#college!reader

[marvelstoriesepic]

Change your mind

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Natasha drags you to an NYU baseball game. And despite yourself, one player catches your attention.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Bucky’s charm; Bucky being flirty; Bucky showing off; Reader checking out baseball players lol; Reader not being interested in baseball (at first)

Author’s Note: I've been craving some flirty college Bucky after all the angst I've been writing. So that’s what I came up with. It is also meant as a little celebration fic because I've got over 1500 followers and that’s so amazing! Thank you so much!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Divider by @thecutestgrotto ♡

Masterlist

You haven’t been to a single game since the semester started - since any semester started, to be real. And honestly, you have been content with that. Satisfyingly so.

Your time is better spent attending to assignments, slogging through your part-time job at the library, or doing literally anything else besides sitting in the stands and watching a bunch of guys chase a ball around a field, or whatever the hell this sport even is about.

Baseball isn’t your thing, it never has been and it never will be.

You’ve been complaining about it the whole way here. Dramatically so, but you didn’t care. Your best friend can handle you and your antics.

“You know, I can think of at least a dozen things I should be doing right now instead of this,” you grumble, trailing behind her as she weaves through the crowd in search of seats.

Natasha sighs sharply and throws you a glare over her shoulder. “God, would you quit whining? This is good for you.”

“I fail to see how,” you shoot back, adjusting the strap of your bag as you begrudgingly follow her.

But Natasha just smirks. That dangerous little smirk that means she’s about to say something you won’t have a comeback for. “You know,” she muses, eyes darting playfully in your direction. “I didn’t think I’d have to twist your arm to come watch a bunch of hot guys running around out there.”

A brow of yours lifts. “Alright, hold on-” you jab a finger in her direction “-I never said I was against that part.”

She scoffs, clearly pleased with herself, and you grin, nudging her with your elbow as the two of you settle into your seats.

“Besides,” you continue, voice dripping with amusement. “I don’t think you should be making comments like that when we both know you’re here for one guy in particular.”

Natasha only shrugs, all nonchalant, but the corner of her mouth tugs lightly upward. “So what if I am?”

You snicker. “I mean, nothing. I just think it’s cute how whipped you are.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lip is still twitching. Natasha and Steve have only been dating for a few weeks, but you see the way she looks at him. And as much as you complain about being dragged here, you suppose watching your best friend fall stupidly in love is kind of entertaining.

Even if you have to suffer through a baseball game to witness it.

You lean back against the hard metal bleachers, arms crossed as your gaze falls across the field.

It’s a decent night, warm with just enough of a breeze to keep the air from feeling stifling. And even though you’d rather be anywhere else right now, you can’t deny that seeing Natasha like this - light in her eyes, a weird softness in her expression - makes the whole ordeal slightly less painful.

Steve is out on the field, stretching with his team, and Natasha is watching him with this reserved kind of smile. The kind that sneaks up on a person when they don’t realize they’re doing it. You smirk to yourself. Yeah, she’s got it bad. But honestly, you are happy for her. They look good together, and she certainly deserves someone who looks at her the way Steve does.

Natasha must catch you watching her because she suddenly turns, an all-too-knowing glint in her eye. You don’t like that look.

“And who knows,” she says, spreading her legs out in front of her, voice hinting at humor, “maybe your future husband’s down there right now.”

You snort, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “Oh, yeah, sure. He’s just waiting for me to sweep him off his feet in the middle of a stretch.”

She smirks. “Could happen.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, no thanks. I'm all for watching a bunch of hot guys get all sweaty and run around in tight pants, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” You gesture vaguely toward the field. “That’s just spectating. Everything else is a hard pass.”

Natasha quirks a brow, tilting her head at you. “Oh, come on, Y/n. It’s not that bad.”

You shoot her a look. “Nat, the last guy I went out with, Peter Quill, you remember?-” You don’t wait for her nod “-he told me, verbatim, that he doesn’t believe in seasoning his food. And the guy before that showed up to our date in cargo shorts and a fedora and spent two hours explaining why The Wolf of Wall Street is the peak of cinema.”

She winces. “Oof.”

“Yeah. So forgive me if I’m not that eager to throw myself back into the trenches.” You pause. “Also, I’m super busy.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head as she turns back toward the field. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be sure to put in a good word with one of Steve’s teammates.”

You scoff. “Wow, generous and delusional. I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.”

She nudges you with her shoulder, smirking. “The luckiest.”

Huffing, you sink deeper into your seat. Well, at least there is one upside to all of this. If nothing else, you can at least appreciate the view.

Your eyes wander over the team as they move across the field, warming up, adjusting their gloves, casually tossing a ball back and forth.

And yeah, you can admit it - objectively speaking, they look good. Athletic builds, toned arms, legs that fill out those pants just right. It’s a nice view, even if you’re not about to go throwing yourself into the dating pool again, so soon.

Your gaze drifts back to Steve, mostly because he’s the only one you actually know - if only a little. But before you can really focus on him, someone steps into your line of sight, half-blocking the blonde from view.

The number 17 fills out your vision.

Your head tilts instinctively, curiosity sparking before you know it. The guy in front of Steve is tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy stance that suggests he’s completely at home out there on the field.

His uniform fits him in a way that makes you annoyingly aware of just how well built he is - jersey stretched firm across his upper back, the sleeves tight around his biceps, pants snug in all the right places. His chestnut hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck underneath the baseball cap he is wearing, and he stands so casually confident that it makes it impossible to not look at him.

Have you maybe seen him around campus before? You should have, right? Someone like him doesn’t just blend into the background. Maybe in the halls, in one of those massive lecture rooms, passing by in the library, maybe when you're on shift. But you are sure, that if you saw that guy, you would have remembered him.

“See something you like?”

Natasha’s smug voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you catch the smirk she is throwing your way.

Scoffing, you tighten your arms around yourself and glance back at the field. Number 17 is still standing there, talking with Steve, completely unaware of the fact that you’ve just spent the past minute analyzing every inch of his backside.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deny, keeping your tone even.

Natasha snorts, bumping her knee against yours. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

She nods her head to the field. “For dragging you here. For the eye candy. For giving you the opportunity to meet your future ex-husband.”

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

Inevitably, your eyes move back to number 17, and you can’t help but think that if you haven’t seen him before, why it feels like you should have.

He’s turning.

Wait, he’s turning.

Your breath hitches and stays stuck in your throat uncomfortably, and suddenly he’s looking at you. Did he feel your eyes on him? Does he somehow know that you eyed him up like a complete creep? But just as the heat of panic can spark in your chest, you realize he’s not even looking at you.

He’s looking at Natasha.

Your shoulders loosen slightly. Steve also has turned his gaze toward the stands, his affective smile directed at your friend as well. He probably told the brunette that she’s here.

Number 17 lifts a hand in a casual wave, movement smooth, and even that simple gesture kind of looks way hotter than you want to feel right now.

Natasha only gives a small, lazy nod in return.

You expect the brunette to turn back around after that, to go back to whatever pre-game thing they were doing. But he doesn’t.

His attention shifts. To you.

Your stomach makes a flip before your brain can decide how to handle it.

His eyes are sharp, the exact color lost to the distance, but it seems to be something blueish. His expression is unreadable, his head tilting slightly as if assessing you. The stadium lights cast a glow over his features, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, and the way his mouth seems to settle into something just shy of a smirk.

Immediately, you whip your head around to Natasha, eyes wide.

“Do you know that guy?” you ask, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Natasha doesn’t even bother looking at you. She’s still watching Steve, her lips curving higher as if knowing what she’s doing.

“He’s Steve’s best friend.”

You blink. “Steve’s best friend?”

Your gaze falls back to the field against your better judgment but Number 17 has already turned back to Steve, talking to the blonde who now is sporting a smirk just like Natasha’s.

“You never mentioned him before,” you comment, though it comes out a little too measured.

Natasha of course picks up on it immediately.

“Should I have?” she counters, dragging the words out just a little.

You narrow your eyes at her but she only continues smirking.

And again, your gaze falls back to Number 17. God, why can’t you stop checking him out. The white baseball pants of his do absolutely nothing to hide the strength in his legs. His hair at his nape is slightly messy from running around and you wonder if it would feel soft if you put your hands on it.

You shake that thought right off again.

It’s not like it matters.

Still, you shift in your seat, arms tightening. “I just think it’s interesting that you never brought him up before when he’s his best friend.”

Natasha exhales a laugh through her nose, finally glancing over at you, her eyes glinting with something mischievous. “I mean, I could have.”

“And you didn’t because…?”

“Because,” she says sultry, shrugging one shoulder. “I figured you’d meet him eventually.”

There is something pointed in the way she says it, something deliberate, and you don’t like that it sends a small tingle of anticipation through you.

“So, what’s his deal, then?” you keep going, not even knowing why.

Natasha hums, stretching her limbs languidly. Her voice is sly. “His deal?”

“You know,” you press, trying not to sound too interested, although, fucking hell, you are. “Like, what’s his major? Have you seen him around before?”

She turns to you again, and oh, that look on her face is entirely too smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You huff. “Nat.”

Her smirk only deepens. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Before you can answer, she looks past you, over your shoulder, down the steps.

Her expression doesn’t change but her smirk gets a little too satisfied, a little too wicked.

You quickly follow her gaze and, oh shit.

A heavy beat thuds against your ribs before your heart remembers how to move properly as your eyes follow the unmistakable figure making his way up the stairs.

Number 17.

And he is coming right toward you.

You inhale sharply, sitting up a little straighter, trying to act like this isn’t throwing you off balance. His steps are easy and unhurried as if giving you the time to check him out some more. And even though you should know better, you do.

His uniform is wrinkled from warm-ups, the fabric clinging in ways that are frankly unfair, and his dark hair curls enough to look annoyingly good.

He reaches your row. And despite the fact that Natasha should logically be the person he came up for, he isn’t looking at her when he speaks.

His eyes land directly on you.

“Steve sent me up,” he says, voice low and smooth, a pleased drawl rolling through his words. “Said he forgot his water bottle or somethin’.”

You blink and try to shake off what his voice does to your body. Crossing one leg over the other, you feign indifference.

“Yeah,” Natasha says, sounding way too delighted. “She’s got it.” She slaps your arm lightly with her hand.

You turn to her confused. “Huh?”

“I asked you to put it in your bag since mine’s smaller.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know it’s Steve’s,” you mutter, then glare at her for a second before reaching down to retrieve the damn thing.

Natasha looks triumphant.

When you pull the bottle free and hold it out to the guy standing in front of you, he takes it with his fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels very intentional.

“Thanks, doll.”

His tone is silk spun into sound and hell, it glides over your skin, making it prickle underneath your sweater.

He has the bottle now but doesn’t step away yet. His eyes linger on you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before,” he remarks, studying you with open interest. His lips tug a little as if he is holding back a full grin. As if he is pleased.

You meet his gaze and swallow, keeping your expression open but neutral even as something sparks under your skin. “Yeah, it’s my first game.”

His lips press together like he’s trying not to fully smirk. “No kiddin’.” There is something about the way he says it that you can’t place.

You lift a brow and tilt your head slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just figured I woulda noticed you before, is all.”

Oh.

Oh, damn.

You know flirting when you hear it. And that was flirting.

You clear your throat, but a smile is trying to makes its way over your mouth. “Do you say that to all the girls in the stands?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Nah. Just you.”

Heat winds through your stomach. Because there is an easy, matter-of-fact kind of confidence in his voice.

Biting his lip, he studies you some more. Eyes intensely on you. “So you ain’t much of a baseball fan, then,” he hums. His voice is a low timbre.

You scoff, but can’t help the amused smile lifting your lips. “Not quite my thing.”

“Maybe I can change that.”

You almost choke on your next breath, because oh. He’s good. And hell, that came fast.

Natasha cackles. You ignore her.

Your fingers play with the fabric of your jeans. “Smooth,” you assess, unable to help the wry lilt in your voice.

He grins. Lopsided. Charming. Devastatingly handsome, oh god so help me. “Yeah? That workin’ for me?”

You roll your eyes, but it’s all for show. “Debatable.”

Natasha snorts.

His smirk is deep. There is a twinkle in his blue eyes. He stares at you like that for a second.

“I’m Bucky.” His voice is softened a fraction. His tone is genuine.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

His head moves to the side a little, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And you are?”

You tell him your name and his gaze lingers, his smirk edging into something thoughtful.

“Huh,” he muses.

You frown slightly. “What?”

He shrugs, still watching you, maybe even looking a little bashful. “Dunno. Just- I like it. Suits you.”

That somehow feels worse than the flirting.

You feel your face heat and you hate that Natasha can probably see it.

There is a shout coming from the dugout. “Barnes, get your ass down here, now!”

That must be their trainer Fury.

But Bucky stays standing there, looking at you for a beat longer, biting his lip and scratching the back of his neck. Then he takes a step back, spinning the water bottle once in his hand. “Guess I’ll see ya next game, doll,” he charms.

You blink, eyebrows up. “That’s a bold assumption.”

He just grins, throwing you a wink. “Nah. I got a feelin’.”

And just like that, he turns, heading back down toward the field, leaving you sitting there slightly dazed.

It takes a moment for your brain to start working again.

You feel Natasha leaning in but are not ready to meet that sly expression.

“We both know you’ll be here next time.”

Infuriatingly, you know she is right.

“I hate you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The game kicks off, but you are not watching it the way you thought you would.

Because he’s on the field.

And, well damn.

You tell yourself you’re just curious. That’s all it is. You’re not actually watching him. You’re just keeping an eye on him. Casual observation. A purely academic interest in how the game works.

Except, the longer you watch, the more you have to admit that he is good.

Really good.

His movements are seamless. It’s like an unbroken flow of precision and control as if the game is merely responding to him, not the other way around. He’s so natural, seems so at ease, and yet he moves so fast and sharp.

You can see the innate understanding he has, of how the game breathes. It’s impressive.

When he’s at bat, his stance is balanced to perfection, knees bent just enough, shoulders loose but poised. The pitcher winds up, releases, and before you can even register it fully, Bucky crushes that ball.

The sound of it is sharp, a crack that echoes through the field.

You track the ball as it soars high, way over the outfield. And then he’s running. He’s a cloud of white and navy as he rounds first base, feet hitting the dirt hard.

Natasha whistles low beside you. “Not bad, huh?” She doesn’t hide her smirk.

You press your lips together, determined to be neutral. “Yeah, well. Maybe I was just expecting less.”

Your best friend lets out a half-amused, half-exaggerated breath through her nose. “You weren’t.”

You want to throw her a glare but that would mean you’d have to take your eyes off Bucky and somehow you can’t manage that.

So you only huff and lean further into your seat.

But even as he plays, you can’t shake the feeling that perhaps he somehow tries a little more than necessary.

There are subtle indications. The way he lingers just a bit longer when he looks up toward the stands, the slight, extra flourish in the way he moves. The exaggerated ease of it all.

Oh, hell.

As he rounds third base, his gaze snaps up.

Right at you.

And he winks.

Your stomach plummets. Heat boils along your spine, and you freeze for half a second, caught completely fucking off guard.

The grin he shoots you is smug and holds a knowing edge, seeing the way your eyes are already on him, seeing your reaction, and thriving on it.

Natasha grasps your arm, gasping. “Oh my God.”

She is overly dramatic on purpose and you hate it.

You tear your gaze away from him and glare at her. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I'm starting,” she laughs, delighted. “That guy’s showing off for you.”

“He is not,” you hiss, trying and failing to ignore the warmth along your neck. Spreading and spreading up to your cheeks.

“That was textbook showing off, babe.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of the reaction she wants to see.

But maybe she’s not wrong.

The game continues, and despite your best efforts, your eyes keep finding him.

The more you watch, the more obvious it becomes.

The smooth way he catches the ball in the outfield, hardly needing to look before launching it straight to second base. The way he moves just a little bit slower after a play like he knows there are eyes on him. The way his grin sharpens when he hears the cheers, the teasing comments from his teammates.

And apparently, Steve notices, too.

Because after a particularly showy throw - one that was definitely more dramatic than necessary - Steve jogs past him and smacks him on the back of the head.

You faintly hear Bucky’s startled grunt from the bleachers.

Natasha snickers beside you.

Steve is muttering something to him, but the brunette only grins, backing away with his arms outstretched and shoulders pulled up in an unbothered shrug. And his eyes immediately find you. You look away hastily.

Your best friend leans in, voice low and teasing. “Change your mind about dating yet?”

Sinking lower in your seat, you move your hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous.”

But even as you say it, you glance back at Bucky.

And he’s still looking at you.

This time, you don’t look away.

Another smack lands across the back of his head and he is forced to drag his eyes away from you to grumble at the guy who is grinning from ear to ear, enjoying whatever the hell this is between Bucky and you.

“You’re actin’ real thirsty right now, Barnes,” the voice of the other player sounds out, loud enough for you to make out some words. “Hey, I mean, I get it. She’s cute. But can you focus, man?”

Flustered, you shove your hands between your thighs and curl a little bit inward.

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky warns, rolling his shoulders and throwing a hard look at his teammate before jogging back to his position.

You don’t miss the way he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair after lifting the cap for a moment as if he is trying to gather himself.

Your heart is beating in a weird rhythm. Your hands are a little sweaty and you hate that Natasha notices.

“Well, well,” she teases, watching Bucky get into position. “Looks like you’re a motivator.”

“Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it’s this much fun,” she grins, eyes swimming in mischief. “And clearly not when my best friend’s about to have my boyfriend's buddy ask for her number.”

It’s your time to smirk. “Boyfriend?” you chirp. “I'm sure Steve would like to know you calling him that behind his ba-”

“There’s no turning this around, babe. I’m the one with the power here,” she chides, but she is suppressing a smile. “No go ahead and continue to watch your future boyfriend.” She turns your shoulder forward to the field.

“He’s not-”

“Watch.”

You do.

And the longer the game goes on, you try to keep telling yourself that you’re going to stop watching him. But no matter how much you try to focus on anything else - the scoreboard, the crowd, even the actual game - your eyes don’t listen.

They keep wandering back to him. To the way he moves, his effortless command of the field.

It’s the way he seems to own every second he’s out there like he is meant to be on the field. And he seems to love it. His body moves with an instinctive kind of grace, muscles shifting under the snug fit of his uniform, every motion thought through but natural.

When he takes his spot at shortstop, you admire the confidence of his stance. He’s completely at home. He stands relaxed but his eyes are sharp and focused, scanning the field.

And when the ball comes his way, his gloved hand snatches it mid-air before his arm whips it across the diamond in a clean throw.

It’s irritatingly impressive.

You try to convince yourself that he plays like this all the time - that this isn’t for you at all - but there is something nagging at the back of your mind. Something in the way he carries himself, the extra little flair in the way he moves.

He really seems to be putting on a small show and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the only one in the audience that actually matters to him. You don’t know how to feel about that.

Natasha catches you watching again. “Mhm,” she hums, knowingly. Not at all subtle about it.

You throw her a burning look. “Shut up, Nat.”

She smirks and tilts her head. “You want to be the one he’s showing off for.”

You release a sharp breath, looking at the darkened sky faintly lit by the stadium lights. “If I did, I’d be enjoying it, wouldn’t I? I just think he’s- trying a little hard. Like he’s-”

You don’t get to finish that sentence because the crowd erupts again. The score is tied. This is the final inning.

Your throat constricts as Bucky walks up to plate, adjusting his cap like he’s been waiting for this moment. He taps the bat against the plate once, twice, and tilts his head at the pitcher. You watch the way Bucky’s muscles coil, the readiness, the concentration.

The pitcher winds up. The stadium is silent.

The ball is pitched.

Bucky swings.

Crack.

The sound echoes across the field as Bucky swings and connects perfectly, the entire stadium staring with bated breath. The ball rockets up into the night sky, impossibly high, soaring straight over the center field fence.

It’s gone. A home run.

The crowd erupts, students leaping to their feet, fists pumping, voices carrying through the air. Natasha is already up, grabbing your wrist and yanking you up beside her.

“That’s your man,” Natasha yells over the noise, pointing at the field. “That’s your home run, babe!”

“Oh my god, Nat, he’s not-” you start, but you are cut off by the thunder of feet around you, students leaping onto the bleachers, fists raised, chanting his name.

Just like the others, you are watching Bucky jog around the bases at a confident pace, brushing a hand through his sweaty hair again.

You’re honestly a little overwhelmed with this whole thing. Trying to catch up to the way Bucky moves as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for him, like sending a ball out of the park is just something he does on a casual Tuesday.

And then, just as he crosses home plate, the team swarming him, he turns his head up.

Right to you.

The whole world seems to slow for just a second. Your breath is lost in your throat when your eyes lock. There is a heat in his gaze, but it shifts from exhilaration to something softer. He beams up at you for that special moment, blue eyes shining under the stadium lights, his grin wide.

Your pulse hammers in a way you really don’t want to acknowledge.

You are clapping, like all the others.

And there is something changing in his expression. The corner of his mouth curls in a way as if he can’t believe what he is seeing. His confidence falters for a brief second, replaced by something almost sheepish. His hand scrubs over his face, attention caught by his teammates, but there definitely is a hint of pink dusting his cheeks at your small cheers.

The other players pull him into a rough embrace and for a moment you don’t see him at all, the rest jumps around him in celebration.

“Alright, come on, let’s get down there,” Natasha says, grabbing your wrist again.

“Wait, what?” you sputter as she pulls you toward the railing, making her way down the steps, dragging you with her.

“You are not going to be the only one still sitting while your boyfriend-”

“Stop that-”

“-just won the damn game,” she finishes, waving you off as you scowl at her.

Before you know it, you’re at the very front of the stands, your hands coming together as the roar of the crowd vibrates through your bones.

You see Bucky looking over the chaos, his arms slung around his teammates, his chest rising and falling from exertion, when suddenly, his gaze catches you again.

That bright, wide grin now definitely softens. In a shit, you really were watching kind of way. His blue eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read every single thought rushing through your head right now.

Natasha is practically jumping beside you, cheering happily, so you don’t want to be a bummer and start clapping again. Looking at him.

His smile tries to widen, but Bucky bites his lip. And then, he actually looks bashful.

He dips his head just slightly, running another hand down his face, and this time it’s him looking away first.

But not before you catch that tiny flicker of something almost shy. For all his confidence, for all the easy charm he’s been throwing at you, all the flirtatious lines, something about your reaction to him is what makes him falter that little bit.

And oh how it does something to you. You don’t even fight the little smile on your lips as Natasha bumps her shoulder into yours.

“Shut up,” you murmur, but it sounds too light.

Natasha smirks. “I didn’t say anything.”

You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest to hide the way your hands are still itching to continue clapping.

The roar of the crowd slowly begins to settle, the energy of the game remaining charged in the air. The bleachers empty languidly, students pouring onto the field or shuffling toward the exits, their excitement buzzing in hurried conversations and triumphant chants.

The players begin filtering off the field, disappearing into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. Some of them are still exchanging shoves and laughs, adrenaline still pumping through their veins.

Bucky walks alongside Steve, his uniform tightly handing off his frame.

But before he disappears with the rest of them he glances behind one last time. And, of course, it’s at you again. You shiver.

His glance is just a flicker of blue under the harsh stadium lights but it’s just a beat longer than you would expect. As if he is making sure you’re still here. As if he is worried you won’t be when he comes back out.

Then he’s gone.

“You see that?” Natasha assesses, leaning her weight into one hip, arms crossed.

“See what?” you ask, obviously annoyed.

She’s unbothered. “That boy just looked at you like a man checking to see if his car’s still parked outside.”

You groan. “God, shut up.”

“That never worked on me. You should know better.”

With an impish grin, she tugs at your wrist and guides you away from the bleachers.

“Come on, we’re waiting for them,” she says, already pulling you toward the tunnel exit.

“What? Nat-”

“Well, I’m waiting for Steve,” she says, “and you, my dear, have been eyefucking his best friend all night, so don’t even try to act like you don’t want to see him again.”

“Okay, come on,” you defend. “I have not-”

“-been staring at him, sure,” she interrupts, her smirk widening. “But only every time he wasn’t looking. Which, by the way, wasn’t often.”

You groan again but follow her anyway, because, at this point, you’re not even sure if you’re protesting for show or out of actual resistance.

Minutes go by as more people slowly tickle away, leaving only a few clusters of them lingering around, chatting under the lights.

The air is still warm, but the breeze carries enough of a chill to make you shift on your feet, arms folding over your chest as you wait.

And then, Steve and Bucky emerge from the locker room, side by side.

Steve’s blond hair is still damp from the shower, his team jacket slung over one shoulder. The moment he spots Natasha, his whole face softens. His stride quickens as he reaches her and he pulls her in for a kiss that is far sweeter than you expected from someone fresh out of a game.

Your best friend, for all her teasing confidence tonight, melts against him, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket.

You feel happiness for her but you look away, feeling like you’re intruding on something intimate.

And before you can prepare yourself, Bucky is standing right in front of you.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says, voice lower, less playful than before.

His hair is damp too, looking darker like that. He doesn’t wear his cap anymore, short brown tendrils resting on his forehead. His uniform is gone, replaced by a dark hoodie and jeans. And yet, he still looks every bit like the man who just stole the game with a home run. He looks handsome. You can even admit that.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll leave with Nat,” you answer, voice a little quieter than you would have liked it to be.

Bucky smiles. He shifts his weight, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Well, had to make sure you actually enjoyed yourself,” he says, tipping his head to the side, smirk slowly appearing. “Didn’t want you to suffer through it since you’ve already been dragged out here.”

You huff out a small laugh, looking at the ground before up at him again. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Not terrible?” he echoes, feigning offense. “Sweetheart, I won the damn game. You were cheerin’ for me.”

It’s as if he needed to say it out loud. As if he’s been telling that to himself the whole time.

You bite your lip. Those nicknames will send you tumbling to the floor if you’re not careful. “Yes, well. You put on a good show.”

He grins something slow and smug. “And here I was thinkin’ you weren’t much of a baseball fan.”

You shift, laughing softly. “Still not, really.”

He hums, studying you so deeply. In a gentle way. But he takes his sweet time and it’s making you nervous. “I’ll change your mind.”

Your stomach does something weird - something that has everything to do with the way his voice dips slightly, the way it rumbles out so smoothly.

You narrow your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “I’d like to see you try.”

Bucky chuckles softly, rocking on the balls of his feet. He can’t stop watching you, moving his eyes around your features, your whole frame, as if wondering where you have been the whole time. He looks like he is trying to read every little thing written across your face.

Your chest feels a little too tight, and your pulse picks up the longer you look at him, the longer he looks at you.

The air is cooler now that the game is over, the heat from the crowd dissipating into the open night, and although you feel plenty heated up by his gaze and presence, you instinctively rub your arms, shifting on your feet.

“You cold?” Bucky’s voice is lower, and there is a soft gentleness to his tone, that sounds so sincere, you feel your knees grow weak.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve got an extra jersey in my bag,” he offers as if he didn’t even hear you, already moving. “Or you can take this one-” He seems about to shrug off his hoodie instead.

You quickly hold up a hand to stop him. “No, really. I’m okay.”

Bucky pauses, squinting at you, mouth quirking as he eyes you a second longer. Then, as if he’s figured something out, his lips form a real smirk again.

“Alright,” he concedes easily, his weight tipping slightly to one side, then back again. “Guess I’ll just give it to you next time, then.”

You freeze just slightly, blinking up at him.

Next time.

You don’t quite know what to do with that.

You clear your throat, forcing words out. “Yeah. Next time.”

Bucky beams.

It’s a full-on, dazzling grin, cheeks high and rosy, eyes bright in a way that makes something overturn in your stomach.

He looks way too pleased with himself now. And you are way too aware of how warm your face feels.

You try to push yourself past the sudden rush of flustered energy. “Well, I guess I will see you around campus, then.”

Bucky hums, considering, still not taking his eyes off you. “Maybe,” his head turns to the side, making a pause. “Or I could just make sure.”

“Make sure?”

He pulls his hands from his hoodie pocket, adjusting his footing and running a hand through his hair, messing with the damp strands a little. He might just seem the slightest bit nervous.

Flipping his palm up expectantly, he looks at you with a glint of hope in his eyes. “Your phone.”

Your stomach does that turning-over thing again as you realize what he’s going on about. “Oh.”

You are fumbling to grab your phone out of your bag, fingers perhaps wavering a little and you are glad that Natasha is preoccupied at the moment to see this. Unlocking it, you hand it over to him.

Bucky takes it gently, fingers brushing yours. Again, it feels intentional.

The glow of the screen illuminates his face as he punches in his number, and presses to call himself so he’ll have your number as well before handing your phone back to you.

You glance down.

A new contact. Bucky Barnes.

Bucky watches you with a soft smile.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve calls, still standing with Natasha. You don’t see the triumphant smile those lovebirds share, busy trying not to show your disappointment of the night coming to an end. “We heading out?”

Bucky sighs, but he doesn’t break eye contact with you just yet.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he murmurs.

“Guess so.”

His feet shuffle against the floor. He seems not quite ready to end this conversation, taking a slow step backward, not turning away from you.

“See you next game, doll,” he says, words landing softer, quieter in a way. He speaks as if it matters.

You fidget with the sleeve of your sweater and let out an almost shy laugh. “Sure.”

Bucky smirks, holding up his phone and waving with it when walking further backward to Steve. “I’ll remind you.”

You watch him walk off with his best friend, watch him throw another grin over his shoulder at you, still feeling the heat that won’t stop tingling along your skin.

Your own best friend throws her arm around your shoulders.

This time, she keeps her mouth shut. She knows she doesn’t have to say anything anymore. There is no denying it any longer and you are well aware.

Because yeah, you might not be into baseball.

But you might be into Number 17.

“Flirting is a promise of something more.”

- Milan Kundera

[marscardigan]

what is this feeling?

roomate!ellie x fem!reader

main masterlist

summary: college au. you and ellie disliked each other since the beginning. the director has to do something about it when your mutual hatred goes too far.

word count: 5k

cw: based off of the song what is this feeling? from the musical wicked. no use of y/n. reader is kind of a bitch.

The semester was almost over when Ellie arrived at Jackson University. She stood at the doorway of her new dorm room, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. It looked like a tornado had hit—if tornados were made of textbooks, potted plants, and tons of clothes. Every available surface was covered in something, from open notebooks stacked on the desk to an overflowing laundry basket by the bed.

Correction: by her bed.

Posters of pop stars she’d never heard of were plastered on the walls. A lumpy quilt, clearly handmade, was tangled on the left mattress. The right side was a mountain of stuff: books, hats, and bags.

"Uh, hello?" she called out, knocking on the open door frame.

From behind the closet door, a voice called her out, "Just a sec!"

Ellie waited, impatient. She already didn’t want to be here—new school, new roommate, new everything. And now this.

The closet door swung open, and you stepped out, flicking your hair over your shoulder. Your eyes scanned Ellie from head to toe, lingering on her wrinkled flannel and scuffed pair of Converse. One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. "You’re the new roommate?"

Ellie crossed her arms. "Yeah. Ellie."

You turned on your heel, stepping over a pile of textbooks as you moved toward your bed—Ellie’s bed, technically. You looked over your shoulder, eyes gleaming. "I would’ve made room for you, but they told me you weren’t coming until next semester."

Ellie glanced around at the chaos. "Looks like you decided to spread out anyway."

You shrugged, not a hint of apology in your tone. "Well, I had the place to myself. Can you blame me?" You waved a manicured hand at the pile of clothes on her mattress. "I suppose I could clear some of that. Eventually."

Ellie’s jaw clenched. "Or, you could do it now."

You blinked, clearly not used to being spoken to like that. But then your smile widened, dazzling and sharp. "Wow. Someone’s feisty." You leaned against the shared desk, eyes never leaving Ellie’s. "Tell you what—since you’re here early and all, why don’t you help me? After all, it���s your stuff in the way."

Ellie’s eyes darkened. "My stuff?"

"It’s your bed, isn’t it?"

Ellie opened her mouth to retort, but you were already moving, "There. Now you’ve got space."

This was going to be a long semester.

Ellie quickly learned that living with you was like being in the middle of a hurricane—one with nice hair and a perfectly sharp tongue.

It started with the little things. Like the way you always seemed to be on the phone, laughing with friends Ellie hadn’t met and probably wouldn’t like.

But then it got personal.

"Are you sure you’re a sophomore?" you asked one morning, leaning against the closet door as she tied her converse. "Because I could’ve sworn they stopped letting high schoolers in here."

Ellie didn’t look up, "Funny. I was just wondering if you were majoring in Fashion Police."

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Nope. But if I were, you’d be failing." You gave her a once-over, taking in the faded band tee and worn jeans. "Like, spectacularly."

Ellie’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone flat. "Yeah, well, not all of us have trust funds to blow on overpriced rags."

Your smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes. Annoyance, maybe. Ellie counted that as a win.

At lunch the next week, Ellie trudged into the cafeteria, exhausted after her back-to-back lectures. She grabbed a tray, mind already on the paper she needed to finish, when she heard a voice carry across the room.

"I really don't know how you do it, like, genuinely. How do you stand her? I don't think I could."

That was another thing. You had everyone wrapped around your finger. Everywhere you went, you were surrounded by people—laughing, smiling, clinging to your every word. It didn’t matter that you were the most infuriating person Ellie had ever met. You were popular. And you were aware of it.

"Well, at least she doesn’t occupy much storage in the closet," you replied, your voice light and casual, but loud enough for Ellie to hear. "It’s an advantage of having only two jeans and three shirts, right?"

Your friends laughed, their voices echoing off the cafeteria walls. Another girl added, "Well, we are on your side!"

Ellie’s grip tightened on her tray. Two could play at this game.

She crossed the room without hesitation, sliding into the seat across from you. Your eyes widened in surprise, just for a second, before you composed yourself, flashing that perfect smile of yours.

"Aw, don’t stop on my account," Ellie said, setting her tray down with a thud. "I was just wondering how you manage to talk so much without actually saying anything."

Your smile didn’t falter, but your eyes sharpened. "Just making conversation. Sorry if that’s new for you."

"Right. Must be exhausting, carrying that much air in your head all day."

You blinked, clearly not expecting her to bite back that hard. But you recovered quickly, tilting your head. "Oh, that’s cute. I didn’t know sarcasm was a personality trait now."

Ellie’s smirk widened. "I didn’t know lip gloss was either, but here we are."

Your jaw tightened, but your voice remained sugar-sweet. "Wow, it must be nice to not care about how you look. I mean, it really shows."

Ellie shrugged. "At least when people look at me, they don’t get blinded by glitter."

You huffed, tossing your hair over your shoulder. "It’s called style. You should try it sometime."

Ellie leaned in, her eyes locked on yours. "Thanks, but I don’t need to dress like a Barbie to have people listen to me."

Your cheeks flushed, and for a moment, Ellie saw the crack in your perfect facade. But then you plastered on that brilliant smile, leaning forward as well with an infuriatingly calm expression. "You know, it’s really brave of you to act this tough when everyone knows you’re just some charity case they let in out of pity."

Time froze. Ellie’s face went blank, her hands tightening around her fork.

You tilted your head, voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Oh, did I strike a nerve? Sorry, I just assumed you knew. You do stick out like a sore thumb."

Ellie didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. She picked up her tray, mashed potatoes and all, and flung it at you.

Your gasp was drowned out by the collective 'Oh!' from your friends. Mashed potatoes splattered across your top, dripping down your perfectly styled hair.

For a moment, you sat there, frozen, eyes wide with shock. But then fury flashed across your face, and you grabbed your own tray. Without a word, you hurled it at Ellie.

She barely dodged as spaghetti sauce splattered across her shirt, a noodle dangling from her hair. Her eyes widened before narrowing dangerously. "Oh, it’s so on."

The cafeteria erupted into chaos as food started flying. You launched a cup of pudding, and Ellie retaliated with a handful of peas. Someone screamed as a slice of pizza soared through the air, narrowly missing them. Laughter and shouts echoed off the walls as tables were overturned, students ducking for cover.

You lunged for a bowl of salad, but Ellie was faster, smearing dressing down your arm. "You’re gonna pay for that!" you shouted, grabbing a carton of milk and pouring it over her head.

Ellie sputtered, wiping it from her eyes. "You’re dead." She grabbed a roll and chucked it at you, hitting you square in the forehead.

Before either of you could escalate further, a voice boomed through the cafeteria. "ENOUGH!"

The room fell silent, heads whipping around to see Director Miller standing at the entrance, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His eyes were blazing as he took in the scene—the overturned tables, food-splattered walls, and you and Ellie, standing in the middle of the carnage, covered head to toe in cafeteria slop.

His gaze locked on you, then shifted to Ellie. "My office. Now."

Ellie swallowed, her anger giving way to a sinking feeling in her stomach. You looked just as stunned, mouth slightly open as you tried to brush mashed potatoes off your jeans.

"Move it," Director Miller barked, turning on his heel and marching out of the cafeteria.

Ellie shot you a glare. "This is your fault."

You scowled back, cheeks flushed. "Excuse me? You started it!"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Yeah? Well, I’m gonna finish it."

You opened your mouth to retort, but Director Miller’s voice echoed from the hallway. "Now!"

With one last death glare, you turned on your heel, marching out of the cafeteria with your head held high, even with spaghetti sauce dripping down your back.

Ellie followed, grumbling under her breath as she flicked a noodle off her sleeve. This was not how she’d planned on spending her afternoon.

But as she watched you try to wipe pudding off your designer handbag, she couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips. Maybe this wasn’t that bad after all.

Director Miller’s office was colder than Ellie expected. The walls were bare except for a single clock ticking ominously above his desk, and a picture of him and her daughter. It felt like a judge’s chamber—appropriate, considering the scowl on his face as he stood behind his chair, arms crossed.

You sat rigidly in the chair beside Ellie, arms crossed so tightly over your chest that mashed potatoes were flaking off your sleeve. Your hair was a tangled, sticky mess, strands stiff with gravy and milk. Ellie didn’t look much better, her shirt stained with spaghetti sauce, some noodles still clinging to her shoulder.

Director Miller let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing. "You two care to explain why my cafeteria looks like a war zone?"

Neither of you spoke. Ellie’s jaw was clenched so tightly her teeth ached. She wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

When neither of you answered, he shook his head. "Unbelievable. You’re supposed to be adults. College students. Yet you acted like a couple of toddlers throwing a tantrum." His eyes flicked between you two, the intensity of his glare enough to make you look down.

"I don’t care who started it," he continued, his voice dangerously calm. "What I care about is the fact that half the student body had to duck for cover because you two decided to turn lunch into a food fight."

Ellie’s fingers dug into the armrest, her eyes fixed on the floor. She could feel your presence beside her, a tense ball of anger and humiliation. She refused to look at you. Not after what you said.

Director Miller’s eyes narrowed. "Clearly, you two have issues to work out. And since you obviously can’t do that like adults, we’re going to try something else."

You finally looked up, eyes widening in suspicion. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Director Miller started, leaning on his desk, "you’re going to sit here and say three nice things about each other."

Ellie’s head snapped up. "You can’t be serious."

Your mouth fell open, eyes flashing with indignation. "That’s… that’s ridiculous!"

Director Miller’s lips twitched, but he kept his composure. "Oh, I’m dead serious. You’re not leaving this office until I hear three sincere compliments from each of you." He straightened, brushing off his jacket. "I’ll give you ten minutes to figure it out."

You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. "And if we don’t?"

Director Miller’s gaze was steely. "Then you’ll spend the rest of the day cleaning every inch of that cafeteria. Floors, tables, walls—every last drop of food you threw."

Ellie felt her stomach drop. She remembered the chaos, the mess splattered across every surface. It would take hours to clean up.

Director Miller looked at his watch. "I’ll be back in ten minutes. If I don’t hear six sincere compliments, you better be ready to scrub."

He turned on his heel, leaving the office without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you and Ellie in heavy, awkward silence.

Ellie’s fists tightened, her eyes fixed on the clock. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to find something—anything—nice to say about you. Her mouth twisted in distaste. She’d rather swallow glass.

You sighed loudly, leaning back in your chair with a dramatic huff. "This is so stupid."

Ellie shot you a glare. "Yeah? Well, it’s your fault we’re here in the first place."

Your head whipped around, eyes blazing. "My fault? You threw food first!"

"You insulted me first!" Ellie snapped, turning to fully face you for the first time. "You think I didn’t hear what you said? Calling me a charity case? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Your face fell for a fraction of a second before you recovered, scoffing. "Oh, get over it. I was just stating facts."

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t know anything about me."

"I know you’re infuriating," you shot back, "you act like you’re better than everyone just because you don’t care about fitting in."

Ellie let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, because fitting in with you and your pack of clones sounds like so much fun."

You bristled, your eyes flashing. "You’re impossible. No wonder you don’t have any friends."

Ellie’s chest tightened, the words hitting harder than she wanted to admit. But she kept her face neutral, her voice cold. "I’d rather have no friends than fake ones, honestly."

Your mouth opened, then snapped shut, eyes dropping to your lap. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The clock ticked loudly above, each second a heavy reminder of your shrinking time limit.

Ellie let out a slow breath, running a hand through her hair—then grimacing as her fingers got stuck in the sticky mess. "Okay," she muttered. "Three nice things. Let’s just get this over with."

She glanced at the clock again, heart sinking. Eight minutes left.

Before she could speak, you let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back in your chair. "Alright, I’ll go first. I don’t want to be here all day."

Ellie looked at you, "Fine. Let’s hear it, then."

You opened your mouth, then closed it, eyes narrowing. It was clear you were struggling. Ellie almost smirked. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one who found this torture.

Finally, you looked away, your voice lower than usual. "I… I think you’re really good at drawing."

Ellie’s eyes widened. "What?"

You rolled your eyes. "You heard me. You’re… great, okay? I saw your sketchbook the other day." You shifted in your seat, clearly uncomfortable. "The way you draw people is… impressive."

Ellie stared at you, suspicion flaring in her chest. "Are you being serious right now?"

Your head snapped toward her, eyes blazing. "Yes, I’m serious! God, this is exactly why I didn’t want to go first. You can’t even take a compliment without making it weird."

Ellie’s mouth opened, then shut. She blinked at you, still processing the fact that you—you, of all people—had just complimented her art. Her sketchbook was one of the few things she actually cared about, something she kept private, hidden from judgmental eyes. The fact that you saw it, and didn’t make fun of it… It threw her off balance.

Her fingers drummed on the armrest, nerves prickling under her skin. "I didn’t know you… noticed."

You shrugged, suddenly fascinated with a stain on your jeans. "Well, I did. You’re talented. It’s annoying."

Ellie let out a short laugh. "Right. Sorry for being good at something."

You huffed, but there was no real anger behind it. "Yeah, well… don’t let it get to your head."

A small smile tugged at Ellie’s lips, and for a moment, the tension between you seemed to ease. She shifted in her chair, her heart beating just a little faster. This was weird. But… not terrible.

She took a breath, forcing herself to speak before she could chicken out. "You’re… actually pretty smart."

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. "Huh?"

Ellie looked away, her cheeks warming. "I mean, you act all superficial and, like, too cool to care. But I’ve seen you in class. You’re always taking notes, and you actually get the material. Like, that essay you wrote for English? It was… good." She cleared her throat, refusing to meet your eyes. "I mean, for someone who spends so much time gossiping, you actually have a brain. Who knew?"

You gaped at her, clearly taken off guard. "You… read my essay?"

Ellie shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Yeah. The professor used it as an example, remember? I figured it’d be stupid, but it wasn’t."

Your cheeks flushed, and for a moment, you looked… shy. "Oh. I didn’t think you paid attention."

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, well… I did."

Silence settled again, but this time, it felt different. Lighter. Like the air wasn’t as thick with resentment.

You cleared your throat, fidgeting with your hair. "I, um… I saw you playing guitar the other day. Outside the dorm."

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. "You were spying on me?"

Your eyes narrowed. "No! No, I was just… passing by. You weren’t exactly being quiet." You hesitated, voice softening. "You’re good at that too. I didn’t know you could sing."

Ellie’s face warmed. "Oh. Uh… thanks." She shifted in her chair. "I’ve been playing since I was a kid."

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap. "I always wanted to learn. I-uh… my ex was supposed to teach me, but it never happened."

Ellie’s chest tightened. "Your… ex?"

You nodded, your voice oddly quiet. "Yeah. She had a guitar, but she never got around to showing me how to play."

Ellie’s mouth went dry. She opened her mouth, then closed it, her cheeks heating up. She. You dated girls. You had an ex-girlfriend.

She was suddenly aware of how fast her heart was beating, her mind racing with a million questions she couldn’t ask. Her gaze flicked to you, noticing how your shoulders were slightly hunched, your fingers nervously twisting in your lap.

You looked… vulnerable. Sad, even. It was weird, seeing you like this—seeing you as a person, not just the stuck-up princess who made her life hell.

Ellie swallowed, her voice coming out softer than she intended. "I… I could teach you. If you want."

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"

Ellie looked away, scratching the back of her neck. "I mean, I’m not, like, a pro or anything. But I could show you the basics. If… you’re serious about learning."

You stared at her, mouth slightly open. "You… you’d do that?"

Ellie shrugged, fighting to keep her voice casual. "Yeah. I mean, it’s not a big deal. Better than you bugging me about my closet space all the time."

Your lips twitched, a small smile breaking through. "I don’t bug you about your closet space that much."

Ellie snorted. "Yeah, right."She risked a glance at you, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the genuine smile on your face. "So… is that compliment number two?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in it. "Fine. I like that you can play guitar. And… that you offered to teach me." You hesitated, voice softening. "That was… nice of you."

She looked down, trying to hide her smile. "Yeah, well… don’t get used to it."

You laughed—a real laugh. It was the first time Ellie had heard it, and it did something weird to her stomach.

She looked at the clock, realizing only three minutes had passed. But for the first time since she’d met you, she didn’t mind the thought of being stuck here a little longer.

Before you two knew it, you were back at the hall. Your friends were lounging in the common area, laughing loudly. You looked at them, your expression faltering for just a second before you turned to Ellie. "I… guess I’ll see you around?"

Ellie’s stomach did a weird flip, and she nodded. "Yeah. Sure." She hesitated, then added, "You know… if you still want to learn guitar, I… I meant what I said, too. I could show you sometime."

Your eyes widened, a flash of surprise crossing your face. "Oh. Um… yeah. I’d like that." You gave her another small smile, then turned, heading toward your friends. But you didn’t go to them right away. You hesitated, glancing back at Ellie before finally joining them, your posture just a little stiffer than usual.

Ellie watched you go, her heart doing that stupid flip again. She shook her head, heading up the stairs to your room. Her room. Your shared room.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard your friends’ voices.

"Oh my God, did you seriously got detention for fighting with her?"

"What were you thinking? She’s such a loser."

Ellie’s fists clenched, her shoulders tensing. But before she could storm back down, she heard your voice—quiet, but firm. "Yeah, well… maybe she’s not as bad as you think."

A stunned silence followed, then one of your friends scoffed. "Ugh, you’re joking, right?" You didn’t answer.

Ellie felt her chest tighten, her grip on the railing loosening. She turned, heading up the stairs, her mind spinning.

Maybe… maybe you weren’t as bad as she thought either.

Days passed, and the tension in the dorm room slowly began to fade. It wasn’t like you and Ellie were suddenly best friends or anything, but the insults were less sharp, the glares less frequent. Sometimes, you even managed to have a conversation without throwing a shoe to her direction.

It started small. Polite nods when you crossed paths in the hallway. A quiet 'bless you' when Ellie sneezed. A muttered 'thanks' when she held the door open for you. Little things that weren’t a big deal on their own, but together, they started to chip away at the wall between you.

And then, there was the guitar.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the sun was spilling through the dorm window, casting lazy patterns on the floor. Ellie was sprawled on her bed, strumming absentmindedly, lost in the music. You were at your desk, pretending to study, but your eyes kept flicking to her, watching her fingers dance over the strings.

You chewed your lip, debating with yourself before finally blurting out, "Can you show me?"

Ellie looked up, blinking. "Huh?"

You nodded toward the guitar. "You… you said you’d teach me. If you’re not too busy."

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Uh… yeah, sure." She sat up, scooting over to make room on the bed. "C’mere."

You hesitated, glancing at her bed like it was dangerous territory. Then you shook off the nerves and sat down, careful to leave a few inches of space between you.

Ellie handed you the guitar, her fingers brushing yours for half a second. You both froze, the air suddenly feeling warmer. Then she cleared her throat, leaning back. "Okay, so… this is a G chord. You put your fingers here… and here…"

You tried to mimic her, your fingers fumbling on the strings. It was awkward, and the sound that came out was more of a croak than a chord. You winced. "Wow. I’m terrible at this."

Ellie laughed, and that itself made something flutter in your chest. "Nah, that’s normal. It’s weird at first." She reached over, her fingers adjusting yours on the frets. "Here, like this."

Her hand was warm, her touch gentle. You swallowed, trying to ignore how close she was. "Oh. That’s… better."

Ellie’s voice was softer now. "Yeah. Try strumming it again."

You did, and this time, the sound was smoother, less jarring. A real chord. You looked up, grinning. "I did it!"

Ellie’s eyes sparkled, a smile breaking across her face. "Yeah, you sure did." She looked proud, and you felt a warm glow in your chest.

After that, the lessons became more frequent. Sometimes in the afternoon, when your friends were busy gossiping without you. Sometimes late at night, when the campus was quiet, and the only sound was Ellie’s guitar and your whispered laughter.

You started spending less time in the cafeteria, less time listening to your friends’ endless chatter about the latest parties and shallow drama. You still dressed the same—perfectly styled hair, cute skirts, flawless makeup—but now, it felt more like a choice and less like a costume. You wore what you wanted, not what your friends expected.

And somehow, even though you were seeing your so-called friends less and less, you didn’t feel lonely. Not when you had Ellie strumming her guitar beside you, laughing at your jokes, teasing you when your fingers fumbled.

One afternoon, as you were practicing chords, Ellie looked at you, her gaze lingering. "You’re getting better, you know."

You smiled, glancing down at your fingers. "You think so?"

Ellie’s voice was soft. "Yeah. I do."

Your heart did that stupid fluttering thing, and you looked away, pretending to adjust the guitar strap. "Well, I’ve got a good teacher."

Ellie’s cheeks tinged pink, and she looked down, a smile playing at her lips. "Yeah, well… don’t get used to the compliments."

You laughed, your shoulder brushing hers. You didn’t pull away. She didn't, either.

It happened slowly at first. Missed texts, unanswered calls. You would walk up to your usual table in the cafeteria, only to find your friends turning away, their laughter falling silent. It was subtle, but it was there—a cold shoulder, a whisper behind your back.

At first, you tried to brush it off. Maybe they were just busy. Maybe you were imagining it. But then the rumors started.

"She’s changed. Thinks she’s too good for us now."

"Have you seen her with that new girl? What’s her name? Ella? Freaks, both of them."

"Ugh, she’s so desperate. No wonder she hangs out with her."

You tried to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t bother you. But it did. It hurt. Especially because it was coming from people who were supposed to be your friends.

One afternoon, you walked into the cafeteria, tray in hand, heading to your usual spot. But when you got there, the table was full—every seat taken. You stood there, feeling exposed, your face heating up as they all looked at you with blank, uninterested stares.

"Oh," you said, forcing a smile. "I… didn’t realize the table was full."

One of the girls looked you up and down, her nose wrinkling. "Yeah, funny how that happens. Maybe there’s a seat somewhere else?"

Your heart sank, but you kept the fake smile plastered on your face. "Right. Of course. I’ll… see you later." You turned, your vision blurring. You could feel their eyes on you, hear the giggles as you walked away.

You didn’t know where else to go, so you went back to the dorm, your footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. You unlocked the door, shoulders slumping as you stepped inside.

Ellie was there, sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book resting on her knees. She looked up, surprised. "Hey. You’re back early."

You froze, your hand still on the doorknob. For a moment, you wanted to turn around and leave, to go anywhere else. But then Ellie’s expression softened, concern flickering in her eyes. "You okay?"

You swallowed, "Yeah. I just… wasn’t hungry."

Ellie frowned, closing her book and setting it aside. "You sure?" Her voice was gentle. "Because… you look like you’re about to cry."

"I’m fine." But your voice wavered, and you looked away, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

Ellie stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of you. "No you're not," she said softly. "what happened?"

You shook your head. "They… they laughed at me. My friends. Or-uh… I guess they’re not my friends anymore." Your voice cracked, and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I… I know it’s because of me. They don’t like me, and now they’re taking it out on you. I didn’t want that to happen."

Your vision was blurry with tears. "It’s not your fault. They were never real friends. They only liked me when I was pretending to be someone I’'m not." You took a shaky breath, your hands trembling. "I just… I didn’t think it would hurt this much."

Ellie’s jaw clenched, "They’re idiots. They don’t know you. Not the real you."

Your heart skipped, and you looked at her, vulnerable and raw. "Who does, huh?"

Ellie’s voice dropped to a whisper. "I do."

She hesitated, her eyes searching yours. "I… I see you. The real you. And… I like who you are. Even when you’re bossy and mean." She cracked a small smile. "Maybe especially then."

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your tears. "You’re an idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah. I’ve been told." Her voice turned serious. "I’m… glad I met you. Even if we wanted to kill each other at first."

Your pulse was racing. "Yeah. Me too." You took a shaky breath, your eyes dropping to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. "Ellie…"

She went still, her eyes widening as she realized how close you were standing. "Yeah?"

You took a step closer, your breath catching as your faces were just inches apart. "Can I…?"

Ellie’s eyes were wide, her lips parted. "Yeah," she breathed. "please."

You didn’t need any more encouragement. You leaned in, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met hers.

It was soft, tentative, your heart racing as you kissed her. Her lips were warm, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, her fingers gentle against your skin. You let out a shaky breath, melting into her, your hands gripping her grey hoodie as you pulled her closer.

Ellie made a small noise of surprise, then she was kissing you back, her lips moving against yours, soft and sweet and perfect. Your heart was soaring, your chest tight with emotion. You had never felt like this before—so vulnerable and exposed, but also safe and alive.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads touching, your eyes still closed. Ellie let out a soft laugh, her breath warm against your lips. "Wow."

You laughed, "Yeah. Wow." You opened your eyes, looking at her. "Ellie… I…"

Ellie smiled, "I know. Me too."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, "So… what now?"

Ellie grinned, her fingers still brushing your cheek. "Well… You haven’t eaten, right? Want to get takeout and… I don’t know… hang out?"

Your chest fluttered, "Yeah. I’d love that."

Ellie’s smile widened, her eyes softening. "Good. Because… I’m not done getting to know the real you."

You leaned in, pressing another kiss to her lips. "I’m not done getting to know you, either."

This was just the beginning. And for the first time in a long time, you were excited to see where it would go.

[crushpunky]

college!reader and joe visit joe’s parents

masterlist

based on this ask. college!reader is a bit of a STEM/math girlie for sake of conversation lmao warning: mention of sex/a sex joke

Y/n was pretty sure she was going to have a heart attack the entire drive from the airport to Joe’s childhood home. She knew what she was getting into when she agreed to fly home with Joe for a long weekend, but still the churning in her stomach continued.

“You a’ight?” Joe asked, quirking his brow as he turned to her from the driver’s seat of the car he’d rented for the weekend. She fiddled with her pants, the fabric rubbing back and forth between her fingers as she nodded quickly. It felt like her mind was racing at a million miles a minute, each mile they drove closer to his house causing her worries to multiply. What if they hated her? What if they didn’t think she was good enough for their son? What if she said something wrong and they thought she was stuck up? What if they just—

“You don’t have anything to be nervous about, ok?” Joe said lowly, taking one of his hands off the wheel to stop her anxious fiddling, taking her hand in his own. “They’re gonna love you. I promise.”

Y/n sighed, taking her eyes off the trees and fields rushing by to look over at Joe. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, raising her hand to his lips to press a chaste kiss to it before the car began to slow. Y/n took in a deep breath as Joe pulled into the gravel driveway of his home. It was a quaint little home with white siding and brick accents, the picture perfect childhood home… so perfectly Joe.

As the car rolled to a stop, Joe popped his seatbelt before climbing out of the car. Y/n followed, slinging her backpack over her shoulders as she rounded to the back of the car, but Joe had beaten her to it. He lifted their duffels from the trunk, holding both of them over one shoulder with ease.

“You ready?” Joe said, grinning down at her as she followed him towards the front door. He raised his fist, rapping his knuckles against the door before resting his hand along the small of y/n’s back. Behind the door, she could hear excited bustling about before the door finally flew open. The two of them were greeted with the wide smiles and excited squeals of Joe’s parents.

“There you are!” Joe’s mother said, pulling him into a hug. “Oh, my baby, Joey.”

Joe chuckled lightly, an embarrassed red rising in his cheeks at the nickname before his mom finally pulled away from him.

“How are you, son?” Joe’s dad said, pulling him into a hug, reaching up to ruffle Joe’s hair. Y/n smiled, watching the way Joe’s parents so clearly loved and admired their son.

“I’m good,” Joe said with a sigh before turning away from his parents, his hand finding its spot on the small of y/n’s back once more. “Uh, Mom, Dad, this is y/n.”

A nervous smile spread across y/n’s cheeks as Joe’s parents turned to her, looking her up and down with the same grins they’d greeted their son with.

“Y/n, sweetheart, it’s so good to finally meet you.” Joe’s mother said, pulling y/n into a hug. Y/n’s eyes widened, her arms tensing before moving to hug Joe’s mother back. Once she pulled away, Joe’s father pulled y/n into a hug.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Joe’s father chuckled. “So, so much. Joe loves talking about you.”

“Dad,” Joe groaned, running a hand along his jaw once his dad released y/n from a hug.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, too.” Y/n giggled. “I’ve heard so much about you… especially about your cooking, Mrs. Burrow.”

“Oh, Joe loves to play my cooking abilities up,” Joe’s mother chuckled with a shake of her head. “And please just call me Robin, sweetheart.”

Y/n nodded, Joe looking over at her with a grin.

“Well come on in, we don’t want dinner to get cold.” Joe’s dad said, ushering the two of them inside. Y/n stepped into the foyer, looking around at the family pictures, trophies, and keepsakes that littered the entryway. Joe started up the stairs, looking back at y/n as she was lost in the memories adorning the walls.

“I’ve got plenty more photos we can look at after dinner,” Robin whispered to y/n, quirking her brows as she walked past her into the kitchen. Y/n laughed before turning to follow Joe up the stairs.

“Already plotting with my mom, hmm?” Joe teased, elbowing her lightly before opening the door to his childhood bedroom. However, he froze halfway before quickly closing the door again, turning on his heels to face y/n.

“Um, there’s something I forgot to tell you.” Joe muttered, avoiding y/n’s eyes as he stood firmly between her and his bedroom. 

“What? Is there something wrong?” Y/n asked, furrowing her brow as she looked Joe up and down.

“No, it’s just…” Joe sighed. “My bedroom hasn’t changed since I was, like, 12. I mean I got a bigger bed, but the decorations and… stuff are still the same.”

Y/n tried her best to stifle a laugh, Joe groaning as he leaned his head back against the door with a thud.

“It can’t possibly be that bad.” Y/n grinned. Joe sighed before turning back to the door. He opened the door slowly, revealing the contents of his room. Inside, y/n was quite shocked to see his entirely Star Wars themed bedroom, complete with a themed comforter, posters, and multiple lightsabers adorning the walls. Her jaw dropped as she stepped inside, looking at the action figures and Lego sets that filled the shelves.

“Ok. Uh, wow.” Y/n said with a giggle. Joe groaned once more, setting their bags down on the floor before flopping onto his bed. He writhed around with an exaggerated moan, which only caused y/n’s giggles to worsen at Joe’s dramatics.

“I was just a little shocked, ok?” Y/n said, sitting next to Joe on his bed. “I actually think it’s kinda cute.”

“Really?” Joe smirked, biting his lip as he looked up at y/n flirtily. He reached out, running a finger along the soft skin of her forearm.

“Cute, not sexy, Burrow.” Y/n scoffed, shaking her head at him.

“What? You don’t wanna have sex on my Star Wars bed sheets?” Joe teased, a cheeky grin on his face. Y/n laughed, smushing her hand into his face playfully.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Y/n and Joe’s heads quickly jerked their heads to the side to find Joe’s dad standing in the open doorway to Joe’s bedroom. Y/n quickly scrambled to her feet, taking a measured step away from the bed as Joe sat up with a groan.

“Dinner is ready.” Joe’s dad, Jim, said, nodding to the two of them before heading back down the hallway. The second he was out of earshot, y/n let out a groan as she ran a hand down her face.

“Hey, it’s fine. You’re fine.” Joe said, getting up from the bed. He stood in front of her, crouching his head down as he ran his hands along her arms. Y/n met his eyes, a slight pout on her lips. Sure, their initial welcomes into their house had been nothing but kind and warm, but dinner was the main event. The time for her to prove (or fail to prove) that she was the right girl for their son.

“Joe, I’m scared I’m gonna fuck this up.” Y/n sighed. “I’m scared I’m gonna ruin this and then they’re gonna hate me and—”

Joe cut her off, moving his hands up to cup her cheeks before pressing a kiss to her lips. He pulled away slowly, rubbing his thumbs gently against her cheeks as he looked back at her.

“Look, I love you, y/n, and I promise you— promise you— that they will too.” Joe whispered, smiling down at y/n. “Now let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Joe cocked his head towards the door, guiding y/n down the hall as he rubbed his hand down her back smoothly. The two of them descended the stairs quietly before entering into the kitchen. The table was set, pans and dishes of food filling the air with their heavenly aroma. The food at LSU wasn’t particularly bad, but it for sure wasn’t a home cooked meal.

“Oh my god,” Joe groaned as he quickly rounded the table, eyeing the delicious looking food. “Y/n, baby, you’ve got to try my mom’s chicken casserole—”

“Jeez, Joseph,” Robin laughed as she pulled her apron over her head, taking her seat at the table. “Let the girl sit down first.”

Joe shook his head, laughing a bit to himself before pulling out a chair for y/n next to him. She took it graciously, scooting underneath the table as the Burrows began to dig into their feast. Y/n watched for a moment, unsure of what to do and not wanting to impose upon their family traditions.

“So, y/n, how are you enjoying LSU?” Jim asked, taking a bite of chicken as Joe simultaneously handed y/n a bowl of rolls.

“I like it a lot,” Y/n nodded, taking a roll from the dish and setting it down onto her plate. “I love the city and the professors are pretty great. And the people, too.”

“That’s good to hear, sweetheart.” Robin smiled. “Your classes are good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” y/n said. “I’m actually taking a really interesting math class.”

“What’s it about?” Jim quirked his brow, turning his attention fully to y/n.

Y/n launched into a passionate conversation about her math class, which naturally progressed to Robin and Jim asking questions about her other interests, childhood, likes and dislikes. Joe nudged y/n lightly, a smear of jam on his lips as he grinned at her before pressing a jelly covered kiss to her cheek.

The dinner went smoothly, y/n finding herself getting more and more comfortable with Joe’s parents as the meal continued. As they finished up their meal, y/n helped Robin clear off the table while Joe went out back to help Jim carry some firewood out to their shed. Robin put on a CD, the classic rock song playing gently throughout the kitchen as they washed and dried dishes.

“I know I probably shouldn’t say this,” Robin sighed, passing y/n the last dish that needed dried, “but I can’t remember the last time I saw Joe this happy.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, looking up from the plate she was drying to meet Robin’s eye. She could feel her heart skip a beat, her cheeks warming as Robin smiled at her.

“You’re a good girl, y/n.” Robin said, leaning against the counter opposite y/n. “Joe’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have him.” Y/n grinned. Robin winked, pushing off the counter before grabbing the now dry plate from y/n and putting it into the cabinet.

“Well, now that the boys are out… I wasn’t joking about showing you the baby photos.” Robin grinned, gesturing for y/n to follow her as she went into the living room. Y/n sat on the couch as Robin crossed the room to rummage through a wooden chest. After a moment, she held up a thick photobook with the name “Joseph” written in a swirling script. She joined y/n on the couch, sitting next to her before cracking open the book.

Immediately, the pages fell open to a picture of Joe dressed in a bright orange wind suit, his hands on his hips as he posed in front of the fireplace. He had the same fiery look in his eye and smirk on his lips, even as a child. Y/n and Robin continued flipping through, laughing and aww-ing as they looked at photos of Joe on Halloween, at his first football game, showing off his toys on Christmas.

“What’s going on in here?” Jim asked as he came back in the house, Joe behind him, running a hand through his hair.

“I was just showing y/n some baby photos,” Robin grinned, causing Jim to chuckle and Joe to groan. “But, I think we’re done for tonight. I’m gonna go up to bed.”

“Same,” Jim yawned, stretching his arms. The two of them said their goodnights before leaving Joe and y/n alone in the living room. Joe crossed the room before sitting down on the couch next to y/n, tossing his arm over her shoulders. Y/n relaxed into his touch, resting her head against his shoulder.

“You were quite the cute baby, Joseph.” Y/n teased.

“Oh, jeez,” Joe shook his head, chuckling to himself. “I think they might like you more than me.”

“Oh don’t.” Y/n laughed, elbowing Joe’s ribs lightly.

“Seriously.” Joe said, looking down at y/n. “I told you they’d love you.”

Y/n smiled, pressing a kiss to Joe’s jaw before relaxing back into his chest. The two of them sat in silence, feeling the comfortable nostalgia of Joe’s childhood home. A house that had quickly become a sort of home to y/n, too.

[mtcloudsworld]

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇; 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | college!reader, fluff, reassurance, support, boyfriend!JasonTodd, pet names: baby

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | This is for all my college girlies out there trying to survive this semester. Just a little message of comfort for those who already feel like giving up because they're drowning in some unnecessary but necessary work (me included) just understand at the end of the day, you did it, you did all that you could with little energy you had left, it may have not been enough for the professors, but it was enough for you because you cannot please everybody. You tried and that should be good enough. I believe in you, believe in yourself and keep thriving. Just take breaks, drink water and eat good cause you deserve it 🩷🦠 (for those who may have or thought about applying a request, I promise I'll get to them, it's just taking me some time because of classes brutally kicking my ass right now. I promise I have not forgotten you <3)

- ☁️

𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃, overwhelmed and stressed to the point of no return. So stressed that I feel like dropping every class that's giving me a headache.

It's easy, real easy, but then again... I'm always reminded that I can do this!

I have the authority to finish strong, even when I feel like giving up. I do have the drive to finish what I can, because I know, I know I can do it. (Don't let the demons say otherwise!!!!)

And while I stand there with my hands against my face, tears spilling as I gaze over my laptop and the numerous paper work I have to complete, I feel a sudden strain of peace surround me. I feel this immense pressure of warmth and understanding comfort me like a blanket.

And as I want to hide myself and curl into a ball of doubt, I don't have the strength to do so.

"You got this, baby." I hear ever so gently, a trail of kisses lingering alongside my face to calm my chaotic mind. "I understand, I get it, it's a lot, overwhelming to the point you're drowning in it, but you can do it. You got this. You have the power to finish strong. Just take one step at a time." He reassures, caressing your skin beneath your shirt.

"But Jay it's so much, I mean look what I have to do!" I cry, whining practically with my hands out before me at the mess. "These professors think we can handle all this knowing damn well we got other priorities like WORK, A FAMILY TO TAKE CARE OF, AND KIDS." My eyes grew wide with each word as I expressed my frustration with bitter taste to my lips. I was beyond pissed, beyond mind blown at the audacity some of these professors had. I felt like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

He sighs with a small smile, "I know it's easy said than done but don't over stress yourself, don't over work yourself because that's how you'll give yourself an attack. Just take deep breaths, eat, drink some water--take little breaks in between if you have to--"

"But!--"

"No." He gives me a warning tone, his face furrowed as he glances at the side of my face. "Your health is more important than anything. If I was in your shoes I would honestly not give a fuck about what they think because no average person can handle all this work in one sitting. You gotta give yourself credit, baby. And besides," he turns my body to face him, his hands coming up to cup my face, thumbs stroking away the tears against my heated face. "I'm here to help too, ya know? You don't have to do this all alone, okay? I mean...I may not know everything but I'm willing to try. I'ma fast learner so it should ease some tension off ya, yeah?"

I nod, smiling past the tears, "thank you Jay." I bury my face in his chest, feeling his arms securely wrap around me as I cling onto him, staining his shirt with tears of relief and happiness.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄��𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[fictionalmenxyn]

⍟texts from frat!rafe⍟

Pt.2

[dexteri0us]

you could be the one that could mess me up; you could be the one that'll break me down

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: fluff, college!au, summer camp!au, rivalry

summary: what’s tougher: coaching science-crazed kids or competing with Dexter for the camp championship?

w/c: like 3k

a/n: a little something for my fellow Dexter fans

The sun was beating down on the field, and you were already starting to regret not grabbing your water bottle. Your team of elementary schoolers was bouncing around you like they’d been given espresso shots instead of juice boxes, their energy sky-high for the last day of camp. And who could blame them? Today was the big showdown – the ultimate battle between Team A and Team B. Your team, obviously, was Team A which, you reminded them every chance you got, was the first letter of the alphabet for a reason.

You scanned the field, making sure everyone had their places, when you saw a stray kickball, sitting just past the starting line. You sighed. As much as you loved your kids, “picking up after themselves” was an elusive skill for most of them. You told them to hold tight for a second and jogged over to retrieve it.

Just as you were about to grab the ball, you saw Dexter walking up beside you, giving you that unreadable look, as usual. You smirked before he even had a chance to speak.

“Well, if it isn’t the illustrious Team B leader himself,” you said, bending down to pick up the ball. “Here to observe greatness in action?” you asked with a proud smile on your face.

Dexter didn’t miss a beat, casually handing you a bottle of water and raising an eyebrow. “Greatness? I think you’re setting them up for disappointment.”

“Oh, really?” you grinned, turning to face him as you spun the ball between your pointer fingers before resting it on your hip and taking the water. “Coming from the guy whose team spent ten minutes building an egg drop contraption that looked like a rejected spaceship model?”

Dexter’s face didn’t change, but you could see the spark of amusement in his eyes. He took the smallest step forward, as if to intimidate you. “That ‘rejected spaceship model’ actually worked, if you remember correctly,” he replied smoothly. “Unlike some teams’ eggs, which ended up looking like scrambled breakfast.”

He was right, of course. His egg drop design looked like it had come from an old sci-fi movie, a quirky contraption with beams, paddings, and an absurd amount of plastic wrap. You had no idea where he got all that, either way, it worked.

It wasn’t even surprising; Dexter had always taken unexpected routes to solve problems. His mind just worked differently. You knew he had a wild imagination; you could tell when he’d shown you some of his high school lab projects, each one stranger and more intricate than the last, and always with that unmistakable Dexter touch that landed him at the top of the class every time. Even now in college, he was still securing the highest grades, beating out students who had twice the resources and flashy internships.

Honestly, Dexter was probably the smartest person you knew, and being able to go toe-to-toe with him here at camp wasn’t just a thrill – it was an honor.

It was part of what made this science camp so special. It wasn’t just some neighborhood summer program; it was hosted by your college’s STEM department, high-level experience for kids that were intrigued by the world of science. Or even those who were just curious about the basic laws of nature ruling our world. The camp was selective about who it chose to lead, and the program heads always made sure to match top students with the best opportunities.

You knew Dexter had signed up for the challenge partly because he’d mentioned wanting to “quit an old habit” and keep himself busy during summer. He hadn’t told you much beyond that – just something vague about needing to break a pattern, occupy his time in a way that felt constructive. This camp, with its structure, routine and purpose was a way for him to do that.

And then, there was the way he was around kids. Despite his reserved nature, he seemed at ease with them, almost unguarded. Dexter seemed different, and only a few people got to experience this side of him. He once joked to you that kids’ brains were underdeveloped enough that he didn’t have to fake emotions or second-guess his reactions around them.

But right now, there was a different Dexter in front of you – not a soft Dexter, not a reserved Dexter. There was a smirking, overly confident camp leader Dexter who thought he could take you down. You hated that he felt comfortable enough to be this cocky towards you. So no, you weren’t about to let your admiration show. You'd have enough time to let yourself sneak a few appreciative glances at him when he wasn’t looking, but right here, with the competition about to continue? You weren’t going to let him talk you down.

You stepped closer too, having to crane your neck a little to keep eye contact. “Don’t worry. My team and I have an actual strategy. Not just a bunch of science facts thrown together like a five-paragraph essay.”

He snorted, his eyebrows rising. “It’s a science camp. Facts are kind of the point. Your strategy is taking the name Team A and thinking that it will actually secure you the first place.”

You scoffed and turned around, walking towards your team and Dexter was quick to follow you.

 “First letter, first place. It’s called manifestation. It’s like destiny. We’re literally setting ourselves up for success from the start.”

He shook his head with a little laugh. “You realize it’s just a letter, right? It doesn’t have, like, mystical powers or anything.”

You couldn’t help but cackle, his words making you stop again and some of the smaller heads turn in your direction, silently watching the respected leaders of the science camp bicker. He was unbelievable.

“Please, you’re just pissed that I called it first.”

Despite Dexter being stoic and unpopular among his peers, he was good with kids, and you were aware of that. He was a lab geek to everyone, even his fellow students who majored in science too -- everyone was supposed to be a lab geek! - But most didn’t know that he was actually very creative. You knew that and this was just bitterness talking.

“It’s the first thing people see, the first letter people think of. It exudes victory. Doesn’t Team B just sound… second-rate by comparison?”

He gave you a deadpan look, which only made you want to argue for your team more.

“Team B,” he said, with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression, “actually stands for best. Maybe even better. I wouldn’t be so quick to assume we’re coming in second.”

You shook your head and bit your cheek, contemplating your next words. You brought the ball that was on your hip to his chest, slightly pushing him with it, but he didn’t budge. He just took it as he waited for your next remark.

“My Team A kids are about to wipe the floor with your Team Better.”

He chuckled and threw the ball into the air before catching it. “We’ll see about that,” he said, eyes glinting with that calm confidence that always got under your skin.

You turned to your group again, arms stretched for emphasis. “See? He’s already trying to play mind games because he knows Team A is unstoppable!”

The kids cheered, and you looked back at Dexter, who was fighting a grin.

“Careful,” he said, “I’d hate to see you go down after all that talk.”

You leaned closer, and you saw his eyelids flutter, finally a sign of weakness.

“And I’d hate to see you hand over those first-place prizes with that smug look wiped off your face.”

You found yourselves in a silent, smirking standoff. His lips curved ever so slightly, daring you to say something more. The corners of your mouth tugged upward in response. You weren't backing down, and neither was he, testing each other, seeing who would blink first. You let your eyes drop just briefly, enough to catch the flutter of his lashes, but a voice from behind cut through the haze, breaking the moment like a splash of cold water.

“You’re going down, Mr. Dexter!”

You both turned toward your team, seeing one of the more spirited girls in your group, Sarah, giving Dexter a withering stare.

You crossed your arms, looking at Dexter. “See? You’ve gotta inspire these kids, Dexter. Get them excited! Pumped!” you slapped his triceps as if to emphasize your point, and he side-eyed you. “No wonder Team B’s lagging behind,” you switched your expression to an exaggerated pity, sighing and shaking your head.

“Alright,” he murmured, your trash talking finally getting to him. “I gotta go. I have to tell my team about Team A’s lack of structural integrity and how we’re going to crush them in the obstacle course.”

You gave him a taunting smile, before he walked away.

“And thanks for the water!” you lifted the bottle in the air and he turned, nodding at you with a genuine smile. Before he headed to his kids, he made a stop where your team was hanging. Despite him being the leader of the opposing team, instead of being intimidated or intimidating, the kids smiled at him, some of them running up to him and showing him a bug they just found in the grass.

You watched him stop right in front of Sarah, crouching down to her eye level with an inquisitive look. “Did I just hear you say I’m going down?”

She shifted her feet, but held her ground, her cheeks red. Kind of like you when you first met him. “Well…yeah!” she crossed her arms, mustering her bravest face. Honestly, you couldn’t be prouder. “We’re Team A, so we’re winning this competition – duh! Plus, we have Ms. YN, and you don’t!”

“Point taken, Sarah,” he said with a chuckle. “I think you’re ready to start a motivational business someday.” The kids giggled, including Sarah who had a proud smile on her face. Dexter raised his eyebrows expectantly, offering his hand to Sarah. “May the best team win, then.”

She shook his hand and with one last look to you, he left. You made your way to your team and gave Sarah and some other kids high-five.

“Did you see his face, Ms. YN? He knows we’re gonna win!”

You laughed, nodding. “Oh, he definitely knows. Let’s make sure he remembers it.”

You sat in your chair and watched your kids, dressed in their teams’ tie-dyed orange t-shirts as some of them were clutching their juice boxes trying the slurp up the last drop, some were still playing with their DIY space shuttles from the NASA day, and some were playing tag or patty cake with each other.

It had been a great few weeks and you couldn't believe the camp was almost over. It was always hard for you to say goodbye. Some of the kids came back every year and you were happy to see their faces. Of course, there is a few bad eggs, but the overall experience was always amazing. And even though it might have not seemed that way, you enjoyed sharing that experience with Dexter, who was one of the smartest people you knew.

You turned around, looking in the direction of his team, watching him sitting on the ground, stealing Franklin’s hat, exposing the boy’s ruffled hair as Dexter put it on his own head, the hat obviously too small for him. Franklin tried to get it back, reaching for it, but Dexter quickly snatched it away and held it out of his reach, making the boy crawl over him as he laughed hysterically.

Your heart fluttered at the sight, but you shook it off, turning back to your team and making a regular head count.

The rest of the afternoon flew by as the competition heated up. Your team was cheering like maniacs after each round, pumping each other up with a team spirit that only a summer camp could create.

Next up was a chemistry challenge, where each team had to mix different chemicals to create a specific color in their beakers. Your team surged ahead, mixing the combination quickly, while Dexter’s team carefully measured out each drop.

“Come on, Team A! Don’t let Team B show us up!” you encouraged, but your team’s rush and Dexter’s team’s focus worked in his favor, adding a few point to his part of the scoreboard.

As the afternoon wore on, the two groups moved from one challenge to the next, each victory and loss met with cheers and groans. Finally, the last event arrived: the biology obstacle course. The campers were buzzing with excitement, and you could barely contain your grin as you glanced across the field at Dexter. The score was pretty much tied, and it all came down to this.

“Alright, A’s,” you said, crouching down to your group’s level. “This is it. Remember to have fun, and let’s give it everything we’ve got.”

The obstacle course was a test of agility and knowledge. Each camper had to climb through a “jungle” of hanging ropes, identify plastic animal replicas hidden among the trees, and finish by sprinting to the finish line with a “baby bird” (a rubber ball) in a spoon.

Your team went first, charging through the course with surprising speed. Dexter was impressed but kept his expression neutral. His campers were determined to outdo them, each one putting in their best effort as they charged through the course, cheered on by Dexter’s calm, steady encouragement.

When the final camper crossed the finish line, you and Dexter called your teams together to tally up the points. The competition had been so close that neither group was sure who had won.

“Alright,” Dexter said, reading off the scorecard. “And the winner is…” he paused, dramatically prolonging the suspense, while you shot him an exaggerated look of impatience.

“Team A!” he announced, unable to keep from smiling as your team erupted in cheers. He felt bad for his team, but a flicker of pride rose in his chest as he watched you celebrate with your kids, hugging a few of the campers. You shot Dexter a smug, triumphant look, mouthing “I told you so.”

The losing team received consolation prizes – a handful of science-themed chocolate bars and some novelty key chains shaped like tiny beakers and DNA strands. The kids took it all in stride, laughing and goofing off as they filed back to their cabins, waving at you and Dexter as they disappeared down the paths.

You and Dexter began gathering up the supplies left over from the relay race. Every so often, you’d bump shoulders or catch each other’s eyes and share a smile.

As the last of the campers drifted out of view, you took a long breath, letting it out slowly as the day’s exhaustion sank into your muscles. You stretched your arms overhead, feeling that familiar soreness, and smiled as you glanced over at him.

“Guess that makes me the science camp champion, huh?”

Dexter chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “For this year, maybe. Next year, though, don’t get too comfortable.”

You laughed, feeling a spark of joy as you realized, yes, you would look forward to next year – another summer with him, another chance to see this side of him. You were alone by now, perched on the steps of the main cabin where the camp leaders, cooks, and cleaners stayed during camp sessions. You leaned back, savoring the quiet, the fading light of the day casting a soft glow over the campgrounds.

Dexter sat down beside you, resting his elbows on his knees as he gazed out at the now-quiet field, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. After a moment, you scooted closer, letting your chin dig into his shoulder. Gently, you threaded your arm through his, reaching for his hand and giving it a small squeeze. He looked down, his expression softening as he turned to you, and suddenly you were so close your noses were almost touching, the fading sunlight casting shadows over his features and catching on the ginger stubble along his jawline.

“Same time, same place?” you murmured, your voice low and quiet.

Dexter didn’t answer – not with words, anyway. Instead, he lifted a hand to brush away the baby hair from your forehead before closing the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

You always made his heart beat so fast, he didn’t know how it hadn't burst already. You were one of two things that made him feel this way and it was a perfect balance of light and darkness.

His stubble scratched lightly against your skin, a slight irritation that you secretly loved. It made you smile against his lips, feeling a familiar thrill rush through you.

You remember teasing him about it early on in your relationship, only for him to take it too literally and show up the next day, clean-shaven. You’d laughed, explaining that it was just a joke, and that you loved his rough edges. It made you love him more, it was just so Dexter.

Since then, he’d kept his natural look, but sometimes, you’d see that flicker of hesitation, trying to understand the meaning behind your words and actions. It reminded you how hard he tried to learn the language of affection, your love language, and you tried to learn and understand his. It put you into perfect synchrony.

He leaned into the kiss with more force before pulling away and letting his forehead rest against yours, noses brushing as he lingered there, his hand still holding yours as you drew circles on his skin with your thumb.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, his usual calm and stoic replaced by a rare warmth as he looked at you.

You smiled and kissed his shoulder before resting your head against it, letting your eyes close for just a moment.

“It’s so quiet.” you sighed, enjoying the peaceful moment. That’s something you'd missed. Even though you loved the camp, you weren't really a fan of chaos, and this? Having the moment to breathe in the warm scent of pine trees, to hear the birds singing and crickets chirping and to be in Dexter’s embrace is like a reward.

“Funny you’d say that, considering how much noise you make.” He glanced down at you, raising his eyebrows. “Half the chaos around here has been you cheering your team to victory.”

You scoffed, too tired to put up a fight this time. “I’m just an enthusiastic leader.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, a hint of smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re definitely enthusiastic. I’m pretty sure you broke the sound barrier.”

You poked him in the ribs, and he genuinely laughed. A sound that you appreciated greatly, because you were one of the few people that got to hear it. As his laughter faded, he leaned in and pressed his lips softly to the crown of your head.

You watched the sun dip lower, your heart full as you let yourself drift into the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.

a/n2: thanks for making it this far! soo, what do we think? i'll appreciate any kind of feedback! also, i'd love to explore this relationship more, so maybe we'll see these two again!

[feyhunter78]

Aftercare

Artist cred: Lxstari_

Description: A soft moment with Nerd!Miguel. Nerd!Miguel masterlist

You look beautiful. He always thinks that, but especially now as you fit yourself into his side, watching as he flips through Netflix for something to watch.

It wasn’t like this before, with Ava she would leave when it was done, put her clothes back on without sparing him a second look. But not you, you stayed, slipped his t-shirt on, climbed back into bed with him, clinging to him like a teddy bear.

“Do you want any more water?” Miguel asks, turning his head to you.

You shake your head then rest it on his chest. “No, I just want to stay right here for a bit.”

He’s pretty sure you can hear his heart pounding against his chest, his face burns, and he wants to melt into the mattress, his affection for you overflowing. “Yeah, no problem, you know you can stay as long as you like.”

You hum in response and place your hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“How about this movie? I’ve heard it’s good.” He suggests, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat.

“Whatever you think is best, I trust you.” You say sleepily, curling further into him.

I trust you. Is he dead? Is this heaven?

He clicks the movie and settles in, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed and draping it over the both of you.

You and Miguel chat back and forth for a while pointing out inaccuracies in the movies, laughing at the jokes, cringing at the cheesy acting then fall silent, absorbed in the movie playing on the screen mounted to the wall.

Miguel gently trails his fingers up and down your back, the TV casting a soft glow across the floor, rain tapping against the window, the fuzzy blanket arranged haphazardly, your head still resting on his chest, flooding his senses with the scent of your perfume.

“As if you could splice DNA that quickly.” He snorts, eyes still locked on the screen.

When you don’t respond, he glances down. Your eyes are closed, your face half-buried in his sweatshirt, your fingers gently curled around the fabric keeping hold of him, your breathing soft and even.

Miguel smiles, warmth flooding through him, his heart skipping a beat as he takes in the sight. He never thought he would be here, with you, the pretty popular girl from his lab, the one every guy wanted, every guy fantasied about. But here you are, in his room, wearing his t-shirt, curled up and sound asleep on his chest.

How did he get this lucky? You could have anyone you wanted, he’s seen the way guys on campus look at you, but you never seem to notice. You say it’s because you’re always looking at him, and maybe you’re right. It’s intoxicating, the way you look at him. All pretty and perfect, looking up at him through your lashes, a smile toying at your lips. Or when you’re concerned, the emotion brimming in your eyes, the way you latch onto him, cling to him.

He bites the inside of his cheek as images from earlier make their way center stage. The feeling of your nails digging into his skin, the warmth of your walls desperately trying to coax him deeper, the hunger in your eyes as they met his. Of course, you’re tired, he did everything he could to pull climax after climax from you until you begged him to stop.

He pushes the memories away, wanting to soak in this peaceful moment. The sound of your breathing, the way you sigh softly and bury more of your face in his chest.

You’re so beautiful, so perfect, he wants to freeze time, wants to never let you go, wants to live in this moment forever.

An explosion lights up the TV screen, the sound rousing you from your slumber, and you lift your head blinking at him blearily. “What’s going on?”

He brushes his lips across your forehead, already missing the comforting weight of your body resting on his. “It’s just the movie, I can turn it down.”

“Oh no, the movie, Miguel, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You tell him, smoothing your hair down with your fingers, now wide awake.

Miguel shakes his head, his voice dipping low. “Don’t worry about it, you obviously needed the sleep.” A catlike smile spread across his face at your flustered expression.

You smack his shoulder playfully. “Perv.”

“You like it.” He teases, slipping his hands under your bare thighs and pulling you closer.

You yelp at the sudden movement, but soon relax into him, tracing his facial features with the tip of your finger. “I guess I do.”

He marvels at you, at the beauty of you. Even with smudged makeup, and your hair a bit tangled, you’re still breathtaking.

“What?” You ask, smiling down at him, radiant as the sun.

“You’re just so…beautiful.”

“Miguel.” You drag out his name, smiling embarrassedly, turning your face from his.

“Y/N.” He mimics, turning your face back towards his, and kissing you.

You melt into him, like you always do, as if he’s the only one who knows how to kiss you, the only one who should ever kiss you.

“You’re really handsome, you know? Insanely so.” You say between kisses, wanting to return his compliment, unable to just accept his praise.

“Oh really?” He asks. He can feel himself blushing, so he presses his lips to the corner of your lips.

You nod the best you can, eyes fluttering shut when Miguel’s lips drift lower, tilting your head instinctually, allowing him more access to your already marked skin. “Yeah, it’s not fair.”

“Dulzura, dulzura, dulzura, have you not heard the saying all is fair in love and war?” He presses the words into your skin, preening at the sight of his earlier marks. Later you’ll chide him for leaving such obvious hickeys, but right now he knows you don’t care.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just kiss me.” You say, cupping his cheek and bringing his lips back to yours.

He does so happily, humming against you, endorphins and dopamine blooming, traveling across his synapses with unparalleled speed. “As you wish.”

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho, @chooalvina

[xoxosimp]

you, omega!reader , being best friends with alpha!bucky and alpha!steve in college.they know you aren’t here to meet anyone, just to get your degree and get the hell out of dodge.

alpha!Stucky always ensure one of them can walk you home from the library at night or when you have a night class. Their omega walking at night by herself ? Fuck. That.

alpha!stucky always popping out of nowhere when you book a study room in the library. they’ll work diligently for about an hour until they start being distracting by scenting you.

9/10 if you are going to class, you’re putting on of their hoodies or wearing one of their shirts.

alpha! Stucky stick to you like glue whenever you go to parties. Bucky would have an arm around your waist, or Steve with a his hand on your hip, or a finger around one of belt loops of your pants.

alpha!stucky always make sure you eat on the days you’re on campus for a long time.

alpha!stucky’s number one method to relieve stress during finals? Lying on your chest and playing with their hair ( sometimes they’ll fight about who goes first)

alpha! Stucky don’t eat at the dining halls, because you meal prep for yourself and the alphas. They foot the grocery bill, you cook the food.

alpha!stucky knows you don’t want to be tied down. You want a mate that supports your career once you graduate college. and they want to be those mates for you .

[papercranesandinkstains]

Sincerely (Not) Yours: Rafe SMAU- Part Four

Summary: The Thornton Fellowship is THE most prestigious journalism fellowship in North Carolina. It's practically a golden ticket into the journalism world, and you want it. BAD. You've spent your whole life working towards landing yourself the only spot for someone at UNC-Kildare. The only issue? Rafe Cameron, your sworn enemy, wants it too. Which of you will get the coveted spot and which of you will have to pack up your dreams? Well... fate seems to be in the hands of UNC- Kildare's new transfer football player JJ Maybank. There's a catch, of course. JJ Maybank refuses student interviews.

AN: The man is a menace.... A MENACE

Relationship: Rafe Cameron x Reader (enemies to lovers)

Masterlist

Taglist:

@akobx @onelonelybitch @pogueprincesa @inthelibrarybtw @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @my-name-is-baby @klarxtr @davinashifts333

[fandoms-writings]

Let Go

Pairing: DBF!Bucky x college!reader (Part 3)

Word Count: 6.9K

Summary: Enough is enough. It's time to put your foot down with Bucky. You're tired of being hidden, but that means a whole new dynamic to your relationship - and a hard conversation.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY , making out, fingering, p in v sex, subby!bucky makes an appearance, Mentions of past sex acts, angst (this one is SAD for a little guys sorry), reader standing up for herself, confessions, bucky being a big ole dummy, cuss words ( I think that's it lol)

Part 1, 2 || Bucky Masterlist || Masterpost

Sorry! Can we raincheck?

Miles is down with a fever, can we reschedule?

I've got a surprise exam in the morning, I'll have to pass tonight.

The messages from your friends glared at you from your phone screen as you read them over and over. You hadn't actually opened them, they just sat in your inbox, one right after the other. 

Great. You sighed, glancing around the street corner where you were supposed to meet your friends for a night out. Your best cocktail dress clung to your hips as you shifted from heeled foot to heeled foot. You'd wanted to spend the night with your friends, finally taking a break from all the assignments and exams and responsibilities you had. 

But now, you stood alone outside the club, your uber already gone, and some guys eyeing you as they went in, giving you the wrong kind of chills. 

You huffed a breath and raised your phone back up, pulling up a number you haven't had the time to call - you were busy getting a degree - but that didn't stop him from trying to reach you. Bucky's name stared at you as your thumb hovered over the dial button. 

You took a breath to steady yourself as you pressed it and raised the phone to your ear. You hadn't seen Bucky in weeks, not that you didn't want to. You'd just been busy with classes and projects. 

And trying to get a hold over the feelings you had for him - the type of feelings you absolutely could not have for your fathers friend. 

He answered on the third ring, his voice and loud music coming through the speaker, "Hey!" 

"Hey, Buck," You couldn't help the way his voice made your heart start racing, even if he was just over the phone. "Are you busy?" 

"Not at all," His side got quieter as you heard a door slam shut, "What's going on?" 

"I was supposed to go out with some friends tonight, but they've all bailed. I was going to ask if you wanted to come out. I'm already downtown." You told him the name of the club you were standing in front of and he confirmed he knew of it. 

"I can be there in twenty minutes," He said and you could hear the smile in his voice, "Or ten if I run." 

"I'll wait inside for you," You smiled. At least you wouldn't be alone for the night and getting this dolled up wasn't a total waste of your time. 

You hung up before heading inside, letting the loud music rattle your bones as you made your way to the bar to order a drink and wait. 

~~~

The next fifteen minutes flew by faster than you thought they would've, nursing your drink and watching people dance against each other helped. But when those familiar hands landed on the bar next to you, you decided it was worth the wait. 

Bucky looked like he ran, his eyes clear and wild, his chest rising and falling at an uneven pace - though it was clear he was trying to steady it. 

"Where'd you come from?" You asked, a small smirk on your lips. 

"I was at the bar a few blocks down when you called. Started running as soon as you hung up," He said, sliding closer to your side, leaning to purr into your ear, "I've missed you." 

"Hm, have you now?" You fluttered your lashes up at him, and his smile grew.

"I have," His eyes flicked between yours then down to your lips and back up, "You've been so busy, I barely get to see you. It's a miracle I get texts back when I do."

You laughed at that, "Well sorry I'm trying to actually pass my classes with more than just C's"

He chuckled before smirking, "Did you miss me at all?" 

You let out a dramatic sigh, "A bit." 

"Ouch, only a bit, huh? Did I not make a lasting enough impression on you last time we got together?" The moment flashed in your mind - the dingy dive bar, the locked bathroom door, the cool mirror at your back, the counter under you ass, the arms holding your legs open, the way his lips felt on your neck, his hips snapping into yours - 

You pushed the memory from your mind as you felt your core go molten and your skin heat. Bucky knew as his smirk grew that he did indeed make a lasting impression, but chose not to say anything as you slid off the barstool, standing in front of him. 

"I want to dance," You downed the rest of your drink before lifting your chin at him. He chuckled before shifting out of your way, letting you lead the way to the dance floor. 

You didn't even get to take one step before a familiar voice called both of your names. Your heart dropped out of your ass and your skin turned ice as you turned to see one of Bucky's friends - one who also knew your father. 

"Sam!" Bucky smiled, clapping the other man on the shoulder, "What are you doing here?" 

"The wife wanted to have a night out dancing, and this was the spot her friends recommended, so here I am," he smiled, turning to you, "Hey you, I haven't seen you since that barbecue at your dads over the summer. How are you?" 

You pushed a smile to your lips, hoping it came across as natural as you stepped forward to give Sam a quick side hug. "Good, just needed the same thing your wife wanted - a night out." 

"I see," He glanced between you and Bucky, "So, did you two come together or. . ?" 

Your knees felt weak and you were glad you hadn't made it far from your barstool as you leaned on it for support. If Sam found out, there was no way he wouldn't tell you dad, and you dad sure as hell could never know about you and Bucky. But before you could respond, or even try to come up with something that didn't sound suspicious as fuck, Bucky's voice filled the silence. 

"No, I was walking back from the bar on 9th when I saw her standing outside," He smoothly said, putting a friendly hand on your shoulder, "She said her friends canceled so I offered to buy her a drink before she went all the way back home." 

It wasn't a total lie, but something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. The easy lie and simple dismissal of you two being there together, how it was just a coincidence. 

"Oh well I'm sorry," Sam looked at you with too much pity and you fought to keep your smile as you waved him off. 

"It's fine, don't worry," You took a breath, "I should probably go home though." 

"What? You just got here," Bucky argued and you shrugged. 

"My friends aren't coming, I'm not going to dance by myself." 

"Come hang out with us!" Sam exclaimed, adding a teasing, "Unless you think we're too old for you." Oh how wrong he was with that. 

"I don't want to be a bother," You said, "Really, I'll be okay." 

"No no no, c'mon," Sam got his wife's attention, pointed to you and you saw her face light up. "I think she wants to dance with you." 

"Okay, okay, I'll dance for a little bit," You laughed, following Sam to meet his wife on the floor, Bucky at your back. 

You tried to glance over your shoulder to get his attention, to convey how nervous you were - how nervous he should be, but he wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were flitting around the dance floor. 

It was so easy for him to pretend nothing was happening between you two, to pretend like whatever you two had didn't exist. You fought off the uneasiness in that realization as you finally met Sam's wife on the floor and joined her in the music. Your body wasn't as fluid as it usually was when you danced, you felt stiff, but you couldn't help it. Especially not when another glance at Bucky dancing against another girl twisted your gut in ways you didn't know it could. 

Tonight was going to be a long one. 

~~~

Your feet ached in your heels as you quickly made for the exit. You needed air, you needed space, you needed to go home. 

You'd been able to stomach watching Bucky dance without you for the first couple hours - barely - but you couldn't take being ignored anymore. You didn't want him to fuck you in the middle of the dance floor for everyone to see, Sam included, but you would've liked if he'd offered to dance with you like Sam and his wife did. To join the group even or, fuck, just look at you once in awhile. Maybe smile. Or wink.

Instead, he gave you a wide berth, didn't look at you once, and didn't seem interested when you excused yourself to the restroom twenty minutes ago. You hid in the stall, gathering yourself before exiting, glancing out at the group to see not one of them bothered by the long time you took, and decided it was time to go home.

Pushing open the main door, you blinked in surprise at the rain that was now pouring down, and you sighed, shutting the door and stepping as far away as you could without stepping out from under the awning. You called an uber to take you home and watched impatiently as the car icon turned down various streets to get to you. The driver wasn't far, and would only take a few minutes to arrive, and you were hoping it was enough time before someone came out looking for you. 

But when the door next to you opened, and that familiar head of cropped brown hair peered around the edge, your heart sank. Your name fell from his lips in a confused tone as he took in the way your arms were wrapped around yourself and how you were basically hiding behind the door to stay out of the way. 

"What are you doing out here?" He shut the door and stepped next to you, his elbow brushing yours. You grit your teeth at the frustration that was brewing in you, the urge to shout and yell. You weren't normally someone who lost their temper, but you were so tired. Tired of not being enough, of being alone. 

"Waiting for my ride." You refused to look at him as he stared at the side of your face and you watched the road. 

"You. . ." He hesitated, tilting his head and leaning a bit, trying to get you to look at him, "You're leaving already?" 

"Yup." At the dismissive tone in your response, he straightened himself again, but still kept staring at your goddamn face. A sigh pushed past your nostrils as you glanced at the gps again, seeing the car was only two blocks down now. Thank god. 

"Do you want me to come with you?" He asked, following you as you stepped out from the awning and into the downpour, your dress and hair almost immediately becoming soaked through. "Or you can come over to mine, if you'd like?" 

"No, thanks." You declined, your voice beginning to strain, "I'm not in the mood to fuck you tonight." 

He flinched as if you'd hit him, but recovered as he sidled up to you again, "W-well, I've got a bottle of wine, your favorite brand, in the fridge unopened. We could have a drink and watch a movie? Or cuddle, or just talk? Whatever you'd like." 

You turned to him, surprisingly calm considering the way your chest seized and your eyes stung. His face fell as he took in the state of you, the misery lining your lashes and the anger pulling your lips thin. "Don't pretend like you actually care, James. Like whatever this is," you weakly gestured to the space between the two of you, "has ever been anything more than you wanting to fuck me," You turned back to the road, your voice dropping below a whisper, "and me letting you." 

His jaw went slack as he stumbled for words. 

A small car pulled up beside you, throwing its hazards on as the window rolled down. You leaned in, asking the driver for his name. The older man who was probably in his late sixties or early seventies introduced himself as Dominic, and after checking to make sure it matched your app, you pulled open the backseat door. 

Bucky's hand shot out to where yours rested on the car door, gently, "Wait. That's it? You're not going to talk to me about this?" 

You fought the tears in your eyes as you sniffed, turning your full attention to him. "There's nothing to talk about, James. I'm just stating how it is. I didn't ask you to come out with me just to ignore me all night, only for you to remember I exist when you want a good lay." The uber driver kept his gaze on the road, patiently waiting for you to get in, and pretended he wasn't hearing your entire conversation. You'd apologize to him once you were on your way. 

"You know why I - "

"Because of Sam," You calmly cut him off, "I know. But that doesn't mean you get to pretend that I don't exist. You wouldn't even look at me." You pulled your hand out from under his, climbing into the car. He held the door open, refusing to close it. "Close the door, James." 

"Can we please talk about this?" He begged, something you never heard him do - usually it was you begging him. You looked up at him, and you couldn't tell if your face was wet from the rain or the tears that could've fallen. It was probably both. 

"What's there to talk about?" You asked, your voice raw, "There are boundaries we can't cross, James. And I'm tired of being alone." You took a breath to try and steady the shakiness out of your voice, "And I'm tired of waiting for you to notice me." 

You leaned forward and grabbed the door handle, ignoring the way Bucky's face crumpled in disbelief. You tried to pull the door, but he held it firmly open. 

"Please let go," You asked. 

He shook his head, your name slipping from his lips like a prayer, "Please."

"Let go." 

He let out a shuddered breath as he looked at his feet for a moment. You were going to say it again, when he nodded and looked up at you, sniffling. 

"Okay," He muttered, "okay." His hand fell from the door, and you watched him through the window as you pulled it shut. 

"Please go," You gently asked your driver, who gave you a pitiful look in the mirror before he nodded, putting the car in drive. You didn't look out the window again, but you knew Bucky was still there, standing in the rain, watching you pull away. 

~~~

"Thanks, Dom," You gave the driver a small smile as you opened the car door. He hadn't asked about what he'd heard while waiting for you to get in the car, or about your tears. He asked if you were alright, if you needed him to stop anywhere and get you anything. You'd smiled, declining the offer, but it had warmed your heart. 

"Of course," He turned to give you a sad smile. "If you need anything, I'll be driving all night, so I'll be around the area." 

You smiled at him, "Thank you, but I'll be fine." 

He nodded, before saying, "Hey." 

You looked at him again, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm not trying to butt in on a situation I don't know," He started, "and you can ignore anything I say once you get out of this car. Just," He took a breath as if to steady himself, "Sometimes, it's worth listening to the other side. So you know the whole truth. So you don't sit there and wonder years later, if shutting them out was a mistake." 

"I appreciate the advice, but," you sighed, "there's a lot of story there that I can't get into." 

"And whatever you do, is your choice. Just. . ." He took a deep breath before his eyes locked with yours, and you could see the regret and the sadness swimming in his irises. "I was that person, once. And not a day goes by where I don't wonder what life would've been like had I just listened." 

You smiled, reaching forward to pat his shoulder, "Don't let the past drag down your present," you offered him a sad smile, and he reached up to pat your fingers with his old ones, "Have a good night, Dom." 

"You as well." 

You climbed out of his car, walking to where the doorman of your building greeted you and held the door open for you. He eyed your soaked clothes and hair with concern and you waved him off. 

"Got caught in the downpour. It's headed this way, but I'm alright." You plastered on a fake smile, as you passed him. 

The elevator ride was suffocatingly silent, the only noise being the dings of the floors you passed and you spent the time removing your heels, your sore feet thankful to be flat again. The ding of your floor filled the air and the doors whirred as they slid open. You were greeted by that maroon carpet, and cream walls of the hall, the little gold detailings of the light fixtures and door handles plentiful as you passed them by, aiming for your door. 

Your keys slid in and unlocked effortlessly, and you stepped into the darkness, shutting the door behind you and locking it before you slid down to the floor. Feet pushed out in front of you, your back to the door, you sat there in the quiet stillness of your apartment. 

In the dark, Dominic's words kept ringing in your head. Sometimes, it's worth listening to the other side. So you know the whole truth.

You sighed as your head fell back and thumped against the door. Deep down, you knew the old man was right. You don't have to let Bucky back in, but you should hear him out. But you knew by the way your heart constricted at just the thought of it, that you weren't ready, not yet. You needed to cool down and think and relax before that conversation.

So you stood on shaky legs and flicked on a couple lights before making your way to the bathroom. A hot bath to wash away the night and chase away the cold that was starting to bite at your bones was the best way to start. 

~~~

Nick, your doorman's voice echoed in your head as you stood at the buzzer of your door. 

There's a James Barnes here to see you. 

It'd been a couple weeks since you left him at that club downtown. Weeks of no contact, not even a text. You knew you needed to talk to him, but you didn't know if you were ready. You didn't even know what more could be said. What story he could try to spin you. 

But you remembered Dom's words from that night, and shook yourself from your stupor just in time to hear Nick calling your name through the buzzer. 

"Send him up." You hoarsely replied, "Thank you, Nick." 

"Sure thing," His voice came through the static before going quiet again. 

You took a deep breath as you looked around the apartment. It was a little messy - you hadn't really had time to clean these past few weeks with finals around the corner. Part of you wanted to rush to pick some of it up, but you knew deep down you didn't have time before Bucky knocked on your door, so you wrapped your arms around your torso and waited, trying to ignore all the awful ways your brain was coming up with for this conversation to end. 

The knock on that door couldn't come soon enough, and you had to steel yourself before pulling it open. 

Bucky honestly looked worse for wear, the bags under his eyes were prominent, his hair that was usually so well styled was unkept and in disarray. His normally well trimmed beard was longer than you'd ever seen it, though it wasn't by much. And in his hands, was a small bouquet of wildflowers. 

"Can I come in?" He asked, his voice gentle and somewhat hesitant. 

You stepped back from the door, silently holding it open for him to enter. He pressed his lips tightly together and quickly stepped in, watching as you shut and locked the door behind him. 

"I know that these won't fix anything, but I remember you talking about the flower shop two blocks over and how you really enjoyed the wildflower bouquets so I thought I'd stop on my way here to get you one - " He was rambling now, staring at the flowers in his hand as his free one came up to gently stroke some of the petals. 

You walked to the kitchen, with him blindly following you as he rambled on and on about the flowers and the specific bunch he grabbed reminded him of you and you had to push out the feelings that started to warm your chest down, down, down back into their steel box - the steel box you decided to lock them away in that night you left him at the club. 

After grabbing a small vase from the cupboard, you held your hand out for the bouquet. Your fingers entered his field of view that was still locked on those petals and his rambling tumbled to a halt before he nodded to himself. 

"Right, sorry," He gently handed them over to you and watched as you placed them in the vase and filled it with water. You'd worry about if you were really going to keep them later, and if you did, going through and properly arranging them. But right now, you had an important talk waiting to happen. And the sooner it was over, the better. 

"What do you want, Bucky?" You asked, pushing the vase away from the edge of the counter and looking up at him. 

"I was hoping we could talk." 

"I have nothing more to say to you." You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the counter, eyeing him as he stepped up to the other side, resting his hands against the fake marble. 

"You don't have to say anything, but I have some stuff I'd like to say to you." His eyes were practically begging you to listen and Dom's words rang in your head again. Sometimes, it's worth listening to the other side. So you know the whole truth.

"Fine," You sighed, "out with it." You knew you were being a bit rude and cold. But after the past few weeks you've had, you didn't want him here longer than necessary. 

"Right, um," He took a deep breath. He seemed so uncharacteristically nervous. Whenever you were with him, he was always so sure of himself. So confident and cocky. To see him rambling and fiddling with the flowers earlier, and now struggling to find his words - it put a pause in your frustration. 

He straightened his back and took another breath, and you steeled yourself for what he was about to say. 

"I want to apologize." He started, "For everything. For starting this with you, pursuing you when I knew I shouldn't have. For making a mess of it." His throat bobbed as he continued, "When I met you two years ago, there was just something about you. Something that lured me in. You were - are so smart. You're so fucking smart, and beautiful and funny and witty and I just - " He sighed, "God, I fell so hard for you.

"But your father is one of my friends. And that's not right. What kind of man does that make me?" He asked, gesturing to himself. "What kind of man does that?" He all but fell into one of the barstools at the counter, "So, I kept you at arms length. Only saw you in secret, pretended you weren't there if there was even the slightest chance of getting caught - and for that I am so, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. But," he sighed, taking a moment before continuing, "but I didn't know you felt any certain way about it. About me."

He looked up from the counter to you, across the kitchen with your arms still crossed, "I didn't know you weren't okay with it. With the hiding and the secrets. If I had known - "

"What?" You weakly asked. You didn't mean to cut him off, you meant it when you said you didn't have anything left to say to him, but your mouth opened of its own accord. "What would you have done?" 

He was silent and you shook your head, letting out a weak, sad laugh, "Exactly. You wouldn't have done anything, because you can't. Not with who we are." You swallowed down the lump that began to form in your throat, your next words coming out almost silently, "I don't just feel a certain way about it." 

"What does that mean?" He asked, his brows knitting together. 

"James," You sighed, "I've been in love with you for months now." His eyes widened as he watched you lean backwards against the other counter, "And what sucks, is that these past few weeks, all I've wanted to do was call my dad, or my mom, and get some advice on our situation," You felt the tears begin to build in the corners of your eyes. "But I can't ask them. And I can't talk to any of my friends about you because they know my parents." 

You ignored the way his face crumbled as your voice cracked and thinned as you fought the building tears, "I can't talk to anyone about you. I'm alone in this. And even if I were to have you, I'd be alone."

He was silent for a minute, watching the tears fall down your cheeks before he slowly stood and walked around the counter to your side. He hesitantly approached you, gently reached up with his hands and brushed away the tears from your chin. 

"What if you didn't have to be alone?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"What if," he breathed in, his eyes scanning every inch of your face as he caressed it with his thumbs, "what if you didn't have to be alone? What if we didn't hide?" 

A weak scoff pushed past your lips and you tried to glare at him, but you could tell it wasn't really there, "You're assuming there's still a 'we'." Though your words were meant to throw him off, the lack of bite in your tone kept him right in front of you, the tight concern in his face melting way to something you'd only glanced in his eyes a handful of times - something soft. 

"I would like there to be." He whispered and you felt that steel box inside yourself crack open. 

"What?" It felt like it fell between you, your question, but he caught it with his nervous grin

"I'm in love with you," he stated with such gentle conviction, that steel box starting to spring open further and further the more he spoke, "and I know I've made a mess of things, but I would do anything to make it right." His hands slid off your cheeks and ran down the lengths of your arms, softly gripping your fingers and pulling them away from your chest and to his own. "I want to be with you. I want to show the world that I'm yours. I want to openly be yours." 

That little steel box shoved deep down inside of yourself flung open. Everything you've bottled up the past few weeks came bubbling to the surface as you fought that wobble in your lips. You fought to keep it all in. To keep yourself composed. 

"I want to make this right," He continued, his own eyes watering at the state you were in, "You just need to tell me how." He sighed, "Or tell me to fuck off, and I will. You'll never hear from me again if that's what you want. And honestly, I wouldn't be offended if you did." 

The thought of never seeing him again didn't sit right with you. It made a horrible sense of dread fill your chest and you shook your head. 

"What about my father?" You asked, your voice straining against the words that were trying to get out. Against the confession that sat at the tip of your tongue. 

"We'll tell him. We'll find a way to tell him and it'll be okay," He gently pulled you, testing to see how you reacted and when you easily stepped towards him, he wrapped his arms around you, holding the back of your head with his hand, "We'll figure it out." 

The warmth from his chest seeped through his shirt into your cheek and you let it out then, the cries that you'd been holding in, the words you'd come to terms with days ago that you never thought would be voiced, the words you'd wanted to say to him in anger began clumsily tumbling from your lips. 

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Your lips scraped against the cotton of his shirt, "You can't expect me to tell you how I feel when you made it feel wrong to want more." You pulled back, weakly pushing against his chest before haphazardly wiping your eyes. 

You'd missed everything about him the past few weeks, no matter how much you tried not to. His warmth, his scent, the feel of his hands, the husk of his voice. God you missed it. And you wouldn't have had to miss him at all had the two of you just told each other. 

"The way you'd avoid me or act as if I wasn't there," You said, taking a step out of his arms, "How do I know that won't happen again?" 

His face fell as he looked at you, his hands dropping to his sides, "You don't, but I can promise you that it never did." He let out a sad chuckle at the confusion taking over the tears in your eyes. "I may have avoided getting too close to you, yes, but not once did I not notice you." 

He stepped forward, wrapping his hands around your waist to settle on your lower back, his fingers tracing invisible patterns into your shirt. 

"If we're in the same room, I always know exactly where you are," His eyes darted down to your lips for a split second, "When you leave the room, all I want to do is follow you, but I can't. So I strain to hear your voice and laugh over everything else. I practically hold my breath until you come back." He gave you a sad smile, "I know you probably don't believe me, but it's true. It's like my entire being orbits around you and when you aren't around, my soul doesn't know where to spin." 

You didn't know what to say as you watched him, noted the sincerity in his gaze - the tears beginning to line his own lashes. You weighed everything he'd told you, how he felt, how he was trying so hard to not lose you. All because you finally put your foot down, and then listened. 

You weren't sure if your brain could form the words you wanted to say - needed to say. Your heart was racing from his confession and the proximity of him. He was so close to you, you'd merely have to tip your chin up the slightest to catch his lips with your own. 

So you did.

His body instantly reacted - his grip tightening across your back and pulling you as close as he could, his lips moving in tandem with yours in the soft enticing way they always did, a sigh leaving his nose and tickling your cheek. 

The feeling of his lips on yours sent a warmth through your chest that you hadn't felt in weeks, and it quickly spread through the rest of you, tingles shooting out to your fingers as they reached for his chin and down to your toes as your feet backed you up into the counter. A small noise that sounded almost like a whimper escaped his throat, swallowed by your mouth on his, as your hands slid up from his chin into his hair, your fingers threading through the strands and gripping them. 

You knew there was more to talk about, more to figure out - there always would be - but right now you couldn't stop thinking about his lips on yours, his tongue gently asking for permission to play with yours as his hands slid from your back down to your ass, squeezing before sliding further to your thighs, his back bowing as he reached. His fingers pulled on your legs twice and in the spare second his lips were able to pull from yours, you felt him whisper to jump, so you did. 

He caught you, gently placing you on the counter as he stepped in between your legs, pulling your hips to the edge of the counter. His lips left yours and moved to your neck, softly nipping and sucking as he moved down to your chest, pulling your shirt, stretching the neck of it but at the moment you couldn't care less about it. He only pulled away to pull the clothing up over your head and out of the way, his mouth immediately going down to close around a nipple when he noticed the lack of bra in his path. 

A low groan rumbled through his throat and into your skin before he moved to the other one, giving it the same treatment as the first. Every little touch of his hands, the way they grazed over your skin or grabbed at your free breast, kneading it with his fingers, and the hot trail his tongue left across your skin turned your core molten. You needed him, you didn't want any of the teasing and edging he so loved to torture you with. 

So you tugged on his hair, his name falling from your lips in a whine and he looked up at you, his eyes glazed and his pupils blown. The look made you hesitate and you clenched around nothing - you'd only seen him that far gone in the feeling of your skin one other time. So, seeing it now, you knew you could ask him to do anything, and he'd do it. You could order him, and he'd obey. 

You pulled his face up to yours, making him stand up straight as you locked your lips with his again and slid your hands down to his belt. While you worked the buckle open, his hands wrapped under the shorts on your hips, pulling them down your legs and causing you to gasp at the cold counter meeting your skin. 

The buckle finally opened and your fingers immediately moved to the button and zipper of his jeans, his own moving to brush against the wetness there. Your lips swallowed the new whine that he let out as he gathered the slick, pushing two fingers all the way in.

Your lips broke from his at the feeling of his long fingers pumping in and out of you and your fingers stumbled over the denim, but finally you got the button open and the zipper down and you shoved at his pants, your lips moving to his ear. 

"C'mon, handsome," You whispered, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear and grinning at the shiver that ran through his body, "Your fingers feel nice, but," Your hand reached past the waist, gripping and stroking him, his lips opening in a gasp and latching on to your neck again, "this is what I want." 

He groaned into your neck, thrusting into your hand, his fingers in your cunt stroking your walls, matching pace. 

"I need it, James," Your other hand pulled back to grip his hair, pulling on it to get him to look at you as you continued stroking him. When he pulled away from your neck, he already looked fucked out and you smiled, leaning forward to lick his lips. He tried to chase your lips with his own but when your hand didn't let go of his hair, he stopped. "I need you to fuck me, James," He groaned at that, "Can you do that for me?" 

He nodded, his voice thin as he responded, "Yes." 

"Good," You smiled at him, trying not to whine at the loss of his fingers as he pulled them out and pushed his boxers down just enough. His left hand settled on your waist as his other lined himself up with your entrance, gathering some slick before he pushed himself in, going all the way in one go. 

His head fell into your neck as he groaned, the sound of it combined with the sudden fullness pulling a moan from your lips.

"Oh, fuck," Your lips brushed his ear as you panted. "That's it - fuck -" Your hands come up to grip his shoulders and his back as he immediately set a growing pace. "That's a good boy." 

His lips again connected with your neck and you tipped your head to give him more access, his teeth dragging across your skin. His hips sped up, a loud moan breaking from you as he angled to hit that perfect spot, Your head falling back into the cabinets. 

"That's it that's it," You panted, "Oh, don't you dare stop." His teeth nipped just below your ear and you couldn't stop the grin that grew on your lips, "Mark me," You grunted, "I want everyone to know I'm yours." 

What you could only describe as a growl rumbled from his lips into your skin as he began working to leave a mark on that exact spot, the sensation flying through every one of your nerves, shooting down to where he was hitting that perfect spot over and over, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to falling over that edge, faster than he'd ever let you before. 

His lips brushed the skin of your neck as he grunted out, "Please cum on me," His voice was breathless and he sounded so, so close to begging, "please." 

You let out a breathy sound, that band in you so close to snapping as you lifted your legs to wrap around his hips. Your fingers wound through his hair again, gripping the strands as you ordered him, your lips never leaving his ear, "Make me." 

"I will," He said between leaving marks across your neck and shoulder, "I promise I will." 

His hips never faltered as his thumb on his right hand came to press quick circles into your clit, your legs snapping around him at the sensation and your head again hitting the cabinets. 

"Shit, that's it," Your fingers gripped any part of him you could reach, scratching your nails down his skin and the shirt still covering his back. The band in your core snapped and your release washed over you, your body locking around his as you were sure you screamed into his shoulder. 

His hips didn't stop, still fucking into you at that brutal pace he'd set, his thumb still circling your clit and you could feel another orgasm quickly approaching. 

He grunted out, his only request this whole time, "One more," before his voice softened into a whine, "please give me one, pleasepleaseplease." 

You didn't fight the second wave as it crashed into you, stealing your breath. His hips thrust into you just a couple more times before he stilled and his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, his long moan vibrating into the skin of your neck as he buried his face again. 

His legs shook as he stood there with you wrapped so tightly around him, but it was like he didn't dare move from your hold, or let you escape his. And you were fine with that. 

Once you got your breath back, you slowly dragged your fingers over his back and shoulders, threading through his hair before going back down his neck, his muscles loosening with each pass. 

His arms wrapped around your waist in a tight hug as he finally broke the silence, "Can there still be a 'we'?" His voice was so quiet, like he was scared to ask. You pulled his face away from your neck finally. "Are you going to ask me out? Like a real date?" You grinned at the flush on his cheeks. 

"Can I take you on a proper date?" 

You couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled up in your chest and you nodded, "Absolutely." 

There was a feeling in your chest telling you to think about it more before agreeing, but you ignored it. You knew the risks, and you knew there was more to figure out and more to learn before it would be a smooth road - and that didn't even include telling your parents. 

But that was a problem for another day. Right now, you just wanted to stay wrapped around Bucky in every sense and enjoy the warmth that filled your chest as he looked at you like you hung the sky just for him. 

Yeah, you'd fix the rest of it later. 

As always, thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are all appreciated!

If you enjoyed the story, please consider supporting me on my Ko-fi

If you want to be updated when i post a new story, please follow my library blog and turn on notifications <3 @remis-library​ 

[marvelstoriesepic]

Supposed Distraction

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: It’s Bucky’s birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.

Prompt 1: “I think we need to talk.”

Prompt 2: “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Prompt 3: “Kiss me.”

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: friends to lovers; reader is embarrassed and rather terrible at attempting to distract Bucky; Bucky is smug; Bucky is worried; Sam and Steve are idiots; feels; pining; tension; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: This is another entry for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge by @elixirfromthestars ♡ I hope you’re not getting tired of me participating, my dear, but I couldn’t help it. Especially since you were the one inspiring me to write this about college!bucky. I'll have to thank you for that!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

You always knock four times.

It’s instinctive at this point, muscle memory more than conscious thought. You don’t even remember when or how it started, but it's always fours knocks.

The door swings open within seconds, revealing Bucky’s easy and bright grin. He leans against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, hair slightly tousled, perhaps from running his hands through it. God, he looks great.

“Hey, doll,” he greets, voice warm. “You’re early.”

You arch a brow, stepping past him when he shifts to let you in. “It’s your birthday, Buck. What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone, huh?”

Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. “Told you, it’s not a big deal.”

“‘Course it is, Buck,” you argue, almost indignant at the thought. Because if anyone deserves a day where people get to celebrate him, it’s James Buchanan Barnes.

But he doesn’t make much of his birthday. He doesn’t like attention when he hasn’t earned it.

It’s why he loves the mound, standing there under stadium lights with all eyes on him, but loathes things like this - birthdays, personal praise, anything that forces him into a spotlight just for existing. You suppose that’s just part of who he is.

You saw him earlier, in university. You shared one class today. He walked in a few minutes late, baseball cap pulled low, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

You had been waiting for him, barely able to contain your excitement as you nearly launched yourself at him in the hallway with a cheerful happy birthday, Bucky!

He had only blinked, slightly startled at your enthusiasm before huffing out a laugh when you crushed him in a tight hug. But he hadn’t complained, only chuckled softly, winding his arms around you and pressing his hands to your back, waiting for you to be the first to pull away again.

You told him he'd receive his present later the day with a grin and Bucky only rolled his eyes with a fond smile, letting you have your moment.

But what Bucky doesn’t know is that there is a surprise party awaiting him later, planned by you and your shared group of friends - because somebody has to make sure that today doesn’t pass like it is just another day.

Sam’s apartment is the only logical choice, given that his roommate dropped out and no one had rushed to fill the space yet. That means lots of room, plus an open invitation to make a mess.

The only issue is that Sam’s apartment is directly across the hall from Bucky and Steve’s.

Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until it’s time.

Not that you had much say in the matter. The moment the question came up about who would be the one distracting him that long, every pair of eyes landed on you.

You are his best friend, but - and that’s how you see it - so is everyone else. Still, they seemed to believe that you could hold his attention for long enough, that you could keep him engaged enough not to notice the shuffle of footsteps and suspicious voices beyond his door. That it would be you who he doesn’t mind having around, lingering in his space.

Honestly, you didn’t argue.

There is not a reason as to why you should. Any excuse to spend time with Bucky is a good one.

After all, you love the guy. But that’s a problem for another day.

You drop your bag on the worn-out armchair by the window, the same spot you always claim when you are here.

Bucky’s jacket is slung over the back of the chair, and the second your bag lands on it, the scent of his cologne drifts up - clean, something woodsy, something him. It distracts you for a second, but then you turn to face him again.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans after closing the door again.

“Where’s Steve?” you ask casually, like you don’t already know he is across the hall, making sure everything is set up for the surprise. But you don’t know what he told Bucky.

“He said somethin’ about running some drills with the rookies, helping out the coach, or whatever,” Bucky answers, tilting his head in that unconcerned way. He slowly makes his way toward you. “Guess one of them nearly took his own damn head off trying to hit a curveball.”

One of your brows lifts amused. “And Steve’s the guy to fix that?”

Bucky smirks. “Well, y’know how he is. Someone fucks up a throw, suddenly he’s gotta be the one to teach ‘em how to do it right.” He shakes his head, like the whole thing is ridiculous.

“Yeah, sounds like Steve,” you state, trying to suppress a knowing smile.

You lean your hip against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to keep it casual. The apartment is small, with the kitchen bleeding into the living space, a single couch, and a coffee table taking up a lot of the room. You love it.

“So, what do you feel like doing?” You tip your head toward him. “You’re the birthday boy, you get to decide.”

Bucky scoffs, lips curling, finding your antics amusing. But then, he actually seems to consider it. His hands slip from his pockets, arms crossing as he leans back slightly against the table. His gaze falls to the window. Sunlight spills in, casting golden lines across the floor and making your hair gleam.

“You wanna go get some ice cream or somethin’?” he suggests. “It’s warm out.”

You blink, caught off guard. Bucky isn’t usually the one to propose going out. It takes a little coaxing most days, a push to get him moving and leave his apartment to meet your group of friends somewhere outside. You wonder what he would have said if anyone else were the one distracting him.

But you can’t take him up on it. Because you can’t let him leave and potentially find out.

“Uh-no,” you say, a little too quickly, a little too firmly.

Bucky’s brows lift, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No?” He huffs a laugh, shifting his weight onto one foot, arms still folded. His voice takes on that slow, teasing drawl. “You just asked me what I wanna do, doll. Thought I got to decide? Y’know, birthday and all that.”

You just started this distracting thing and you are already messing up. Great.

You scramble for a way to walk it back, to keep him here without making it obvious. “Yeah, you know, I just-” You glance around as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the room. “Why don’t we stay inside?”

Bucky watches you, eyes narrowing just slightly, trying to puzzle you out. He doesn’t look suspicious. But there is a curiosity in it.

“Why?” he drags the word out, tilting his head. “Something wrong with ice cream? We could also go get some tacos maybe-”

“No! Nothing’s wrong with ice cream.” You force a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “I just figured we could chill here for a bit.” You bite your lip, then continue. “We could bake you a cake?”

You would love to face-palm yourself right now.

Why would you even say that?

There will be plenty of cake at the party. Cake that’s already been ordered, picked out, baked yourself, and waiting across the hall. And yet, here you are, offering something completely unnecessary, completely ridiculous.

God, you are terrible at this.

Bucky’s blue eyes are on you, considering, lips parting, about to say something.

Panic rises.

“Or not,” you blurt, stepping forward too fast, too sudden, hands coming up in a vague, dismissive gesture. “Yeah, maybe not. That’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

You shift where you stand, fingers twitching at your sides. You don’t get nervous around Bucky - at least, not like this. But something hot and uncomfortable starts to creep up the back of your neck.

A slow smirk pulls at Bucky’s mouth as he watches you with so much amusement in his eyes, enjoying whatever the hell this is turning into.

“You alright over there, doll?” he asks, voice warm, teasing.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. “Cause you’re actin’ a little funny.”

You open your mouth, a retort or something like it ready, but Bucky suddenly leans in just a fraction, gaze sweeping over your face like he is searching for something. And yeah shit, you need to shut this down. Now. Or you’ll be a hot mess on the floor.

“Just forget it.” You shrug and then move away from him, toward the fridge, suddenly very interested in whatever’s inside. “You want something to drink?”

You don’t look back at him immediately, don’t give him a chance to see the way you feel your face warm up. Instead, you grab two small bottles of orange juice, shoving one in his direction as a distraction.

Bucky takes it easily, but that amused smirk does not waver a tiny bit. He is still watching you.

Bucky is no idiot. And if you’re not careful, he’s going to catch on fast.

You twist the cap of the bottle a little forcefully, the plastic groaning in your grip. The cold of it seeps into your palm, but it’s not enough to steady the way your heart is beating a little too fast. Taking a sip of the juice, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.

He has always been observant. Even more so when it comes to you. You wish, just this once, that he'd be a little more dense.

“You gonna tell me what’s up with you today?” he asks, voice colored with curiosity, dipping just enough into concern that you flinch internally.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

It’s defensive, but all it does is amuse him. His lips curve, his brows shoot high, the lines on his forehead creasing in exaggerated surprise.

Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. “That how we’re playin’ it, huh?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your juice, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact. But you know it does not deter him.

Bucky makes a thoughtful noise, shifting his weight. “Y’know,” he drones out, tone lazy but eyes sharp and smirk sly. “Usually when people get all cagey like this, it means they’re hidin’ something.”

You shoot him a hopefully flat look. “Wow, Barnes. That’s some real detective work. You want to get a notepad? Maybe a magnifying glass?”

His smirk widens. He seems thoroughly entertained. You don’t like it.

“Depends,” he teases, leaning in just a fraction. “Do I need ‘em?”

Your pulse spikes. Bastard.

With an obvious eye roll that unfortunately lacks the conviction you tried to portray, you cross the room, shoulders set, and let yourself drop into the armchair where your bag still rests with a heavy thud. The cushions soften the impact. Trying to feign the usual comfort you feel sitting here, you tuck one leg under the other, leaning back. Your hands tighten around the still cold bottle of juice.

Bucky doesn’t move right away. He is still standing by the counter, bottle in hand, eyes never leaving you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you ask, reaching for the remote, already trying to steer this back into safe waters.

Bucky exhales through his nose, humor lining the corners of his eyes. His stance is easy and relaxed, but he looks at you like he knows something is off.

“Is this me deciding?” he muses, voice smooth. “Or are you just gonna tell me no again?”

There is no accusation in his tone, just that familiar Brooklyn drawl that makes everything sound like an inside joke.

He finally moves, dragging his body toward the couch. He doesn’t plop down like you did. He settles himself with intent and leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his entire focus trained on you like you are the most interesting thing in the room.

You swallow.

“You’ll get to decide,” you promise, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glances at the dark TV screen, then back at you.

“Nah,” he claims. “Let’s talk.”

Your stomach drops.

Bucky never lets things go when he is curious. You see the spark in his eyes, the glint of amusement, the way the corners of his mouth twitch with that smirk. He knows you are acting weird. Maybe he doesn’t know why, but he sure as hell knows something is up and he is going to dig.

You inhale deeply, fighting the urge to groan. But all you do is force a casual shrug, stretching your arms over your head before letting them drop back into your lap. “What do you want to talk about?”

Your fingers fidget with the label on the bottle, a nervous little movement you don’t mean to make. Bucky’s gaze flickers down to your hands and you freeze, immediately stilling them, letting the bottle rest in your lap and shoving your hands between your thighs.

His eyes snap back to yours, lips curving up.

“You,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes, feigning playful annoyance, because if you don’t, you might actually combust on the spot. “Oh, come on,” you scoff.

For the next few minutes, you actually manage to let a conversation drift to normal things. The familiar back-and-forth. You talk about classes, you being annoyed at that one professor who has a habit of trailing off mid-lecture, forgetting what he is actually supposed to talk about. Bucky tells you about his brutal morning training session that left half the team groaning like old men.

You bring up his next baseball game, the one you won’t be able to make because of an assignment, and Bucky whines.

He doesn’t just complain a little but rather goes on about it for minutes on end. Arms flailing, huffing dramatically, groaning like you just told him his dog died.

“You could just skip,” he protests, lounging back into the couch.

“I can’t just skip, Bucky.”

“But I need my lucky charm,” he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.

You roll your eyes but there is warmth rising in your chest. “I’m sorry, Buck. But I did come to all your games last month.”

“Yeah, which is why you owe me,” Bucky retorts, sitting up again, gesturing with his hands. “I hit a homer 'cause you were there. What if I suck without you?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you laugh, but Bucky grumbles under his breath, not quite over it.

It starts to feel normal. Easy. You begin to believe that you might actually pull this off. That you can keep him here, keep him occupied, long enough for your friends across the hall to finish setting up.

But then a loud thump echoes from the hallway.

Your spine goes rigid.

Bucky’s head snaps up, his grin replaced with a furrowed brow.

Another thud.

Yeah, so, that was that.

You fumble for your phone and type out a quick text to Sam.

Y: What are you guys doing out there?

The reply comes almost immediately.

S: Just keep Barnes inside.

You would love to curse loudly right now. Because thank you for nothing, Sam.

Bucky is already standing.

“What are you doing?” you ask, standing up as well, your voice perhaps a little sharper than usual.

Bucky glances at you briefly. There is a tiny bit of concern in his eyes. “There’s something goin’ on out there.” He gestures toward the door. “Think I should check. Might be Miss Nelly.”

Something clenches in your gut.

Miss Nelly, the sweet older woman who lives next door to him and Steve. The one they always help carry groceries up the stairs. The one who has trouble with her hip sometimes. If Bucky thinks she might have fallen, or perhaps tried to carry something on her own, of course, he wants to check.

But that is not what is happening out there.

You rush to step between him and the door. “Let me check.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You wait here, doll. I’ll be back in a sec-”

But you don’t let him finish.

You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.

Yes, that was perhaps a little rude. Yes, that will probably only make him more suspicious. Yes, you could have come up with something better. But you certainly did not have the time to think about what exactly.

Right outside, Sam and Steve are standing there - in front of the open door to Sam's apartment where a chair lays with its backside on the floor - wide-eyed, looking about as guilty as two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

You would have laughed at the sight if not for the fact that you just slammed Bucky’s own apartment door basically in his face without an explanation.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you hiss, voice low, exasperated.

Sam lifts his hands in a calm down gesture. “Listen-”

“No, you listen,” you snap, whisper-shouting, barely resisting the urge to grab them by their collars and shake them. “He’s two seconds away from walking out that door.”

Steve grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “We, uh, we miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated?” you repeat, eyes narrowing.

They both exchange a glance.

You sigh in frustration. “Where’s Nat?”

“Out with Bruce getting drinks,” Steve answers, folding his arms. “Wanda, Clint, and Laura are inside, decorating.”

“Look,” Sam starts, raising a brow. “We’re bustin’ our asses for this dickhead, and you’re the one who came up with the whole thing in the first place.”

“That’s not-”

“So you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some more” A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know - offer him a good time.”

Your eyes narrow, hands on your hips. “Sam.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head, but there is an unmistakable smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at them both, spinning on your heel before they can make this worse, yanking the door open and stepping back inside the apartment.

Bucky is exactly where you left him.

Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Lips parted slightly, caught between confusion and suspicion.

He is wearing that what the hell was that expression.

You swallow and shut the door more forcefully than necessary, the sound echoing slightly.

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just fixes you with a stare so focused, so piecing, seemingly able to look right through you. It makes you shift where you stand, suddenly hyper-aware of every nervous tick in your body.

“Alright,” he starts slowly, carefully, eyes falling to the door before turning back to you. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not Miss Nelly,” you quip, attempting a light and assuring tone.

It does not work.

Bucky still doesn’t blink. His jaw works. He doesn’t buy a damn thing you’re trying to sell him.

“No, doll.” His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. “What’s going on with you?”

You try to press down the lump in your throat.

“You’re actin’ real weird.” His words aren’t harsh, not even accusing. Just observant.

He cocks his head slightly.

Why did the others think you could withstand the way his eyes root you to the spot without flopping down to the ground as a puddle.

You are so screwed.

You push yourself out of the conversation, walking over to the armchair again and trying to find something to keep you busy while plopping down.

“It’s nothing, Bucky.”

Your fingers curl around the juice bottle, bringing it to your lips, but the cold liquid doesn’t do much to cool the heat crawling up your spine. Your thumb works at the label, picking at the paper until it peels away in small, curling strips.

Bucky blows out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face before slowly making his way over to you.

Crouching in front of you, he braces his forearms on his knees, his eyes intently locked onto you.

The sudden closeness forces you to suck in a breath and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hands.

His expression shifts again, humor creeping into the smirk on his mouth. “Doll,” he starts, voice light, amused. His hands slide up to rest on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. “Did you plan somethin’ for me?”

Shit.

Your next inhale is a little hesitant. The air thickens. “No.” It sounds too stiff.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He is smirking so wide. Enjoying this so much, the way you squirm in your seat before him.

You push forward, shaking your head. “No, Buck. I did not.”

“You sure?” He almost laughs.

“Yes, I just-” You are floundering, drowning in your own words. How can you save this now?

“I’m nervous.” Well, at least that’s not a lie.

Bucky’s expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you.

A gentle crease in his brows forms. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, lower.

And guilt hits you.

How do you get out of this?

But, hell, he is so close, too close. His eyes are so blue, too blue. His gaze is so intense, too intense. You are feeling hot, too hot - your brain isn’t working, it’s overheating, and your mouth is suddenly moving.

“Because.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Because I think we need to talk.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second.

Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.

You feel yourself start to sweat. Where is this going? Why can’t you stop this? Why did you even start it?

Bucky’s face drops to a frown so deep, lines are forming. A hand of his moves, palm landing lightly on your knee.

“We can talk, doll.” His voice is even softer now, barely above a murmur. “Is something wrong? You alright?”

You just stare at him.

Your heart is hammering.

What the hell are you doing?

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your fingers keep worrying at the torn label, peeling off strips that crumple beneath your fingertips. It’s the only thing you want to focus on right now with Bucky’s proximity and his intense gaze.

But then his hands replace the bottle and he grasps your fingers, wrapping around them and stilling their fidgeting.

Something electric rushes through your veins so quickly, you couldn’t catch it if you tried.

This is getting way too serious.

Too intimate in a way that sends your pulse skittering up your throat.

You feel like a deer caught in headlights, your body tensing up, lungs forgetting how to work properly. Because this is veering dangerously off course, heading straight for a conversation you’re not sure you’re ready to have. You never thought you’d ever be ready.

But you started this. You walked straight into it with your own words, and there is no backing out now. So you might as well be honest now.

No time like the present.

Bucky must feel the way your hands begin to tremble in his hold, because he adjusts again, shifting closer, his knees pressing against the base of your chair. His thumbs trace over the backs of your hands. His frown deepens.

Why does he have to be so worried? It would make things so much easier if he remained casual and easy. But really, that’s how Bucky always is. Worrying so fast when it comes to you. You can’t really blame this on him now, can you?

His voice drops lower, soft as a whisper. “What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes are full and searching. “Talk to me.”

Air hitches, stalling between your ribs before pushing forward in a rather trembling exhale. Your lungs barely feel full. Your eyes dart away from his, searching the room, the floor, anywhere but him.

“Did I upset you? Is it something I did-”

“No!” you rush out, hastily. “No, you didn’t do anything, Buck.” God, now he even goes that far. This is bad.

Bucky softens a tiny fraction, but he keeps sweeping his eyes over your face, latching on the details, trying to study you, trying to read what this is about. “You can tell me, doll. Always. Whatever it is,” he coos so sweetly, and it makes you want to cry.

How do you even start this?

You open your mouth. You’re certainly not ready to climb the whole mountain, but perhaps you can try a small hill.

“Do you-” You swallow, trying to sound as if you are simply reminiscing. “Do you remember that time after your game last year when it started pouring the second we left the stadium?”

Bucky blinks at the sudden turn. Confusion enters his features but the worry only deepens. “What?”

You push forward, gaze fixed on the arm of your chair as if it might give you the courage you need. “You gave me your jersey, even though I already had a jacket and you were the one soaking wet-”

Bucky’s brows pull further together, his head shaking slowly, not knowing what to do with your words. “Doll-”

“You walked me all the way back to my apartment.” Your voice turns quieter as if you are speaking more to yourself than him. Perhaps you are. Saying those things out loud makes them seem so much more important. “And then you got sick for three days.”

His hands squeeze yours gently. “I mean- Yeah, I remember.” Confusion also settles in his tone. “But what’s that got to do with-”

“I don’t know,” you cut in quickly. “I just-” You exhale a deep sigh. “I think about that a lot.”

Bucky says your name like it is something delicate. Something that might slip away if he is not careful.

“Look at me, please.”

You try, but it’s hard.

It means staring into those impossibly blue eyes that see too much, that strip you bare without even trying, that try to coax something out of you, you didn’t even plan on letting go.

But you force yourself to lift your gaze and it is worse than you expected.

He is watching you with an intensity that makes you stop breathing. His stormy eyes are so full of concern, so desperate to understand what is going on in your head, searching every inch of your face.

His lips are parted slightly. His breathing is sharper. Uneven.

“What’s going on, hm?” he coaxes, so softly, so full of patience you don’t deserve. “What’s this about? You still feelin’ guilty?”

Your heart plummets like a stone.

“Doll, there’s no need to, alright?” His hands squeeze yours, grounding, reassuring. “We talked about this.”

God, why does he have to be so good?

His voice is so warm. Warm like sunlight, like home. It makes the sting behind your eyes grow stronger.

You don’t want to cry.

You don’t want to feel this way. Don’t want to ruin his fucking birthday like this. This is getting so out of hand right now, but what should you do? You are so tangled up in trying to figure out what to say, things you are too much of a coward to finally admit out loud.

Bucky notices your struggles. He sees them. Plain on your face. His thumbs brush over your skin in careful strokes. “And you took such good care of me.” His tone lightens, trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’re sinking into. “Remember that part?”

You nod, swallowing and swallowing but the clump of emotions stays stuck in your throat. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out flat, like you are detached from it. “I do. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Bucky’s lips press together, and then he sighs so deeply, his chest rises and falls profoundly.

“Doll,” he murmurs, straightening up, arms beside you tensing as though he is holding himself back from doing something. “That’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

He’s right.

“Darlin’, please,” he urges, and god, the way that word falls from his lips makes you shudder. His voice is barely above a whisper now, full of something genuine, something tender, something that makes him sound like he wishes you would just talk to him, and it makes you want to shrink down to something he can’t see anymore. “What is it?”

You could lie. Again.

You could laugh it off, steer the conversation away, keep pretending.

You could drag this out further until the others are ready, leaving him worried and slightly upset.

You could tell him the truth about the party.

Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.

Drawing in a breath, you straighten slightly. Your hands, still held in his, still shaking, squeeze back. His eyes never waver from your face, tracing the contours of your features.

You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help much. “Uhm,” you croak. “I- I wanted- I need to tell you something.”

His fingers twitch around yours. His features fall into a deep concentration. He doesn’t rush you. Just watches. Waits.

And god, his eyes are pools you never learned to swim in.

You look away, at the wall behind him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, I guess. But-” You inhale a quivering breath. “But I was afraid. Because I don’t know how you’ll react.”

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His chest rises and falls deeply, almost mechanically. There is something almost spellbound in the way he stares at you, completely locked in, completely yours. The only sign that he has heard you is the subtle press of his fingers against yours.

His head dips in a nod for you to go on.

You wet your lips. “I, uhm-”

But then something catches your attention.

The door to Bucky’s and Steve’s apartment opens.

Painstakingly slow.

You stiffen.

Bucky is still so enamored with what you were saying, he doesn’t seem to notice at first. His back is to the door.

You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable.

Steve and Sam.

They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.

Sam motions at you wildly, gesturing at Bucky, at himself, at the hallway, mouthing something like distract him! Keep him busy.

They almost make it, but Bucky catches the small reaction of you, the surprise. His senses are too tuned in to every little thing about you and with his brows knit together, he shifts to glance over his shoulder.

You don’t think about anything.

Your hands rip from his, and before he can turn fully, before he can see those two idiots, you grab his face.

Bucky jolts, startled, his breath hitching audibly. His skin is warm beneath your palms, the sharp angle of his jaw fitting perfectly against your hands. His wide eyes snap back to you, dumbfounded, searching.

He blinks at you. Then blinks again. Then simply stares.

His lips part slightly, breath brushing over your skin.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

This is close. Too close. Closer than you’ve ever been. Well, but not closer than you’ve let yourself imagine. But having him here in reality is something else entirely.

Sam throws you a thumbs up over Bucky’s head and a wiggle of his brows and the both of them disappear from sight into the hallway.

But you just made this worse.

And you are still holding his face between your hands.

Bucky’s lashes flicker, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t fight it. Just stares at you like you’ve done something earth-shattering, like you’ve just rewritten every unspoken rule between you in a single, desperate motion.

Your pulse is a drum against your throat.

You see Bucky’s pulse thunder in his neck.

But he doesn’t move. You don’t move either.

He doesn’t breathe. You don’t know if you do.

He watches you. You watch him back.

“Doll?” Bucky practically breathes the question.

You swallow hard. Opening your mouth doesn’t help with finding words, so you shut it again. Slowly, you pull your hands away from his face.

But Bucky still doesn’t move.

His breath is still broken, his lips still parted, his brows still slightly drawn, stuck somewhere between surprise and something so deep, you’d be falling endlessly.

He is leaning in just the slightest bit, as though his body hasn’t quite caught up with his mind, not even realizing he is doing it.

And you hate the way your chest aches at the look in his eyes.

There is so much all at once and the more you stare, the harder it gets.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, dropping your gaze.

But there is movement in your peripheral.

Steve and Sam are creeping back out of the hallway, lugging something that looks like Bucky’s speaker system from his room.

And god help you, they are still moving at a snail’s pace, their motions so exaggerated, so painfully slow and obvious that you want to scream. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately, Bucky is still just staring at you, stunned.

The two are just about to reach the door, so close to getting through this ridiculous charade, when Sam’s end of the box bumps against the shoe shelf.

The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough. Enough for Bucky’s head to instinctively turn toward the noise. Enough for his body to shift just slightly.

Your brain short-circuits.

Like completely.

Totally.

Lacking any sense.

Not only do you pull his face back.

You pull it in.

“Kiss me,” you blurt, and it’s not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - it’s desperate, panicked.

Bucky’s whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else.

Another bump.

You’re not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency.

Bucky freezes.

And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.

Every muscle in his body turns to stone. His hands flex before going rigid, floating in the air. His breath stalls. His spine goes straight, and the grunt he lets out - so low and gravelly, caught deep in his throat - reverberates into your mouth.

But behind him, Steve and Sam go as still. Dead silent.

You can feel them watching, their eyes practically bulging out of their skulls.

For a full few seconds, nothing happens.

But then, there is a shift. You don’t see it, but you know it. The way their disbelief turns into something smug - something amused and downright delighted. You feel the way Sam’s mouth probably stretches into that toothy and knowing, cocky-ass grin. You feel the way Steve simply looks happy.

You don’t pull away.

Instead, you wave one frantic hand behind Bucky’s back, motioning wildly, trying to get them to move.

You open an eye to see them still staring, Steve blinking rapidly, Sam grinning like a fool, nudging Steve.

But then, finally, they start creeping out of the room again.

They are gone now.

Bucky still isn’t moving.

He’s not breathing.

He’s not reacting.

And the tension stretches so tight, you swear the air could snap in half.

Because this isn’t just a distraction anymore.

This isn’t just a cover-up.

Your lips are still on Bucky’s.

Your hands are still gripping his face.

And his are trembling where they hover near your knees, as if he wants to touch you, wants to move, but his brain is still struggling to catch up with what is happening.

Then the tension snaps.

Bucky exhales against you.

It’s not just a breath - it’s a surrender. A sharp and shuddering exhale that stirs against your lips, warm and tentative, as if he is trying to feel what is happening, trying to understand the shape of this moment.

His hands flex and twitch against your legs, but he is hesitant, as if waiting for something, waiting for you to pull back, waiting for this to be some kind of mistake.

But you don’t pull back.

You don’t want to pull back.

And that’s when he melts.

He sinks into the kiss, his body softening, folding inward toward you. His fingers slide up your legs, brushing tenderly against the fabric of your pants before settling on your hips, cautious, like he doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to take too much.

Then, his lips move. It’s a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.

He makes a sound - low and unsure, a hum deep in his throat that vibrates against your lips. His movements are careful, almost disbelieving. Like he is afraid this will disappear if he lets himself want it too much.

But then something changes.

Your nails lightly run over his neck, thumbs over his jawline.

And you feel the exact second the hesitation snaps.

He pulls you in.

His hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you forward to the edge of the seat, into his chest, his grip growing needy, desperate. He seems to have been starving for this, like something in him has just broken loose.

The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.

His lips part, just for a moment, and then he dares to press in a little more, tilting his head, fitting his mouth more firmly against yours.

He makes another sound - this time rougher, needier - a groan that slips through the space between you.

You can feel the want in the way he kisses you, in the way he angles his head to take more, to taste more, and damn if it does not overwhelm you.

The way his fingers tighten their hold, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, needing to feel your warmth.

And the way he breathes you in, each exhale shaky, each inhale sharper, like he is drunk on this, on you.

Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck, and the second you pull just so slightly, he makes a sound.

A gravelly noise that shoots straight through you, heat curling at the base of your spine.

He is kissing you like he can’t help it anymore. As if he has been waiting for this exact moment, for you, for so long that he’s past the point of fighting it.

You thought he’d pull away. You thought he’d startle and demand an explanation, eyes sharp with suspicion, voice laced with confusion. But he doesn’t.

His lips only press more firmly against yours, his nose sweeping against your cheek, his chest rising and falling unevenly, breathing erratic as if he is just as lost in this as you are.

Your heart is hammering so violently in your chest, you think he must hear it, must feel it where your body is pressed to his. Your hands are slightly trembling, sliding to curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him. Because you have to hold on. You have to anchor before you fall, before you slip too deep into the intoxicating pull of him and lose all sense of self.

But maybe you already have.

Because he is kissing you as though he’s afraid this is a dream, testing the edges of reality with every careful, exploring movement of his tongue and lips.

He tastes like something warm, something safe, something like the orange juice you two have been drinking, something wholly Bucky. Every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours, is stealing a coherent thought from your mind.

This was supposed to be a distraction. This was supposed to be a lie.

But hell, it’s not.

It’s everything you’ve ever wished for.

When you pull away, both breathless and panting, his forehead stays against yours.

Your pulse is so fast, so fluttering, and you know he can feel it, the way it thrums in your chest, in your throat, in the slight tremor of your fingers still curled loosely in his shirt.

His hot and shuddering exhale fans over your lips and it’s maddening how much you want to taste them again, how much you want to fall right back into him.

You open your eyes.

His are already on you, so close, so intent, so devastatingly blue that they don’t help at all in trying to regain a healthy breathing rate. There is something in them, something soft and devoted, something awed, like he can’t quite believe you are real, that this is real.

A shiver works its way down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its way and Bucky sees it. He feels it. His grin widens, slow and boyish almost, something that makes him look young and light, like something is lifted off his shoulders.

Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars.

It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide.

“That the present you were talkin’ about earlier?” he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. Smiling. Grinning. Like a fool. God, you can’t stop. It’s lifting your cheeks and making you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt in so long.

“No,” you whisper back, voice airy.

“Don’t matter,” Bucky’s voice is full of affection, of something certain. His hands slide up, one cupping your jaw, thumb skimming over your cheek, the other finding the nape of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair. Holding you there. Holding you close. “Best damn present I’ve ever gotten.”

His tone is so sincere, so full of adoration, that your breath turns upside down, and you can’t do anything but feel the way butterflies are dancing in your stomach.

Heat floods your face and Bucky’s fingers flex against your skin, his smile turning impossibly brighter.

His eyes are shining with something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in them before. It’s breathtaking. It’s promising. It’s worshipful.

It’s everything.

You guess you owe him a little bit of an explanation.

There is guilt pooling in the hesitation before you speak. “Buck?” you start, voice quiet.

“Yeah, baby?” he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.

His voice is so full of warmth, so soft, so fond. He is smiling at you and his eyes are sparkling as if you’ve just handed him the world. He is kneeling in front of you, patient and content, as though he’s got all the time in the world if it means spending it with you.

Something dizzying rushes through your veins, sparking at the base of your spine. You have to take a moment, a single, shaky pause to shove the giddiness down for later, to not let it explore the wide landscape of your heart and mind.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, still at the edge of the armchair. Your chest almost brushing against Bucky’s. “I, uh- I do have something planned for you.”

Bucky is beaming. His amusement spills over into something so brilliant and blinding. His entire face lights up, so open, so full of adoration that it makes a feeling of pure bliss explode in your chest, sending delightful shivers down to your toes and hell, you don’t think you can handle it.

“Oh, do you?” he muses, dragging the words out slow and teasing. There is something beneath the syrupy sweetness. Something like mischief. His brows raise, eyes glinting, his lips twitch, and you know he is about to be a menace.

Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. “Would that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?”

You blink at him.

Bucky’s grin turns wolfish and he bites his lip to suppress a laugh.

“You were actin’ all off from the beginning, doll. Knew somethin’ was up,” he states, voice a little softer, until he turns on his playful teasing voice again. “Flawless execution, sweetheart. Didn’t notice a damn thing.”

Groaning loudly, you press your hands to your face and Bucky lets the laugh out. It’s full-bodied and wholehearted. His chest shakes, his shoulders lift, his body tilts into it. And it’s such a good sound, such a lovely sound, so rich and free. It makes your own lips curl despite the frustration of the ruined surprise.

Bucky reaches up to gently pry your hands away from your face. His grip lingers, thumbs tracing over your knuckles, his touch so easy and natural.

His expression gives way to something soft. He bites his lip again, before bringing your hands up and kissing them softly, twinkling bright blue eyes trained on you and the deep flush that spreads along your cheeks.

Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.

“But oh baby! Your smile.. Felt like warm sunshine after a heavy storm.. Overdose of it, is still not enough for me..”

- Zankhana

[crushpunky]

joe and college!reader argue

masterlist

based on this ask. warning mentions of sex

Y/n had been having a shitty week to put it lightly. It started on Monday when she spilled the entirety of her coffee down her outfit just before she had to give a presentation, then continued on Tuesday when her car got a flat tire. Wednesday, she stayed up all night trying to grind out a Calculus assignment before the test Thursday morning… which she nearly missed because her alarm didn’t go off. However, she made it through. She made it through because, in the back of her mind, she just kept thinking about her and Joe’s Friday night ritual: their pajamas and movie night.

Every week, the two of them would get together, dress up in their comfiest pajamas, and watch a movie. They’d alternate between Joe’s apartment and y/n’s dorm, whomever the host was getting to pick the movie. Neither of them particularly being big party animals, they chose Friday because it would allow them a trust excuse when their friends would try and drag them out to some rowdy club.

This week being hers, y/n stood from her desk with a sigh, finally freeing herself from her homework for the rest of the night. She did up her bed, perfectly fluffing up the pillows and laying out Joe’s favorite (and freshly washed) blanket. As the time for Joe to come over got closer, y/n popped popcorn and slipped into her new pajama set that’d finally come in the mail. It was a satin pink ensemble with lacy trim along the neckline of the tanktop and hem of her coordinating, ruffled shorts.

About thirty minutes before 7:00, aka the time their movie night officially would (hopefully) begin with Joe’s arrival and the approximate delivery of the pizza she’d ordered, y/n’s phone buzzed with a text from Joe.

hey, got held up at the fields, but ill be there asap. love you.

Y/n sighed, annoyed but not surprised. It wasn’t unusual for Joe to send a text saying he’d be a few minutes late, him often spending hours on the practice fields and naturally losing track of time. But that's what it usually was: a few minutes late.

So, when the clock hit 7:00, then 7:30, then 8:00, y/n found herself beginning to cry as she sat on her twin XL mattress, the pizza that had arrived already growing cold in the stale air of her dorm room. Taking a bite of a chewy, cheesy slice, y/n wiped her under eyes with a sniffle. Her week had been shit, Joe knew that, and she had been looking forward to this for the whole time. Just a night to relax and unwind in Joe’s arms, to leave all the other stressors behind. Yet here she was, alone.

Suddenly, a loud knock came from her door. Y/n barely flinched, already sunk deep into the bed as she watched some shitty Netflix show.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Joe’s voice was heard from the other side of the door.

Y/n looked at the door hesitantly, gnawing at her bottom lip. He was over an hour late. An hour. And it wasn’t like this was some last minute thing or something out of the ordinary, this was every damn week, and he hadn’t even bothered to call or text to let her know he was going to be that late.

“Y/n, please,” Joe sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Ja’Marr wanted to run drills a– and then Coach came and I my fucking phone died so I didn’t know the time and—”

The door to y/n’s dorm swung open, the light from the hallway illuminating her disheveled form. Her hair was tangled, the pristine pink of her new pajamas dotted with grease and crumbs from the pizza, and her eyes a mess of smeared and longgone mascara.

“Y/n, baby, I’m so sorry—” Joe said, immediately stepping through the doorway and into her dorm. His hands reached for her waist as he dropped down to look her in the eyes. However, she stepped just out of his reach, avoiding his eyeline as she closed the door behind him before silently turning back to her bed. She climbed back into her spot, turning the TV back on.

“Y/n, please, I—” Joe pleaded, his eyes earnest as he stood in front of her, blocking her view of the TV. She moved her neck to look around him, but he stepped to block her once more.

“Baby, I’m so sorry, just please talk to me—” Joe said.

“It’s fine, Joe.” Y/n snapped, her eyes finally meeting his. He could see the stress of the week in her teary eyes, making his heart break over the fact he’d played a part in it.

“It’s not fine.” Joe said sternly, grabbing the controller from her and pausing the TV. “You’ve had such a shitty week and I’m really sorry.”

“You’re right. I did have a really, really shitty week, Joe,” Y/n said with a sniffle, “and the one thing I wanted was to have this night with you and just…”

Y/n’s bottom lip trembled as she let out a sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as a tear rolled down her cheek. Joe knelt down in front of her, his eyes peering up at her intently.

“I’m really, really sorry, baby.” Joe said lowly, his hand trailing along the skin of her thigh. Y/n’s eyes fluttered open again, watching as he pressed a light kiss to her knee.

“I’m gonna make it up to you.” Joe whispered, his lips brushing her thigh gently. Y/n felt her cheeks warm as she watched him, but she quickly tore herself away once she remembered how they’d gotten here in the first place.

“No, Joe.” Y/n said, moving her leg from him with a groan. Joe looked up at him, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

“You can’t just… sex your way out of this. We need to talk. This is… important and something I’ve been needing to talk to you about for a while.” Y/n sighed. Joe stood up, joining y/n on the bed. His long legs dangled off the side as he leaned forward, a concerned look on his face as y/n peered back at him.

“Look, I get it. Football is always gonna be your first love but… Joe, sometimes it feels like I don’t even cross your mind.” Y/n said, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her and avoiding Joe’s gaze as she spoke. Joe stiffened, his brows shooting upwards.

“What?!” Joe said incredulously, y/n’s eyes finally moving to meet his. “Baby, what do you mean?”

“It’s just,” y/n sighed. “I just feel like it’s always just about… you and football and the season and the team and it’s never about, well, us.”

“You know this season has been so important for us— the team— but that doesn’t mean I just forget about you when football comes around.” Joe said, his hand reaching out hesitantly for y/n’s. She took it, running her fingertips along his calloused hands.

“Joe, it’s not just tonight it’s all the time.” Y/n said. “You’re watching game film when we’re eating dinner or going over plays while we’re getting coffee or… showing up late for our dates because you were practicing. Look, I get it that it takes time but… sometimes I just feel like I’m not a priority for you anymore.”

“Baby, of course you’re a fucking priority for me,” Joe said, squeezing y/n’s hand. “This is just… a really important time for me and I have to be performing at the top of my game…”

Y/n took in a deep breath, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she looked back at Joe.

“... but that doesn’t mean I should be sacrificing us.” Joe said, nodding lightly. “I… I’m sorry— for making you feel like I forgot about you and for not really being there for you.”

A small smile drew across y/n’s lips, a similar one spreading across Joe’s face.

“Thank you, Joey.” Y/n said, pressing a light kiss to Joe’s temple.

“Don’t thank me for something I should’ve been doing before.” Joe said with a slight chuckle. “You deserve to feel like a priority because you fucking are.”

“I love you.” Y/n whispered, running a hand through Joe’s hair as he looked back at her with a gentle, loving gaze.

“I love you too.” Joe said. “Now let’s watch a movie.”

[fictionalmenxyn]

✧𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬✧

His love language?? Definitely quality time and physical love. He will literally show up unannounced at the sorority house. Come into your room and lay in your bed till you get back from class. Or if your doing course work or getting ready to go to class. He’ll lay there watching or chatting. He even goes to your room while you’re in class. Just so he can be in ‘your’ environment. It’s comforting to him, watching your tv while lying on your bed?? Heaven

Definitely a clinger or heavy flirt when drunk “damn baby, you look s’good right now…” “Rafe, I’m in my fucking pyjamas, shut up.” “Nah, baby, swear… you’re even better without them…” “RAFE, SLEEP”

This guy when it comes to you in his clothes. GOD he’s feral!! “Jesus Christ, when did you get that??” “Ok, one I’m not Jesus, and two, last week I stole it before I left.” “Fuck, keep stealing, look so good” “shot take my whole closet.”

He’s so laid back with the sorority girls. He’ll listen to the gossip and even add on to the shit. If you’re heavy on the ‘you gotta get along with my friends for me to even consider getting into a relationship’ he’s getting to know your friends instantly. He wants you, of course he’s gonna do it.

You got class and he doesn’t? He’ll walk you. Until he knows your in your class, he’s not leaving your side. Making sure no one knocks you or barges into you in the hallway. Holding your hand like you’d drift away if you didn’t hold his hand. Either that or an arm around your waist. Gotta show everyone you’re his, of course.

Stealing your notes, idk why, but I feel like he would. “Rafe?… Babe? Have you seen my sport notes?” “Uhhh no? Why they gone missing?” “Yeah… think someone has them in a backpack that’s right by their shoes…” “who me?! Nah baby, wrong person, I didn’t steal shit.” “So if I looked in your bag?” “Ok, I may have-” “you bitch!”

He loves cuddling after a long college day. Walks into your room, not bothering to knock. He lays on your bed. If you’re at your desk and look over to him, his arms are open and his famous words “come lay with me, pretty girl.” And in one swift movement. You’re in his arms while he plays with your hair.

He also oddly loves that you’re passionate about your favourite subject. Like if it’s art for example, he’ll always ask to see it or watch you while you do your art. Or of it’s sports and you need someone to help you with a part of your course. Don’t even ask, he’s already said yes. Such a supportive boyfriend fr.

He LOVES when you either rub his back or play with his hair. Especially when he’s lying on top of you. His head on your chest. His cheek squished against you, eyes shut as you play with his hair and rub his back. His body could just go limp from the sensation you make. He doesn’t understand how it makes him feel so good. Too good. But he will never EVER decline.

He loves that you get along with the guys. Like you’re able to match their energy and throw comebacks right at them. He just finds it so easy that you get along. As past hook ups would usually find the frat house annoying. Whereas you thrive there. It’s practically your second place at the college as your over there so much. Movie nights with the boys every Friday too, then party on Saturdays.

On the topic of being close with all the guys. You tell them all the gossip. You love how they listen to your rants and actually listen. Like while you’re doing your makeup at Rafe desk or picking your outfit for the night. They’ll all sit around Rafe’s room and listen to you rant about girl drama or things in general.

If you play a sport at college. Expect him to be there for every game, along with the frat guys. And he’ll make sure to pick you up after every practice (if you didn’t take your car).

He loves his kisses. Even if they’re quick ones. This guy will crave them 24/7, 365 days. Anywhere on him, he just wants them. He loves when you kiss his forehead, then his cheeks, then his chin, then nose and then his lips. Makes him melt right there and then.

He loves touching you, in both ways. But deep down, he loves just regular affection. Holding your hands, fidgeting with your rings. Playing with your hair, brushing his knuckles on your cheeks. Resting his forehead on yours, resting his cheek against yours. Watching movies and cuddling. Sitting on his lap, arm around your waist. The list can go on forever.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let Me Love You | 3 - B. Barnes

Character: college!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: On a mysterious, rainy night, Bucky witnesses a distressing encounter involving his crush.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 Chapter 7 ,Chapter 8.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. What are your thoughts? Please leave a comment; I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

You and Bucky sprinted away from Lloyd, hearts pounding in sync with the rhythm of your hurried steps, the adrenaline coursing through your veins dulling the ache of exhaustion.

Pausing to catch your breath, Bucky turned to you, concern etched on his face as he asked, "Are you okay?" Your response was worn as you admitted, "No, I'm not okay. I'm exhausted. I just want to go home and hide under my blanket."

Ever the caring friend, Bucky offered to drive you back to your apartment, a gesture that elicited a heartfelt "Thank you, Bucky" from your lips.

Upon arriving at your apartment, after Bucky had kindly dropped you off, the sound of a knock on your door sent a shiver down your spine.

'Knock,Knock,'

Fear gripped you, your mind racing with thoughts of Lloyd's relentless pursuit. However, to your immense relief, Bucky stood on the other side of the door.

Returning with a thoughtful gesture, he handed you something, saying, "For you. Good food could make you feel better." Before you could utter a word of gratitude, he swiftly turned and disappeared, leaving you standing there with a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

You carefully examined what was inside the plastic, finding a comforting sight—a steaming bowl of chicken soup. Gratitude washed over you as you realized how much you needed this warmth to soothe your empty stomach.

Recalling past instances, you couldn't help but contrast Bucky's thoughtful gesture with Lloyd's indifference; he never once checked on you when you were sick. Shaking your head, you pushed those memories aside, recognizing that they belonged to a time that was now behind you.

After luxuriating in a revitalizing shower to refresh yourself, you set about warming up the soup, eager to savor its nourishing goodness.

As you took the first sip, you felt the dizziness that had plagued you begin to dissipate, replaced by a comforting sense of relief. You made a mental note to express your gratitude to Bucky again the next time you crossed paths with him.

Just as you settled down to enjoy your meal, the shrill ring of your phone pierced the air, signaling an incoming call from your mother.

'Ring'

Setting down the soup spoon, you take a moment to sip the warm water, gathering yourself before answering the incoming call. With a deep breath, you bring the phone to your ear and utter a tentative, "Hello?"

On the other end, your mother's voice, Cecilia, sounds immediately concerned, "Don't tell me it's true you broke up with Lloyd?"

You let out a weary sigh, not wanting this breakup to escalate further, especially given your mother's fondness for Lloyd. "Yes, it's true."

Cecilia's tone turns to disapprove, "How? And Why? Don't let him get away, he's our golden ticket to get out from this town."

Your headache, which had just subsided, returns with a vengeance at her words. "Mom, he cheated on me."

Cecilia brushes off your concerns, "So? It's normal for a man with a bright future like him to have many women chasing him. You should've turned a blind eye. I heard from Lloyd's mother that a coach from the NFL league is recruiting him."

You exhale heavily, frustration bubbling up inside you. "I've worked tirelessly and studied hard to maintain my scholarship. I don't have time to watch whatever Lloyd does behind my back."

Cecilia's tone takes on a hint of resentment, "Oh, I see. Just because you became a St. Louis student, you think you're better?"

"That's not what I meant," you interject, feeling the conversation spiraling out of control. "You know what? I don't have time for this. Goodbye, Mom."

With that, you end the call and power off your phone, feeling drained. Glancing at the now unappetizing soup, you realize you just want to retreat into the solace of sleep.

The next day, with no classes scheduled, you requested a morning shift at work, preferring to avoid staying at your apartment to prevent any unexpected visits from Lloyd.

Today, you find yourself assuming the role of kitchen manager, a position you've earned through over a year of dedicated work, earning the trust of your manager. With the usual kitchen manager on leave due to health reasons, you've been tasked with overseeing operations for the day.

As you busy yourself assisting the cashier, your attention is drawn to the entrance by the familiar sight of Bucky and his two friends strolling in. Steve's grumbling about hunger prompts Bucky to suggest a visit to WHAM Burger, their usual haunt. Bucky insists on the visit rather than opting for delivery, eager for the chance to see you.

Welcoming them warmly, you greet them with a smile. "Welcome to WHAM Burger. What would you like to order?"

Observing your tired demeanor, Bucky admires your resilience and spirit. "Three cheeseburgers, three orders of fries, and three Cokes, please."

"Alright," you reply, masking your fatigue with determination. "You guys can take a seat, and I'll bring it over to your table."

As they settle in at their table, Bucky notices you approaching with their meals. However, his attention is caught by the unexpected addition of 12 chicken nuggets on the tray. "Y/N, we didn't order these," he points out.

You wink playfully at him, a gesture of gratitude. "My treat. Thank you for your help yesterday, Bucky."

Bucky can feel his cheeks flushing as Sam, seated beside him, notices and flicks his ear.

"Ouch," Bucky exclaims, rubbing his ear sheepishly.

Your laughter rings out at Bucky's reaction, adding a lightness to the atmosphere.

The light atmosphere in the restaurant swiftly turned dark as Lloyd, accompanied by Nicky and the rest of the football team, entered the establishment. A smirk adorned Nicky's face, her presence feeling like a taunt as she appeared to flaunt her newfound proximity to Lloyd.

Lloyd's casual remark did little to ease the tension as he addressed you, "Don't mind us, we just came here for a quick breakfast."

With a flourish, Nicky produced her black credit card, offering to foot the bill, "My treat." The football team erupted into cheers at the prospect.

Lloyd, with a smile playing on his lips, added, "Great, and we could use Y/N's employee discount."

Nicky's gaze shifted to you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation "Really?"

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't believe the audacity of the situation. "That discount only applies to me," you retorted firmly. Working here, you've always utilized the employee discount, which Lloyd had benefited from in the past.

But to expect it for a party of 24 people? That was pushing it. You knew that allowing such a large discount would likely result in repercussions from your manager, perhaps even costing you your job.

You felt the weight of 24 pairs of eyes bearing down on you, and under their collective gaze, you couldn't help but feel small. Even the manager's expectant look added to the pressure.

Then, a comforting hand gently grasped your arm, and you turned to see Bucky standing beside you. His reassuring nod gave you a sense of calm amidst the chaos, "It's gonna be alright."

"Huh?" you uttered in confusion.

As Lloyd crossed his arms, his disapproval evident, he glanced between you and Bucky with a dismissive "Tsk," unable to comprehend your choice.

However, before you could respond, the manager, Thesa, intervened. With a professional smile, she addressed the football team, acknowledging their presence with gratitude.

"Thank you for coming to WHAM Burger, our football champions. It's an honor to have you here. As a token of our appreciation, today's order will be on us."

The unexpected gesture elicited cheers from everyone, except Nicky, whose opportunity to embarrass you had been thwarted.

Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you couldn't help but feel fortunate for the turn of events, even if you weren't entirely sure what had transpired.

Thesa's call snapped your attention, and you nodded in response. "Sure," you agreed before casting a quick glance at Bucky. "I'm needed in the kitchen. See you guys at the uni." With that, you hurriedly made your way to the kitchen, leaving the dining area behind.

As you scurried off, Bucky watched your retreating figure, a sense of concern etched on his features. However, his attention was soon diverted when he felt a gaze burning into him. Turning, he found himself locking eyes with Lloyd, who radiated hostility.

Beside him, Steve noticed the tension and issued a warning. "You better watch out, punk."

Bucky simply nodded in acknowledgment. "I know," he replied, his tone resolute.

Sam, ever observant, chimed in with a question. "Did you help Y/N just now?"

Before Bucky could respond, Steve jumped in. "Of course, he did. He can't let his crush get bullied like that."

The word 'bullied' lingered in Bucky's mind, igniting a protective instinct within him. He vowed silently to ensure you never experienced such treatment, especially not within his domain.

Indeed, while only a few people on campus knew, within WHAM Burger, everyone was aware that Bucky Barnes was the son of the owner of this famous food chain restaurant.

Yet, despite the recognition that came with his lineage, Bucky remained grounded and humble, striving to earn his place through hard work and dedication rather than relying solely on his family name.

And now, upon discovering that his number one girl is being underestimated like this, Bucky feels compelled to protect her.

Join the taglist? 🩷💙🩷

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@starsofcloud

@cherrybubblebullet

@winterslove1917

@thezombieprostitute

@xcaptain-winterx

@namoreno

@sagebarness

@tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden

@unaxv

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@hopeful-daydreaming

@freshlemontea

@eat-limes-bitches

@kandis-mom

@scott-loki-barnes

@winters1917

@differenttyphoonwerewolf

@arunabraganza

@ordelixx

@vicmc624

@blackwood-bodecker-housewife

@mostlymarvelgirl

@musicandbooksaremyhappyplace

@buckybarnessimpp

@charmedbysarge

@almosttoopizza

@sapphirebarnes

@daddysfavoritesexkitten

@rebeccapineapple

@cjand10

@pigeonmama

@almosttoopizza

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[feyhunter78]

Valentine's Day Fratboy!Miguel

Art cred: @/viva_sl o𝗇 Twitter

Description: It's your first Valentine's Day with Miguel, and he goes a little overboard.

First Fratboy!Miguel Fic here

You stare dumbfounded at the open black crushed velvet box in your hands, a large blue diamond encircled by smaller white diamonds on a silver chain nestled within. “Is this…?”

“The Heart of the Ocean? Yeah, pretty romantic, right?” Miguel says, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he leans back against your couch, his arms folded behind his head.

“Please tell me this isn’t real.” You say, panic coloring your tone.

His brows furrow, the smile sliding off his face. “I mean it’s lab grown, and my dad knows a guy, so I got a killer discount, and it’s not as many carets as the one in the movie, but it’s still real, ya know?”

Your brain stops going through twenty-seven different modes of panic thinking he spent millions of dollars on you, and finally you can breathe. Just in time for Miguel to panic.

“If you don’t like it, I can get something else, there were a ton of different necklaces, I actually had this idea to make my own, but Kron said that was beta behavior and would turn you off, so I—”

“I like it, I do, really, I was just shocked.” You tell him, closing the box and setting it on your coffee table, next to the bouquet the size of your torso. A heart shaped box of chocolates, and a pure white teddy bear holding a red heart that read Be Mine, also on the tabletop.

“But in a good way, right?” He asks, glancing nervously between the gifts and you.

You smile fondly and take his hand in yours, his Rolex catching the light coming from the heart-shaped fairy lights hung on the wall above the couch. “Have you ever celebrated Valentine’s with someone before?”

“I’ve always managed to get out of Valentine’s Day, never really wanted to do all the mushy stuff.” He says sheepishly.

“That makes sense.” You giggle, looking over at the cliché pile of gifts on your table.

Hurt ripples across his face. “You hate them, got it, y/n, I’m serious, just give me twenty minutes I can make this up to you.” He says, getting up from the couch, his hand slipping from yours as he searches for his car keys.

“Wait, Miguel, hold on a second.” You call, getting up too, and following him to the door of your apartment, your steps muffled by the Valentine’s themed fuzzy socks on your feet.

He turns, an apprehensive expression on his face, his hand on the doorknob. “Just text me what you want, I’ll go get it.”

You wrap your arms around his stupidly impressive arm, his muscles emphasized by the black long sleeve dry-fit shirt he’s wearing, and tug him away from the door. “You. I just want to hang out with you. I haven’t even gotten to give you your gift yet.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he follows you semi-willingly, retaking his seat on the couch.

“Okay, just wait here, it’s in my room.” You tell him, leaving him in your living room as you enter your room and shut the door behind you.

With the door shut, the world suddenly quiet, your nerves set in. What if he thinks your gift is stupid or cheesy? It’s your first Valentine’s Day together, you didn’t think he’d go so overboard! You pick the neatly wrapped gift up from your desk and contemplate changing into something prettier, hotter, sexier? You don’t really have lingerie, but you could definitely put on a black bra and matching underwear, that’s hot, right? Letting out a stressed groan, you toss the gift onto your bed and change quickly, cursing yourself all the while. Why didn’t you buy something cute? Miguel dates sorority girls, super hot, super fashionable and cool sorority girls like Kelsey and Emma from your Victorian Literature class. Why didn’t you ask them what to get him, or what to wear? They’re nice, they hang out with you at frat parties when Miguel is busy, they definitely would’ve helped you pick something out.

You look at yourself in the mirror, yeah you look good, but you’ve seen his ex-girlfriend Ava, she’s gorgeous, and has a killer body, next to her, you look frumpy and decidedly unsexy. You bite your lips and pull your clothes back on, pointedly ignoring the mirror. Now was not the time to get self-conscious, you could cry later when Miguel leaves.

Holding his present against your chest, you take a deep breath, and step into the hallway leading to the living room. The music you put on is still playing softly, the fairy lights are still on, the decorations are still cute, the cupcakes you made still look perfect, okay you can do this.

You reenter the living room to find Miguel completely naked with the box of chocolates covering his…intimate area. You don’t mean to scream, it’s not even the first time you’ve seen him naked, but it catches you so off guard, the startled sound just slips out, and you drop his gift, your hands flying up to cover your eyes. “Miguel, what the—why are you naked?”

“Why aren’t you? You said you had my gift in your room.” He says, and even though you can’t see him, you know he’s blushing head to toe.

“Yeah, it was on my desk, I had to grab it.” You explain, keeping one hand up to shield your eyes as you bend down to pick his gift back up.

You can hear the rustling of clothes as Miguel redresses, and you wait until he clears his throat to remove your hand. He’s smiling awkwardly at you, fully clothed, his hair a bit ruffled. “Sorry about that, usually that’s my gift, birthdays, Christmas, Valentine’s, you name it.”

You laugh nervously, all confidence gone, and force yourself to walk over and join him on the couch. Definitely should’ve bought cute lingerie, hopefully the black pairing will be enough. “No, no, you’re good. I can see how that would be confusing, me going in my room and shutting the door and all that.”

He’s still blushing, but he zeros in on the gift in your hand. “That for me?”

You all but shove it at him. “It’s dumb, but I thought you might like it, and if you don’t, you won’t hurt my feelings or anything.” Complete and utter lie, you’re pretty sure if he doesn’t like it, you’re going to burst into tears right in front of him.

“I’m sure it’ll be great, as long as it isn’t like a portrait of Dantell or something.” He jokes as he unwraps the gift, revealing the deep blue muscle shirt that reads Nueva York ENG Dept Boyfriend in Garmond style font across the front. As he pulls it out, two tickets flutter from the folds and into his lap.

“It’s kinda stupid and silly, but Haley made one for her boyfriend and I just thought it might be cute for like around the KA house, or the gym or—you don’t have to wear it at the gym, or the house if you don’t want to, you can do whatever you want with it.” You explain, overexplain probably, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “And the tickets are for this after-hours tour of the fine art museum downtown. It’s super private, and you get to speak with the curator, and get a little souvenir. I just thought maybe you’d want to do that, since I know you like art, and you’re really interested in the history. I’ll stop talking now.…”

Miguel is silent, staring down at the shirt and the tickets, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest.

You toy with the fringe of the throw blanket on your couch, waiting for him to say something.

“Y/N this is…”

“Cheesy and stupid, I know, I’m sorry.” You say, covering your face with your hands, trying to ignore the urge to throw yourself from your balcony.

He pulls your hands away and kisses you, hard. Hands cupping your face, sliding into your hair, his movements heated and insistent as he pulls you closer, practically devouring you, tongue and teeth clashing with yours. The taste of red velvet from the cupcakes you baked melding with something that is so uniquely Miguel. He pushes you down onto the couch, his ridiculously jacked body covering your own, dwarfing you, his forearms bracketing your head as his lips still on yours, and your head spins. Kissing Miguel is a trip, not that you’ve ever used hallucinogens, but every time he kisses you, you imagine it must be what a really good trip feels like. Especially when he breaks the kiss, and looks down at you with pupils blown wide, and pure adoration practically spilling from his warm brown irises.

“I love it, I love you, fuck I can’t even explain how much this—no one has ever—” he shakes his head smiling brighter than the sun, his curls falling into his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You reply breathlessly, heart racing in your chest, your face flushed, your lips tingling. Did he just say he loved you?

Miguel dips his head back down, reconnecting your lips, one hand ghosting down your side to grip your thigh and wrap your leg around his lower back. “I’ll get you a better gift, like you got me, but first let me show you how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“Miguel, you really don’t have to.” You tell him, though you have no idea where you’re ever going to wear a giant ass diamond.

“Oh, but I want to dulzura, I really, really do.” He says, removing your clothes faster than you can blink, and pressing himself against your black cloth covered core with an appreciative groan, eyeing you like he’s a dying man and you’re his last meal. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhale-blog, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho, @chooalvina, @reader-1290, @beezusvreeland, @planetxella

[tinygarbage]

Lovers Rock (A Halloween Special)

pairing: Joel Miller x College!f!reader

word count: 4k

summary: Joel's been your best friend since 6th grade. He graduated with you, but when you went to school, he joined his fathers contracting company. When your roommate invites you to a frat party for Halloween, hoping to set you up with her boyfriends friend, you drag Joel along.

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, underage drinking, college parties, Joel is 20, reader is 18 (Joel was held back for kindergarten), frat boys, kissing, reader is a virgin, mutual pining, oblivious reader, not edited 😵‍💫

a/n: ok y’all, I’m not very happy with how this turned out, but I really like the idea I had so yk fuck it and ball. I just needed some mutual pining yk? I’m hoping to make multiple installments of this story but I’m not promising anything! Anyways enjoy even though there only a few hours left of Halloween:)

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

When Nessa proposed she wanted to set you up with her boyfriends frat mate, you didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that she was desperate to help you loose your virginity.

So, after a couple days of convincing, you give in. But not before calling your best friend to drag him along. You call Joel immediately after Nessa tells you about the party. He had been your best friend since 6th grade. You met him in math class and after pestering him for a piece of gum. When he finally gave in, you continued to pester him until you completely weaseled your way into his life. And since then, you had been inseparable.

You and Joel had watched each other go through countless crushes and relationships, but nothing stuck for either of you. Joel was a little more proactive, and had done a lot more than you had ever done. Including losing his virginity. But, you promised each other to keep each other in the loop. So here you are, last minute on the Wednesday before the party, waiting for him to pick up as the phone rings.

    "Jo, hey." You say quickly after he picks up.

    "What's up, Buttercup?" He says, panting slightly.

    "You good?"

   "Yeah, sorry, I'm just at the job sight." He says, trying to catch his breath.

    "Still? It's 7?" You frown, looking at the alarm on your desk.

    "Yeah, Dad's got us cleaning and shit." He sighs, "so what's up?"

    "Oh, yeah. Right." You laugh, "What are your plans Friday night?"

    "Tommy's got a football game, but I can get out of it if you wanted to do something." He answers.

     "There's a party. A Halloween party." You say, flipping a page of your textbook and start writing.

     "Oh, y'know I'm not really into that kinda shit." He says. You can picture the little scowl he unintentionally does.

      "Please? For me?" You whine.

      "Why do you want me to go so bad, college?" He chuckled. You can imagine him standing at the job sight. Breathing heavy in his work pants and neon orange t-shirt. He'd be panting slightly, beads of sweat running down his forehead, curls messy and hands dirty from a tough day at work. His biceps bulging in the t-shirt and his thighs tight against the fabric of his pants.

      "Nessa is trying to set me up with one of the football guys, I need my bodyguard just in case things get rocky." You says, the eraser of your pencil pressing against your lip as you read and talk,

      "Nessa? Your roommate?" He asks. Joel and Nessa don't get along.

      "Please, Jo." You drag out his nickname.

      "I don't wear costumes." He says flatly.

      "What if i buy you one?" You propose.

      "You're not spending money on me." He argues.

     "Wear dark clothes. I'll just get a mask or something." You suggest, "you don't even have to wear it, just hold it."

      He sighs from the other line, "Fine. I'll wear dark clothes. And I'll be at your dorm at 7:30."

      "Really?" You ask, smiling brightly as you look down at your desk with a smitten face.

       "Really, Princess." That's what he called you whenever you got you way. It always made you feel like you had a little butterfly flying around your rib cage.

      "Thank you. I love you." You giggle, going back to writing notes.

       "Love you too, College." He says, you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Well, I gotta go. I'll see you then?"

     "See you then, Jo."

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

The crowd is immediately overwhelming to Joel. As the group approaches the frat house, there a guy throwing up an the sidewalk. He's dressed as Luigi. His mustache lays crumbled at his feet while he groans. Joel automatically thinks of 3,001 excuses to get the hell out of there. But each excuse is thrown away after he thinks about you. What if something happens to you? So he stays. Stuffing part of the werewolf mask you bought into his back pocket. Reluctantly grabbing a beer from the huge cooler once you're inside and cracking it open. He watches as you and Nessa take out your own alcohol and soda can to make a mixed drink.

Earlier that night, he arrived at your dorm to see you all dolled up. A winged liner and a cherry red lipstick being the most notable out of your makeup look. For him at least. You were wearing a white, pirate styled shirt with a worn brown vest. In a material that made Joel cringe slightly. Your skirt was fluffy, and short, exposing your thighs in the cold air. You wore converse, just like he had. You were dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. Shoving a cheap werewolf mask into his hands, thanking him for wearing exactly what you had told him. Which was a navy crewneck and dark denim. He was your big bad wolf.

He sighs, standing beside them, feeling wildly out of place. You had brought him to the same frat before. After a Longhorns game. An invitation reached out by Nessa and her boyfriend who was in the frat. But before then, he was drinking and it was easier to make conversation about football, and not his shitty costume. He swallows his pride and watches you giggle with your bad influence of a roommate. Or so he believed her to be.

You turn to see him staring, throwing a crooked smile in his direction before taking a long sip of your drink. Which had mostly alcohol and a drop of Dr Pepper. "Can you hold my soda, Joel?" You ask, with your usual puppy eyes and fake pout.

He grumbles and grabs it from you, double fisting a Busch lite and your Dr Pepper. While holding your soda and following you around, all Joel could think about were his little brothers words. 'You're the boyfriend with absolutely no benefits.' And Joel couldn't deny it any longer. He helped move you into your dorm, he picks you up when you drink too much with Nessa, he holds you when your shitty boyfriends screw you over, and he holds your drinks at parties so you can flirt with other guys. And he gets nothing but a 'thanks Joel! You're the best!'

    It took him way too long to realize that he's the friend zone king. He sits on its shitty throne next to the guy who says 'Where's my hug?' His stomach churns. His throat burning hot and his head is spinning.

"Nessa said Kayden and Theo are on the lawn." You shout over the music into Joel's ear, the proximity making his heart jump.

"The hell are they doin' out there?" He asks back.

"Keg-stand, fucking idiots." You grumble and Joel laughs, agreeing. Which earns him a glare from Nessa. To which he sticks his tongue out back.

Nessa grabs onto you, leading you out towards the lawn. You immediately grab onto Joel's forearm and drag him with you two. He sighs, downing half of his beer as he walks with you to the lawn. A sea of drunk college students dressed in silly or slutty costumes litter the lawn. Nessa's boyfriend, Theo, is in the middle of a keg stand, and Kayden is cheering from the side with a jug full of alcohol. God, Joel wanted to lose his shit and bang on his chest in pure anger. You were nervous about that fucker?

You look to Joel with an uneasy smile, he doesn't return it. "How do I even communicate with him?" You ask Joel.

"You run away as fast as you can," he gives you an unimpressed look as he says it. He's not joking.

You give him an exaggerated eye roll and shake your head. "You told me you'd be good for advice, Miller."

"That's my best advice, Princess," he says easily, crossing his arms over his chest. His beer can lazily hanging in his fingertips. Which are lightly gripping the top.

You swallow, watching as Kayden chugs an impressive amount of whatever alcohol was mixed in the jug of what used to be Arizona tea. "I guess I should probably introduce myself."

Joel's jaw clenches as he watches you go, wanting to grab you and shake sense into you. What could you possibly see in that guy? What could possibly be romantic about a arizona jug with a unexplained green liquid sloshing around inside it? What could possibly be attractive about the piss-water beer he was spilling all over himself. With one tight squeeze, he crashes the can, wandering away to find a recycle bin.

He heads back inside reluctantly, chewing the inside of his cheek while his mind churns out a million scenarios where you turn out hurt. Or someone else's. A huff escapes his lips as he tosses the can into the recycle bin and immediately heads into the kitchen for another. In the kitchen, there's a group of other Mario characters. Joel clocks them as Luigi's group. He wonders if they know poor Luigi is puking his guts out.

Laughing to himself, he cracks open a second beer and leans against the counter, observing as people come and go from the kitchen. He sips slowly, judging people's costumes, laughter, and their drunken speeches. He wonders how people got drunk so fast, or if him and your group really arrived as late as Nessa made it seem. He sets his beer down next to him, still holding onto your Dr Pepper. His hand covering the open top. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a princess peach approaching. Her dress short, and white knee high boots. Her blonde hair was curled and she had a tiny crown on her head. She looked good.

"You're bleeding." She says, pointing to his empty hand. Looking down, he realized he must've cut himself while crushing his can in his earlier frustration.

He looks back up with a slow blink, "thanks." He grumbles, not really sure what to say, "you know if they keep a first aid kit in this dump?"

Peach laughs with a nod, moving past him and looking under the sink. She grabs out a small, red first aid kit. Joel sets down your Dr Pepper. He moves to the sink, washing off the blood from the small, deep cut. He rips a paper towel from his freehand and dabs the cut. Once he's finished, Peach put a paw patrol bandaid on the left side of his palm, where the cut is.

"All fixed, soldier." She says with a giggle.

"Thanks," he says, inspecting the bandaid made for children, "oh, and if you're missing a Luigi, he's out on the lawn. Buddy seems like he's had a rough night.

Peach let's out a loud giggle, Joel flinches at the sound. "Oh, that's just Damon. He's been drinking since noon."

"Since noon?"

"Yeah, it's normal i promise." She says, her hand falling onto his bicep as she laughs. She squeezes it lightly and his eyes widen slightly.

Joel shifts, not really sure how to handle a unwanted touch from a stranger. Her hand dropped as soon as it came. He let out a huff in relief, shifting his converse against the kitchen tile. "He should probably stop drinkin' so much." He said awkwardly.

      Peach shrugs, "it's college."

       At the tail end of their conversation, you slip into the kitchen. You're red hood is down now, and your solo cup is completely empty. Having been downed after you listens to Kayden tell you about football through a slurred voice. After realizing there was no chance of social resuscitation, you head inside to find Joel. Hopefully getting the hell out of there. You walk through the sliding glass door and through the dining room. When you reach the kitchen you stop in you tracks at the sight of Joel.

       As you stand there, a realization creeps up on you. You've seen this film. You've seen it a thousand times. Every time you've entered a room, you've watched it play. A perfect play through every single time. Joel stands against the kitchen counter with another beer in his hands. He's grumbling something to a girl dressed as Princess Peach. As she laughs at what he said, her delicate hand slaps his bicep, grabbing onto it as she leans forward and lets out a flirtatious giggle. You watch him blink slowly, realizing whatever he said to the girl wasn't a joke. He wasn't trying to be funny.

     Continuing to watch, you stand in the entrance. He stands up from where he was leaning on the counter, no longer relying on it to hold him up. You watch as he slams his second beer, your Dr Pepper still in his right hand. His hand is covering the top. Another few blinks and his whiskey eyes are on you.

     Everything from there feels like a total cliche. He turns away from Princess Peach, eyes still on you. He mutters a farewell. You watch him closely as he stares you down. He's crossing the room, eyes fixated on your form. The white pirate-styled top, and the brown vest. His eyes fall to the short red skirt and the beat up converse on your feet. The noise around you cancels out into merely a whisper, your heartbeat gets faster as you realize what's happening to you. No, what's happened. What's always been there. What is becoming so painfully obvious that you physically can't keep up with the way your brain spins.

    He's there and everyone else is just an obstacle. Blocking you from running to him. You wonder if that's how it's been this whole time. If your own stupidity and oblivious nature has been your obstacle this whole time. If this moment was destined since you had plopped a boat made out of the gum wrapper from the gum he gave you on his desk in 6th grade. You wonder if had he asked you to homecoming instead of Charlie Winkler, would you have already realized it. Would you have already realized that there's absolutely no one in this world that makes you feel the way he does?

     As he gets closer, fire spreads through your body, and suddenly he's grabbing your wrist. He says something, but you're locked into a shock induced state. You completely zone out as his face leans closer. Your eyes take in his thick, furrowed brow and the slight scrunch on his forehead. His lips are downturned and you suddenly realize how long it's been since he's shaved. His stubble much longer than he had ever kept it before.

      "Hey, you good?" His smooth drawl snaps you back into reality, he's waving a large hand in front of your face, "Earth to College."

      You blink a few times, "Joel. Hi." You choke out awkwardly, staring at him.

     "You good? Where's Kyle?"

     "Kayden." You correct, throwing out your solo cup. Then grabbing the Dr Pepper from his hands and throwing that out too.

     "Same thing," he shrugs, "Where is he?"

     "I wasn't into him." You say quickly, "Wanna get some air? I'm feeling a little overwhelmed."

    He immediately looks concerned, his hand landing on the small of your back, "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

    You nod quickly, "I'm fine, i promise. C'mon, let's go upstairs."

     You grab his hand and lead him out to the living room and up the stairs of the frat. He follows behind, holding onto your hand tightly. He looks behind and around himself, not really knowing what to expect. Or what people would think about people heading into the bedroom of a frat member without said frat member being present.

    You reach a door with Theo's name on it. Carefully, you peak your head in. Once you know it's clear of horny and drunk college students, you open the door fully. Joel steps through, looking around at the slightly messy room.

    "You're sure we can be up here?" Joel says, awkwardly shifting his weight as you plop down on Theo's bed.

     "He said I could use it if i needed too." You smile, playing with the hem of your skirt.

    He just nods, converse dragging slightly on the rug under his feet and towards the bed. As he sits down slowly, you listen to the muffled music from the yard. A shitty, yet classic, Pitbull song plays and you hear drunken screams. You ignore it, not wanting to focus on anything else but the overbearing scent of Joel's teakwood cologne. The one you got him for his 20th birthday. How was he so perfect?

   "So, that kid didn't catch your interest?" Joel asks, his sweaty hands rubbing on the denim covering his thighs.

     "He smelled like wet pennies," you laugh, nudging his shoulder lightly.

    He laughs with you. It's thunderous sound, one you've always been incredibly fond of. You giggle slightly, a lovesick haze clouding your brain as he looks over to you. For a moment, it's quiet between you both. A complete contrast to the chaos outside. Both of your breathing the only sound left in the room. His eyes flicking from your eyes to your cherry red lips. He snaps out of his daze, looking forwards, "I think if someone told me I smelled like pennies, I'd cry." He says teasingly, nudging your knee.

    "You don't smell like pennies." You lean closer.

    "Promise?"

    "Promise." You nod, giggling as you lean your head on his shoulder.

      His arm wraps around you, rubbing your shoulder over your smooth red cape. The hood tangled in the back from ripping it off your head after Kayden accidentally spilled his unidentified alcohol beverage on it earlier. You nuzzle your head on his muscular shoulder, inhaling his strong scent. His navy crewneck is soft against your cheek as you look down at the dark denim on his strong thighs.

      You both sit in silence for a few moment, the tension in the air getting thicker as the seconds tick by. Eventually, you get restless. Your voice cuts through the quiet room as you lift your head up slightly to look up at him. "You want to stay with me in the dorms tonight?" You ask softly.

    "I would love that." he says softly, leaning forward and placing his forehead on yours. His hand reaches to grab your wrist as it sits on your lap. He rubs your wrist slowly, running across a prominent vein that meets your palm.

   Suddenly, his free hand wraps around the back of your head, gently and quickly pulling you in. Before you can process whats happening, his lips press against yours. You melt into the kiss without another thought. His hand slides down and holds your face, his other hand dropping your wrist and reaching up behind your head. His long fingers running through your hair as you kiss. Your hands lay on his chest, squeezing him slightly when he pressed deeper. The kiss turns to into a heavy make out as he starts getting a bit carried away at the taste of your cherry lipstick. The kiss gets sloppy, making you squeeze your thighs together from the sudden burn between your legs. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavy, his hands on your hips. He's looking down at you with rosy cheeks. "Was that okay?" His voice was soft.

     You pant softly, your lips swollen from his passionate kiss. "Mhm," you nod.

    He quickly steals another kiss from you, shifting to face you. You go right back to making out again. He has a tight hold on your waist with one hand. His left hand traveling up to your back. You hold yourself up on the bed with your hand spread behind you. Your arm is thrown over his shoulder and around the back of his neck. His tongue pushes against yours, pulling you in for a kiss. It lasts for a few seconds that seem to be last a lifetime. His hand grips tighter at your waist, breathing heavily after he eventually broke the kiss. "I want you.." He whispers. His eyes are heavy and he's gazing at you in a way you didn't believe was possible.

    "I'm yours." You whisper without another thought, smiling.

    He pulls himself even closer, slowly and gently lying you down before leaning on top of you. He places his hand flat on your spine, whilst his other hand goes to your thigh. He kisses your neck and collarbone, the taste of your skin driving him crazy. For a moment, he loses himself in the taste, before he begins to wonder if you're feeling alright. He pauses again, letting himself catch breath before checking on you. "Are you comfortable? Do you want to continue this?"

    You nod, your fingers playing with the curls on the back of his neck. His hand is on your thigh, rubbing it lightly. "Yeah, I'm comfortable." You nod softly.

     He beams, a slight huff of excited laughter hitting your face. "You'll let me know if it's too much?" He asks softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

     "Mhm." You hum, pushing his head down to continue the kiss. He happily accepts the invitation, squeezing your thigh gently as his other arm is still wrapping under you as you lay on Theo's bed.

You both make out for a few more minutes. The touches become more and more heated with each second. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hand travels up your thigh to rest on your hip underneath your skirt. A small moan rumbles against his lips as your back arched slightly against the mattress. His finger loops under the band of underwear on your hip.

As he begins to tug slightly, the door flys open and you and Joel rip apart from each other. Joel hops off the bed, scratching the back of his neck as his other hand travels to his front pocket. A poor attempt to hide the bulge in his jeans. You sit up on the bed, fixing your skirt and hair as you both look at the door.

Theo and Nessa stand at the door, their jaws dropped open at the sight in front of them. “No way,” A drunken Nessa giggled, covering her mouth.

“Nessa! Hi!” You squeak, getting up from the bed as the two drunken vampires giggle.

Joel’s face is beet red as his hands are stuck into his front pockets. You look over to see red lipstick smudged on his lips, some even in his stubble. You got hit with embarrassment, using your thumb to wipe around your lips to wipe off any smudged lipstick. “We were just getting some air.”

“More like sharing some air,” Theo laughs.

“Go back to the dorms,” Nessa smirks. “I’ll be here tonight.”

Instead of arguing you nod, grabbing onto Joel’s arm and leading him out of the room. The door closes behind you and you both look at each other in awe and embarrassment.

“Dude.” You breath out, a slow smile creeping onto your lips.

“That…” he tries to find words in his flustered state, “that was awkward.”

You both laugh, leaning into each other in a post make out haze. He tugs you into his arms for a moment, pulling you close as he rubs your back slowly. He presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head before pulling apart again.

“Should we head to your dorm?” He asks softly, biting the inside of his lip.

You smirk, grabbing his wrist. “C’mon, cowboy.”

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

moot tags: @annasinterests @ilovepedro @mandoisapunk @party-hearses @nostalxgic @bastardmandennis