rodrikstark's headcanons (part 3)

s. wilson + lazy day in

"how is it?" you dip your finger just across the surface of the water, but then your hand gets submerged as sam eases his body inside the tub. "too hot?"

he shakes his head, a groan slipping out when the warmth steeps his muscles, worn from days of being strapped into his gear, tense from hours of hurtling through the sky.

it's been well worth it, this day off. he'd argued with you all week, spouting some bullshit about obligations, about what that shield means now that it's in his hands. but you convinced him. presented the most rational and simplistic argument, too, with a level-headedness he couldn't quite summon. it makes him smile to himself.

i don't know why you think you can't have both, sam. you sighed. your mission, and time to rest.

now, you quirk your lips, flicking some translucent foam off your skin. "you want more?" your head tilts toward the bottle of bubble bath.

"nah, it's perfect," he says.

satisfied, you hum and dance happily to yourself, seated on the toilet lid. your bluetooth speaker, located on the tank, spills smooth music that, on another day, might have quieted his brain enough for him to sleep.

but he feels energetic, like he might launch out of the tub and capture you inside his arms, soaking your clothes at any moment. he can't, though.

his eyes trace the subtle curve of your spine, the length of your bare leg, and eventually land on a bright vial of your favorite nail polish. it tinkles quietly against the porcelain as you paint your toes, positioned delicately on the bathtub edge. he has to wait for your nails to dry, or you'll get upset with him again.

"you're perfect," he adds.

your laughter bounces off the walls of the humid room. "you shouldn't say things like that, sammy, they'll go to my head."

he waits for you to screw the lid onto the bottle, for that wiggle in your toes that indicates pride in your final result. "i love you."

your eyes meet his, wide and confused, a swallow working its way down your throat.

he's never said that before. not to you.

really, sam never should have waited. he's felt this bubbling in his chest a dozen times before, just watching you cook dinner, or tuck your face in his chest, or laugh with his sister.

you smile, reaching to poke at his knee. it sticks out of the water as he sinks further into the too-small tub, relieved at hearing you say it back. "i love you too."