Marvel Poc Reader Insert Fanfiction

Sam Wilson- Here to Stay

(Word Count: 1k)

(TFAWS spoilers ahead. Sam x Stark! Reader, who was adopted, but very much grown.)

It was hot, muggy, and all you could think about was how nice your bed would feel once you returned home.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s GPS had guided you to a small country house like only you'd seen in the movies.

Before you could make it to the porch, three curious faces peaked out from the screen door. It was a woman and two kids. They scattered into the house's interior as Sam Wilson stepped outside.

He wore a thin, dark colored t-shirt and jeans. Sweat dripped from his brow, shining against the Louisiana sun.

"Wrong house." Sam announced. He had an easy half smile that hovered somewhere between curiosity and reluctance. You purse your lips, and cocked your head to the side.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, disable location, Falcon protocol, Redwing protocol. Voice activation authorized. Stark, Y/N." You ordered. The AI replied and went to work, finally in proximity with the Falcon suit to do so.

Sam cautiously approached you, and snorted.

"Only Tony Stark's child would come down here barking orders, wearing high heels on wet grass."

You glanced down at your pumps, "I always wear heels."

Your dad never expected anything less. Tony Stark was nothing if not flamboyant and you had taken after him in that respect.

"If you fall, I'm laughing." Sam joked as he led you inside. To your credit, you were perfectly steady as you trudged through the grass and up the front steps.

As the two of you settled into the living room, you got right to the point.

"Steve gave you that shield, Sam." You said, plainly. You were nothing if not blunt. You decided that it was a side effect of your last name, probably made worse after the snap.

Sam shook his head and clasped his hands together. A thick vein pulsed on his temple as he formulated a response. It wasn't humility or politeness—Sam didn't seem like they type for either— it was shame. An intense shame, at that.

"They have their guy, now. So you can go on back and leave well enough alone. Take a plate with you, my sister made it." With his downturned eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching in the silence, Sam Wilson sat slumped in the chair.

You slammed your palm on the wall, the sound piercing through the house. Like the soldier he was, Sam didn't react to your outburst, but that didn't stop you from going off.

"The U.S. government can have your black ass in those wings running covert ops off the Libyan border with no paper trail, but they can't let you keep that shield?"

Your question chipped away at Sam's armor, applying the necessary pressure. You knew the feeling—the creeping thought at the back of your mind, the lingering worry that your best couldn't compare. Sam's face hardened after each word but he needed to hear them, especially from someone who could understand his plight. 

"You're the big dog now, Wilson. Are you really gonna let them keep you the mantle you earned? When it wasn't even theirs to give away?" You went on. Your heels clacked against the rickety hardwood as you paced back and forth.

You swallowed hard, not letting the bitterness fester. You loved Morgan, and getting to know her after having been snapped and missing her whole life, was how you reconnected with the regular world. But you'd be lying if you said it didn't sting when people wrote articles about how Tony Stark was survived by his wife Pepper, daughter Morgan, and no mention of you in there.

"It doesn't feel like mine." Sam admitted. He kept staring straight ahead, you could see the thoughts swirling in his head.

"It's not theirs either, so fuck them and build your own legacy." You said, matter of factly.

You didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. But ever since you came back, you had trouble self editing. To make up for it, you placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder.

He looked up at you so sincerely that it caught you off guard. His warm eyes were different than what you were used to—Sam radiated comfort, even when he was the one hurting the most. He gave you an unsure smile, but he was still leaning towards you. A strange feeling came over you as you felt the thick muscle underneath his shirt, making you snatch your hand away and straighten up. Heat rushed through your cheeks uncontrollably—you silently prayed he didn't notice.

"Um, uh, I have the shield's location as well as the location of the one and only Bucky Barnes at the ready. The two of you have a tight window of opportunity, so take full advantage."

As you rambled on, Sam became less and less hopeless. Relief washed over his features, and it calmed you down, too. You had pierced through his resignation, and out his head.

He suddenly met your eyes with an apologetic gaze.

"We didn't speak much at the funeral—I'm—"

"You weren't my dad's favorite person, either, Wilson." You admonished. His sympathy didn't make you feel better. You had seen the Iron Man murals and memorials and tributes all across the globe and they hadn't, either. But Sam's admission did make you feel like a real person, and no one else's sorry ever caught your attention for that.

You nodded at him. Sam smiled for real this time, and his gap was more pronounced up close. 

"It's a new world, and I've gotta do my part then." He declared. There was a shift in him, a glimpse at what might have been optimism.

"Then get dressed, we've got work to do." You replied.

Sam shot you an amused glance, looking you up and down. You caught him in the act and smirked. You turned on your heel and headed for the door.

"Stop staring at my ass in here, stare at it on the plane. I'll be in the car." 

You smiled at the implication, imagining what Sam's reaction was as you slipped out the door and back out into the world.

He was right—it was a new world. And you needed to do something to move it along.