Samantha sifted through a stack of papers, her fingers gliding over each page with precision. As the president of the math club, her organized demeanor was no surprise. Dressed in her usual casual, slightly nerdy attire, complete with her signature glasses, she was the embodiment of quiet intellect.
The bustling hallway buzzed with chatter as Sam made her way through the crowd. Suddenly, a bright, colorful poster on the wall caught her attention.
"PROM: Find your date, and let's dance!"
Oh, right. How could she forget? Prom was just around the corner.
Before she could dwell on the thought, a loud "Boo!" broke her concentration. Samantha jumped, only to find Natasha grinning mischievously behind her.
Samantha nearly dropped her stack of papers, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she gasped. "Natasha!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. "Do you always have to do that?"
Natasha grinned, unapologetic as ever. She leaned casually against the lockers, her red hair catching the fluorescent lights. "Well, you were staring at that poster like it owed you money. What’s the deal? Planning to ask someone?"
Sam adjusted her glasses and tried to regain her composure. "No, I just... forgot about prom, that’s all. I’ve been busy with club work and—”
"Math club is important," Natasha interrupted, smirking. "But maybe you should let loose for once. You know, dance, have fun, actually be a high school student."
"I have fun!" Sam protested, clutching her papers tighter.
"Calculus doesn’t count," Natasha teased. "Anyway, you’ve got options. Like Bucky Barnes."
Sam’s face heated up instantly. "W-what?"
"You heard me." Natasha’s grin widened. "You two have been doing that thing where you argue about physics and sports like it’s your personal language. He’s totally into you."
Sam scoffed, though her cheeks stayed a vivid shade of pink. "He’s not into me, and I am definitely not into him. He’s... Bucky. He’s always late to class and never remembers his homework. He’s—”
"Hot," Natasha finished for her.
"Unbelievable," Sam muttered, trying to maneuver around her friend, but Natasha kept pace.
"Just saying," Natasha continued, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Prom would be a great time to test that chemistry of yours. Or are you scared?"
Sam froze, glaring at her friend. "I’m not scared."
"Good. Then ask him."
Sam groaned, knowing Natasha wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon. She glanced over her shoulder, and, as if summoned by sheer coincidence—or, more likely, Natasha’s uncanny timing—Bucky Barnes strolled down the hallway. He was carrying a basketball under one arm, his signature leather jacket slung over his shoulder.
Sam’s stomach flipped. "You’ve got to be kidding me."
Natasha smirked and nudged her froward. "Carpe diem, Samantha."
Bucky was known for being mysterious and reserved. If he didn’t like you, he’d most likely ignore your whole existence. But when it came to his friends—especially Sam—it was a different story entirely.
Bucky leaned against his locker, rummaging through its contents.
“Uh, hey—”
He glanced up, his gaze peeking over the door. Upon recognizing the voice, he straightened his usual slouched posture.
“Hey, Sam,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. He subtly shoved the basketball into the locker, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. “What’s up?”
Sam mentally kicked herself for even attempting this. What was she thinking? Natasha’s words were buzzing in her head like an annoying mosquito. ‘Just ask him? Easy for her to say!’
Bucky had this way of making even the most composed people second-guess themselves. And Sam wasn’t exactly known for being cool under pressure.
"Hey," she started again, gripping the edge of her papers like they were a life raft. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something."
Bucky leaned casually against the locker, but there was a subtle shift in his expression—curiosity, maybe? "Sure. What’s on your mind?" His tone was calm, but his eyes never left hers, which only made her heart race faster.
Sam felt her throat tighten. Why did he have to be so... intense? She cleared her throat, pushing through the sudden nerves. "Well, prom is coming up, and, um, I was wondering..."
Bucky raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. His gaze softened, and for a moment, Sam thought she caught a flicker of something—interest? Amusement?
"...if you’re going," she finished lamely, inwardly cringing at herself.
Bucky smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "Prom, huh? Not really my thing." He shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "But why? Are you going?"
Sam froze, heat rushing to her face. "I mean... maybe. It depends."
"Depends on what?" Bucky pressed, his smirk growing wider, though his tone was still casual.
Sam hesitated, fidgeting with the corner of one of her papers. "Depends on... if someone asks me."
Bucky studied her for a long moment, and Sam felt like she was under a microscope. Then, he leaned closer, his voice lowering just enough to send a shiver down her spine. "Are you saying you want me to ask you?"
Sam’s brain short-circuited. "I—what? No! I mean, not no, but—
Bucky chuckled softly, straightening up. "Relax, Sam. I’m just messing with you." His eyes twinkled with something that looked suspiciously like delight at her flustered state. "But, for the record... you’d look good at prom."
Sam blinked, completely thrown off by his unexpected compliment. Before she could muster a response, Bucky grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder.
"See you around," he said, his voice lighter now, like he was genuinely looking forward to it. Then, with one last glance—one that lingered just a bit too long—he disappeared down the hall, leaving Sam standing there, rooted in place.
Her heart was racing, and Natasha’s voice echoed in her mind.
Test that chemistry.
"Great," Sam muttered to herself, clutching her papers. "Just great."
—
Sam spent the rest of the day trying to focus on anything but Bucky Barnes and the maddening smirk that refused to leave her thoughts. She sat through calculus, where she usually thrived, completely zoning out as numbers swam in front of her eyes. Natasha, who sat beside her, poked her with a pen.
"Earth to Sam," Natasha whispered, leaning over. "You’re doing that thing again."
"What thing?" Sam asked, feigning ignorance as she scribbled nonsense into the margins of her notebook.
"The thing where you stare off into space and probably think about a certain someone," Natasha teased, her grin knowing.
Sam groaned, slapping her notebook shut. "I am not thinking about him."
"Right," Natasha said, drawing out the word. "So, what did Bucky say? Did he agree to be your prom date?"
"I didn’t ask him," Sam hissed under her breath.
"Why not?" Natasha demanded, looking genuinely baffled.
"Because he said prom isn’t his thing!" Sam whispered back.
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Of course he said that. He’s Bucky Barnes. He’s too cool to openly admit he’d want to go. You probably caught him off guard. You just need to give him a little push."
Sam’s face burned as she buried her head in her hands. "This was a bad idea. I should’ve just stayed focused on math club."
"Okay, listen," Natasha said, her tone suddenly serious. "Bucky doesn’t ignore you. He teases you, argues with you, actually talks to you—which, by the way, is not something he does with just anyone. Trust me, he’s interested. You just need to meet him halfway."
Sam peeked at her friend, skepticism written all over her face. "And what does ‘meet him halfway’ even mean?"
Natasha smirked. "You’ll figure it out. But if you don’t, I might just take matters into my own hands."
Sam groaned again. "Please don’t."
By the time the final bell rang, Sam was exhausted—not from schoolwork, but from replaying her conversation with Bucky over and over in her head. As she walked toward her locker, she froze.
There he was. Bucky Barnes, leaning against the lockers like he had all the time in the world.
He spotted her instantly, standing up straighter and offering her a small smile. "Hey, Sam."
Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to act natural. "Hey."
Bucky hesitated for a moment, then said, "So, uh... about earlier."
Sam’s heart stopped. "Yeah?"
"I might’ve been a little... dismissive," Bucky admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Prom’s not really my thing, but..." He trailed off, his gaze meeting hers. "If you wanted to go, I wouldn’t mind tagging along. You know, for company."
Sam blinked, completely caught off guard. "Wait... are you saying you’ll go to prom? With me?"
Bucky shrugged, though the faintest hint of a blush crept up his neck. "Yeah. If you’re cool with it."
For a moment, Sam could only stare at him, her brain trying to process the fact that Bucky Barnes had just asked her to prom. Then, she smiled, unable to hide the warmth spreading through her chest.
"I’m cool with it," she said softly.
"Good," Bucky said, his smirk returning. "Guess I’ll see you there."
He gave her one last look before turning and walking away, leaving Sam standing there, a mix of disbelief and excitement bubbling inside her.
Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe Bucky Barnes wasn’t so mysterious after all.
—#—
Weeks had passed in a blur of anticipation, and finally, prom day had arrived.
The prom venue was already buzzing with life. The gymnasium had been transformed into something almost magical, with twinkling fairy lights hanging from the ceiling and soft music playing in the background. The smell of punch and snacks filled the air as students laughed and danced, dressed in their finest outfits.
Near the entrance, Bucky Barnes was pacing nervously, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his sharp black suit. He had ditched his usual leather jacket for the night, and his hair, usually a bit messy, was neatly styled back. Yet, despite his polished appearance, he felt far from composed.
His sharp blue eyes darted toward the doors every few seconds. Where was she? Had something come up? Was she having second thoughts? The idea that Sam might not show up made his stomach twist.
"Chill, Barnes," came Steve’s voice from nearby. Steve was leaning against a table with a grin on his face, sipping from a cup of punch. "You’re gonna drill a hole in the floor."
Bucky shot his best friend a glare. "I’m not pacing."
Steve chuckled. "Sure you’re not. It’s not like you’ve checked the door ten times in the last five minutes."
Bucky huffed, running a hand down his tie. "I just... I don’t know if she’s even coming."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "She’s coming. Trust me. And when she does, you better have something to say other than ‘hey.’"
Before Bucky could snap back a retort, the chatter in the room shifted. The gym doors opened, and all eyes turned toward the entrance.
There she was.
Samantha Wilson stepped inside, arm-in-arm with Natasha Romanov, and the world seemed to stop. Sam’s midnight blue gown sparkled softly under the lights, her hair falling in elegant waves around her shoulders. Without her glasses, her face was more open, her features delicate and striking.
Bucky froze. His breath hitched as he stared at her, completely forgetting the ability to move, let alone speak.
"Go get her, Tiger." Steve whispered, nudging him hard in the side.
Bucky blinked, his feet moving before he could even think about it. He weaved through the crowd, his heart pounding harder with every step. As he got closer, Natasha spotted him first, her knowing smirk making it clear she had orchestrated more than she let on.
"Looks like your escort has arrived," Natasha murmured to Sam, giving her a light nudge forward before disappearing into the crowd.
Sam turned, and for a moment, she and Bucky just stared at each other. He took her in—the dress, the hair, the way she carried herself with a mix of nervousness and quiet confidence.
"Wow," Bucky said softly, finally finding his voice. "You look..." He paused, shaking his head as a small smile tugged at his lips. "You look incredible."
Sam felt her cheeks flush, her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides. "Thanks," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I had to step it up. Didn’t want to embarrass my date."
Sam’s heart skipped at the word date. She glanced at him, noticing how his usual confident demeanor had a touch of nervousness tonight. It was... endearing.
"You’re not embarrassing anyone," she said, her lips curving into a small smile.
Bucky grinned, holding out his hand. "Good. So, can I have the honor of the first dance?"
Sam hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand into his. "I’d like that."
The soft melody of the song wrapped around them as Bucky led Sam to the center of the dance floor. The twinkling lights above cast a warm glow over everyone, but for Sam and Bucky, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them.
Bucky placed one hand gently on Sam’s waist while keeping the other clasped with hers. Sam felt a mix of nerves and excitement flutter in her chest as she rested her free hand on his shoulder.
"I hope you know I’m terrible at this," Sam admitted, glancing down at their feet.
Bucky chuckled, his voice low and reassuring. "You’re doing fine. Just follow my lead."
Sam looked up at him, and for a moment, she forgot about the people around them. His usually guarded expression was soft, and the way he looked at her—like she was the most important person in the room—made her heart skip.
"You know," Bucky started, his tone casual but his eyes sincere, "when you walked in just now... I think I forgot how to breathe for a second."
Sam laughed, a quiet, nervous sound. "Don’t be ridiculous."
"I’m not," Bucky said, his lips curving into a small smile. "You’re... amazing, Sam. You’ve always been amazing, but tonight? You’ve outdone yourself."
Sam felt her cheeks heat up, but she managed to keep her gaze on him. "Thanks, Bucky. You’re not so bad yourself."
They swayed to the music, the distance between them shrinking little by little. The rest of the room seemed to fade into the background as they moved together, their steps awkward at first but slowly falling into sync.
"Can I ask you something?" Bucky said after a moment.
"Sure," Sam replied, her curiosity piqued.
"Why’d you ask me to prom?" His voice was quiet, but there was a vulnerability in his question that caught her off guard.
Sam hesitated, her eyes searching his. "Because... you’re important to me," she said finally. "You’re quiet and mysterious and kind of intimidating sometimes, but... I know there’s more to you. And I wanted to spend tonight with someone who actually makes me feel like I belong."
Bucky stared at her, his usual guarded demeanor slipping entirely. "You’ve always belonged, Sam," he said, his voice steady but filled with warmth. "You’re smart, funny, and... you’ve got this way of making everything feel easier. Even for someone like me."
Sam’s heart fluttered at his words, and she couldn’t help but smile. "Thanks, Bucky. That means a lot."
He held her gaze for a moment longer before breaking into a small, lopsided grin. "So... I guess this means I didn’t ruin prom for you?"
Sam laughed softly. "Not even close."
As the song came to an end, Bucky gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Good," he said, his voice low. "Because I don’t think I’ve ever had a better night."
Sam looked up at him, her smile widening. "Me neither."
And for the first time that night, she stopped worrying about how she looked or what anyone else thought. She was just Sam—nerdy, awkward, overthinking Sam—and Bucky was looking at her like she was perfect exactly the way she was.
As another song began, Bucky leaned in slightly, his voice just above a whisper. "Think you’re ready for another dance?"
Sam nodded, her confidence growing. "As long as you don’t mind stepping on my toes."
Bucky laughed, pulling her a little closer. "Not a chance."
And with that, they started to dance again, lost in their own little world as the night stretched on around them.
—
The event passed like a dream—laughter, music, and the blur of countless small moments Sam knew she would treasure forever. She had danced more than she ever thought she would, smiled until her cheeks ached, and shared more with Bucky in one night than in all the years they had known each other.
Now, as the night drew to its climax, the principal stood at the podium on the makeshift stage. The crowd settled, their excited chatter quieting as they waited for the final announcements. The awards for "Best Gown," "Best Look," and other lighthearted categories had been handed out, each winner greeted with applause and cheers.
"And now," Principal Carter said, her voice carrying over the microphone, "for the moment you've all been waiting for: the announcement of this year's Prom Queen."
Sam stood near the back of the room, quietly enjoying the moment as she held a half-empty glass of punch. She hadn’t even considered the awards—those were for the cheerleaders, the drama club stars, and the students who seemed to live for the spotlight. People like her didn’t win prom queen.
"And this year’s Prom Queen is..." The principal paused for dramatic effect, letting the anticipation build.
Sam sipped her punch, already preparing herself to cheer for whoever the winner would be.
"...Samantha Wilson!"
Sam froze mid-sip, nearly choking on her drink. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and for a moment, she stood there, stunned.
"What?" she whispered to herself.
Natasha, who had been standing nearby, nudged her hard. "You heard her! Get up there, your majesty!"
"But—"
"No buts," Natasha cut in, already pulling her forward. "Now get up there before I carry you myself."
Sam hesitated, but the crowd was already parting, their applause growing louder. Her heart hammered in her chest as she moved toward the stage, her steps uncertain.
When she reached the stage, Principal Carter gave her a warm smile and held out a glittering tiara. "Congratulations, Samantha," she said, placing the tiara gently on Sam’s head.
The crowd cheered again as Sam turned to face them, her cheeks flushed and her nerves still buzzing. She could barely believe what was happening.
"Speech! Speech!" someone called, and the chant quickly caught on.
Sam took a shaky breath, stepping up to the microphone. "Uh... wow," she started, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn’t expect this at all. Thank you so much to everyone who voted for me. I’m not really sure what to say, except... this has been one of the best nights of my life. And it’s not because of this crown—it’s because of all of you, and... and because of the people who make me feel special."
Her eyes briefly flicked to Bucky, who was standing near the front of the crowd, his expression proud and soft.
"So... thank you," she finished, stepping back from the microphone as the crowd erupted into cheers once more.
As she descended the stage, still in a daze, Bucky was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Prom Queen, huh?" he said, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.
"Apparently," Sam replied, still processing.
"Guess that means I’m dancing with royalty," he said, holding out his hand.
Sam laughed, taking his hand as her nerves finally began to settle. "Don’t let it go to your head."
"Never," he replied, pulling her close as the music swelled around them.
And as they danced, tiara slightly askew on her head, Sam couldn’t help but think that this night—unexpected, overwhelming, and absolutely perfect—was one she’d never forget.