Avengers Imagines (Part One)

Sam Wilson x Reader - The One That Got Away

A/N- As the title suggests, this imagine is based on the song 'The One That Got Away' by Katy Perry. I hope you all enjoy it.

"9 pm. Our spot. Be there." You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as Sam continued down the hallway, headed for his next class. He had always had this effect on you, left you flustered and stuttering just by being near you.

You attempted to calm the blush that had risen in your cheeks, reaching into your locker and sorting through the books, your head hidden behind the metal door.

"Your spot, huh?" You should have known that you wouldn't have been able to avoid the questioning. As much as you loved Chloe, she was nosey, especially when it came to you; once she had the scent of something interesting she was like a hound on the hunt, sniffing out every little bit of information she could. You, on the other hand, were a terrible secret keeper, and she knew it. "Why do you and Sam Wilson have a spot?"

For a moment, you considered telling her everything, but you knew that she wouldn't be able to keep such a juicy tidbit to herself. Instead, you gave her a small shrug, opting for going with a silent answer. You pressed the locker shut, sending her a quick, innocent smile.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her brow furrowing and eyes narrowing. "I'll get it out of you eventually," she told you, causing you to chuckle.

"Get what out of me?" You paused for a moment as you continued to stare at you, "If something was happening, between Sam and I, you would have known already."

She considered your words for a moment, pouting as though she were tasting the thought, rolling it around her mouth. "Yeah," she answered finally, her brow smoothing out, "I guess you're right."

You chuckled, slipping your arm through hers and leading her down the hallway, towards your class. "I'm always right." 

*Time Skip*

You sighed as you reached the roof of your building, glancing around in search of Sam. You should have known that he would be late, he always was. On the far side of the rooftop, a set of deck chairs were sitting open, unmoved from the last time you had been up there. You headed towards them, slumping down into one of them and tilting your head back to look up at the sky. 

One of your favourite parts of the rooftop was Sam's pigeon coop. It was a tiny thing, knocked together with whatever wood he could find laying about in alleys and abandoned construction sites, but it did its job. You always knew when he had turned up. The birds would begin to coo, as though they were calling to him, or warning you of his terrible attempts to scare you.

"Hi," you called out, lifting your hand in the air to wave behind you, but not bothering to move from your seat to look at him as he approached.

"Gotta move them damn birds," he told you softly, closer to you than you had expected. 

You chuckled, craning your neck to look up at him. "Not their fault that you're the least stealthy person to ever live."

He was grinning when he rounded the seats, leaning down to press his lips against yours softly. "You're mean to me."

"You deserve it."

He laughed as he pulled away, slumping down into the spare chair and resting his hand on your knee. "Yeah," he uttered softly, his smile still firmly set on his lips. He lifted the bottle in his hand, "but I do bring Whiskey."

"Oh," you chuckled, "now I remember why I keep you around." He pressed the bottle into your hand, watching as you unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig, wincing as you swallowed. You let out a small cough, attempting to stifle it with a laugh. 

"Once my fake ID comes through I'll get us something better," he told you softly, taking the bottle back, "but for now we've got to make do with whatever I can sneak from Dad."

"Where are you getting money for 'something better'?" 

He shrugged slightly, a small smile sitting lightly on his lips as he stared out across the city. "I dunno, I'll get a job or something." He took a swig from the bottle and propped it down on the floor between you. "I'll flip burgers or something until schools over."

You hummed, stretching out your spine and reaching out to take your hand in yours. You lifted it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the skin.

"And then, I'll go to college, and get a proper job, and we can get married."  You allowed your eyes to lift to his face for a moment, only to find him already watching you. "Get you a nice house too," he added, causing you to chuckle.

"Sounds good to me," you uttered, "and kids?"

"What about kids?"

"How many will we have?" You rolled your eyes, waiting for a response.

"Two or three. And a dog to round 'em all up."

You couldn't fight the smile that had found its way onto your lips. Sam wasn't always the most realistic when it came to his life plans, but he was well-intentioned. In all honesty, it was kind of sweet that he was ready to commit his whole life to you, especially when you were both so young. You, on the other hand, tried to be realistic when considering your future. It was rare that high school sweethearts stayed together after school finished, you had done your research. 

"What kind of dog?" 

He scrunched up his face, thinking, as though he hadn't told you his answer time and time again. "A German Shepherd," he finally announced, causing you to let out a snort of laughter.

"Perfect," you told him softly, leaning across the gap and brushing your lips gently across his.

To be fair to him, he knew exactly what it was you wanted in life, and he had moulded his own thoughts of the future to fit yours perfectly. You were lucky to have such a sweet guy.

*Time Skip*

"Ow, ow, ow," you had been chanting the words on repeat since you had found yourself in the chair. You weren't quite certain how you had ended up there. At some point, one of you had suggested tattoos, and then the idea had kept getting more and more real, until you found yourself in the tattoo parlour, clinging onto Sam's hand as you both had the ink etched onto your skin. 

Sam had attempted to hold back his laughter at your low pain threshold, telling you that it wasn't as bad as you were making it out to be and just straight up teasing you until he saw the tears forming in your eyes. He got pretty quiet after that, just holding your hand and running his fingers over the skin of your wrist in an attempt to comfort you.

When the tattoo artist was finished, you smiled down at the ink on your ankle with such sweetness that it left Sam speechless for a moment. His own tattoo, identical to yours, was situated firmly on his chest. 

You had always thought couples getting matching tattoos was tacky, but Sam had a way of making your opinions shift, even if it was only momentarily.

"Happy birthday," he uttered, pressing his lips to the side of your head in a soft kiss as he handed the money over the counter to the artist.

*Time Skip*

That tattoo was the only reminder of the teenage relationship that you had kept. It was something your husband had taken issue with when you had explained it to him, a little hurt by the commitment you had shown towards your ex. He was even more hurt when you had refused to have it covered up or removed. As sad as you had been when you and Sam had broken up, he had still been a huge part of your life, and one that you would always be thankful for, even if you hadn't known it at the time. 

Perhaps, if you had met as adults, your relationship would have worked. You would have had the big house, and the successful jobs, and the two or three kids and a dog, and you both would have been happy. Your plans may have come to fruition, the way they had with your husband, and the way Sam's had with his wife. But the world hadn't wanted that for you, and you had come to terms with that somewhere along the way.

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