️

Joaquín Torres
Bob Reynolds
Sarah Wilson
Natasha Romanov
Misty Knight
Rhody Rhodes
Bruce Banner
Clint Barton
Riley Smith
Carol Danvers
Sharon Carter
Maria Rambeau
T’challa Udaku
Shuri Udaku
Erik Udaku
M’Baku
Thor Odison
Yelena Romanov
Kate Bishop
Peter Parker
John Walker
Wanda Maximoff
Pietro Maximoff
Vincent ‘Vision’ Jarvis
Pepper Potts
Riri Williams
Johnny Storm
Ava Starr

“I get wet at the thought of you, Being a responsible guy, treating me like your supposed to do, Tears run down my thighs”

⭐️

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⭐️

TEARS

Chapter Text

FLASHBACK

The bass thumped through the frat house speakers, Rihanna’s S&M shaking the walls while bodies pressed together in a blur of sweat and neon lights. Sam took another swig from his red Solo cup, hips swaying lazily to the beat as the burn of his third shot settled warm in his chest.

Beside him, Tony set his own drink down and leaned heavily against his shoulder, smirking like the devil.

“Think I’m gonna find Steve. I need some dick tonight. You should find someone too—Steve’s got this really cute friend.”

Sam, tipsy enough to feel the words like a dare, hummed in thought. His recent breakup with Riley still sat heavy in his chest, but maybe Tony had a point. Some distraction—preferably in the form of a hot stranger—didn’t sound half bad. Steve did have good-looking friends.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” Sam replied, flashing Tony a lazy grin.

Tony’s eyes lit up, tipsy and conspiratorial. “Bitch, you are literally my soulmate. Honestly, we should just fuck each other tonight.”

Sam barked out a laugh, shoving him lightly, and together they slipped through the crowd, on the hunt for Steve and whoever this mysterious friend might be.

“Drunk yet, Buckaroo?” Steve’s voice was thick with laughter as he draped himself over Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky, slouched against a couch with glassy eyes, let out a low hum. He’d downed enough beer to be buzzed and at least three weed brownies for good measure. He hadn’t wanted to come—he could’ve been back in his dorm, calling up one of his many reliable hookups—but Steve had insisted. “End-of-summer blowout,” he’d said. “Pretty girls, pretty guys. Live a little.”

“Yup. Definitely drunk,” Bucky answered with a smirk. “You?”

Steve, half-leaning on him, nodded with a dopey grin. “Oh yeah. Damn—those girls are shaking hard as hell.”

“Stevie, baby~” a sing-song voice chimed from behind the couch.

Steve perked up immediately, grinning wide when he spotted Tony. “TonTon!” He reached for him, tugging him down into his lap. Tony giggled and straddled him without hesitation, while Sam drifted closer, perching casually on the arm of the couch.

“Oh, hi Bambi!” Steve greeted with the same sunbeam smile, making Sam chuckle.

“Hey, Stevie. Who’s your friend?” Sam asked smoothly, already turning up the charm. He could feel it—eyes on him, sharp and heavy.

Bucky.

Bucky’s gaze swept over him in a slow, deliberate line. Baggy jeans that still couldn’t hide thick thighs and an ass made for holding. A waist just begging to be grabbed. A face so soft it hurt, deer-like eyes catching the dim light, a tiny scar under one, lips plush and parted in an easy smile that revealed the most unfairly endearing gap.

Sam was beautiful. Dangerous. And Bucky was already gone.

Before Steve could even make introductions, Bucky was on his feet, closing the distance. He took Sam’s hand, his rough palm dwarfing Sam’s softer one, and lifted it to his lips.

“James. But everyone calls me Bucky.”

Sam bit his lip, giggling as Bucky’s mouth brushed his knuckles. The sound was light, sweet—and Bucky swore an angel had just gotten its wings.

“What’s your name, pretty thing?”

“Sam,” he said, voice warm as honey. “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“Never heard my name sound so pretty before,” Bucky murmured, grinning wide when Sam giggled again.

The moment fractured when Tony groaned loudly from Steve’s lap, though his smile didn’t fade as Steve’s mouth traced along his neck.

“I’m so ready to get the fuck outta here. These frat bros do not know how to party.”

“Watch your mouth,” Steve teased, pinching his side. “But yeah, this shit blows. One more drink, then we bounce.”

“Me too!” Tony chimed, tugging Steve toward the kitchen.

And just like that, they were gone. Leaving Sam and Bucky standing there, eyeing each other like gravity itself had shifted.

“We should probably follow them,” Sam said, standing unsteadily. His hand instinctively found Bucky’s shoulder for balance, and Bucky’s arm slipped around his waist to steady him. Sam leaned into it without thinking, his smile hazy. “Another drink sounds really good right about now.”

Bucky’s head dipped, his nose brushing against Sam’s throat as he caught the faint citrus scent of his cologne. “Mmm… you wanna come back to my room, dollface?” His voice was low, gravel wrapped in velvet.

Sam’s breath caught. He bit his lip, eyes lifting to meet Bucky’s with something a lot hungrier than hesitation. “Yeah,” he whispered, nodding.

Bucky smirked and didn’t waste another second. His mouth claimed Sam’s, lips warm and insistent. Sam melted into it, arms wrapping tight around Bucky’s neck to pull him closer, his own mouth eager and sweet.

Bucky’s hands slid down, gripping Sam’s ass through the denim, pulling him flush against him. “You’re perfect, doll,” he muttered against Sam’s lips before slipping his tongue past them, stealing a soft moan.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Sam murmured back, making Bucky chuckle against his mouth.

Then Bucky’s tongue stud caught on his neck, drawing another shiver, another gasp. Sam tugged at his leather jacket, pressing tighter, desperate. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

“Gladly,” Bucky growled, and before Sam could react, he was tossed over Bucky’s shoulder, laughing breathlessly as Bucky carried him off.

They collected Steve and Tony on the way out, and the rest of the night dissolved into heat and blur: a few more drinks, laughter, and sex that was messy, unfiltered, unforgettable. Even drunk, even high, they’d remember the way it felt—the bite of lips, the drag of hands, the marks they left on each other’s skin.

The night Sunshine Sam met Bad Boy Bucky, and neither of them would ever be the same.

Sam woke with a groan, blinking blearily at sheets he didn’t recognize. His body ached in places he hadn’t realized could ache, thighs screaming in protest as he sat up. “Jesus…” he muttered, head pounding from last night’s liquor.

The ache wasn’t the only thing he noticed. His skin—everywhere—was littered with hickeys and teeth marks, each one a glaring reminder of exactly what he’d been doing instead of behaving like a responsible human being.

He glanced toward the lump of blankets beside him. “God, Sam… who’d you sleep with this time?” he whispered under his breath, tugging the sheet tighter around his waist.

The lump shifted. An arm stretched, searching in sleep for the warmth Sam had abandoned. And then the body rolled over, face emerging from the pillow.

Sam froze.

His stomach dropped, then flipped violently. He hadn’t even recognized him last night.

Because last year, he’d been James. James Barnes: quiet, nerdy, glasses perched on his nose, clean-cut hair, talented behind the drums but otherwise unremarkable.

Now? Now he was Bucky. Leather jackets. Shaggy hair falling into ice-blue eyes. Piercings Sam could still feel against his skin if he let himself think about it too long.

“Oh, hell no,” Sam whispered, staring as Bucky blinked awake.

The drummer’s lashes fluttered, his gaze sharpening as he registered Sam sitting there in nothing but a sheet. And then—recognition. His eyes went wide. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Exactly,” Sam groaned, scrambling to his feet and dragging the blanket with him. “Lemme get the hell outta here.”

“Wait—why?” Bucky sat up, navy comforter slipping down to reveal tattoos and bite marks across his chest. His smirk hadn’t surfaced yet, but Sam could see it coming.

“Because this never happened.” Sam snatched up his clothes, shoving his legs into his boxers while juggling the sheet. “You’re Steve’s best friend, and it’s better he doesn’t know. Considering he was blackout drunk, he won’t know. And that’s how we’re gonna keep it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, tilting his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Damn. I’ve had hookups before, doll, but never one that wanted to pretend I didn’t exist after. I’ve fucked a lot of Steve’s friends, actually. You’re not the only one.”

Sam paused mid-step, wrinkling his nose. “Oh my god. I fucked a manwhore.”

“Um—newsflash—you weren’t complaining last night.” Bucky’s smirk finally appeared, wicked and unrepentant. He leaned back against the headboard, mimicking Sam in a high-pitched moan. “‘Ah! Fuck me, Bucky~.’”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “You—” He flipped Bucky off with all the fury of a man deeply regretting his life choices as he yanked his jeans up.

“Fuck you,” Sam snapped.

“Oh, I did plenty of that,” Bucky shot back smoothly, catching the tossed blanket one-handed with the gleam of his metal arm. His grin sharpened. “How’d my piercing feel, by the way?”

Sam didn’t dignify that with an answer. His cheeks betrayed him anyway, flushing hot as he shoved past the door, slamming it behind him.

Bucky collapsed back onto the bed, still smirking as Alpine leapt gracefully onto the comforter. She meowed, curling into the crook of his arm, and he stroked her fur with his flesh hand.

“Hey, princess,” he murmured. His gaze drifted down, catching on the fading red marks scattered across his own chest and throat—the ones Sam had left.

The smirk softened. “Damn… that might’ve been the best lay I’ve ever had.”

There was something under the words, something heavier than cocky banter. Something that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Because Sam Wilson wasn’t just another hookup. He was something else entirely. And Bucky already wanted more.

END OF FLASHBACK

Tony Stark stood in front of his mirror, two shirts dangling from his hands like they were matters of life and death. One was a short-sleeved button-up in bright red, the other in a sunny yellow. Underneath he wore a crisp white tank, baggy jean shorts, silver chains catching the light, and sneakers waiting on the floor. All he needed now was the right top.

“Red or yellow?” he muttered to himself, frowning before spinning toward his best friend. “Sammy baby, help me out. I’m trying to make Steve jealous.”

Sam sat at Tony’s dresser, tugging off his durag and fluffing short curls into place. He’d already put his look together: yellow jersey, light-wash shorts, Timbs, white scrunched socks, and a little collection of pins clipped onto the tongues. His gold chains caught the light when he turned, brows raised in disbelief.

“Okay, first off—red. You always look good in red,” Sam said flatly.

Tony grinned, tossing the yellow shirt back into his closet.

“And second, why are you trying to make Steve jealous? I thought you two were past games and actually dating now?”

Before Tony could answer, Joaquín walked in, tossing himself onto the bed without ceremony. He wore a white graphic tee, baggy jeans, and a blue cap turned backward, curls spilling out beneath it. Rings and chains glinted as he waved a hand.

“You haven’t heard? Tony and Steve got into an argument this morning. Steve’s in the doghouse.”

Sam let out a dramatic groan, slumping back in his chair. “Oh, come on, Tony. Now I gotta deal with your boyfriend sulking.”

Tony just rolled his eyes, grabbing socks and his high-top Jordans. “What? He pissed me off.” His gaze shifted slyly toward Sam. “And speaking of boyfriends… when are you getting one?”

Sam arched an unimpressed brow. “And why exactly do I need a boyfriend?”

“Because you deserve to be spoiled. You need stress off your shoulders. And, let’s be honest, a one-way ticket to pound town.” Tony smirked, and Joaquín snapped his fingers in agreement.

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I already own a house in pound town. I’ve got three booty calls—two rich with big dicks, and the other is my best friend, whose dick isn’t half bad either. So remind me again, what do I need a boyfriend for?”

Tony and Joaquín squinted at him in perfect unison.

“Didn’t you just complain about not having a boyfriend last week?” Joaquín asked, baffled. “What changed?”

Sam’s lips twitched into a smug smirk. “Because last week I got folded like a pretzel by Prince T’Challa.” He batted his eyelashes innocently.

Tony and Joaquín gasped like they’d been personally attacked.

“Weren’t you fucking his cousin our first year?!” Joaquín blurted.

Sam grimaced. “Erik was an asshole. Haven’t touched him since first year.”

“Ohhh, those Wakandan exchange students,” Tony mused, snapping his fingers. “Yeah, T’Challa’s cute. Student council too. I don’t blame you. But—wait—what about Riley?”

Sam shrugged, smirking faintly. “Better as friends than as fuck buddies.”

The two nodded, but Tony’s expression shifted, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “What about Bucky?”

Sam froze. Heat crept up his cheeks before he spun back toward the mirror, fiddling unnecessarily with his curls.

“Wait—you fucked Steve’s friend?!” Joaquín demanded.

Sam’s denial was immediate. “No, I didn’t.”

Tony leaned against the wall, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, yes you did.”

Sam whipped around to glare at him. “You were drunk. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Mm, see, that’s the thing.” Tony’s grin widened. “Sometimes I remember things even when I’m drunk. And I specifically remember you, also drunk, sleeping with a certain half-human, half-cyborg drummer boy.” He paused for effect, tilting his head. “And the morning after? All those hickeys on your neck—and lower.”

Sam’s mouth opened, then closed, then snapped shut. The silence was deafening. Finally, he sucked his teeth, grabbed his phone, and stood. “Can we just get to this fucking party already?”

Tony and Joaquín exchanged knowing looks but let him off the hook.

“Yeah, yeah,” Joaquín said, getting to his feet. “We still gotta grab sodas for Rhodey anyway.”

With that, the three of them grabbed their things, piled into Tony’s car, and headed off toward Rhodey’s student council party—a night meant to celebrate, to party hard, and to introduce their newest member: Prince T’Challa of Wakanda.

And if Sam had a secret blush on his cheeks the entire drive, well, Tony wasn’t about to let him forget it.

!

Bucky didn’t bother knocking—he slammed Steve’s bedroom door open so hard it rattled against the wall. His face was pale, eyes wide, the very picture of panic. “Dude, I need your help.”

He stopped short when he spotted Steve curled up on his bed, body folded in on itself, phone clutched in his hands. Not panicked. Pouting.

“I need your help too,” Steve groaned, rolling onto his back. His thumbs were still scrolling as he shoved the phone in Bucky’s face. “Tony looks so hot tonight and I’m in the doghouse!”

Bucky blinked, unimpressed. “What did you do this time?”

Steve winced, eyes darting away. “You know how Sharon’s my ex?”

“Unfortunately,” Bucky muttered, already bracing himself.

“Well, me and her were catching up and I guess I got too… friendly. And now Tony’s mad.” Steve sighed dramatically, staring down at Tony’s Instagram story—a photo of him, Sam, and Joaquín at the student council party. Tony’s shirt glowed bright red under the lights, his grin sharp enough to kill. Steve sighed again, softer this time, like he could melt into the screen.

Bucky barely heard him. His attention snagged on the figure just off to the side—Sam Wilson, radiant in a yellow jersey, curls fluffed, laughing into Joaquín’s shoulder. The sight punched the breath from Bucky’s chest, dragging him right back to why he’d barged in here in the first place.

“We can talk about your marriage problems later,” Bucky cut in, voice tight. “Right now we gotta talk about your pretty friend.”

Steve frowned, confused. “...Which pretty friend? I have a lot of pretty friends.”

“Sam!” Bucky snapped.

“OHHHHH!” Steve’s face lit with sudden realization. “What about Sam?”

“Well, ever since that party, after me and him… you know—” Bucky faltered, uncharacteristically sheepish. His cheeks burned. Words tangled in his throat. He’d had plenty of hookups before, more than he cared to count. But this? This wasn’t like the others. He couldn’t shake Sam out of his head. Couldn’t stop replaying his laugh, his smile, the warmth of his body against his. “I think I might have… a crush.”

Steve gasped so loudly it echoed. He shot upright, pointing like Bucky had just confessed to murder. “Ain’t no way—DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON SAM!?”

Bucky groaned, covering his face, but the blush gave him away. “Can you blame me? Your friend was sent down from heaven. He’s—god—perfect.”

Steve’s grin spread ear to ear. He bounced on the mattress like an excited kid. Then, suddenly, his smile dimmed. He folded his arms with a dramatic huff.

“What now?” Bucky demanded.

“You might wanna get in line, dude.”

Bucky squinted. “What the hell does that mean?”

Steve sighed, resigned. “You are not the only one who wants a piece of Angel. Or Bambi. Or Pretty Boy. Or Princess Sam.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “...How many?”

“Half the school. Minimum.”

“FUCK!” Bucky dragged his hands down his face. “I am so cooked. Oh my god.”

“And word on the street?” Steve added, voice low and conspiratorial. “He’s getting pretty close with Shuri’s brother. And it’s not just because he’s been assigned as his guide.”

Bucky froze. His brain stuttered. “Wait. T’Challa? Prince T’Challa?” His voice climbed higher with each word until he was practically shouting. “I AM SO FUCKING COOKED!”

Steve shrugged, not even trying to hide his smirk. “Don’t count yourself out yet. You two already hooked up, didn’t you? That’s more than most people can say.”

Bucky flopped onto the bed like a man defeated. “You don’t think I’ve tried? I’ve inboxed him on everything—Instagram, Twitter, Snap. Nothing. He leaves me on read and then posts these stupidly cute pictures just to remind me he’s ignoring me. It’s torture.” He buried his face in the blankets. His voice was muffled but desperate. “God, he’s so pretty. Like, dream-worthy. Why doesn’t he want me?”

Steve patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Probably because you have a reputation as a fuckboy. And you know Sam—he hates those. First year, he dated Erik, remember? Guy cheated on him. Ever since, Sam doesn’t waste his time on people who don’t take him seriously. He protects his heart.”

The words sank in, heavy and true. Bucky groaned into the pillow. “Yeah, I get that. But I’m not like that anymore. It’s been months since that back-to-school party. I haven’t touched anyone since.”

Steve blinked. “Damn. Maybe you really have changed.”

“Shut up.” Bucky punched his leg, making him laugh.

Steve sat up straighter, more serious this time. “Listen. Sam likes a gentleman. Someone who spoils him, shows him he matters. If you want a chance, you have to prove you’ve changed. Show him you only have eyes for him.”

For once, Bucky didn’t argue. He nodded, quiet and earnest.

“But,” Steve added, lips quirking, “be warned—Sam’s a little shit. He’ll test you. He’ll tease you. He’ll post pictures just to drive you insane. He’s basically a brat in designer sneakers.”

Bucky blinked slowly, blush spreading to the tips of his ears. Steve burst out laughing.

“Dude, you are so whipped!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bucky shoved him hard, but Steve’s laugh was contagious. Against his will, Bucky chuckled too.

Once Steve calmed down, he slung an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and tugged him into a full-on cuddle pile. Bucky sighed but let himself sink into it.

“You got this, man,” Steve murmured. “You’ve got a small advantage anyway. Sam’s total type is a bad boy who turns into a dork around him. And that’s you, Barnes.”

Bucky pinched his side, muttering, “Yeah, whatever, bro. And you still got a chance with Tony, so don’t screw it up.”

Steve grinned into his hair. “Love ya, bro.”

Bucky huffed, but his lips twitched. “Yeah. Love you too.”

!

Bambi: Hey Stevie, I have to stay back at ballet for extra help, me, Nat, and my sister :/ You think you could bring me lunch? I already told Tony I can’t make it to the meeting today and the school was providing lunch so now I don’t have anything to eat.

Steve towel-dried his hair as his phone buzzed. The second he read the text, a mischievous idea popped into his head. His lips curled into a giddy grin.

Glazed Donut: Yuh, I got you bams :3

Bambi: Thank you, Stevie <3

Steve hearted the last message, barely resisting the urge to kick his feet like a lovesick teenager. Instead, he sprinted down the hall and slammed into Bucky’s room, still dripping wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Bucky nearly jumped off his drum throne, sticks clattering as Superstition by Stevie Wonder blared faintly from his headphones. He ripped them off, glaring. “Dude, why the fuck are you standing in my doorway naked???”

Steve practically bounced on the balls of his feet. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe because I just got you a chance to talk to Sam in person.”

Bucky froze, drumsticks forgotten, color flooding his cheeks. “What… what am I doing?” His voice came out more desperate than he intended.

“You,” Steve said with all the authority of a general, pointing straight at him, “are going to bring Sam lunch. He’s stuck in ballet all day and doesn’t have anything to eat.”

“Ballet…” Bucky repeated, dazed. The image hit him like a truck: Sam, all grace and strength, muscles flexing under tights, moving like water. His throat went dry. “Are you sure he doesn’t have a halo? Or wings?”

In his head, he could already see Sam pirouetting, ribbons of satin laces brushing his calves. Hell, Sam could probably choke him with those ballet laces and he’d thank him for it.

Steve chuckled, snapping him out of his trance. “Hehe, one of the many reasons Sam’s amazing. Now if you hurry, you can pick him up something—”

“No.” Bucky shook his head firmly, already storming past him toward the kitchen. “Not store-bought. Sam’s a foodie. I’ve seen it all over his socials—home-cooked meals are his weakness. So I’m cooking.”

Steve blinked, watching his best friend pull out spices, steak, and a bag of rice like a man on a mission. “...How many times have you stalked his socials?”

“How many times have you stalked Tony’s?” Bucky shot back without looking up.

Steve shut his mouth, sulking as Alpine padded into the kitchen. He bent to scoop her up, but the little white cat hissed and swatted his hand.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered, pulling back. “Why doesn’t your cat like me?”

Bucky smirked while defrosting the steak. “My princess is picky. She latches onto certain people. Sorry, Stevie.”

As if on cue, Bob emerged from his room, stretching. Alpine darted straight toward him, tail high, and leapt into his arms.

“Yeah, like me!” Bob cooed, kissing her head. Alpine purred like a motorboat, making Bucky scowl.

“Shit, Bob, when’d you get here? Thought you were with Joaquín.”

“He had a student council meeting.” Bob scratched Alpine’s chin as she squirmed in bliss. He glanced at the counter. “You cooking lunch?”

“For Sam,” Bucky admitted, chopping vegetables with surgical precision.

“FOR SAM?!” Bob nearly dropped the cat. “I ain’t never seen you make lunch for anyone you’ve fucked. Is Hoe Era Barnes finally over??”

Steve nodded frantically, grinning like a devil. “Our boy’s got a crush.”

Bucky’s ears went red. “Shut up.”

“Aww,” Bob teased, rocking Alpine. “Good luck, though. Sam doesn’t exactly like you, but hey, maybe you got a shot.”

“Gee, thanks,” Bucky muttered, though his lips twitched.

“Anyway,” he added quickly, “Steve, can you grab my glasses? I don’t have my contacts in.”

Steve frowned as he walked toward Bucky’s room. “You don’t wear your glasses while you drum?”

“I can play blindfolded if I wanted to,” Bucky called back, sprinkling seasoning over the meat. “Just like Bob can play bass without sight.”

Bob raised a brow. “He’s not wrong.”

Steve returned with the glasses, handing them over. The second Bucky slid them on, he shut everyone out. His entire focus tunneled onto the food—perfectly searing the steak, fluffing the rice, arranging the vegetables just so. Each step was deliberate, precise, like he was crafting a masterpiece.

Steve and Bob exchanged a glance, silently watching him fuss over presentation like his life depended on it.

Because maybe it did.

For the first time in years, James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t cooking for himself. He wasn’t cooking for Alpine, or for Steve. He was cooking for Sam Wilson—the angel who haunted his thoughts, who danced circles around his defenses, and who might just be the first person Bucky had ever truly wanted.

And god help him, he wanted Sam bad.

!

Bucky’s Converse squeaked against the polished floor as he made his way down the hall, heart racing, palms clammy despite the plastic bag and bento box he clutched like they were the last lifeline he had. His flesh hand was damp with sweat, but his metal one—cold, steady, and mercilessly dry—gripped the strap of the bag without fail. He kept glancing down at himself, double- and triple-checking his outfit like the wrong flannel could ruin everything. Grey graphic tee. Grey jeans. Red flannel with the sleeves rolled up. Black Converse. Silver rings. A few chains around his neck. Piercings still in place. Glasses instead of contacts because he’d been running late. Half his long hair tied back, loose strands brushing his face. He looked like…well, like him. Hopefully, Sam liked “him.”

“Jesus, get it together, Barnes,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his sweaty palm against his jeans before clutching the bag tighter. Inside was the bento he’d carefully crafted, plus the orange soda he knew Sam loved. Just a soda, nothing fancy—but he’d remembered, and that counted for something.

Then he reached the door. And froze.

Through the studio window, he saw Sam. Alone. Balanced on pointe with one leg stretched elegantly across the barre, posture sharp and impossibly graceful as he studied his reflection in the mirror. His outfit clung in all the right ways—a sleek black long-sleeve leotard with attached shorts, thigh-high leg warmers, pale pink flats. Every line of his body screamed discipline and beauty. To Bucky, he wasn’t just a dancer. He was something closer to divine.

The door creaked when Bucky finally pushed it open. Sam didn’t turn, just started talking, voice casual, warm.

“Finally. Took you long enough. Nat and Sarah went to get food a few minutes ago and I was gonna ask them to bring me something—” He turned mid-sentence, and when his eyes landed on Bucky, the easy rhythm broke. The warmth cooled instantly into a sharp frown.

“…You’re not Steve.”

Bucky wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Instead, he gave a stiff nod. “So I’ve been told.” His voice was awkward, low, as he shuffled into the studio.

“Where’s Steven?” Sam pressed, folding his arms across his chest. The movement made his muscles shift under the snug fabric, pecs outlined perfectly, and Bucky—being the idiot he was—stared. Too long. Long enough to notice the faint outlines of nipple piercings under the leotard. Heat surged to his ears, and he coughed to cover it, forcing his eyes elsewhere.

“He, uh—he had something to do. Couldn’t make it. You know how busy Steve gets,” Bucky lied poorly.

Sam arched a brow, unconvinced, but let it slide. His eyes flicked to the box in Bucky’s hand. “What’s in the bento? You didn’t lace it with poison so I’ll sleep with you again, right?”

The jab hit home. Bucky winced, pouting despite himself. “N-no… Just wanted to make you something.” His voice softened, shoulders hunching as if he could make himself smaller. He held the box out with his metal hand—the one that didn’t tremble—while his flesh one hid in his pocket.

Sam smirked but took it, popping the lid open. The savory smell of buttery steak and seasoned rice drifted up, joined by neatly packed orange slices and a KitKat. His expression shifted. “Oh shit… this actually smells edible.”

Bucky almost smiled at that, watching as Sam’s gaze lingered on the oranges.

“How’d you know those are my favorite fruit?” Sam asked, though the knowing glint in his eyes told Bucky he already suspected the truth.

“I—uh—Steve told me. Mentioned it or whatever,” Bucky blurted, scratching the back of his neck with his metal fingers, cheeks burning.

Sam giggled. And Bucky swore he heard angels sing. He looked at Sam like a man starved, blue eyes wide and soft all at once, drowning in something he didn’t usually let himself feel.

“And the bag?” Sam gestured, lips twitching.

Bucky blinked before remembering. He held it up, awkward and stiff. “Orange soda. Figured you’d want something to drink too.”

Sam took it, and for a split second, their fingers brushed. It was nothing. Everything. Bucky’s stomach flipped, and his hand immediately went clammy again.

“And how’d you know I liked orange soda?” Sam’s tone was teasing, but his gaze locked on Bucky’s, warm brown eyes meeting icy blue with an intensity that made Bucky’s toes curl in his shoes.

“I just… figured. You like oranges, so… orange soda too.” It came out in a rush, nervous and fumbling, and Bucky hated himself instantly for it.

Sam leaned closer, smirking like he could see straight through him. “Why’d you make this for me, Barnes? Could’ve just grabbed some fast food.”

Bucky swallowed hard. This was the moment, wasn’t it? His heart pounded in his ears, his throat dry, but he forced the words out anyway.

“Because you deserve it. You work harder than anyone here, and… you should have something that gives you strength. Something good. You deserve it.” His voice cracked at the end, but the words were honest, spilling out before he could catch them.

Sam blinked, caught off guard. For once, his teasing faltered, replaced with the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. That smile—the one with the gap, the one that made people fall fast and hard—slipped onto his face, soft and genuine.

“Well… thank you. Don’t know what motive Steve had, but still. You brought me lunch. That means something.”

Bucky nodded, throat too tight for words. He stood there too long, watching Sam like he might burn the image into his brain, before realizing how awkward he was being.

“I—uh—yeah, okay, uh, bye. If you ever… wanna talk again just, uh… hit me up. Yeah. Bye.” He rambled, stumbling backwards before practically bolting out the door.

The room felt strangely quiet without him. Sam blinked at the door, lips twitching, then let out a laugh that melted into a quiet giggle.

“…Dork,” he mumbled, shaking his head before sitting on the floor with the bento.

The door swung open again, this time revealing Natasha and Sarah with Chick-fil-A bags in hand.

“Was that Bucky we just saw?” Nat asked suspiciously.

“Stretch,” she added when Sam ignored her, and he rolled his eyes but obeyed, legs opening in a perfect split, toes pointed.

“Perfect form, Sammy!” Sarah and Nat cheered in unison.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam chuckled, smirking despite himself.

Sarah, nosy as ever, spotted the bento. “Who gave you lunch, T’Challa??”

Sam, perfectly nonchalant, said, “Bucky.”

The girls froze. Then erupted.

“WHAT?! Fuckboy Barnes?! No-feelings-attached Barnes?!” Sarah shrieked, wide-eyed.

Sam ignored them, popping a bite of steak into his mouth. The buttery flavor melted on his tongue, and a pleased groan slipped out before he could stop it. “Oh fuck… yeah, it was him.”

Nat leaned forward eagerly. “So? Was he flirty? Talking sex?”

Sam smirked around another bite, shaking his head. “Mm-mm. He was shy. Nervous. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Kind of cute, actually.”

The girls exchanged a look, shock written across their faces.

“Sam… he’s got a crush on you,” Nat said seriously. “Bucky’s never done this before.”

Sam blinked, then tilted his head, smirk sliding back onto his lips. “Huh. Nice to know.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Samuel Thomas Wilson, I know that look. Don’t you dare put that boy through hell.”

Sam’s smirk widened, wicked now. “Sarah, do you know how many girls and boys he’s probably put through hell? Let him get a taste of his own medicine.”

The girls groaned, shaking their heads in unison. They knew exactly what was coming. Bucky Barnes was about to learn what it felt like to be on the receiving end—and Sam Wilson was going to enjoy every second of it.

Out of my Leauge-Fitz and the Tantrums
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TEARS

Chapter Text

Bucky sat slouched deep into the couch, strings of his hoodie pulled tight until only half his face showed. His phone glared back at him from the coffee table, a silent brick with no new notifications. No new follows. No little blue checkmark of validation. Nothing from Sam.

He groaned dramatically, flopping onto his side as if gravity itself had betrayed him. “Absolute torture,” he muttered, shoving his phone even further away. He’d actually worked up the nerve—finally—to follow Sam on every platform he had. Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, hell, even Spotify. And what did he get? Radio silence.

Steve’s bedroom door creaked open. His roommate emerged in his usual letterman jacket and worn jeans, keys already in hand. He took one look at Bucky’s curled-up form and arched a brow.

“What’s wrong, Buckaroo?” Steve asked, already sounding resigned.

“Sam won’t follow me back,” Bucky mumbled, his voice muffled against the thick fabric of his hoodie.

“On what?”

“On everything!” Bucky sat up long enough to snatch his phone from the table and wave it like evidence in a court case. “I followed him on literally everything and he still won’t follow me back!” His voice cracked into a whine that would’ve been embarrassing if he cared at all about dignity right now.

Steve paused on his way to the fridge, frowning. “Damn. He really doesn’t like you. You’d think he would, considering you made him lunch.”

“Exactly!” Bucky flopped backward again, glaring at the ceiling. His pout somehow managed to deepen. “Why is he doing this to me?”

“Probably because you’re a fuckboy with a reputation for screwing people over.”

Bucky sat up sharply, glaring across the room. Bob Reynolds strolled out of his bedroom, Alpine perched on his shoulder like she’d been born there. The cat blinked at Bucky, unimpressed, before nuzzling against Bob’s jaw.

“Yeah, no shit,” Bucky grumbled. “But I’m not like that anymore. I mean, I made him lunch. I don’t do that for most people.”

Bob arched a brow, lips tugging into a smirk as he scratched behind Alpine’s ear. “Anyone can make him lunch.”

Bucky frowned, thrown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bob sighed, crossed the room, and sank into the couch beside him, setting Alpine in his lap. “Let me put it in terms you’ll actually get. You wouldn’t expect a girl to sleep with you just because you bought her something, right?”

Bucky hesitated. The old version of him—the one Steve still sighed about—would’ve answered yes without blinking. But he wasn’t that guy anymore. Not exactly.

“No,” he said finally, quietly.

“Exactly.” Bob gestured with one hand, casual but firm. “Anybody can make Sam lunch. You’ve gotta do more than that if you expect him to follow you back, Buck.”

Bucky blinked, staring at him. Then, a small grin tugged at his mouth. “That was… actually really good advice.”

Bob shoved him with his shoulder. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“That’s why my cat likes me better than you.”

Alpine purred loudly in Bob’s lap. Bob snorted. “Please. She knows who her brother is. She just likes me more.”

“Delusional,” Bucky muttered, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

Steve’s phone buzzed. He glanced down, read a text, and winced. “Shit. Gotta run. Me and Sam are hitting an arcade.”

Bucky’s head snapped up, jealousy spiking sharp and hot in his chest. “Just you two? Alone?”

Steve shot him a look over his shoulder, clearly offended. “I would never do that to you. Don’t even go there. Me and Sam are just friends—we had this planned weeks ago.” He grabbed his jacket, stuck his tongue out at Bucky for good measure, and headed for the door.

“Fine. Get out,” Bucky muttered, shooing him with a flick of his wrist.

Steve smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction, before disappearing out the door.

Silence settled in the living room until Bob sat up straighter, tugging a blanket down from the back of the couch. His grin was sudden and boyish. “Let’s watch Corpse Bride again.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed put. He snagged the remote and slid under the blanket, Alpine hopping to perch between them like a referee.

“Fine,” Bucky said, smirking despite himself.

!

The arcade pulsed with neon light and the constant, nostalgic hum of machines — the clack of buttons, electronic jingles, and the occasional triumphant cheer when someone won a game. The smell of popcorn and pizza grease hung in the air, faintly sweetened by the artificial scent of cotton candy.

Steve pushed open the doors, his grin widening immediately when he spotted Sam leaning casually against a pinball machine. Sam was scrolling through his phone, pretending not to notice the way half the guys in the room kept sneaking glances at him. He was dressed like he’d stepped out of a music video — a white MF DOOM t-shirt tucked loosely into light-wash baggy jeans, black Adidas with frilly white laces, and gold jewelry that shimmered under the arcade lights. A couple of delicate bangles clinked on his wrist every time he moved. Peeking out from his jeans were the edge of light-green frilly shorts that looked like they’d been sewn from a picnic blanket. The entire look screamed effortless chaos — and it worked unfairly well on him.

When Sam looked up and saw Steve, his face broke into a smile. “Finally,” he teased, pushing off the pinball machine as Steve approached.

“Bambi!” Steve grinned, scooping him up into a tight hug and spinning him once. Sam laughed, arms wrapping around his neck in return. To anyone watching, they looked like a couple — but that had never bothered either of them. Steve and Sam had always been like this: loud, tactile, a little too affectionate.

“I missed you,” Steve said into his shoulder, still rocking them side to side.

“I missed you too, Steven,” Sam replied, his giggle muffled against Steve’s chest before they finally pulled apart.

Steve took a step back, eyed Sam up and down, and whistled low. “Remind me to schedule a gym day with you, ‘cause damn—this ass, Sam?”

Sam rolled his eyes, shoving Steve playfully, but Steve wasn’t done. He caught Sam’s hand and spun him around like a proud choreographer. Sam’s laugh echoed off the pinball glass.

“Boy, bye,” Sam scoffed. “Your boyfriend would whoop your ass and make out with me just to prove a point.”

Steve barked out a laugh, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wouldn’t mind—OW!” Sam’s fist connected with his ribs.

“Thought so.” Sam grinned.

The two of them wandered deeper into the arcade, weaving between machines flashing in reds and blues until they stopped in front of a basketball game.

“Okay,” Sam said, grabbing a couple tokens and feeding them into the slot. “Loser has to win the winner a plushie from one of the claw machines.”

Steve scoffed. “I was gonna win you one anyway, but alright.” He poked Sam’s side, making him jump.

“Cocky much?” Sam hip-bumped him, eyes twinkling.

They grabbed the first basketballs, and the sound of rubber hitting metal echoed around them. For a while, the only conversation was their good-natured trash talk and the occasional thunk of a basket landing clean.

Steve broke the silence first. “So... how’s things with T’Challa?”

Sam made a shot — swish. He shrugged. “My girl Roro—you know Storm from cheer?” Steve nodded. “She said she wanted a piece of him. I’m letting her have it. She’s gonna eat him alive, but I think he’s into that, so…”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn. I thought he was gonna be your new boyfriend.”

“Nah,” Sam grinned, his voice light but smug. “You know I’ve got options.”

Steve shot another basket but didn’t reply right away. Sam noticed the pause and rolled his eyes. “Spit it out, Rogers.”

“Why won’t you follow Bucky back?” Steve asked finally, voice casual but pointed.

Sam groaned loud enough that the teens two games over turned to look. “Because why would I?”

“He made you lunch,” Steve reminded him, throwing another ball. “He clearly wants to be your friend.”

Sam side-eyed him mid-shot. “First of all, do you know how many people are begging to make me lunch? And second—friend? No. He just wants to add another notch to his roster. I’m not playing that game.”

Steve caught a rebound and looked at him. “He’s not like that anymore, Sam.”

Sam snorted. “Please. Once a fuckboy—”

“I mean it.” Steve’s tone softened. “He literally looked depressed on the couch ‘cause you didn’t follow him back. That’s new for him.”

Sam froze halfway through his next throw, then let out a laugh. “He’s depressed?” His grin turned sharp, wicked.

Steve’s mouth dropped. “You’re actually evil.”

“You know how many girls he’s probably left like that?” Sam shot back, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes,” Steve admitted, throwing his last ball. “But he hasn’t hooked up with anyone since that back-to-school party. The one where you two…” He trailed off, smirking as realization hit Sam’s face.

Sam’s next ball missed completely. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Steve shrugged. “Hasn’t kicked me or Bob out once. No one’s been over. You got under his skin.”

Sam’s brows furrowed, but the corner of his lip twitched, betraying him. For a split second, his mind flickered back to that night — the taste of bourbon, the feeling of Bucky’s hands gripping his waist, the bite marks that had taken forever to fade. He hated how the memory still made his skin warm.

“He’s probably just obsessed ‘cause I’m not obsessed with him,” Sam muttered, voice quieter now. “If we went out, it’d just be a ploy to get me back in his bed.”

Steve leaned an elbow on the machine, giving him a look that was all big-brother patience and quiet hope. “Maybe. Or maybe you just got him stuck. You don’t have to text him. Just… start slow. Follow him back. See what happens. If he asks you out, give it a chance. You might like what happens when you stop assuming the worst.”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his curls. He looked up at the scoreboard — Steve had lost by five points.

“Fine,” Sam said, lips twitching into a reluctant grin. “I’ll follow him back. Now go win me a plushie, bird-boy.”

Steve slung an arm around his shoulders as they walked toward the claw machines. “You got it, Bambi. Another ducky, right?”

Sam laughed softly, leaning into his side. “Yeah. Make sure it’s cute.”

“Always is,” Steve teased, steering him toward the row of flashing prizes.

“Whatever, glazed donut,” Sam muttered, but he was smiling.

!

The hardwood floors of the studio gleamed under the bright morning light, the faint scent of rosin and sweat hanging in the air as the soft piano music guided the dancers through their routine. Sam tried—he really did—to focus on the exercise, his body moving instinctively through the familiar positions. But his mind refused to cooperate, spinning in a loop that always ended with one person: Bucky Barnes.

He exhaled through his nose, his brow furrowing slightly as the class transitioned from pliés in first to second position. His movements were elegant, smooth—effortless even—but the sigh that escaped him made both Natasha and Sarah glance his way.

“What is it now?” Natasha asked, her tone playful but her expression curious as she kept her posture textbook-perfect.

Sam tilted his head, lips pursing. “I don’t know… Should I go on a date with Bucky?”

The words came out before he could stop them. Both girls froze mid-movement, exchanging an incredulous look before turning twin stares back at him.

“Why are y’all looking at me like that?” Sam frowned, shifting into third position.

Sarah arched an eyebrow. “Because two weeks ago, you said—and I quote—you were gonna ruin his life.”

Natasha smirked, barely suppressing a laugh. “Now suddenly you wanna go on a date with him? You’re about to wreck that boy, Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed pink anyway. “Okay, yeah, I said that—but Steve says Bucky actually wants to be my friend. Which, like, I don’t totally believe, but apparently he hasn’t slept with anyone since… you know.” His voice dipped low, and both girls paused mid–tendu, eyes widening.

Their instructor—Madame Cazaux, elegant and terrifying in equal measure—walked past them just then, adjusting Sarah’s arm with a soft, “Elbow higher, dear,” before gliding away. The three stayed silent until she was out of earshot.

Natasha lifted a brow, whispering, “So the crush theory was right. And didn’t you say he followed you on everything this morning? Maybe he just wants to take it slow, for once.”

“Yeah, that’s what Steve said too,” Sam admitted, voice softer now as they shifted into fourth position. His mind felt torn—half curious, half terrified. He wasn’t used to people like Bucky Barnes changing their tune.

Sarah gave him a knowing smile as she extended her leg into fifth. “Then give him a chance. Invite him out with us next weekend—mall trip, remember? He’s already friends with everyone. You’ll get a read on him real quick.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, weighing her words as the music swelled again. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Watching Bucky in a group setting might actually help him figure out whether this new, allegedly reformed version of him was real—or just another mask.

“Alright,” Sam finally muttered as they reset into first position, shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I’ll ask him.”

Both girls grinned, the excitement practically radiating off them. Natasha leaned over, whispering, “This is gonna be so good,” before Madame Cazaux shot her a sharp look.

Sam hid his smile, eyes forward as the piano carried them into another graceful sequence—but this time, the thought of Bucky Barnes didn’t make his stomach twist with frustration. It made it flutter.

!

The afternoon sun hung low over campus, gilding everything in warm light as students drifted between classes. Sam’s dance bag was slung lazily over his shoulder, his muscles still pleasantly sore from ballet. Natasha and Sarah had peeled off toward the dining hall, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and those thoughts, inconveniently, kept circling back to Bucky Barnes.

He rehearsed a dozen versions of what he might say. Hey, wanna hang out this weekend? Too casual. I’m inviting you to the mall because my friends said I should give you a chance. Too desperate. He was mid–internal debate when something made him stop dead in his tracks.

There—by the fountain—was Bucky, crouched in the grass with a digital camera, sunlight catching in the streaks of brown and gold in his hair. He held his phone between his shoulder and ear, speaking in a low, rhythmic language Sam couldn’t immediately place. His voice was soft, intimate in a way Sam hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah, ma… school’s great,” Bucky said, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “No, not really making much progress with the doll. He doesn’t entirely like me.”

Sam blinked, realizing suddenly what language it was—Romanian. His curiosity sharpened as Bucky adjusted a vase of sunflowers on the fountain ledge, perfecting the composition before snapping another photo. His expression softened as he spoke again, his accent thicker, warmer.

“E ca un înger, ma. Strălucește de fiecare dată când îl văd…”

Sam didn’t understand a word of it, but the tone made something twist in his chest. Whatever Bucky was saying, it wasn’t casual. It was adoring.

Unable to help himself, Sam padded closer and poked Bucky lightly on his flannel-covered shoulder.

Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around so fast his camera strap swung. “Shit, I gotta go, ma. The pretty boy I keep talking about just showed up—yeah… te iubesc, pa.” He hung up in a hurry, shoving his phone into his baggy jeans.

Sam stood there, sunlight bouncing off his gold jewelry, his grey sweatsuit perfectly fitted. His smile was blinding. “Hi,” he said, the simple word somehow knocking every thought right out of Bucky’s head.

“Uh… hi,” Bucky managed, voice cracking slightly.

Sam bit back a laugh, taking a seat on the fountain ledge. “Your mom seems great.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, still reeling. “She’s a character. Can you, uh… grab one of the flowers and pose for me?”

Sam gave him a look like he was trying to decide if he was kidding—but picked the brightest sunflower anyway. He held it gently against his chest and smiled, the picture of careless beauty. Bucky’s breath caught. His finger pressed the shutter almost automatically.

“Sunflowers are my favorite, you know,” Sam said softly, inhaling the honey-sweet scent as his eyes fluttered shut.

“So pretty,” Bucky murmured under his breath.

Sam’s lips twitched. “I heard that.”

Bucky flushed, lowering the camera with a sheepish grin.

“Anyway,” Sam said, turning toward him now, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Bucky’s heart gave an unsteady thump. He let the camera hang from his neck and sat beside Sam, replacing the flowers with himself. “Yeah?”

Sam cocked his head. “So, I heard you wanna be friends?”

Bucky nodded, fumbling for the right words. “Yeah, I just… look, truth is, I think you’re really cool, Sam. And I don’t want us to have this weird tension. I wanna actually get to know you. Not in a creepy stalker way or anything,” he added quickly, earning a laugh from Sam that made Bucky’s stomach do backflips.

“You sure about that?” Sam teased. “Because I’ve seen your little profile pop up in my story views a lot, even before you grew some balls and followed me.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand over his face. “Can you blame me? You’re hot as hell. I’m shocked your DMs haven’t crashed by now.”

Sam giggled, brushing an invisible fleck off his sleeve. Compliments were nothing new to him, but from Bucky, they hit different—something about the earnestness in his voice.

“Thank you,” he murmured, almost shyly. Then, remembering why he’d come over in the first place, he perked up. “Oh, right! My question.”

Bucky tilted his head, curious.

“Me, Steve, and Joaquín’s boyfriend are going to the mall this weekend with a few friends. Wanna come?”

Bucky blinked, utterly caught off guard. Sam Wilson is inviting me to hang out? The thought short-circuited his brain.

“You… want me to come?”

Sam smiled, that dazzling, heart-stopping smile that could probably melt steel. “Yeah. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a grin. “Yeah, sure. I’m not doing anything this weekend anyway.”

“Perfect.” Sam stood, brushing off his pants. “I’ll follow you back on Insta and send you my number so I can add you to the group chat.”

Bucky nodded eagerly, already trying not to look like a golden retriever who’d just been promised a walk.

As Sam started to leave, he paused, turning back with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Say something in Romanian to me.”

Bucky blinked. “Why?”

Sam giggled. “Come on, just one phrase. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

Bucky folded his arms. “And what do I get out of this?”

“I’ll hang out with you at the mall. Just you and me.”

That was all it took.

Bucky sighed dramatically but pushed himself up, closing the distance between them until he could feel Sam’s warmth. His fingers found Sam’s chin, gentle but sure, tilting it upward. Sam froze, eyes wide, lips parting slightly.

Bucky leaned close, his voice dropping to a whisper, accent rolling thick and smooth:
“Ești cea mai frumoasă floare pe care am văzut-o vreodată, păpușă.”

He released Sam’s chin, smiling faintly as the dancer blinked up at him, pink-cheeked and flustered.

“What did you just say?” Sam asked, breath catching.

Bucky slung his bag over his shoulder, glancing back at him with a smirk. “Ask me again on Saturday.”

And just like that, he walked away, sunlight hitting his hair like burnished gold.

Sam stood there, speechless, heart racing, the scent of sunflowers still in the air. He shook his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“This is gonna be real interesting,” he murmured, already anticipating the weekend.

!

Misty was holding up a black fishnet top to the mirror, squinting as if the right angle might make it suddenly fit her aesthetic. Sam stared at her in pure disbelief from across the store, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Misty, I think I will actually whoop your ass if you buy that top,” he warned, his tone sharp but laced with humor.

Sarah—who had been rifling through a rack of cargo pants—looked up, making the same horrified face as Sam. “Baby, no,” she said flatly. “That doesn’t even go with your 90s streetwear thing.”

Misty twisted her lips in thought, still holding the shirt against her body. “I don’t know,” she said slowly, turning side to side in the mirror. “I think I could pull it off.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Pull it off? Misty, that top looks like it belongs to a club rat in a music video from 2004.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped dramatically, hand over her heart. “We might have to break up if you buy that top.”

That made Misty’s mouth fall open in mock offense, and she hurried to put the shirt back, making Sam and Sarah burst out laughing. Misty rolled her eyes, trying not to smile as she tugged at Sarah’s sleeve.

Sam shook his head and looked down at his phone. He typed out a quick message to Bucky, asking where the hell he was—it had already been twenty minutes since he said he was on his way. Almost on cue, Sam looked up and saw him walking into the store.

Bucky Barnes had the audacity to look that good in casual clothes. Grey zip-up hoodie, baggy black jeans, a white wife beater that clung perfectly to his chest, and his usual collection of silver rings and layered necklaces. His dark hair was down, messy but deliberate, a strand falling over his face until he casually tucked it behind his ear.

Sam’s brain short-circuited for a second.

And those jeans—God. And the way the silver arm caught the light—he wondered briefly what that would feel like—

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice pulled him out of his spiral. “Steve told me you were in here.”

Sam blinked rapidly, snapping himself back to reality as Bucky stopped right in front of him. The proximity made Sam notice that, somehow, they’d matched without even trying.

Sam was in a grey cropped hoodie, light blue baggy jeans embroidered with tiny daisies on the back pockets, white Air Forces, and gold jewelry that caught the light whenever he moved. His curls framed his face perfectly, and the fitted white tank he wore underneath emphasized his slim waist in a way that made Bucky’s mouth go dry.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, forcing his brain to restart. “We’re just shopping for a bit, then gonna hit the food court. Maybe hang around after, depending on what everyone wants to do.”

Bucky nodded, eyes flickering down to the shopping bag in Sam’s hand. “What’d you get?” he asked casually, gesturing toward it.

“Oh—just some jeans and a few cute shirts.” Sam lifted the bag slightly, but before he could lower it again, Bucky’s metal arm reached out and grabbed it.

Sam blinked in confusion. “Why’d you do that?”

“I’m gonna carry this for you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I can carry it myself.”

“I know, princess,” Bucky said smoothly, smirking just enough for Sam to feel heat rush to his cheeks. “I just want to.”

Sam tried not to react but failed miserably. “Whatever…” he mumbled, turning away quickly and walking back toward Sarah and Misty, who had been watching with matching smirks.

“Princess?” Misty teased, eyes glinting.

Sam pinched her arm in warning, earning a yelp and a laugh. “Shut your asses up,” he muttered, though his lips twitched upward.

They eventually wandered into a Spencer’s, the bright neon signs casting colorful reflections over the racks of jewelry and ridiculous novelty items. Sam headed toward the piercing display while Misty immediately veered to the back of the store.

“I should get a new vibrator…” Misty muttered, half to herself.

Sam and Sarah both froze. “Misty—please,” Sarah sighed, following her girlfriend as Misty disappeared into the adult section.

That left Sam and Bucky alone.

Sam scanned the piercings, eyes catching on a star-shaped belly ring that matched his aesthetic perfectly. “How many piercings do you have again?” he asked, not looking up.

“Mostly facial,” Bucky said, brushing a thumb over a silver hoop. “Two on my right ear, the eyebrow one, and…” He stuck out his tongue, showing off the silver stud.

Sam’s gaze dropped to it involuntarily. “Right. The tongue piercing,” he murmured, biting his lip.

Bucky caught that and smirked. “What about you?”

Sam shrugged lightly, lifting his shirt just enough to show the silver star belly ring. “Just the lobes, this one, and—” he turned, lifting the hem of his hoodie again to reveal the two silver studs in his back dimples— “these.”

Bucky’s eyes lingered longer than they should’ve. The curve of Sam’s back, the soft skin, the way his waist arched so naturally—he had to look away before his thoughts went somewhere unholy. “Cute,” he said, his voice a little rougher than he meant it to be.

Sam smirked and turned back around. “Oh yeah, and nipple piercings, but I’m pretty sure you already know about those.”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Shut up, dude.”

Sam laughed, delighted at his reaction. “Misty was getting hers done, so I just went with her. Got mine after my top surgery healed.”

That quieted Bucky for a moment—not out of discomfort, but admiration. He loved that Sam talked about himself openly, about his body, his comfort, his choices. It made him realize just how much confidence Sam radiated without even trying.

They picked out a few more pieces—Bucky grabbed a new ring, Sam a dainty gold stud—and ended up jokingly buying matching beaded bracelets, each with the other’s eye color. Sam got blue beads; Bucky got brown.

When they reached the register, Sam started pulling out his wallet, but Bucky had already handed over his card.

“I can pay for my own stuff,” Sam protested softly.

Bucky just shrugged, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Someone as stupidly pretty as you deserves to be spoiled.”

Sam shoved him playfully, hiding his smile. “Fine, but I’m paying for food later.”

“Deal.”

Just then, Misty and Sarah came back, Misty carrying a suspiciously shaped box.

“Misty,” Sam said slowly, staring at it. “Why is it dual-sided?”

Misty grinned wickedly. “Hey Bucky, did Sam ever tell you about the little shoe box in his closet—left side—where he keeps all his—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Sam blurted, his face turning bright red as everyone around them burst out laughing.

Sarah wheezed with laughter as Misty tried to contain hers. Even Bucky was laughing, head tilted back, the sound so genuine that Sam found himself smiling despite his mortification.

As they walked out of the store, Bucky leaned close to Sam, his voice low. “So… do you have one like hers?”

Sam groaned, covering his face. “I’m regretting inviting you.”

Bucky chuckled, brushing his shoulder lightly against Sam’s as they followed the girls toward the food court. “No you’re not.”

Sam bit back his smile. Damn him—he was right.

!

The food court was bustling with noise and chatter when Sam and Bucky finally arrived, weaving through the crowd until they spotted their friends at a large table near the center. Tony and Steve immediately noticed them and exchanged knowing looks, wiggling their eyebrows obnoxiously. Sam ignored them completely, choosing instead to focus on Bucky beside him.

“What do you wanna eat?” Sam asked, scanning the bright neon signs of the restaurants surrounding them.

Bucky gave a casual shrug. “Whatever you wanna eat.”

Sam frowned. “I’m buying you food. You’re supposed to pick.”

Bucky smirked, brushing his hair out of his face. “I know that, doll. I just wanna see if you have taste or not.”

Sam gave him a look and swatted his arm, making Bucky chuckle under his breath. “Alright, let’s go to that chicken place then. I get it every time I come here.” He motioned for Bucky to follow, and they walked together toward the line, the smell of fried food thick in the air.

“Order whatever you think I might like,” Bucky said when they got close to the counter, his tone teasing.

Sam raised a brow but nodded. “Fine. You asked for it.”

The girl at the register looked up from her phone as they stepped forward. She was blonde, with long hair cascading over her shoulders and bright green eyes that immediately widened when she saw Bucky. Sam noticed the way she straightened her posture, her smile turning sugary sweet. He rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt.

“Hi! What can I get you?” she asked in a voice that was a little too high-pitched, clearly trying to flirt.

Sam forced a polite smile. “Yeah, can I get two chicken sandwiches—one with honey mustard, and one with…” He glanced over at Bucky, pretending to size him up. “You seem like a barbecue sauce kinda guy.”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He hated to admit it, but Sam was absolutely right.

“And two sides of crispy fries,” Sam continued smoothly, “plus drinks.”

“That’s all?” she asked, eyes flickering back toward Bucky.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Sam confirmed, reaching for his wallet—only to pause when the girl leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

“Are you dating anyone?” she asked Bucky with an almost hopeful smile.

Sam’s stomach twisted a little, expecting Bucky to flirt back. But instead, he felt an arm snake around his waist—strong, sure—and tug him close until his hip brushed against Bucky’s.

“Nah,” Bucky said easily, looking the girl straight in the eyes. “I’m here with my boyfriend, actually.”

Sam blinked, utterly thrown off.

The girl’s face immediately fell, her sweet expression curdling into something sharp and jealous as she gave Sam a once-over. “Oh. Well, if you get bored, you know where to find me.”

Bucky shook his head, unbothered. “Don’t think I’ll ever get bored of him,” he said casually, glancing down at Sam with a small grin. “He’s too pretty to leave alone.”

Sam nearly choked trying not to laugh, both at the flustered cashier and at how confident Bucky sounded saying that.

“That’ll be fifteen dollars,” the girl muttered flatly.

Sam quickly handed her the cash, still stifling his laughter as they walked toward the soda machine.

Grabbing one of the cups from Bucky, Sam started filling it with orange soda, the ice crackling as it hit the cup. “Why didn’t you take her up on her offer?” he asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

Bucky smirked. “I’m here with you, doll. Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

His voice was quiet but certain, and Sam’s chest fluttered. He didn’t know what to do with that kind of attention. No one had ever said something like that to him—not in that tone.

By the time their number was called, Sam’s face was still warm. They picked up their trays and made their way to the table, sliding into the seats across from each other. Around them, the group was in their usual chaos—Tony and Misty deep in some ridiculous debate about machinery while Joaquín fanned the flames, clearly enjoying the argument.

Sam unwrapped his sandwich and caught Bucky watching him. “What?” he asked with a grin.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Take the first bite. I wanna see if your taste lives up to the hype.”

Sam laughed. “Nah, you first. I wanna see your eyes get all wide when you realize how good it is.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if it’s bad, you have to give your number to that guy who’s been staring at you for the last five minutes.” He pointed discreetly toward a tall, broad-shouldered guy with an afro sitting a few tables away, his gaze fixed openly on Sam.

Sam looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Alright,” he said. “But if it’s good, you gotta make him jealous.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened into something darker. “Deal, doll.”

He took a slow bite of the sandwich, and the moment the flavor hit, his eyes fluttered closed. A low groan escaped him before he could stop it. “Holy shit,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “That’s—fuck, that’s really good.”

Sam grinned, proud of himself. “Told you I’ve got taste.”

Bucky nodded, licking sauce off his thumb, his eyes locking onto Sam’s. “Yeah, you do.”

Before Sam could react, Bucky stood up, muttering, “Lemme make this guy jealous real quick…”

Sam blinked as Bucky walked around the table, slipped his arm under Sam’s thighs, and lifted him effortlessly—one-handed, using the metal arm—before sitting back down in Sam’s seat with Sam perched neatly on his lap.

The table went silent for a beat, and Sam’s brain completely blanked.

“Bucky—what the hell are you—”

Bucky dipped his head, his breath warm against Sam’s neck. “Is he looking?” he murmured, his nose brushing Sam’s skin. The scent of orange soda and something citrusy filled the space between them, and Sam had to fight to keep his breath steady.

“Yeah,” Sam said softly, his voice almost catching as he glanced toward the guy, who now looked mildly furious. “He looked—and then looked away.”

Bucky smirked against Sam’s neck, his lips brushing skin just enough to make Sam shiver before pulling back, eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “Good.”

Sam stood up quickly, his heart pounding as he tried to hide his flushed face. Bucky just scooted his chair closer, still smirking like the devil himself.

They started eating again, the tension still thick between them. After a few bites, Bucky cleared his throat. “Hey, uh… would you maybe wanna come to me and Steve’s concert next week? Tony’s gonna be there, too, but, like—you could bring anyone you want, if you want…”

“Okay.”

Bucky blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling so bright it made Bucky’s chest ache.

Bucky laughed softly, a little bashful for once. “Cool. Yeah. Cool.”

Sam giggled, shaking his head at how adorably awkward he was being. And in that moment, with the laughter, the soda fizzing between them, and Bucky’s heart pounding just a little too fast, they both knew this wasn’t just playful anymore—this was trouble. The best kind of trouble.

Something About you-Eyedress ft.Dent May
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TEARS

Chapter Text

Sam burst into Tony’s room like a whirlwind, panic already written all over his face. “Tony, what do you even wear to a concert?” he asked, his voice laced with exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe. He’d been spiraling all morning—through breakfast, through class, even during ballet—trying to figure out what to wear to see Bucky Barnes play live. And now, standing in Tony Stark’s room in plaid pajama pants and his silk bonnet, Sam was officially one meltdown away from a fashion emergency.

Tony, seated at his vanity and halfway through styling his hair, didn’t even look up at first. He was already dressed to kill: a deep wine-red leather jacket that caught the light every time he moved, black low-waist jeans with delicate bows stitched onto the back pockets, a crisp white tee tucked just right, and scuffed black boots that somehow looked intentional. Silver jewelry glinted at his wrists and throat, and the faint scent of cherry chapstick lingered as he swiped it on. When he finally turned toward Sam, one perfectly arched brow rose.

“You can wear whatever,” Tony said, casual and nonchalant, even as his reflection smirked back at him. “It’s a grungy cover band. Lead with that.”

Sam frowned, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I know that, but I’m not showing up in sweatpants, Tony. Help me out here.”

Tony finally turned in his chair, eyeing Sam from head to toe, and sighed dramatically before standing. “We’ve been to Steve’s concerts before. What’s so different about this one?” he asked, dragging Sam toward his closet.

Sam plopped down on his bed, groaning. “I don’t know—it just feels different, okay?”

Tony froze mid-step, a wicked grin forming on his face. “Oh my God,” he said slowly, eyes lighting up. “Are you trying to dress for Bucky?”

Sam immediately sat up, eyes wide, his dark skin hiding the flush that spread across his cheeks. “What? No! Shut up, Tony,” he protested, flopping back dramatically onto the bed. “It’s not like that.”

Tony crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced. “So then why is it different?”

Sam mumbled into the comforter, “Because I’m not just going to see Steve or Natasha play.”

Tony gasped like a gossiping auntie at brunch. “Aha! You are dressing for Bucky!”

Sam groaned, covering his face with a pillow. “Okay, maybe I am. Sue me,” he admitted, his lips curling into a small, helpless smile.

“I knew it,” Tony said with a triumphant grin. “You should’ve seen your face at the mall. Sitting on his lap, all giggly at the arcade while he’s winning you that ugly deer plushie—”

“It’s not ugly,” Sam muttered, glaring at the plushie sitting proudly on his dresser.

Tony rifled through Sam’s closet, pulling out clothes with purpose. “Let’s see… cropped white tee? Yes. These baggy jeans—absolutely. You’re giving effortless thirst trap.”

“I don’t have a crush on him, Tony,” Sam insisted weakly, sitting up.

Tony smirked without turning around. “Didn’t he bring you lunch at the student council meeting yesterday?”

Sam pouted. “I forgot to grab food, so I asked him to pick something up, like a friend.”

“Right, and did your ‘friend’ also bring homemade chocolate chip cookies? You still have some in the fridge, don’t you?” Tony shot him a look over his shoulder, clearly enjoying every second.

“They were good cookies,” Sam muttered.

Tony held up a pair of white lace boxers with a gasp. “Oh, my God. Since when do you own these slutty little lace numbers?”

Sam blinked, then shrugged. “A month ago, maybe? Haven’t worn them much.”

“Well, you are tonight,” Tony said, tossing them onto the bed with finality. “Get dressed, honey.”

Sam sighed but didn’t argue. He grabbed the outfit—a cropped white tee, the lace boxers, loose jeans, and the attitude Tony had clearly baked into the look—and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he came back out, Tony whistled low. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

The jeans hung perfectly off his hips, the crop top showing just enough skin to tease, and the lace waistband peeked out in a way that made even Tony bite back a grin. Tony immediately started accessorizing him like a human mannequin—gold bangles stacked on Sam’s wrists, a layered cross and chain necklace, gold studs glinting in his ears.

“Shoes,” Tony said, handing over a pair of Timbs with flair.

Sam laced them up, catching his reflection in the full-length mirror. His smile crept in slowly. “Okay… I look good.”

“You look incredible,” Tony corrected, though his expression shifted. Something was missing. He tapped his chin, then darted back to the closet.

Sam tilted his head. “What now?”

Tony came back holding a blue flannel. “It was missing something.”

He tied it loosely around Sam’s waist, making sure the lace still showed.

“Why blue?” Sam asked, looking down at the color.

Tony smirked knowingly. “It’s Bucky’s color. Stage lights hit it, it’s gonna pop.”

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to hide the way that made his stomach flip. “Whatever, dude.”

“Oh, we’re not done.” Tony produced a blue durag like it was a crown.

Sam tied it over his curls and turned back to the mirror, letting a confident smirk spread across his face. “Okay, this is cute.”

Tony’s grin widened. “You’re welcome. I’m the head of the fashion club for a reason. Now—mirror selfie. You’re too fine not to show off.”

Sam laughed, moving beside him. They posed effortlessly—Tony’s flash catching the gleam of their jewelry and their shared smirks.

Tony posted the photo to his story with no caption, just a sparkle emoji.

“Let’s go,” Tony said, grabbing his car keys. “Two very hot men are waiting to be impressed.”

Sam grabbed his phone and his keys, taking one last look at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips.

If Bucky wasn’t already looking his way before tonight, he sure as hell would be after.

!

The gym was already pulsing with energy when Sam and Tony walked in, the familiar scent of sweat and smoke machines. It was the same gym Steve’s band always played in—a place the school opened up on weekends for campus bands trying to get their start. Normally, Sam didn’t pay much attention when Steve performed. But tonight wasn’t normal.

They handed their tickets to the person checking them at the door, only to find Clint Barton standing there in a faded staff hoodie with a clipboard in hand.

“Oh, shit—Clint?” Sam blinked in surprise.

Clint grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Hey, you two! Steve and Bucky were very insistent that you guys stand front row tonight.” He smirked at Sam, voice dropping teasingly. “But that’s normal for Tony, so just follow him. How are you, princess?”

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m good. How’s your situationship with Nat?”

Clint mock-frowned, placing a hand over his chest. “Just fine. How’s yours with Bucky?”

Sam’s jaw dropped, and Tony immediately broke into loud laughter. “Oh my God, you two are insufferable,” Sam groaned, smacking Clint’s arm before following Tony through the crowd.

Tony, still snickering, found his usual spot—third row, just close enough to see everything but far enough to not get beer spilled on him. “They usually play like three songs, so we won’t be here forever,” he murmured, already pulling out his phone to check the lighting.

Sam nodded, though his heart was beating too fast for him to focus on anything but the stage. He told himself it was just nerves, but the truth was simpler: he wanted to see Bucky. Actually see him play.

The gym lights dimmed suddenly, pulling everyone’s attention toward the stage. A fog machine hissed to life, clouding the air in shimmering smoke as colored lights flickered across the backdrop. Then, like a scene straight out of a dream, Steve walked out first.

Sam had to admit—it was a showstopper of an entrance. Steve’s yellow star bomber jacket caught the light, glittering with every movement. His white wifebeater clung to his chest, the flared jeans dusted with more sparkle at the hems. White boots, a few jewel stars under his blue eyes, and that trademark golden-boy grin completed the look.

Tony’s mouth fell open. “He gets all his style from you, you know?” Sam teased, elbowing him.

Tony giggled, biting his lip. “This is the best one yet,” he whispered, already raising his phone to take pictures of his boyfriend.

Steve slung his glitter-covered star guitar over his shoulder and leaned into the mic, beaming. “Welcome to the show!”

The crowd erupted.

“I’m sure most of y’all know who we are,” Steve shouted over the noise, “but for the new faces, lemme introduce the band!”

First up was Natasha Romanoff. The crowd screamed before Steve even finished saying her name. She strutted out in a black star bomber jacket that matched Steve’s, her black jean shorts glittering under the lights, and her legs long and lethal under fishnets. Her orange hair spilled over her shoulders, and her makeup—white star accents under sharp liner—made her look ethereal and dangerous all at once. She slung her black bass over her shoulder, winked, and blew a kiss into the sea of fans.

Clint somewhere in the crowd whooped loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Next up—our gorgeous pianist, Wanda Maximoff!”

Wanda appeared next, more reserved but no less radiant. She wore a deep red star bomber jacket over a shimmering wine-colored dress that caught the light with every move. Her stockings had tiny embroidered stars stitched down the sides, her curls pulled back into a half-up ponytail with a red star clip. When she smiled shyly at the crowd, it was impossible not to smile back.

“And last but definitely not least,” Steve announced, voice carrying over the crowd’s cheers, “the co-creator of the band—Bucky Barnes!”

The reaction was instant. The gym practically shook with screams and applause.

Sam smirked to himself, ready to roll his eyes at the commotion—until Bucky actually stepped onstage.

Everything stopped.

His brown hair wasn’t tied back tonight; it hung loose and slightly wavy, framing his face in a way that made him look devastating. He wore a navy bomber jacket, black tank top, and ripped jeans that sat low on his hips, his boots hitting the stage with heavy confidence. Small black stars were drawn under the corners of his eyes, and a few silver rings and bracelets glinted under the lights.

He took his place behind the drum set, spinning his sticks effortlessly before giving the crowd a wink—that wink—and that familiar smirk that sent Sam’s pulse into overdrive.

Tony noticed immediately. He bumped Sam’s shoulder with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Sam muttered, though his voice came out quieter than he meant. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Steve let the crowd quiet before raising his mic again. “We are Stars and Stripes! Who’s ready to hear us play!?”

The crowd went wild. Tony screamed first, and Sam—buzzing with the electricity in the room—found himself joining in.

The first drumbeat hit, followed by Natasha’s deep bassline and Wanda’s glittering keys. Steve shouted something into the mic, but the roar of the opening chords drowned it out. They were playing “Government Hooker” by Lady Gaga, and the audience lost it.

Sam’s jaw dropped when Bucky started singing the backing vocals, his voice deep and smooth, resonating through the speakers like velvet dipped in sin.

Sam turned to Tony, half shouting over the music. “When did his voice get that deep?”

Tony didn’t even look up from recording. “Always been,” he said with a grin. “That getting you wet, ain’t it?”

Sam yelped, smacking his arm hard enough to make him laugh.

The set continued—song after song, each one better than the last. The band had that kind of synergy that only came from hours of practice and genuine chemistry. Steve commanded the crowd, Natasha radiated cool confidence, Wanda’s playing tied everything together, and Bucky…

Bucky was something else entirely.

Sam couldn’t look away. The way Bucky’s arms flexed as he played, the focus in his expression, the quiet intensity behind those blue eyes—it was magnetic. And when Bucky finally glanced up, his gaze locked with Sam’s.

It wasn’t just a glance. It was lingering. Intimate.

By the time they played “Cigarettes Out the Window” by TV Girl—with Bucky on lead vocals—Sam was completely undone. His voice was softer now, smoky, and when he sang the last line, his eyes never left Sam’s.

And then—just before the lights dimmed—Bucky smiled. A small, shy smile that melted something inside of Sam he didn’t even know was frozen.

Tony and Steve exchanged knowing glances onstage, but neither said a word.

As the show wrapped and the band took their bows, the crowd screamed for an encore. Steve promised they’d be back soon, and then they disappeared backstage.

Tony grabbed Sam’s arm, tugging him toward the back of the stage with a grin. “Soooo,” he teased, dragging the word out, “how’d you like it?”

Sam tried—he really did—to look unimpressed. “It was good or whateva…” he said, shrugging.

But his faint blush, the dreamy look still softening his features, gave him away completely.

Because the truth was—good didn’t even begin to cover it.

It was electric.

It was Bucky.

!

Backstage was loud and warm, the air buzzing with post-show adrenaline and laughter. Steve still looked flushed from the stage lights, his hair slightly damp as Tony practically threw himself into his arms.

“You were amazing, my love!” Tony gushed, peppering Steve’s face with kisses between every word.

Steve giggled and wrapped his arms around Tony, squeezing him close. “Thanks, babe!” he said, his voice bright and breathless, that signature all-American grin lighting up his face. Tony just hummed happily and kissed him again, completely enamored.

Sam watched the two of them with a smirk, leaning against one of the backstage crates as he secretly raised his phone to snap a picture. “Who’s even the top in this relationship…?” he muttered under his breath, the teasing tone slipping out before he could stop himself.

“They switch.”

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned and found Bucky standing right next to him, smirking as he sipped from a bottle of water like he’d been there the whole time.

“Jesus, don’t do that,” Sam muttered, hand pressed over his chest, though a laugh escaped anyway.

Bucky chuckled, eyes gleaming. “Sorry,” he teased before turning towards Sam. “Hey.” He simply said with a smoothness to it.

Sam huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he turned toward Bucky fully. “Hey, you look great, by the way.” His voice softened a little as his fingers reached out to fix the collar of Bucky’s navy jacket, just to mess with him.

Bucky smirked, that slow and dangerous grin he was famous for. “I look great? Dude, you look great.” His gaze trailed down Sam’s body with deliberate slowness, from the way the cropped shirt hugged his waist to how his jeans sat on his hips. It was a look that felt halfway between admiration and undressing, and Sam didn’t mind one bit.

“Thank Tony,” Sam said casually, though his heart rate had picked up just a little. “He really knows how to dress people.”

“Oh, I know,” Bucky said, stepping back just enough to look him over properly. “But I don’t think Tony picked how well it fits you. Spin for me, doll.”

Sam shot him a look but complied anyway, giving him a playful spin. Bucky let out a low whistle, clearly not subtle about where his eyes lingered.

“You look good in everything,” he said easily, his grin widening. “Also, you’re wearing my color.”

Sam rolled his eyes even as his lips curved into a smirk. “Yeah, Tony made me wear it—but I do look nice in blue, so.”

Bucky nodded approvingly, his eyes glinting under the soft yellow backstage lights. “You really do,” he murmured, the words just quiet enough to make Sam’s stomach twist. Then Bucky cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous habit Sam was starting to find kind of cute. “Uh, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s up?”

“The band usually goes out after shows—to a bar or a diner or something.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but the hopeful flicker in his eyes gave him away. “You wanna come? Tony usually does, so you wouldn’t be third-wheeling or anything.”

For a second, Bucky looked almost hesitant—like he was expecting Sam to say no. But the way Sam’s gap-toothed grin broke across his face told him everything he needed to know.

“Yeah,” Sam said, voice warm and teasing. “I’ll go.”

The change in Bucky’s expression was immediate. His whole face lit up, eyes going wide before softening with something giddy. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d swear Bucky was fighting the urge to wag an invisible tail.

“Oh, shit, really? Uh, yeah, cool. Cool.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck again, smiling so wide it reached his eyes.

Sam laughed softly, watching him try—and fail—to play it cool. “You’re adorable, Bucky,” he teased, his tone fond and sincere all at once.

Bucky looked like he was about to combust. His blue eyes flickered over Sam’s face, lingering for just a heartbeat too long on his lips. The temptation to kiss him was painfully strong.

Before either of them could say anything else, Tony’s voice rang out from across the room. “We’re going to a gay bar! I’m bored and I wanna see drag queens!”

Steve’s eyes lit up immediately. “Yes! I’ll invite Bob and Joaquín—they’d definitely want to go!” he said, already pulling out his phone.

A moment later, Natasha and Clint appeared, looking smug and disheveled. Sam’s eyes zeroed in on the two fresh hickeys along Natasha’s neck, and his grin turned wicked.

“You wanna expl—”

“I will tell Bucky what you’ve been saying about him in the group chat,” Natasha interrupted smoothly.

Sam’s mouth snapped shut. “...Noted.”

“Thought so,” she said with a knowing smirk before turning to Tony. “Already invited Sarah and Misty, plus Bruce and Thor. Vision and Wanda said they’ve got a study date, so they’re out.”

“Welp, let’s head out!” Tony cheered, looping his arm through Steve’s as the group started making their way toward the doors.

Sam and Bucky hung back a little, watching the others go before glancing at each other.

Sam tilted his head, smirking. “We going or what?”

Bucky’s lips curved into a slow grin as he slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders, his voice dropping low. “Hell yeah.”

The sound of his voice sent a little spark through Sam’s chest, warmth curling low in his stomach.

And as they followed the rest of their friends out into the night, the faint smell of smoke and sweat still clinging to their clothes, Sam had the distinct feeling that this was just the start of something very dangerous.

And maybe—just maybe—something he didn’t want to stop.

!

The rest of the night was fun—like, real, soul-deep fun. The kind Sam hadn’t had in a long, long time.

The club lights pulsed pink and blue over their group as the drag queens strutted across the stage, sequins glittering like fireworks. Tony was waving a twenty in the air, Steve was blushing beside him, and Natasha was screaming lyrics at the top of her lungs. Bucky had a drink in one hand and his other arm slung over Sam’s shoulders, the two of them laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

They drank, they danced, they cheered for the queens, and even ended up on stage at one point—Sam shaking his hips to a remix of “Toxic” while a six-foot-tall queen in thigh-high boots hyped him up. The crowd went wild.

It felt electric.

For once, it wasn’t about responsibility or image—no student council appearances, no football team obligations, no ballet rehearsals. Just him. Just Sam Wilson, being twenty-something and alive and surrounded by people who loved him.

And maybe most of all, it was Bucky.

Bucky with his laugh that carried over the music. Bucky with his head thrown back and his shirt slightly unbuttoned from dancing too hard. Bucky who felt vibrant, like a spark that refused to go out. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun just existing next to someone.

By the time the night wound down, the group had split off—Tony stumbling home with Steve, Natasha and Clint arm-in-arm, Joaquín and Bob disappearing together with matching grins. That left Sam and Bucky, both still a little buzzed, walking back through the quiet campus streets under flickering streetlights.

They sipped water from their bottles, the cool air sobering them bit by bit as their laughter faded into an easy hum of conversation.

“I mean,” Bucky said between chuckles, “I didn’t know you could move like that.”

Sam grinned, side-eyeing him. “Move like what?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t play innocent. You know what I mean. That little routine you did on stage—”

Sam burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you were watching me!”

“Watching?” Bucky laughed too, eyes sparkling. “You were the main event, Wilson. The way your jeans were moving—”

“Pervert!” Sam interrupted, shoving him lightly with his shoulder.

Bucky held up his hands, feigning innocence, though the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Hey, have you seen your own ass? You can’t blame a guy for looking.”

Sam laughed again, shaking his head as they walked, their steps falling in sync. “Whatever, dude.”

They reached Sam’s dorm sooner than either of them wanted. The hallway was dim and quiet, the distant bass of the club still echoing faintly in their ears. Sam dug around for his keys, leaning against the door as Bucky lingered a step away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Well,” Sam said finally, twirling his keys between his fingers. “This is me. Got the place to myself tonight since my friends are all out trying to get some dick.”

Bucky snorted. “More like their men have no self-control.”

Sam’s grin turned sly as his eyes flicked over Bucky’s face. “Do you?”

The air shifted instantly.

Bucky looked down at him, eyes darker now, the faintest edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Depends on the person,” he said lowly, voice just above a whisper.

Sam’s breath hitched. The way Bucky said it—soft, dangerous, almost promising—made something in his chest flutter. His gaze lingered on Bucky’s mouth before he caught himself, biting his lip to hide the smile tugging at the corners.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, Buck,” Sam said softly, his tone losing its playfulness. “Really.”

Before Bucky could respond, Sam leaned in and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek.

It was fleeting—barely a second—but it was enough. Enough to send a jolt straight through Bucky’s chest. The warmth of Sam’s lips lingered on his skin long after he’d pulled back.

Bucky blinked, caught completely off guard, but before he could say anything—before he could even breathe—Sam had already turned, unlocked his door, and slipped inside with a little wave over his shoulder. The door clicked shut.

For a moment, Bucky just stood there, stunned and a little dazed, staring at the closed door like it might open again. His cheek still burned where Sam had kissed him.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Way too far gone.”

He started walking back down the hall, smiling to himself despite the ache in his chest. Because now he knew. He wanted Sam. He wanted his laugh, his light, his warmth.

And from this night onward, he wasn’t just going to want him—he was going to earn his place beside him.

As his friend first.

And maybe, if the universe was kind, as something more.

Novacane-Frank Ocean
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TEARS