#samwilsonxreader

The new Captain America. Polished. Poised. Impossible to ignore.

You haven’t spoken in years. Not since before the shield. Not since your company—the one that takes in reformed assassins, mercenaries, anyone clawing toward redemption—started showing up at the same tables as government liaison teams.

You’re not supposed to mix. Not really. Sam deals in symbols; you deal in scars. The tension isn’t personal—at least, that’s what you’ve told yourself every time his name crossed your desk.

But now he’s here. Same space. Same music. Same ache.

You catch him looking. Just once. A flicker. Like a nerve being touched.

Your throat tightens.

I come up hard, baby, but now I’m fine I’m checkin’ trouble, sugar, movin’ down the line.

His gaze flickers again—subtle but electric, like a spark across dry grass. Neither of you moves closer—too much unsaid, too much ground lost, too many battles fought inside your own heads.

The room spins quietly around you, but the space between you feels like a war zone.

You look away, eyes drifting down to your glass. The bitter scent of cheap wine curls up to meet your nose—sharp and unforgiving. The liquid slides past your lips, cool and hollow, pooling deep in the pit of your stomach like a slow, aching weight you’ve carried too long.

You lift the glass again, pretending the burn distracts from the tight knot coiling in your chest. Around you, laughter bubbles and conversations hum, but all you hear is the quiet pull of that familiar tension—like a thread stretched taut between you and Sam, ready to snap or pull you closer.

You look up again, hoping to catch the subtle smirk he always had plastered on his face or maybe, just maybe, the playful glint in his dark brown eyes. Instead, you meet the wall he stood in front of just minutes ago.

Panic doesn’t bloom—not quite—but something close settles just beneath your skin, sharp and searching.

You scan the crowd slow and deliberate, refusing to look like you’re looking. He’s too big to disappear, too steady to slip through cracks. Somehow, he always knew how to move when you least expected him.

There’s only three things that’s for sho’… The lyrics haunt you now, threading through your thoughts like smoke. Taxes, death... and trouble.

And Sam Wilson? He was all three at once.

“Lookin’ for someone?” Sam’s voice cuts through the haze as he appears in your vision. The distance—once large and escapable—is now a memory.

Now he’s close. Close enough to feel—the heat radiating off him like tension in a too-warm room, thick and heavy. Like standing at the edge of something and knowing it’s about to give.

You almost smile.

Almost.

“Sam Wilson,” you say finally, feeling the wine settle in your veins. “Last person I expected to see.”

Sam Wilson, in a suit that fits like a tailored dare, hands in his pockets like he’s got all the time in the world. His eyes don’t flicker or dance—no, they hold. They see. It’s not polite observation. It’s history, memory, ache. He watches you like he remembers everything—how you sounded, how you left, how you never quite looked back.

Sam hums low, the sound curling in his throat like a secret. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “I could say the same.”

He doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t need to.

It’s there in the way he shifts his weight—subtle but solid—like he’s trying to figure out if you’re still the same person who left that hotel room at 3 AM with nothing but a nod and a locked jaw.

“I didn’t think you still came to these,” he adds. Casual. Too casual.

You lift a brow, lips curving just slightly at the edges. “Well, potential clients,” you say, eyeing him slowly—up, down, and up again. “Old friends.”

Sam tilts his head, that crooked almost-smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. “So,” he says, voice low and threaded with something just shy of teasing, “you out here recruiting? Looking for new clients… or old trouble?”

You take your time with the sip this time. Let the wine settle on your tongue. Let the pause stretch long enough to feel deliberate. Then you lower the glass, eyes cutting toward him with a glint he knows too well.

“Both,” you say simply. “There’s a new Avengers lineup forming. You know how it is—everyone wants in before the press release drops. Not to mention, you got your own team.”

Sam raises a brow, hands still tucked in his pockets. “You trying to build your own team now?”

“I’m helping the people no one else will touch,” you reply, letting the edge slip into your voice. “You’ve got your clean-cut recruits. Hawkgirl, Captain Marvel, She-Hulk. Meanwhile, I’ve got three ex-Widows, a former Ten Rings operative, and a guy who used to rob banks in a ski mask and now teaches mindfulness.”

That gets a real smile from him, brief but bright. “Think you can rival the New Avengers?”

You shrug. “I'm not forming a team for them. I'm preparing yours.”

The smile falters. Just slightly. His jaw tightens—not in annoyance, but something closer to realization. You don’t flinch or soften it. Let the weight of your words settle between you—real, sharp, and too heavy to ignore.

Sam straightens a little, the light in his eyes shifting. Serious now. “That’s not your style,” he says quietly. “You don’t build things for other people.”

You tilt your head, the corner of your mouth curving. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m building second chances. What you do with them is up to you.”

For a beat, neither of you speak.

“You know how often I have to deal with the fallout of your making, Sam Wilson? Some new villain-of-the-week wants your head on their mantle. That shield of yours tossed in the corner of their room like trash,” you lick your lips, remembering, “that is until I reform them. Now, they want to be your right-hand man.”

Sam’s gaze doesn’t break, but his jaw tics. Once. Twice. Like he’s biting something back. Maybe pride. Maybe guilt. Maybe the same thing that’s been thrumming between you since the second you locked eyes in this damn ballroom.

The music dips into a hush before the next swell, and in that quiet pocket, your words hang there—half accusation, half offering.

He doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you like he’s remembering every argument you two ever had. Every time you pressed him to look at the world differently. Every time he wanted to grab your wrist and pull you back before you walked away.

And maybe—just maybe—every time he didn’t.

Sam leans in close. “I still remember the way you had my shield thrown in the corner of the room. Your clothes with it.”

Your lips part, just slightly, but no words come. Because you remember too. The weight of the shield against the hotel floor. The scrape of your zipper. The sound of your breath catching. His hands everywhere. The ache of something you shouldn’t have wanted so badly.

“You think I forgot?” he murmurs. “You think I didn’t notice the way you left it there? Like all of it—me, the shield—meant the same damn thing.”

You swallow hard. The wine on your tongue turns sour. You look away—but only for a second. He doesn’t let you drift far.

“I didn’t forget,” he says, softer now. “And don’t act like you did.”

And just like that, Trouble Man hits its chorus again. Loud. Heavy. Meant to be felt.

“I’ll remind you,” Sam says, voice thick with heat and certainty, low enough to settle under your skin. He leans in, eyes never leaving yours. “Just say the words, baby.”

Then he pulls back—slow, smooth, unfazed.

And walks away.

No glance over his shoulder. No lingering hesitation. Just long strides and all the pride in the world like he didn’t just set your entire bloodstream on fire and leave you standing in the ruins.

You watch his back disappear into the crowd, jaw tight, heart thudding like a war drum in your chest. The wine in your glass trembles.

And Marvin sings on, the orchestra bleeding into the ache:

I come up hard, baby, but now I’m cool...

It took you exactly 19 minutes and 13 seconds to find him.

Not that you were counting.

Not that you watched the clock tick past every painfully slow second while you made small talk with some diplomat’s assistant who smelled like expensive cologne and colonialism.

Not that you replayed his voice in your head—the low, just say the words, baby looping over and over like it was stitched into the beat of your pulse.

But still—19 minutes and 13 seconds. That’s how long it took. A new record.

By the time he spotted you, you were already leaving a breadcrumb trail behind you: a napkin with your lipstick, a perfume scent, or a broken heart. Whichever it was, Sam didn’t fall for it. He knew the song and dance. Knew where to go, and where the two of you were headed.

The door creaked softly behind him, the sound swallowed by the hush of the room. Neutral walls, dim lighting—some nondescript office buried in the east wing of the building. Empty, quiet, untouched.

Except for you.

You were perched on the edge of a sleek desk like you owned it. One heel dangling from your fingers, the other kicked off to the side. Legs crossed, dress pulled just high enough to be a problem.

Sam stood in the doorway, unmoving. Watching. Waiting. You finally lifted your gaze, slow and deliberate, as if you’d been expecting him all night.

Because you had. His expression didn’t change—just the clench of his jaw, the slow drag of his eyes down your frame and back up again, like he was counting sins.

Then, without a word, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock was louder than it should be. Final. Familiar.

“I wasn’t sure you’d follow,” you murmured, tossing your heel gently to the floor with a soft thud.

Sam’s voice was low, rough, full of something he’d been swallowing since the moment he saw you. “I would follow you to Hell if it meant I’d have you forever.”

He took a step closer. Then another. And just like that—you weren’t avoiding anything anymore.

You smirked, your voice velvet and loaded. “You talk a lot for a man who hasn’t earned the right yet.”

Sam didn’t rise to the bait. He just stepped closer, eyes dark, calm—hungry. Then, wordlessly, he sank to his knees in front of you, steady hands dragging the hem of your dress up with reverence and intent.

One of your legs lifted, draped over his shoulder like instinct, your heel dangling from your toes. The air was thick, the low hum of Trouble Man bleeding through the walls like a promise. You threaded your fingers through his close-cropped hair, nails gently scraping his scalp as you tugged his gaze upward.

“Go on, Captain,” you murmured. “Show me what all that discipline’s good for.”

His breath ghosted over your skin—warm, controlled, reverent—and then his mouth found you.

You gasped, head tipping back as your spine curved into the glass behind you. His lips latched onto your folds with the kind of hunger that made you forget how to stand, how to breathe. His tongue licked long, deliberate strokes before circling your clit, sucking it into his mouth like he needed it.

“Sam…” you breathed, the name slipping out like a prayer laced with sin.

He didn’t stop. Just moaned against you, the sound vibrating deep where you needed him most. He looked up as he licked, watching your body tremble, your eyes flutter, your jaw go slack.

You held him there, hands tangled in his hair, grinding into his face as he pushed two fingers inside you—slow, then deep. Curling. Stroking. Finding that spot like he’d never forgotten it.

And he hadn’t.

Your thighs began to tremble, your body arching toward the edge of something that had nothing to do with control. He took it all—your cries, your slick, the way your hips bucked into him as you shattered.

He stayed with you through it, lips wrapped tight around your clit as your orgasm ripped through you in waves.

The aftershocks made your vision blur, but you could feel him kissing the inside of your thighs, slow and soft, beard rough enough to leave a memory behind.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was standing again, towering over you, his lips swollen and glistening, that smug smile written all over his beautiful face.

“Done bossin’ me around?” he asked, voice rough with lust. “Or you want me to keep proving my worth?”

You reached for him, breathless and ruined, smile lazy and satisfied.

“Shut up,” you whispered, pulling him between your legs. “And remind me why I shouldn’t leave you again.”

His grip on your hip tightened, anchoring you to the edge of the desk. The cool wood pressed against the backs of your thighs as he lined himself up, breath ragged against your shoulder. Sam’s other hand slid up your waist—slow, deliberate—his thumb brushing the soft dip beneath your ribs.

Then he pushed in—slow, thick, all-consuming.

You gasped, head falling back with a sharp cry as he bottomed out, the stretch dizzying, overwhelming. The music outside—the quartet’s rendition of Trouble Man—poured through the office walls, rich and thunderous, masking the sound of your moan like it was part of the score.

Sam groaned low in his throat, sliding nearly all the way out before snapping his hips forward, slamming back into you with punishing precision.

“Fuck, Sam—!” you choked out, hands flying to brace yourself against the desk. He gripped your hips and drove into you again, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room like percussion.

“Whose is it?” he growled, leaning over you, the heat of his chest against your back. His pace didn’t falter.

Your spine arched, your head thrown back with a ragged cry. “Yours!” you yelped, voice cracking as he hit the same deep spot again, again, again. Your slick coated him, the sound of it filthy and unashamed.

He chuckled darkly, proud and breathless, and pulled out just enough to slam forward harder—his upward stroke punching a scream straight from your lungs.

“Shit—Sam, oh my fuck—” you babbled, hands scrambling across the desk, trying to push back against the pace, but it was useless. He was relentless. Glorious. Ruining you, just like he promised.

His hand cracked down on your ass, the sting sweet and shocking. You gasped, the force of it sending you straight into the edge of another climax.

“Don’t run,” he said, voice gravel and heat. “Take it.”

And you did—crying out as your hips jolted forward, your orgasm crashing down like a tidal wave. You clenched around him, legs shaking, barely holding yourself up as your body trembled beneath the weight of it.

But Sam didn’t stop. His grip dragged you back, slamming your hips flush against his cock with a groan torn from deep in his chest.

“Keep still,” he growled through gritted teeth, thrusts turning brutal, wild.

This was the man you craved every night with a hand between your legs.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—all you could do was feel. Feel the wet slap of your bodies, the stretch, the slick, the way your pussy hugged him tight, soaked and desperate.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty with your mouth open like that,” he murmured, watching your face twist in bliss, watching you fall apart for him. Over and over.

His other hand found your clit, fingers rubbing fast, messy circles in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck—fuck—Sam—!” you sobbed, body convulsing as the tension inside you snapped again, the second orgasm ripping through you like fire in your bloodstream.

You gushed around him, trembling, ruined.

Sam hissed between his teeth, hips stuttering. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” His name was the only thing you could say, over and over, a prayer and a curse, lips parted, vision hazy.

Your cheek pressed to the cool desk, breath fogging the surface with every broken moan. Your nails scratched helplessly at the wood, searching for something to hold onto—because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. Sam had you. Fully. Unforgivingly.

“Fuck, Sam,” you whimpered, voice strained and wrecked.

Sweat dripped from Sam’s temple, landing hot on your back. One of his hands left your hip to thread into your hair, tugging your head up just enough so he could hear every sound you made, every filthy little sob.

“You miss this?” he asked, voice like gravel and thunder. “Miss the way I fuck you stupid?”

You choked on a laugh, but it dissolved into a gasp when he slammed into you again, so deep it punched the air from your lungs.

“Say it,” he growled, thrusts brutal, timed with every pulse of your clit beneath his fingers. “Say it, baby.”

“I—” you breathed, blinking through stars. “I missed it. Missed you.”

He growled your name, low and guttural, right against your neck, before his mouth found your skin—biting, kissing, claiming. You arched into him, feeling the heat build again, unbearable and addictive. The rhythm of your bodies grew faster, messier, louder.

You screamed his name again as the final orgasm crashed over you, harder than the last, your whole body tightening before unraveling completely. You clenched around him, milking every last stroke until he finally groaned, long and deep, spilling into you with a final snap of his hips.

You were still pulsing around him, still trembling as he leaned down and kissed you—desperate and slow, all tongue and teeth and want.

You moaned into his mouth, your fingers slipping into the curls at the back of his neck, holding him there like if you let go, you’d come undone all over again.

Eventually, he eased out with a slow groan, and you whimpered at the empty slide, his release and yours dripping down your thighs. He caught it with his fingers, rubbing it lazily across your swollen folds before pressing one last kiss to the inside of your knee.

His release, hot and thick, mingled with yours and slid down the insides of your thighs in a slow, filthy trail.

Sam watched it for a beat, then brought his fingers down to catch it—rubbing it back into your sensitive folds with the same reverence he once used to touch your cheek.

You twitched beneath him, still overstimulated, still clinging to every last wave.

He leaned down and pressed a final kiss to the inside of your knee—soft, lingering, like it was a vow only you were meant to hear. Then another kiss, higher this time. A path. A question.

He rested his forehead against your leg, catching his breath.

Outside, the music swelled again—strings rising, Marvin’s voice melting through the walls like heat. There’s only three things that’s for sure... taxes, death, and trouble.

"That's it babydoll." Nick groaned, the two of you finishing together. You collapsed against his firm chest for a moment, before James carefully helped you off of him, carrying you to the bathroom. 

Sam had already filled a bathtub with warm water, a lilac and honey syrup in the bottom, making the bubbles have an almost silvery-yellow look if that were possible. There were small candles of jasmine littering the bathtub edges and corners. 

You smiled at Sam, tucking your head into James warmth more. James chuckled before lowering you into the water. You sighed in content as you felt the silky water and honey syrup wash over your skin. Sam climbed into the bath with you, grabbing the green loofa that was on the hook attached to the wall. 

"What do you want to eat?" James asked softly, brushing your hair back from your face, tucking the strand behind your ear. 

"Marshmallows." You said happily, splashing the water a little in your blissed out state. 

Sam chuckled but there was the sound of a clucking tongue in the doorway. Nick leaned against the doorway, still undressed except for the boxers he'd pulled on. "You need real food babydoll. I'll go get you something." He moved away and walked out of the room. 

You whimpered, tears in your eyes now. "He won't get me marshmallows." You tucked your face into Sam's neck, who let out a sound of affection. 

"It's okay sugar." Sam murmured. "You'll get your marshmallows, I promise. But Fury is right, you're going to have to eat some real food first before you get dessert." 

"Dessert." You repeated, before moving your hand to Sam's cock, starting to stroke him. Sam smiled gently, looking at you like you were the cutest thing he'd ever seen, but took your hands gently into his. 

"A different dessert sugar." Sam said, before starting to wash you with the loofa. "James, you want to put the music on?" 

James nodded, getting up and walking over to the console. Your shower playlist came on, 7 rings by Ariana Grande playing softly through the speakers. You started to sing along softly under your breath. 

Rather be tied up with calls and not strings Write my own checks like I write what I sing, yeah (yeah)

Sam chuckled, running the water over your hair now, softly washing your hair with the hand held shower nozzle. You pressed your lips and eyes together tightly. You felt another pair of hands join in, knowing James was helping you as well. 

Once they were done, James refilled the bath with warmer water, which you and Sam soaked in. 

Shoot, go from the store to the booth Make it all back in one loop, give me the loot Never mind, I got the juice Nothing but net when we shoot

You pretended to shoot a basketball and both of the men who were watching you grinned, loving you all that much more. You were so adorable when you were in your subspace, they loved it. They loved you. 

"Alright sweetheart, I hear Nick is back with the food." James said, moving over and grabbing a thick fluffy robe in a pale pink colour. Sam helped you out of the bath, wrapping you in the robe while grabbing himself a towel. 

"Here babydoll." Nick said, showing you the tray that you'd set up. You bounced on the bed, taking the steak and ate it happily. 

"Thank you Nick." You said happily. 

"You're welcome." He said, coming over with a small bowl. "And here, is your dessert." 

"MARSHMALLOWS!" You shouted, taking it and giggling, before popping one of the fluffy white cubes into your mouth. 

You thought of the nights when you traveled to meet Sam in another city. He’d have you covered in hickies and have you limping the entire visit. You felt so embarrassed when you went out to meet his costars like that and you loved it. You decided to change your clothes before you got to work in the home office, especially since the thoughts of your husband effectively ruined your panties. You loved your husband, the two of you just married about six months ago and it felt like the honeymoon phase was never-ending. Your husband was kind, sweet, supportive, and demanding, and you loved him the way he was. He was very no-nonsense when it came to you, he wanted to ensure that you were always taken care of, just like you took care of him.

When the two of you got married he wanted the world to know who you belonged to and what your new name was. Your voice was hoarse the day after your wedding from screaming Mrs. Wilson over and over again while riding him. Yup. You definitely needed to change your panties.

************************

You poured over the work in front of you. Piles and piles of paperwork were stacked up in front of you. You heard your husband enter your home. His keys jingling in his hands.

“Babe, I’m home.” Sam shouted into the home.

“Okay. I’m in the office.” You responded, your body overly sensitive just knowing your husband was home. You felt a happy vibration soar through you. You wanted to jump up and attack his soft beard and high cheekbones with kisses. But you couldn’t afford any breaks. You needed to get the work done and focus on signing the paperwork, going over reports, and emailing the correct people. It didn’t matter how good your man looked coming in all sweaty from the gym after working out with his trainer.

And damn did he look good.

Sam stood in the doorway watching you work hard. The multitasking you were capable of always turned him on. He licked his lips as he thought of giving you head while you continued to work hard.

“What are you working on today?” Sam approached you slowly, he knew you needed to work but he also knew that he missed you like crazy. And being the newlyweds that you were, he never planned on getting out of the honeymoon phase.

“The new merger. They put me in charge of overseeing the merger of the new company. But I found out today that they plan on firing my assistant, whom I love. They just don’t understand what all Angelique does. She has so much work on her plate that she needs an assistant herself. I threatened to not do the new merger if they fired her, and they told me to hire another assistant to help Angelique and complete the merger paperwork. So I have to find a new assistant on Tuesday. Babe. It's Thursday, I’m so exhausted.”

“You already know my solution.”Sam started the age-old conversation that always turned into a heated argument and from there passionate sex. Which may be his end goal after all.

“Do not start that shit again Wilson. I’m too tired to have this argument with you today. I’m not quitting my job until we are with child. And as much as you tried last week. I checked this morning, I’m still not pregnant.” Your voice was firm, you couldn’t focus on him and your work. As much as Sam praised you for being the best multitasker he knows, he’s a distraction you can’t work around. No matter how hard you tried.

“Alright. It’s just I hate seeing you overwhelmed like this. Especially knowing I can provide for you. And I know! I know.” He uttered before you could cut him off. “I know you can provide for yourself. I’m your husband. I just really like the idea of taking care of you.” Sam smiled and took another step towards you. His eyes caught sight of the truly insurmountable papers on your desk.

A few of the papers held his attention. “Babe?” Sam picked up the piece of paper, staring at it curiously.

You glanced at him annoyance and confusion etched onto your face. “What Sam?”

Sam stared at the paper then bit his bottom lip. He debated saying anything wanting to avoid sounding like a chauvinist. But you knew the type of man he was when you married him.

“Stop biting your lip before I bite it for you.” You joked looking at your husband’s face. The smile falling off your face, you realized immediately that was the wrong thing to say at the moment. Sam bent down, bracing his hands on the armrests of your chair, his lips less than an inch away from yours. He gently placed a few of your papers in your lap. You eyed them warily.

“What’s this about?” Sam’s voice was hard and unmoving. You looked at the line he was pointing at.

“It’s my nam-” You cut yourself off. You realized the mistake that you made. You’d yet to change your name at work. Mainly because the certification that you held required so much work to get your name changed there. But once you did the work to change your maiden name your job would readily change your paperwork for you. But because of legal reasons they could not change your name on the paperwork until the certification commission changed your name.

“Shit Sam, I forgot.” You responded quietly. Sam made it clear that he loved you having his last name and he wanted everyone else to know that he was the one that got you. That you agreed to marry him and take on his name, you were the one he chose to help carry on his name. “I have to call the people and fax over the government papers stating that my name has changed.” You gently scratched at his beard. “I’m sorry baby. It really slipped my mind.

“You forgot?” He asked incredulously. His face scrunched up in confusion. “You forgot what your name was? What it has been for the past 6 months. What it was going to be for the past 2 and a half years?” Sam hadn’t moved an inch from his bent position. His eyes staring unflinchingly into yours. A smile broke out across his face.

“Cool.”

“Cool?” You smiled nervously, your eyes searched his for confirmation that everything was okay.

“Yeah… cool.”

You eyed Sam warily, he never seemed like the type of person to let this go so casually. He always said he was a traditional man, you knew it was a stretch that you still worked.

“Come on.” He stood up and held a hand out to you.

“Where are we going?” You grabbed his hand and allowed him to hoist you up into his arms. His hands tightly grasping at your ass, his strength easily allowing you to be hoisted into the air.

“To remind you what your name is.” Sam pressed your clit against his erection as he made his way to the bedroom. Your eyes flashed wide open in surprise. Your mind flooded with memories of what happened the last time Sam wanted you to know your name. You began to wiggle in Sam’s arms.

“Hold on!” You tried to get out of his hold before he was able to shut the bedroom door. But it was too late. “Wait Sam. I’ll do it on Monday I promise.” You cooed, you gave him puppy dog eyes. Anything to get out of the multiple orgasm session Sam looked to be promising.

“Nah, I think you need a reminder today.” Sam threw you on the bed and took off his shirt. The sight before you menacing and arousing at the same time. “Take it off.” He smiled at you, his head nodding toward his shirt that you wore as pajamas. You hesitated, trying to come up with any reason why you shouldn’t take off your shirt right now.

“I still have work to do before tomorrow babe. Let me finish that up first and then we can play.”

Sam shook his head. “Now.”

You huffed and took off your shirt, you nipples already hard in response to his aggression.

Sam bent down over you, his eyes tracing every bit of your curves. His hands following the contours of your body. He placed soft kisses on your breast causing them to arch further into his lips. His hands readily dip into your panties. His fingers quickly find your clit and begin to rub in a stimulating pattern. Sam smiles down at you as he notices how wet you are, how responsive your body is to him.

You whimper and look away the same moment Sam inserts a finger into your depths, you cry out at the intrusion. Sam slowly starts to pump his index and middle finger into your heat. He kisses you sloppily on your neck, your arms quickly wrap around your body. You moan and lean into him. You feel yourself start to build into something as he continues to slowly torture you.

Your climax approaches soon. You grip his shoulders tightly as he finger fucks you through your rise.

“Fuck Sam.” You whimper against his shoulder. Sam removes his shorts after you come down from your high. His dick thick and hard, the tip already weeping with precum. He lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in. The sweetness that he shows you at the beginning of sex always fooling you into thinking you might get off easy.

You sighed into his shoulder as his first thrust started to build another orgasm within you. You shudder in response to the soft kiss he places in your neck. He then leans up and braces himself on his elbows, his thrust becoming deeper, sharper, rougher. You barely have time to catch your breath as Sam really begins to fuck you harshly. His eyes never leave yours as you start to pant, you move your hips in time with his.

“What’s your name?” Sam asks as he watches the way your eyes roll to the back of your head. He knows you can barely speak at times like this, he was doing this on purpose. You struggled to look into his eyes at this moment. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw how intensely he was looking at you. His thrust never slowed, every pump hitting that spot that only he knew of.

“I asked you a question baby girl.” He licked your jaw lightly. The sensation causing you to tighten around him, only sending the two of you closer to climax. You opened your mouth to respond, only to stutter over your words when he rolled his hips into yours his fingers sliding down to rub your clit.

“Nonono ffair.” You moaned out. You could feel your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“I can’t hear you.” Sam smiled a loving smile as he watched you cum on his dick. Your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your pussy tightening around him as you shook in his arms. A tear escaped as you felt Sam still gently thrusting inside of you.

“Mrs. Sam Wilson.” You say quietly as you rest your head on his hand.

“Good now let’s hear you scream it.” Sam started up his rough thrusts again.

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Before you had started college you had no idea you were musically inclined. you always had a thousand different songs colliding in your head. the lyrics from different genres tangled around incorrectly distracting you every moment from your demanding course load. You were smart and outwardly focused but internally you were a big musical mess. You were a bass clef with treble notes and the time signature was always off.

Unbearable was demanding courses such as the biological foundations of human variation and a 3 hour lab class measuring primate and anthropoid bone structures. You were beginning to lose your mind. But luckily you had music. And the handsome gentleman from your Wednesday Psychology class. He was 5 ft 9, and super extroverted. He made the professors laugh, and all the students. He talked a lot, and you just wanted to quietly observe people before you decided to talk to anyone. He was built like a bodyguard, but raised like a gentleman and everyone seemed to smile when he was around. He once brought beignets for the whole psych class, including gluten free, and sugar free options.

You didn't come to school to make friends, though. So you told yourself, to mind your own business and not worry about him. One day after spending hours in the study room in the library, you discovered that you had hit a point where you couldn't study anymore. You and your project partner, Sam Wilson. Turned out he was a Veteran, an audiophile, piano player, and cynical jokester who was bent on becoming a social worker and addiction counselor. He told you that every major moment in his life could be broken down into a song, and that he had a sister and 2 nephews who were his pride and joy. Instead of going separate ways after the library like you usually did, he said he had something he wanted to show you.

You left the library and headed to the farthest point away on campus. It was a long hike uphill, but you didn't talk the whole time because you two were so mentally exhausted and the hike was long. “It does feel nice to be outside for a moment, instead of that stuffy library,”you said. He nodded, and said, “Nothing is more stuffy than a saltine, dry textbook.” It was dense and expensive, but all you wanted to do was hurl it out the window and never read it again. He led you into a gray music building, and then down a hallway full of identical beige metal doors. None of them were distinct from the other except for the fact that they were feeling the hallway lined up on either side. He opened the farthest or on the left and tugged you inside behind him. "A free piano", he said gesturing as if he was some gentleman presenting you with the thing you must desire. "I see a piano. okay. I love to play piano”. He grabbed your hands and led you over to the piano. "You just need to sit down and play something. it'll make you feel so much better and then you'll finally be able to focus. We can't have any more study days like today because we didn't get anything done. And you are the brains in this operation. So if your brain doesn't work our brain doesn't work,” he said.

It was a pretty convincing argument. You also strongly disliked being told what to do. He sat next to you and started tinkering with the notes. You begin running your fingers up and down the keys and then it hits you what you needed to play. It was an old song about the breakdown of a relationship but it seemed to fit the mood precisely. You were both grieving the loss of your innocence as your course load had robbed you both of the belief that you could actually complete your degree successfully and become mental health workers that would change the world. It was a cute dream while it lasted and you both were in mourning one way or another.

It was the song about a man coming in and realizing that his woman knew he had been cheating on her and how he didn't think she had the nerve to call him out on it. It always made me laugh because relationships were for the weak and you were smarter than that. The piano creaked and growled as you hit the black keys and stomped across the walking bass line.The walking melody was easy enough it just repeated the same phrase again and again. He nodded in tempo, sitting next to you, on the tiny piano bench.

In your head, it's like the full track was playing and when you reached the bridge part you had no idea how to play it. So you had to sing it out from the beginning and you could figure out what chords were there.

"the sweetest woman in the world,

could be the meanest woman in the world,

if you make her that way... (Beat, beat)

you keep hurting her, she keeps being quiet

she might be holding something inside

that will really really hurt you one day "

You waited for 3 Beats and then your favorite part came next. Your fingers slipped on the wrong note, but you found the correct notes and walked your way up the bass line again. You were heavy-handed, and made the piano rock and groan a little more.

"Here I am Laying’ in the Hospital

Bandaged Up from feet to Head

In A State of Shock

Just that Much from being Bad"

Sam was tapping his feet and then stopped. But you didn't notice how closely he was scrutinizing you. You did notice how the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock and your breathing in before you swing out the next phrase. Your voice is a soft husky Alto neither too high or too low, but you were slightly pitchy. "I feel like I'm seeing you in a new light,'' he said. His voice was quieter and softer. “How?”, you asked, curious but not stopping playing, piano was your drug of choice.

"That performance was so good it gives me goosebumps. " You touched your chest in genuine surprise. “ always a gentleman”. "Maybe it's your conviction when you sing it", he offered. He was trying to hint at something. "What are you really saying?'' you asked. “I’ve never known you to date anybody.”, he offered casually, but giving you a significant look. His eyebrows emphasized the question, but his mouth was not smiling. The whiplash from enjoying an out-of-body experience to burning shameful self-consciousness was sharp. Further embarrassed by your shame you needed to recover quickly.

"For a second there, I thought you said I sounded good. " You half wanted to be affirmed, half wanted him to ignore your other comment, but for a moment he couldn't even make eye contact. “I mean I’m curious. Is that what you think love is like or did you experience it?”. You stopped playing, and snapped, “ I thought we were not studying psychology today.”. “You just work so hard to be mysterious and keep people at bay, and I wonder sometimes. Something happened and I just … feel like I need to ask if you are okay.”

There was an unreal, deafening silence, cut by the scooting out of your piano bench. You hadn't ever put your hesitation and distrust of romance into words. But you knew that relationships made everything more complicated and could take years to come out of. Nobody ever seemed interested anyway. And the second you thought about it , it was as if he could read your mind. You took your hands off the piano keys and rubbed them on your jeans as if you could wipe off the yucky feeling of being psychoanalyzed by your best friend.

"It's probably not in my cards to have love. Not everybody finds someone you know. So I wouldn't be surprised if I don't.”. He shakes his head, "Personally I have had five guys come up to me this past week asking if you were spoken for. I told them they should speak to you if they wanted to, but you seem totally uninterested in anything except school." “ Pshh…”, you scoffed and he noticed how you crossed your arms across your chest. He looked at you pointedly, to see if you might accept the compliment. “Some people have the option of many choices. Like you.”, you answered, without thinking. "So I have choices. And you don’t?”, he asked. “ I guess I’m just not that interesting enough.”.

He shook his head, slowly. “You're actually kind of dumb, like super super dumb.” “You think that my fine ass ONLY wants to be your friend". Your mouth went dry and you tried to swallow but all you could do is choke on your own air. "Wait, what!?!". "You look at me everyday and you still have no idea". You are stunned and just sit there, mouth hanging open genuinely shocked.You’re not even used to being around attractive men, like him. You don’t know if you can behave yourself when he’s sitting so close. You’ve never even been tempted because you don't dare dream. You don't go looking. You just wanted a simple, quiet life.

“ So you can play piano and sing at the same time, and that’s not interesting?”. You shrug, arms still folded, and you say, “ I mean I .. suppose.” “Don't like people spending millions, dedicating their lives following musicians, just to sleep with them. Groupies or something?”. You sighed, in exasperation. “ Yes, Sam. Groupies are totally a real thing. Yes.” He looked a little appeased. “ Stick with me, because I'm about to get to the point.”. You bit your lip, but it was too late. Your smart ass reply came out before you could stop it. “So you want the thrill of sleeping with me after following me around for a while, and keeping meticulous track of where I play next?”, you countered jokingly.

He stopped talking for a minute and made a rewinding gesture. “Taking that back. Not what I meant to say. Not a good metaphor at all.” You were blushing and kept your eyes down so he couldn't see your face. He paused for a moment and looked like he was trying to think of the right thing to say to you, to persuade you that you were really something. He wanted to lift your chin and force you to sit up straighter and look into his eyes. But he knew that what you were feeling was painful and frightening, and he didn't want to scare you away. Love is hard to receive when you're used to the opposite.

“Im sorry it hurts to think about it. I’m sorry you don't think about it. I think about you all the time”, he finished. He knew he said the right thing when you finally looked up and gave him eye contact. He rubbed the center of your back, gently. And told you everything is going to be alright, and that you're safe. Your heart is fluttering but you trust him. And your body begins to relax. He knew how to make your body calm down. and then suddenly it hit you. You reached out for his other hand. And looked back up at him. "I feel better, thank you. I'm sorry for being a leaky faucet."

"You did hold my hand, though. That's new. Am I reading the signs, right?"", He asked hopefully. You cleared your throat, like you were about to say something. "Before you say anything, I just want you to know that despite us being alone in a room together, the closest we've ever been. I - don't want you to feel like you have to say something you don't mean." " Are you going to talk over me the whole time?”, you interrupted him. He shifted a little in his seat, “ My bad, my bad. Please continue”.

You waited a beat, expecting him to interrupt you again, but he didn’t. "I think I'm ready for you to kiss me now.You'll have to take me on an actual date after though." He held your strong chin delicately and tilted your head to the perfect angle for your first kiss. His breath was sweet, his lips soft and warm, as they collided with yours. “ Whatever you want.

The End