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