rodrikstark's headcanons (part 5)

hayride (sam wilson x f!reader)

when he dragged the team out here this morning, sam had expected a pretty easygoing day. warm cider, a tour of the orchard, buying some produce at the farmer's market.

the haunted hayride, he had imagined as a group activity. all of you crowded in the back, sharing in a few nervous laughs at the ridiculous costumes and attempted jump scares—but ultimately, kids' stuff.

he should have noticed the red flags: natasha and wanda sharing mischievous smiles. steve's nervousness, lowkey hiding behind his girlfriend.

sam did not anticipate your group getting split into pairs, each one corralled into some tiny, rickety hayrack and separated by several yards. he did not anticipate the overwhelming cover of darkness, where only the dull yellow headlights of the vehicle barely illuminate the way.

he also did not anticipate the desperate way you're clutching him.

more than the ratty scarecrows, rotting pumpkin heads, and bloody makeup, your frightened screeches are what startle him. and with your nearly theatrical terror, he thinks the actors like picking on you specifically.

he feels awful.

you're still coming down from the last one, a fist twisted into his jacket. then, a werewolf pops up on the right, snarling fiercely, and sam does his best not to jump. instead, he shoves out out his palm. "hey man, she needs a break, c'mon."

after a moment of confusion, the creature gives up, shoulders slumping.

sam rubs a hand along your shivery back while you regulate your breathing. "thank you."

"it's the least i could do." he sighs. "this was a terrible idea."

admittedly, he planned this trip with you in mind—knowing how much you love fall—and he fully intended to find opportunities to get closer to you today. he'd carry your sack of apples, or offer to buy you a warm, sweet drink when you got cold. and yeah, obviously, he would claim the seat next to you on the haunted hayride. but this is a little much.

the rustling of dry grass on your left signals another scare, so sam tucks you closer before raising his voice over the fake chainsaw. "alright man, move on." he pats the hockey-masked actor on the arm. "thanks, though. you're doing great."

"i'm sorry." you scrub at your eyes and press into sam so hard, he can't quite breathe right. "i'm ruining everything."

he's actually had a good day, all things considered. earlier, you gave him a leaf you thought was pretty. he was proud of that one.

"we're almost at the end," sam says, although he has little evidence for that reassurance. at the very least, up ahead, he sees the red glow of wanda's palm start to turn a corner. "can you hold on for me?"

a bump in the dirt road shakes you to your core, so you quickly find sam's hand. your chilled skin feels soft between his fingers, despite your deadly grip. maybe he hears a breathless smile, beneath all your fear. "i am holding on."