The room is quiet, the only sound being the gentle hum of the air conditioner running. The room smells like sea salt and cinnamon from the candle kept on the bedside table. Bucky is sat on the bed, holding a book in his hands.

But his attention is not on the book, it's on you and how adorable you look right now.

You're running all over the place, grabbing all sorts of products and your towels for your everything shower. Your hands are so full that you can't even lock the door of the en suite bathroom. You don't lock the door around him anyway. Because Bucky is extra paranoid when it comes to you. He wants to be able reach you as quickly as he can just in case something happens to you without anything in his way.

Bucky still doesn't quite understand what you even do in those everything showers, but he knows you look forward to them every weekend so he doesn't want to ruin your fun by asking stupid questions.

He smiles when he hears the water running and your soft, slightly off key hums with it. It calms him down. Bucky had trained himself to focus on you early on in the relationship and it really helped him shut off the voices in his head. Now, it's almost like second nature. His enhanced hearing is almost always focused on you and your sweet little sounds.

He opens his book, opening the page he'd last bookmarked by the bookmark you'd made for him last month. Even though it's only a simple piece of paper, he still cherishes it dearly because you've made it for him. You love making crafts and he's the one privileged enough who gets to keep all of them, whether it's a photo carousel or a simple bookmark.

Bucky is at peace. His eyes scan over the words on the page as he waits for you to get out.

But he immediately stiffens up when he hears a sound that's awfully a lot like you throwing up. His heart drops to his stomach at the thought of you being in any kind of danger. He immediately abandons the book and knocks on the door of the bathroom.

"Sweetie? You okay in there?"

When you don't answer, Bucky's concern increases even more. He pushes the door open, running towards the shower as fast as he can.

There, he finds you, sitting right there on the shower floor, slumped against the wall with your head lolled to the side. You're panting. There's drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as the shower sprays down water on you. He frowns at the sight and slides the shower door open.

When Bucky is inside, he shuts the water off and crouches down in front of you. He cups your face and his frown deepens. Your eyes are unfocused and dazed but at least you're concious.

"Talk to me, angel, tell me what's wrong," he coos, his thumbs running over your cheek. He hates seeing you like this. Usually, you're so energetic and cheerful, but right now, you can barely even manage to keep your eyes open.

"Don't know, Jamie, feel all dizzy, I can't stand. I also threw up," you feebly manage to stutter out, voice groggy from the acid in your throat. Your hands grasp his shoulders as he picks you up and you fully lean against him. There's still shampoo in your hair, suds of soap all over your arms and legs.

Bucky holds you against him as he grabs the showerhead with his vibranium arm, gently rinsing the soap off your body. You lean against him, pliant and trusting as he washes you. He presses a kiss to your forehead, which is burning up, your whole body is.

He doesn't understand. You were fine just thirty minutes ago before you went to shower and now you're looking so sick.

"Oh, babydoll, you're burnin' up," he mutters, holding you tighter. His clothes are getting wet, but he doesn't care about that. The only thing on his mind is that you're sick and he has to take care of you.

"Head hurts so bad, Buck," you mumble against his chest, your hands wrapping around his waist to keep yourself upright.

Once you're properly rinsed, Bucky carries you out of the shower. He presses kisses along your hairline, setting you down on the counter in the bathroom. He grabs a towel and wraps it around your frame.

"You'll be okay, doll, I'll take care of you, yeah?" he says as he stands in between your legs, patting your hair dry. Even in your sickness, you're still the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

"Bucky—" you try to warn him, but before you can complete your sentence, warm, yellow liquid spews out of your mouth, missing him by just an inch. You bend over to vomit properly and he places a hand on your back, running it up and down. Every lurch of your throat makes his heart squeeze with worry but he still stands there, patient and doting.

"It's okay, sugar, it's not your fault. I'll clean it up, don't worry," he coos at you and turns the tap in the sink on. He rinses your mouth with the water while mumbling soft reassurances to you. You can only look up at him with an apologetic frown, feeling guilty for making his job even harder.

Bucky discards his shirt, cursing under his breath as the wet fabric clings to his skin. You can't lie, the sight of his bare torso does make you feel a little better. He lets go of you and grabs a rag for the dirty floor.

You can't help but focus on his movements. Your eyes travel all over his body, dazedly studying the flex of his arm as he works. He looks up at you and heat rushes to your cheeks as your eyes meet his. He grins at your embarrassment before he focuses back on wiping the floor clean.

As he's done, he stands up, keeping the dirty rag to the side. He walks over to you, picking you up in his arms. Your hands rest on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you. Your eyes stay fixed on him, soft and tired, following every movement of his. Bucky smiles down at you and presses a gentle peck to your lips.

"Jamie, no! I have vomit breath!" you whine, giving him a half-hearted shove. He doesn't relent, instead, cups your face and connects your lips to his in a gentle kiss. You can't stay mad at him for longer after that.

"You think I care, angel?" he muses as he pulls away from your lips, connecting your forehead to his. Just to emphasise his point further, he pecks your lips again. Bucky wraps your legs around your waist, making sure you were secure in his arms.

He carries you out of the bathroom, keeping his grip on you tight the whole way. He sits down on the bed with you in his lap. You slump against his chest, the cool air of the room making you shiver. He mumbles and apology in your hair and turns the air conditioner off.

Bucky lets go of you with a kiss to your forehead, laying your back against the headboard. He takes medicine box out of the bedside drawer and rummages through it for a paracetamol.

Your heart warms at the sight of him being so attentive. With a brave attempt, you lean towards him laying your head on his shoulder. Your head is still violently spinning but you try your best to keep it upright.

A surprised smile spreads across Bucky's lips and he wraps an arm around your waist. You nuzzle into his side, the coolness of his cybernetic arm feeling oddly pleasant against your damp skin. The notes of cedar and oak from his aftershave swim around your nostrils, calming you down greatly.

"Be careful, angel," he says, trying not to jostle you too much.

When he finally finds the medicine, he pops a pill out on his hand. Reaching for the bottle of water, Bucky puts the pill in your mouth. You scrunch your nose at the bitter taste of the pill and he snickers.

"You're so cute, baby, y'know that?" he teases, pouring water inside your mouth. You swallow the pill, leaning against him. His eyes travel over the goosebumps on your skin and he gently pulls himself away from you. You whine at the loss of his body heat, looking up at him with a frown.

"Stay here, yeah? I'll be back in just a second," Bucky says, running towards the closet. He opens the door and pulls out one of his warmer henleys.

He rushes back to you with the shirt in his arms, sitting down on the bed. He pulls you in his lap and puts the shirt over your frame. Your body is practically swimming in the henley. You always look so adorable in his clothes, it makes his heart feel so full. He still finds it so hard to believe that he gets to experience this domesticity with you.

He lays down on the bed, still holding you. Your mouth opens into a yawn and tears collect at the corner of your eyes. Bucky wipes them away, pressing kisses along your hairline to comfort you.

"Wanna sleep," you mumble, snuggling yourself into his chest. He smiles and pulls the blanket over your tangled bodies. He lays your head on his human arm while the vibranium one runs over yours to warm you up.

You sigh in contentment, eyes fluttering shut. Your index finger draws little hearts on his abdomen, a gesture that always relaxes both you.

"Goodnight, babydoll," he coos, his hand going up to stroke your hair.

"Night, Buck. I love you."

"Love you too, sugar,"

And just like that, you're pulled into a deep, content slumber. While it is drug induced but part of it also has to do with the safety of being in Bucky's arms.

Bucky looks down at you adoringly, a smile spreading across his lips. You look so peaceful, so trusting. He still can't believe that he's the one at the receiving end of your affection, of your trust. He never thought that he'll ever be worthy of the life he has with you.

But now that he's experienced it, he can't ever think of going back.

"You're everythin' to me, angel."

As your last lecture for the day finally wraps up, you breathe out a sigh of relief, gathering your things. The physical chemistry classroom empties out faster than the speed of sound but you can't really blame anyone. Two hours of thermodynamics were enough to drive anyone insane.

You walk out into the hallway, your book clutched to your chest as the chatter of the building hits you at once. Students rush out of their classrooms followed by murmurs of weekend plans, a shitty rap song leaking out of someone's headphones and the distant squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Darcy is already there in the hallway, bag slung lazily over her shoulder. Scanning the crowd with deep focus in hopes of finding a familiar face. Her face lights up as soon as she spots you in the crowd.

"Finally," she mumbles with a wave, closing the distance between you two with quick steps. You smile and pull her into a tight hug as soon as she is close enough.

"You don't know how good it is to see you," you murmur into her shoulder, finally letting go of her with a soft giggle.

"You too, a few more minutes with that professor and I was gonna combust," she replies with a subtle eye roll, fixing her glasses. "He assigned another report. Due Monday,"

"Monday?"

"Monday. And just like that, my plans to get wasted fly away. I have to be responsible," she huffs, raising her hand up and tilting her hand up in an airplane like motion. With a soft whistle, she crashes the hand plane, looking at you with an exaggeratedly disheartened face.

You snicker at her antics, shaking your head and shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans as you both begin walking. Darcy starts telling you the details of her assignment, something related to the effects of a supreme court case from 1976 and you are listening, laughing at her dry quips, nodding along the information that is mostly irrelevant to you, but still genuinely listening.

Until you aren't.

Steve Rogers walks past you and just like that, Darcy's voice fades into the background noise.

You've seen him before, of course you have. He is all everyone sees when he walks past. But it only gets harder every single time. He's laughing at something Bucky said and what makes it worse is that it feels genuine, just like everything else does about him. It makes him feel almost... approachable even though everything around him screams otherwise.

You aren't the only one to notice him, the whole hallway does. People make space for him almost like it is a reflex, the cheerleaders fix their skirts, the girl from the band no one cares about pats the lint off her shirt, and a few random guys throw petty comments about how they couldn't understand his hype when they most definitely can.

He's the man everyone's adoringly crowned the campus' golden boy. He's the quarterback of the university team. He's the reason half of the school is actually interested in watching the matches they won't care about otherwise. He could have anyone he wants and you're pretty sure that you're not even in his top fifty. That is, if he even knows you exist.

You knew all of this. You reminded yourself regularly that pining over him will get you nowhere.

That still didn't stop your heart from beating embarrassingly fast at the mere sight of him.

"Don't even think about it." Darcy's voice pulls you out of your lovesick trance, quiet and close. Her warning sits somewhere between genuinely serious and teasing.

You blink, snapping your eyes away.

"I'm not thinking about anything."

She gives you a long look over the rim of her glasses.

"I'm not," you repeat, more firmly even though your cheeks are tinted pink.

She snickers, but leta it go, looping an arm over your shoulder as you both keep walking. A beat of comfortable silence passes between you two before she finally says something.

"Pretty sure he's got some cheerleader he's hooking up with," she mutters, her voice firm but not unkind.

"Wouldn't be surprised," you whispers, trying to ignore the heartache you felt at those words. It is just the bitter truth, isn't it?

It's been an hour since classes ended.

You are now stuck behind the amber counter, wearing an apron that scratched your neck to the point it's now raw and red. Something inside you deeply regretted ever taking this job.

The café isn't bad on most days. The pay was decent, your coworkers are bearable, and the smell of coffee is a comforting one to be around. Fridays are usually manageable too, the post-class rush comes and goes fast. The place usually quiets down again by the afternoon.

Today, however, is not most days.

It had started with the milk steamer deciding to throw a tantrum worse than a toddler, which had backed up the line before you could even properly tie your apron. Then, a woman had complained about the amount of ice in her latte when she asked it to be extra chilled. The stress was catching up to you and caused you to miscount change but you'd fixed it just in time. That didn't stop the corporate dude from glaring at you, though. Who even pays in cash anymore?

You are tired, your feet are aching, the heat is making you lightheaded.

And you still have two hours of work left.

You are wiping down the counter, imagining yourself throwing your apron on the manager's face, even though you can't actually quit. Student loans are a bitch. A gust of wind hits your face as the door opened, blowing your hair in your face.

You don't look up immediately, too busy tucking your bangs behind your ears and smoothing your hair down. When you finally glance up, you put on your best customer smile ready to offer the usual, overly cheerful greeting of hi, what can I get you.

But before you can, you freeze in place.

Steve Rogers is standing in front of you.

He was still in practice clothes, a jacket thrown over them like an afterthought, hair slightly disheveled in a way that had absolutely no business looking this good. He is the scanning the menu board over your head with an easy, unhurried expression of someone who've never dealt with a Karen in his life.

"Hi," you finally manage, praying that the flush on your cheeks isn't that noticeable. "What I can get you?"

He glances back up at the menu for a split second and you take that opportunity to exhale a breath you don't even know you are holding in.

"Just a black coffee. Large,"

"And your name?" you feel stupid for ever asking that, but he probably doesn't even know you two are in the same college.

"Steve," he responds, a sheepish smile on his lips.

You scribble it down on the cup, leaving it to your future self to dwell on the interaction you are having with him. You don't exactly have the time to psychoanalyse yourself right now. You read the total off the screen and he taps his card on the machine. That should've been the end of it. You give him his coffee, he leaves, a simple, clean transaction.

Except, the steamer chooses that exact moment to go off, the sudden loud noise startling you to the point that his cup wobbles as you knock it over with your elbow. Steve catches it as soon as it hits the edge of the counter, your face heating up with embarrassment.

"Easy there," he whispers, his hands brushing against yours as he hands you the cup back. A small spark of electricity ran through you at the touch and you almost jump, wondering if he felt it too.

"Sorry about that," you say automatically, voice low with a hint of awkwardness. "The machine has been... acting up since morning," you gesture vaguely at the steamer that's scared the shit out of you for the third time today. But now, it is completely silent, as if it has done nothing.

Steve blinks and then, to your complete surprise, he chuckles. The sound of his laughter was deep and warm. The sound that turned your insides into mush, a feeling you don't know whether to love or hate.

"Rough day?" he asks, the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile that was purely out of concern.

"You could say that," you murmur, letting out a breath that was almost a laugh.

He nods once out of acknowledgement, his face softening. It was a sight that loosens the tension in your shoulders, just a tad bit.

You turn around to finally brew his coffee before you can say anything else stupid. Behind you, the café is still calm and you are focused very hard on what your hands are doing and trying your best to not squeal about the fact that Steve is right here, close enough that you could touch him if you reached out, waiting for you to make his coffee.

You place the sealed cup on the counter once you are finished. He picks it up and his fingers rest right where yours have been a few moments ago. But it means absolutely nothing. It's just how hands worked.

"Thanks," he mumbles, almost like it was a second thought. "Hope the rest of your shift gets better."

You look up, and he is already turning to leave, jacket stretching across his shoulders as he walks out, completely unaware of the way your heart is fluttering wildly in your chest.

In the evening, Steve is in Bucky's dorm room. Takeout containers and beer bottles lay in between them. It is the rare kind of quiet Friday night that happens maybe once or twice a month when neither of them have anything to do. Bucky has his back against the headboard, legs stretched out over his bed as he plays random cords on his acoustic guitar without any significant energy.

Steve is supposed to be doing the same thing as Bucky, relaxing, unwinding. He is not doing the same thing.

He is holding a book he'd borrowed from the library and has been staring at the same page for almost fifteen minutes now. Bucky finally looks up from the frets, staring at Steve with a skeptical look in his eyes.

"You're not reading that."

"I am."

"Steve, you've been on that same page ever since I picked up the guitar."

Steve closes the novel with a huff. There isn't any point in arguing with Bucky about things he was right about and annoyingly enough, Bucky is right most of the time.

"I saw her today," Steve says after a moment, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. Bucky turns back to his guitar, fingers gliding over the strings.

"Where?" Bucky doesn't look up from the chords when he asks the question.

"The café down the street. She works there," Steve responds, a small smile on his lips.

"and?"

Steve takes a sip from the beer in his hands. "And... nothing. I ordered coffee. She made it. I left."

"Revolutionary." Bucky quips dryly, rolling his eyes.

"I'm just telling you that I saw her!"

"The way you said it made me think that you finally asked her out or something." Bucky utters out, finally keeping his guitar to the side and giving Steve his full attention.

"She didn't even know my name!" Steve argues with a self deprecating chuckle, though it still hurts him to think back to that moment.

"Bullshit, everyone knows your name."

"Knowing my name and actually caring about me are not the same thing," Steve mutters, tracing the mouth of his bottle with his thumb.

Bucky groans in annoyance, giving Steve a long look. "Did you at least talk to her?"

"Well, I thanked her."

"...That's it?" Bucky questions, wanting to rip his hair out at the other man's stupidity.

"She was having a rough day. I told her I hoped the rest of her shift got better." Steve pauses, taking a deep breath. "And then I left."

Bucky grumbles in irritation and reached for his own bottle of beer, taking a long swig. Once he's done, he fixes Steve with an unimpressed look, the kind that says that Bucky was disappointed, but not surprised. He doesn't say anything, which is somehow worse than if he had.

"What is it?" Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nothing."

"Just say it."

"I'm not saying anything!" Bucky says defensively, raising his arms up.

"Buck..."

"It's just," Bucky starts, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to hold back a laugh. This was more entertaining than anything he's ever watched. "You've been pining over this girl for almost two months now. You go to the library almost every other day, then you sit, like, two tables away from her and stare at her like a lovesick fool."

"I do not stare at her like a 'lovesick fool'! I just sit there because the lighting is perfect!" Steve argues, his ears turning embarrassingly red.

"You switched spots when she did,"

"The sun was on the other side that day!"

"Steve," Bucky shoots him a deadpan look. "The sun can't change directions."

"I—" Steve begins but gave up halfway. "You know what, forget it."

Bucky presses his lips together, but the glint of amusement doesn't leave his eyes. He put a firm hand on Steve's shoulder while the other still held the beer. "I'm just saying. It's been two months, Steve. You finally had the chance today and you still didn't say anything."

Steve pushes his hair back with a frustrated grunt, knowing that he is cornered and without barely any defenses.

"I did talk to her today!"

"Steve, you said four sentences to her. And that too, you just wished her a good shift."

Steve opens his mouth to speak, then closes it back again with a huff. Then he opens it again.

"It definitely counts, Buck." he whispers, grabbing the novel to focus on anything but Bucky's face.

"It really doesn't. It wasn't even a proper conversation."

Steve mumbles something incoherent under his breath as he reaches for the beer again, downing the rest of it with one swig. Bucky has his eyes still fixed on Steve with the expression of someone watching the protagonist have no survival instincts in a horror movie.

"Well, what was I supposed to say, then? She was busy and having a bad day," Steve argues, setting the empty bottle of beer down with more force than necessary.

"Fine. You didn't talk to her at the café because she was busy, but what about the library? Instead of staring at her like an idiot, you could maybe try talking to her once. She looks nice, she wouldn't kill you or anything," Bucky says with a shrug, his tone firm but not unkind.

"I know, I know," Steve begins, sighing heavily. "It's just... whenever I see her, I freeze up. It's not like don't want to talk to her, I really do. But whenever she's near me, I forget how to speak. Man, I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of her."

"You might make her laugh if you do make a fool of yourself in front of her."

Steve stares at Bucky then lets out a laugh that had no humor. "Yes, of course, like that's really any better."

"It's still much better than being invisible. Just stop overthinking for a minute and give it a shot." Bucky says, reaching for his phone.

"But what if she's not interested?" Steve asks, smoothing out a dog-eared page of his book.

"Then she's not interested and you actually get another purpose in life than pining over her." Bucky replies, his patience hanging on by a thread now.

Steve sits back against the headboard with a sigh. He has no more arguments left to defend him. Bucky is always annoyingly right. He has to stop being a coward. He was Steve Rogers, for god's sake.

It is Monday.

And much to your dismay, the weekend is over. But you decide to suck it up and stop sulking. It is better to start the week off on a positive note than your usual cynicism.

You are currently sat in the library and instead of a novel like usual, you have an organic chemistry book open in front of you for the test on Wednesday. Two days isn't really a sufficient time. But well, at least the professor was polite enough to announce it two days before and not make a terrible surprise out of it.

Your headphones are on, playing music that kind of cheers you up. You bob your head with the beat of the music, your pencil gliding across the words on the paper as you read while your other hand traces random patterns on the table.

You don't notice Steve walking in.

Neither do you notice him taking a seat in front of you.

Steve doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to be a cocky asshole by interrupting your studying and forcing you talk to him. He keep his bag down on the chair next to him with a grunt, opening the book he's picked on a whim. Being this close to you is enough for now.

It isn't until the wind blew the pages of your book that you finally noticed him. You freeze in your place, eyes wide like a deer in the middle of a road with a car speeding towards her.

Steve looks even better up close than he did all those times you saw him in the hallway or sitting a few tables away in this very library. He has his chin propped up on his palm as he reads through his book, his hair tousled by the strong wind. You have a strong urge to fix the messy strands, to run your fingers through them.

You are getting way too ahead of yourself. He probably just sat there because the spot was a colder one with the window across.

But you can't stop the smile that tugged at your lips at the sight of him. You wish that time would stop right now so you could stare at him for longer.

Steve looks up from him book so he could rest his eyes on you for just a moment, only to find yours fixed already on him. His breath hitches as your eyes meet. Both of you stay in your spots, not even breathing as your eyes are locked on each other.

You are the first one to turn your eyes away, head immediately snapping your gaze back to your book. Your face is flushed with the embarrassment of being caught in the act.

It is even more adorable to him than the way you scrunch your nose whenever you were focused on something.

But there is no way you were staring at him, right? Maybe you were just zoned out, or you were looking at him because you remembered the way he made a fool of himself at the café.

"Hi. I... I'm Steve," he finally manages to say, fumbling over his words. He still doen't understand how you have the power to get him so tongue-tied with just a look his way.

"Everyone in this building knows who you are, Steve," you reply, looking up from your books with a shy grin.

"Yeah. I guess they do, huh?" he muses, returning your grin with his own. He bit the corner of his lip, desperately thinking of a way to continue the conversation.

"What're you studying?" he asks and it's probably the only time he'll really ever be thankful to the existence of academics.

"Organic chem. I've got a test on Wednesday and I just found out about it today," you respond with an eye roll, not too big of a fan of being interrupted with the thoughts of that test when you'd been so content thinking of Steve a second ago.

"That's... straight up brutal."

"Tell me about it."

You've never thought that it would be so easy to talk to Steve. Chemistry isn't something relevant to him, yet, he listens to you rant so intently. It almost makes you feel like you were special.

And suddenly, you aren't so flustered around him anymore. Steve and you talk like you've known each other for ages, cracking jokes and throwing comments as the other says something.

"I want to ask you something." Steve blurts out, filled with a sense of courage that fizzled out as soon as it'd appeared. His eyes refuse to meet yours as he scrambles for words to come to him.

You look at him in anticipation, your heart pounding like it will bounce out of your chest. He isn't going to ask what you thought he is going to ask, right?

"Do you... do you like potatoes?"

He didn't even know where that came from or why it was the first thing he thought of. One thing he does know, however, he's made a complete fool of himself in front of you.

You look at him with a puzzled look, the silence between you two heavy and awkward. Steve is usually charming and put together, he always knows what to say. So, his strange behaviour concerns you even more. Is he sick? What if he's high? You've never seen him act this strange before.

"I... I think I do. But why?"

"I don't know. Just... felt like asking that." Steve mutters in defeat, already imagining the glare Bucky would be giving him if he heard him say that, or worse, he'd laugh in Steve's face.

You didn't hear from him ever since he'd gotten too embarrassed and left as fast as he could. It kind of confirmed your doubts, but you still weren't too sure. Maybe he actually did want to know your opinion on potatoes.

After dinner, you decide to take a walk around the campus to clear your head. The interaction was still eating you away. You couldn't focus on anything ever since then.

The walk doesn't help at all, instead, the silence around you only makes the voices in your head louder. You find yourself drowning in both, best and worst case scenarios. What if he's actually interested in you? What if he was only pretending because he lost some bet with his friends? But he wasn't that stupid, right? Steve isn't really the type to intentionally hurt someone's feelings, right?

You are spiraling again. Bad. Just like you always do whenever you have even the smallest interactions with him.

Your hand fidgets with the hem of your dress as you walk, chewing on the corner of your lip as anxiety and doubt run through your nerves. Your eyes are fixed to the pavement beneath you, tracking the movement of your feet as you try to focus on anything other than the thoughts you want absolutely nothing to do with.

As you're walking, you collide with something hard and muscular. A soft grunt escapes you and you look up to find Steve, his eyes wide as saucers. He looks like he definitely didn't expect to see you right now. His arms wrap around you to steady you and probably himself. Now that he finally gets to hold you in his arms, he never wants to let go of you.

"Come with me, please," he says a little too quickly, his voice filled with desperation. The frown on your lips is prominent and he feels like it's probably there because of him.

He should be the one making you happy, not hurting you.

He lets go of your waist and reaches for your hand instead. Your fingers intertwine with his almost instinctively and your chest aches at how perfectly they fit together.

He guides you to a corner that was slightly more secluded, his heart pounding fast and hard in his ears, harder than it ever did when he was in the field.

He takes both of your hands in his and his eyes lock on yours. The valiance that takes over him this time is stronger than before. Your pulse quickens in anticipation as you watch him gather his thoughts. His gaze is intense but not overwhelming.

"Fuck it," he mutters under his breath, taking a deep breath before he finally starts. "I... I like you. I like you so goddamn much. I've liked you since almost two months when I was walking by and saw you sitting in the library. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His gaze avoids yours at all costs and his shoulders tense up. He looks down at his shoes. He was starting to regret ever opening his mouth.

And then he feels you pounce on him. A startled laugh leaves his lips at your action and he stumbles back. His arms come to wrap around your waist, holding you steady while you squeal with joy against his shoulder. Your joy is the most infectious thing he's ever witnessed.

"Woah, woah, woah, calm down, sweetheart," he says with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple when you bury your face in his shoulder.

"I like you too, Steve," you finally mutter against the fabric of his shirt as your initial giddiness wears out. He grins at your words and cups your chin with one hand while the other stays in its place.

When his lips press against yours, it feels like fireworks are exploding inside you. The kiss is soft at first, but it doesn't take long for it to turn desperate and urgent.

Your hands cup his face as you two keep kissing, pouring out all of the pent up hunger that had built up over the course of these few months.

Steve carries you inside the boys' dormitory, not daring to break the kiss. One hand of his wraps around your waist, holding you secure while the other one runs down your spine, sending shivers of pleasure through you. The sigh that spills out of your mouth is swallowed by him. Your hands clutch the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepens, crumpling up the perfectly ironed fabric.

Just as he was about to carry you upstairs to his room, both of you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You pull away from him, lips swollen and cheeks red. A string of saliva still connects the two of you together but it breaks away as soon as Steve turns towards the intruder.

Mr. Reed, the warden, is standing in front of you two with his arms crossed over his chest to make himself appear even more stern. His eyes dart in between the two of you and you immediately bury your face in Steve's chest. One arm of his wraps around you protectively. It does help calm you down.

How could he forget about Reed? That man has made it his life's mission milk his pockets dry every chance he could get.

"You know you can't bring girls in here, Rogers, especially not like this," the warden reprimands and gestures towards the way Steve was holding you. Steve groans in annoyance, his free hand going inside his pocket.

He pulls out a crumpled up hundred dollar bill and hands it to the warden. The other man nods in approval, pocketing the money with a small smirk.

You watch the interaction in disbelief. The second Reed disappears around the corner, your smile falls. You don't say anything right away, but Steve feels the way your body goes rigid.

"How many times have you done this?" you ask, trying your best to keep your voice light. But your voice still comes out sharper than you intended. The ugly feeling of jealousy spreads through you. He is the most popular in the whole college, of course he'd pursued other women before you. That is just a fact. It shouldn't be hurting as much as it does.

"Hey," Steve whispers, his steps coming to a halt. One hand tilts your chin up, gentle and patient. When you finally meet his eyes, he smiles. "I just give him a few bucks to let me sneak beers in. That's it. I've never..." he trails off, annoyed at himself for not finding the words faster. "I've never brought anyone here. You're the first."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," you mutter, even though every part of you wants to believe that his words are more than just reassurance.

"I'm not just saying it. I mean it," He whispers, resting your forehead against his. "I had a whole speech prepared for you. But you looked at me and made me forget everything," he admits, his cheeks turning pink.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You have that effect on me," He says, pecking your lips.

"I thought... I thought you were on drugs," you say, your voice filled with guilt and amusement. Steve looks at you, mortified and embarrassed.

"Oh god, I really am a fool," he mumbles, loud enough for you to catch it and giggle.

"You might be a fool, but you're my fool."

"Damn right."

When you and Steve finally make it inside his dorm room, he kicks the door shut and pins you against it, his lips trailing down the curve of your jaw. Your head falls back against the wood as his teeth nip at your flesh, pulling a soft whimper out of you. His nervousness from earlier has vanished completely, leaving behind only his desperation.

The little noises you make are like music to his ears. Hearing them in real time feels almost unreal to him. So does the fact that you're in his room, in his arms, and he gets to touch you, he gets to feel your soft skin against his fingers.

He lays you down on his bed, his lips fixed on your neck as he sucks a mark on your collarbone. You try to whine in protest, but your complaints immediately dissolve away when his left hand travels under your dress, caressing the supple flesh of your thigh, so achingly close to the spot where you needed him the most.

The other hand slips the straps of your dress off your shoulders, placing soft kisses to every inch of your newly exposed skin.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby," he whispers against the column of your neck as he pushes your dress down until the fabric is scrunched over your hips. His kisses rain down your sternum, a hand going under you to toy with the clasp of your bra.

He pulls the garment away from your body and just takes in the sight of you laid down on his bed. The intensity in his gaze makes you want to shy away and curl into a ball but a smaller part wants to revel in the attention he's giving you.

"Stop looking at me like that," you say, a small frown forming over your lips. Steve smiles, leaning back down to press another kiss against your lips. When he pulls away, he cups your face, making sure you were looking at him.

"How can I not? You're gorgeous, sweetheart. Can't even believe that you're real."

He kisses down again, this time over the curve of your exposed breast before taking a nipple in his mouth. You squeal at the sudden action and your hands thread into his hair.

Steve hisses in pleasure as you grip his locks. His other hand pushes your panties aside and toys with your clit. Your back arches off the bed but he pins you back down, his free hand gripping your hip while he continues relishing your tits like he had all the time in the world.

He pushes a digit inside and groans when it's covered in your slick. The sound vibrates through your skin and you whine, your grasp on his hair tightening.

"You're soaked, pretty girl," he whispers, and a smooth smirk spreads across his lips as he pulls away from your breast. Steve's lips trail a path down your body, hands finally discarding your dress and panties.

He stops his kisses when he reaches your pubic bone and you can feel his breath hitting your pussy. It makes your thighs clench. He looks up at you, pupils blown wide with pleasure while his hands rest on your thighs, rubbing soft circles onto the skin.

"May I?" he asks, his voice soft and desperate. As much as he wants to taste you, he won't do it unless you let him.

How can you even think of denying him when he's looking at you like that?

"Yes, please," you gasp out, cheeks turning red under his gaze.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes out, pushing your legs open so he could have a better look. When he finally presses his lips against your pussy, the sensation is like nothing you've felt before.

His nose presses against your clit and you whine, hands reaching for his hair again. His tongue is warm, exploring every inch of you like you were the most important thing in the world.

"Oh, fuck!" you squeal as his fingers join his tongue. The feeling leaves you lightheaded in the best way possible. He groans against your cunt when your thighs squeeze around his face, but he doesn't dare to push you away.

He keeps going with a single-minded focus, alternating between long licks and light suck on the spot that made you see stars. You jump everytime he hits it. Your pleasure-filled are like music to his ears, the taste of you is addictive. Steve can't help himself.

"I can do this all night," he whispers against your pussy, not even caring if you hear it. He's too far gone to worry about any of that.

When he presses his fingers against your sweet spot, you whimper and your hips buck up against his hand and face.

"Close, baby?" he asks, pulling his lips away from your pussy to look up at you. The sight of him makes your heart skip a beat. His nose and mouth are shiny from your slick, his hair are disheveled, and he's still knuckles deep inside of you.

You nod frantically, tears of pleasure welling up in your eyes. Steve's eyes shine with approval and he presses your lips on his. His fingers thrust in and out of you as you two kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you feel filthier than you ever did before.

The bubble of pleasure inside your belly finally bursts open, and with a loud cry, you come undone on his fingers.

Your head falls back against the pillow as your orgasm finally hits you. You grind yourself against his palm as the waves of pleasure spread through your bones, melting you down into a whimpering mess against his sheets.

He's spent two months imagining what it would feel like to have you like this, but not once has it compared to the real thing. You're beautiful. More beautiful than you've ever looked all those times he saw you. Your lips were swollen from his kisses, to the point where they made him want to kiss you even more. You are glowing under him, whether it's the sweat that's making your body shimmer, or it's because of him, you're a sight for sore eyes when you're under him like this.

He throws his shirt off and all you can do is stare at him. You hand reaches out to touch his chest, squeezing his left pec. He smirks, putting a hand over yours and bringing it to his lips.

"Like what you see?" he muses, pressing kisses over your knuckles.

"Who wouldn't like a view like that?" you stutter out, biting the corner of your lower lip. He snickers at your fluster and pulls away from for a moment. He sits up on his knees, unzipping his pants. You marvel at the sight, not even daring to blink.

He reaches towards the bedside table and you hear the familiar crinkle of foil. It makes your heart skip a beat.

This is actually happening.

"Open it f'me, pretty girl," he says, positioning the packet in between your lips. He smirks in satisfaction as he watches you tear the condom open with your teeth. It's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Your eyes stay fixed on him as he pulls down his boxers and rolls the latex over his length.

"Ready?" he asks, bracing his hands on either side of your head. You put your hands on his shoulder and nod.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Good. Gonna tell me if it hurts, yeah?" Steve mumbles, smiling down at you. He wishes that he could keep you in his bed like this forever.

"I will."

Steve exhales softly, steadying himself. He positions himself at your entrance, pushing himself in as slowly as he can.

"God, baby," he whispers through clenched teeth when he's fully inside. His forehead drops down to rest on your collarbone, giving you time to adjust.

You squirm against him, your hands gripping the sheets. He showers your neck and jaw in kisses to calm you down, his hands traveling down to your waist to massage the curves. You've never felt this good in your life and now you don't know what to do with it.

Your head falls against the pillow as he begins to move, the stretch of his cock burns in the best way possible. You buck your hips against him, hands leaving scratches down his back. Steve is hyper-aware of every reaction you have, it's almost as if he's studying you.

"Can I go faster, sweetheart?" he asks, one hand coming up to cup your chin. He tilts your face so you're looking up at him while his thumb massages your cheek.

"Yes, please, please go faster," you gasp out, your eyes fixed on his. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. The feeling of his lips on your skin is something that you're not used to. In fact, you're not even used to him being so close to you. It still feels like this is a dream that you'll wake up from and you'll have to go back to the cruel reality.

You wrap your arms around his waist as his pace quickens. You bury your head in his chest while he continues to drive his cock into you. Your lips trail over his skin with a desperation you didn't even know you were capable of. Steve groans at the sensation while a hand goes into your hair to pull you closer.

Your pleasured cries vibrate against his skin and his movements turn frantic. A scream spills out of your mouth when his tip nudges against your sweet spot and your nails dig into every inch of his skin you could grasp.

Your walls clench against his length as you feel the knot in your stomach starts to form once again. Your head lolls back against the pillow and your bones start to feel like jelly. You can tell that Steve's close too by the way he starts to falter. You look up at him, eyes filled with lust and adoration.

"I'm close," you warn, trying to keep your voice firm but it's hard to when he's fucking you like this.

"I'm too."

And just like that, your orgasm spreads through you, harder than the previous one. Your whole body shivers as the pleasure succumbs you. You sob in pleasure, one hand falling off his body and clutching the white bedding.

Steve's own orgasm follows right after yours and his forehead connects to yours. The two of you ride them out together as a small laugh escapes your lips.

"What's so funny?" he asks as he collapses on top of you, albeit careful to not crush you under him. You smile and shake your head, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Nothing. I just... I can't believe we're actually doing this right now," you mumble, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

"Neither can I, beautiful."

He smiles down at you, pulling himself out of you. He discards the used condom before falling back into the bed next to you. You giggle as he pulls you into his chest.

"That was..." he beings, trailing off as his chest heaves with exhaustion.

"The best sex of my life," you finish the sentence and he chuckles. He kisses you again, sweet and lazy.

"Mine too."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You better."

The two of just stay like that in silence for a few moments before he breaks it.

"So... would you like to go out with me? On a proper date?" he asks, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"I'd love to."

As your last lecture for the day finally wraps up, you breathe out a sigh of relief, gathering your things. The physical chemistry classroom empties out faster than the speed of sound but you can't really blame anyone. Two hours of thermodynamics were enough to drive anyone insane.

You walk out into the hallway, your book clutched to your chest as the chatter of the building hits you at once. Students rush out of their classrooms followed by murmurs of weekend plans, a shitty rap song leaking out of someone's headphones and the distant squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Darcy is already there in the hallway, bag slung lazily over her shoulder. Scanning the crowd with deep focus in hopes of finding a familiar face. Her face lights up as soon as she spots you in the crowd.

"Finally," she mumbles with a wave, closing the distance between you two with quick steps. You smile and pull her into a tight hug as soon as she is close enough.

"You don't know how good it is to see you," you murmur into her shoulder, finally letting go of her with a soft giggle.

"You too, a few more minutes with that professor and I was gonna combust," she replies with a subtle eye roll, fixing her glasses. "He assigned another report. Due Monday,"

"Monday?"

"Monday. And just like that, my plans to get wasted fly away. I have to be responsible," she huffs, raising her hand up and tilting her hand up in an airplane like motion. With a soft whistle, she crashes the hand plane, looking at you with an exaggeratedly disheartened face.

You snicker at her antics, shaking your head and shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans as you both begin walking. Darcy starts telling you the details of her assignment, something related to the effects of a supreme court case from 1976 and you are listening, laughing at her dry quips, nodding along the information that is mostly irrelevant to you, but still genuinely listening.

Until you aren't.

Steve Rogers walks past you and just like that, Darcy's voice fades into the background noise.

You've seen him before, of course you have. He is all everyone sees when he walks past. But it only gets harder every single time. He's laughing at something Bucky said and what makes it worse is that it feels genuine, just like everything else does about him. It makes him feel almost... approachable even though everything around him screams otherwise.

You aren't the only one to notice him, the whole hallway does. People make space for him almost like it is a reflex, the cheerleaders fix their skirts, the girl from the band no one cares about pats the lint off her shirt, and a few random guys throw petty comments about how they couldn't understand his hype when they most definitely can.

He's the man everyone's adoringly crowned the campus' golden boy. He's the quarterback of the university team. He's the reason half of the school is actually interested in watching the matches they won't care about otherwise. He could have anyone he wants and you're pretty sure that you're not even in his top fifty. That is, if he even knows you exist.

You knew all of this. You reminded yourself regularly that pining over him will get you nowhere.

That still didn't stop your heart from beating embarrassingly fast at the mere sight of him.

"Don't even think about it." Darcy's voice pulls you out of your lovesick trance, quiet and close. Her warning sita somewhere between genuinely serious and teasing.

You blink, snapping your eyes away.

"I'm not thinking about anything."

She gives you a long look over the rim of her glasses.

"I'm not," you repeat, more firmly even though your cheeks are tinted pink.

She snickers, but leta it go, looping an arm over your shoulder as you both keep walking. A beat of comfortable silence passes between you two before she finally says something.

"Pretty sure he's got some cheerleader he's hooking up with," she mutters, her voice firm but not unkind.

"Wouldn't be surprised," you whispers, trying to ignore the heartache you felt at those words. It is just the bitter truth, isn't it?

It's been an hour since classes ended.

You are now stuck behind the amber counter, wearing an apron that scratched your neck to the point it's now raw and red. Something inside you deeply regretted ever taking this job.

The café isn't bad on most days. The pay was decent, your coworkers are bearable, and the smell of coffee is a comforting one to be around. Fridays are usually manageable too, the post-class rush comes and goes fast. The place usually quiets down again by the afternoon.

Today, however, is not most days.

It had started with the milk steamer deciding to throw a tantrum worse than a toddler, which had backed up the line before you could even properly tie your apron. Then, a woman had complained about the amount of ice in her latte when she asked it to be extra chilled. The stress was catching up to you and caused you to miscount change but you'd fixed it just in time. That didn't stop the corporate dude from glaring at you, though. Who even pays in cash anymore?

You are tired, your feet are aching, the heat is making you lightheaded.

And you still have two hours of work left.

You are wiping down the counter, imagining yourself throwing your apron on the manager's face, even though you can't actually quit. Student loans are a bitch. A gust of wind hits your face as the door opened, blowing your hair in your face.

You don't look up immediately, too busy tucking your bangs behind your ears and smoothing your hair down. When you finally glance up, you put on your best customer smile ready to offer the usual, overly cheerful greeting of hi, what can I get you.

But before you can, you freeze in place.

Steve Rogers is standing in front of you.

He was still in practice clothes, a jacket thrown over them like an afterthought, hair slightly disheveled in a way that had absolutely no business looking this good. He is the scanning the menu board over your head with an easy, unhurried expression of someone who've never dealt with a Karen in his life.

"Hi," you finally manage, praying that the flush on your cheeks isn't that noticeable. "What I can get you?"

He glances back up at the menu for a split second and you take that opportunity to exhale a breath you don't even know you are holding in.

"Just a black coffee. Large,"

"And your name?" you feel stupid for ever asking that, but he probably doesn't even know you two are in the same college.

"Steve," he responds, a sheepish smile on his lips.

You scribble it down on the cup, leaving it to your future self to dwell on the interaction you are having with him. You don't exactly have the time to psychoanalyse yourself right now. You read the total off the screen and he taps his card on the machine. That should've been the end of it. You give him his coffee, he leaves, a simple, clean transaction.

Except, the steamer chooses that exact moment to go off, the sudden loud noise startling you to the point that his cup wobbles as you knock it over with your elbow. Steve catches it as soon as it hits the edge of the counter, your face heating up with embarrassment.

"Easy there," he whispers, his hands brushing against yours as he hands you the cup back. A small spark of electricity ran through you at the touch and you almost jump, wondering if he felt it too.

"Sorry about that," you say automatically, voice low with a hint of awkwardness. "The machine has been... acting up since morning," you gesture vaguely at the steamer that's scared the shit out of you for the third time today. But now, it is completely silent, as if it has done nothing.

Steve blinks and then, to your complete surprise, he chuckles. The sound of his laughter was deep and warm. The sound that turned your insides into mush, a feeling you don't know whether to love or hate.

"Rough day?" he asks, the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile that was purely out of concern.

"You could say that," you murmur, letting out a breath that was almost a laugh.

He nods once out of acknowledgement, his face softening. It was a sight that loosens the tension in your shoulders, just a tad bit.

You turn around to finally brew his coffee before you can say anything else stupid. Behind you, the café is still calm and you are focused very hard on what your hands are doing and trying your best to not squeal about the fact that Steve is right here, close enough that you could touch him if you reached out, waiting for you to make his coffee.

You place the sealed cup on the counter once you are finished. He picks it up and his fingers rest right where yours have been a few moments ago. But it means absolutely nothing. It's just how hands worked.

"Thanks," he mumbles, almost like it was a second thought. "Hope the rest of your shift gets better."

You look up, and he is already turning to leave, jacket stretching across his shoulders as he walks out, completely unaware of the way your heart is fluttering wildly in your chest.

In the evening, Steve is in Bucky's dorm room. Takeout containers and beer bottles lay in between them. It is the rare kind of quiet Friday night that happens maybe once or twice a month when neither of them have anything to do. Bucky has his back against the headboard, legs stretched out over his bed as he plays random cords on his acoustic guitar without any significant energy.

Steve is supposed to be doing the same thing as Bucky, relaxing, unwinding. He is not doing the same thing.

He is holding a book he'd borrowed from the library and has been staring at the same page for almost fifteen minutes now. Bucky finally looks up from the frets, staring at Steve with a skeptical look in his eyes.

"You're not reading that."

"I am."

"Steve, you've been on that same page ever since I picked up the guitar."

Steve closes the novel with a huff. There isn't any point in arguing with Bucky about things he was right about and annoyingly enough, Bucky is right most of the time.

"I saw her today," Steve says after a moment, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. Bucky turns back to his guitar, fingers gliding over the strings.

"Where?" Bucky doesn't look up from the chords when he asks the question.

"The café down the street. She works there," Steve responds, a small smile on his lips.

"and?"

Steve takes a sip from the beer in his hands. "And... nothing. I ordered coffee. She made it. I left."

"Revolutionary." Bucky quips dryly, rolling his eyes.

"I'm just telling you that I saw her!"

"The way you said it made me think that you finally asked her out or something." Bucky utters out, finally keeping his guitar to the side and giving Steve his full attention.

"She didn't even know my name!" Steve argues with a self deprecating chuckle, though it still hurts him to think back to that moment.

"Bullshit, everyone knows your name."

"Knowing my name and actually caring about me are not the same thing," Steve mutters, tracing the mouth of his bottle with his thumb.

Bucky groans in annoyance, giving Steve a long look. "Did you at least talk to her?"

"Well, I thanked her."

"...That's it?" Bucky questions, wanting to rip his hair out at the other man's stupidity.

"She was having a rough day. I told her I hoped the rest of her shift got better." Steve pauses, taking a deep breath. "And then I left."

Bucky grumbles in irritation and reached for his own bottle of beer, taking a long swig. Once he's done, he fixes Steve with an unimpressed look, the kind that says that Bucky was disappointed, but not surprised. He doesn't say anything, which is somehow worse than if he had.

"What is it?" Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nothing."

"Just say it."

"I'm not saying anything!" Bucky says defensively, raising his arms up.

"Buck..."

"It's just," Bucky starts, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to hold back a laugh. This was more entertaining than anything he's ever watched. "You've been pining over this girl for almost two months now. You go to the library almost every other day, then you sit, like, two tables away from her and stare at her like a lovesick fool."

"I do not stare at her like a 'lovesick fool'! I just sit there because the lighting is perfect!" Steve argues, his ears turning embarrassingly red.

"You switched spots when she did,"

"The sun was on the other side that day!"

"Steve," Bucky shoots him a deadpan look. "The sun can't change directions."

"I—" Steve begins but gave up halfway. "You know what, forget it."

Bucky presses his lips together, but the glint of amusement doesn't leave his eyes. He put a firm hand on Steve's shoulder while the other still held the beer. "I'm just saying. It's been two months, Steve. You finally had the chance today and you still didn't say anything."

Steve pushes his hair back with a frustrated grunt, knowing that he is cornered and without barely any defenses.

"I did talk to her today!"

"Steve, you said four sentences to her. And that too, you just wished her a good shift."

Steve opens his mouth to speak, then closes it back again with a huff. Then he opens it again.

"It definitely counts, Buck." he whispers, grabbing the novel to focus on anything but Bucky's face.

"It really doesn't. It wasn't even a proper conversation."

Steve mumbles something incoherent under his breath as he reaches for the beer again, downing the rest of it with one swig. Bucky has his eyes still fixed on Steve with the expression of someone watching the protagonist have no survival instincts in a horror movie.

"Well, what was I supposed to say, then? She was busy and having a bad day," Steve argues, setting the empty bottle of beer down with more force than necessary.

"Fine. You didn't talk to her at the café because she was busy, but what about the library? Instead of staring at her like an idiot, you could maybe try talking to her once. She looks nice, she wouldn't kill you or anything," Bucky says with a shrug, his tone firm but not unkind.

"I know, I know," Steve begins, sighing heavily. "It's just... whenever I see her, I freeze up. It's not like don't want to talk to her, I really do. But whenever she's near me, I forget how to speak. Man, I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of her."

"You might make her laugh if you do make a fool of yourself in front of her."

Steve stares at Bucky then lets out a laugh that had no humor. "Yes, of course, like that's really any better."

"It's still much better than being invisible. Just stop overthinking for a minute and give it a shot." Bucky says, reaching for his phone.

"But what if she's not interested?" Steve asks, smoothing out a dog-eared page of his book.

"Then she's not interested and you actually get another purpose in life than pining over her." Bucky replies, his patience hanging on by a thread now.

Steve sits back against the headboard with a sigh. He has no more arguments left to defend him. Bucky is always annoyingly right. He has to stop being a coward. He was Steve Rogers, for god's sake.

It is Monday.

And much to your dismay, the weekend is over. But you decide to suck it up and stop sulking. It is better to start the week off on a positive note than your usual cynicism.

You are currently sat in the library and instead of a novel like usual, you have an organic chemistry book open in front of you for the test on Wednesday. Two days isn't really a sufficient time. But well, at least the professor was polite enough to announce it two days before and not make a terrible surprise out of it.

Your headphones are on, playing music that kind of cheers you up. You bob your head with the beat of the music, your pencil gliding across the words on the paper as you read while your other hand traces random patterns on the table.

You don't notice Steve walking in.

Neither do you notice him taking a seat in front of you.

Steve doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to be a cocky asshole by interrupting your studying and forcing you talk to him. He keep his bag down on the chair next to him with a grunt, opening the book he's picked on a whim. Being this close to you is enough for now.

It isn't until the wind blew the pages of your book that you finally noticed him. You freeze in your place, eyes wide like a deer in the middle of a road with a car speeding towards her.

Steve looks even better up close than he did all those times you saw him in the hallway or sitting a few tables away in this very library. He has his chin propped up on his palm as he reads through his book, his hair tousled by the strong wind. You have a strong urge to fix the messy strands, to run your fingers through them.

You are getting way too ahead of yourself. He probably just sat there because the spot was a colder one with the window across.

But you can't stop the smile that tugged at your lips at the sight of him. You wish that time would stop right now so you could stare at him for longer.

Steve looks up from him book so he could rest his eyes on you for just a moment, only to find yours fixed already on him. His breath hitches as your eyes meet. Both of you stay in your spots, not even breathing as your eyes are locked on each other.

You are the first one to turn your eyes away, head immediately snapping your gaze back to your book. Your face is flushed with the embarrassment of being caught in the act.

It is even more adorable to him than the way you scrunch your nose whenever you were focused on something.

But there is no way you were staring at him, right? Maybe you were just zoned out, or you were looking at him because you remembered the way he made a fool of himself at the café.

"Hi. I... I'm Steve," he finally manages to say, fumbling over his words. He still doen't understand how you have the power to get him so tongue-tied with just a look his way.

"Everyone in this building knows who you are, Steve," you reply, looking up from your books with a shy grin.

"Yeah. I guess they do, huh?" he muses, returning your grin with his own. He bit the corner of his lip, desperately thinking of a way to continue the conversation.

"What're you studying?" he asks and it's probably the only time he'll really ever be thankful to the existence of academics.

"Organic chem. I've got a test on Wednesday and I just found out about it today," you respond with an eye roll, not too big of a fan of being interrupted with the thoughts of that test when you'd been so content thinking of Steve a second ago.

"That's... straight up brutal."

"Tell me about it."

You've never thought that it would be so easy to talk to Steve. Chemistry isn't something relevant to him, yet, he listens to you rant so intently. It almost makes you feel like you were special.

And suddenly, you aren't so flustered around him anymore. Steve and you talk like you've known each other for ages, cracking jokes and throwing comments as the other says something.

"I want to ask you something." Steve blurts out, filled with a sense of courage that fizzled out as soon as it'd appeared. His eyes refuse to meet yours as he scrambles for words to come to him.

You look at him in anticipation, your heart pounding like it will bounce out of your chest. He isn't going to ask what you thought he is going to ask, right?

"Do you... do you like potatoes?"

He didn't even know where that came from or why it was the first thing he thought of. One thing he does know, however, he's made a complete fool of himself in front of you.

You look at him with a puzzled look, the silence between you two heavy and awkward. Steve is usually charming and put together, he always knows what to say. So, his strange behaviour concerns you even more. Is he sick? What if he's high? You've never seen him act this strange before.

"I... I think I do. But why?"

"I don't know. Just... felt like asking that." Steve mutters in defeat, already imagining the glare Bucky would be giving him if he heard him say that, or worse, he'd laugh in Steve's face.

You didn't hear from him ever since he'd gotten too embarrassed and left as fast as he could. It kind of confirmed your doubts, but you still weren't too sure. Maybe he actually did want to know your opinion on potatoes.

After dinner, you decide to take a walk around the campus to clear your head. The interaction was still eating you away. You couldn't focus on anything ever since then.

The walk doesn't help at all, instead, the silence around you only makes the voices in your head louder. You find yourself drowning in both, best and worst case scenarios. What if he's actually interested in you? What if he was only pretending because he lost some bet with his friends? But he wasn't that stupid, right? Steve isn't really the type to intentionally hurt someone's feelings, right?

You are spiraling again. Bad. Just like you always do whenever you have even the smallest interactions with him.

Your hand fidgets with the hem of your dress as you walk, chewing on the corner of your lip as anxiety and doubt run through your nerves. Your eyes are fixed to the pavement beneath you, tracking the movement of your feet as you try to focus on anything other than the thoughts you want absolutely nothing to do with.

As you're walking, you collide with something hard and muscular. A soft grunt escapes you and you look up to find Steve, his eyes wide as saucers. He looks like he definitely didn't expect to see you right now. His arms wrap around you to steady you and probably himself. Now that he finally gets to hold you in his arms, he never wants to let go of you.

"Come with me, please," he says a little too quickly, his voice filled with desperation. The frown on your lips is prominent and he feels like it's probably there because of him.

He should be the one making you happy, not hurting you.

He lets go of your waist and reaches for your hand instead. Your fingers intertwine with his almost instinctively and your chest aches at how perfectly they fit together.

He guides you to a corner that was slightly more secluded, his heart pounding fast and hard in his ears, harder than it ever did when he was in the field.

He takes both of your hands in his and his eyes lock on yours. The valiance that takes over him this time is stronger than before. Your pulse quickens in anticipation as you watch him gather his thoughts. His gaze is intense but not overwhelming.

"Fuck it," he mutters under his breath, taking a deep breath before he finally starts. "I... I like you. I like you so goddamn much. I've liked you since almost two months when I was walking by and saw you sitting in the library. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His gaze avoids yours at all costs and his shoulders tense up. He looks down at his shoes. He was starting to regret ever opening his mouth.

And then he feels you pounce on him. A startled laugh leaves his lips at your action and he stumbles back. His arms come to wrap around your waist, holding you steady while you squeal with joy against his shoulder. Your joy is the most infectious thing he's ever witnessed.

"Woah, woah, woah, calm down, sweetheart," he says with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple when you bury your face in his shoulder.

"I like you too, Steve," you finally mutter against the fabric of his shirt as your initial giddiness wears out. He grins at your words and cups your chin with one hand while the other stays in its place.

When his lips press against yours, it feels like fireworks are exploding inside you. The kiss is soft at first, but it doesn't take long for it to turn desperate and urgent.

Your hands cup his face as you two keep kissing, pouring out all of the pent up hunger that had built up over the course of these few months.

Steve carries you inside the boys' dormitory, not daring to break the kiss. One hand of his wraps around your waist, holding you secure while the other one runs down your spine, sending shivers of pleasure through you. The sigh that spills out of your mouth is swallowed by him. Your hands clutch the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepens, crumpling up the perfectly ironed fabric.

Just as he was about to carry you upstairs to his room, both of you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You pull away from him, lips swollen and cheeks red. A string of saliva still connects the two of you together but it breaks away as soon as Steve turns towards the intruder.

Mr. Reed, the warden, is standing in front of you two with his arms crossed over his chest to make himself appear even more stern. His eyes dart in between the two of you and you immediately bury your face in Steve's chest. One arm of his wraps around you protectively. It does help calm you down.

How could he forget about Reed? That man has made it his life's mission milk his pockets dry every chance he could get.

"You know you can't bring girls in here, Rogers, especially not like this," the warden reprimands and gestures towards the way Steve was holding you. Steve groans in annoyance, his free hand going inside his pocket.

He pulls out a crumpled up hundred dollar bill and hands it to the warden. The other man nods in approval, pocketing the money with a small smirk.

You watch the interaction in disbelief. The second Reed disappears around the corner, your smile falls. You don't say anything right away, but Steve feels the way your body goes rigid.

"How many times have you done this?" you ask, trying your best to keep your voice light. But your voice still comes out sharper than you intended. The ugly feeling of jealousy spreads through you. He is the most popular in the whole college, of course he'd pursued other women before you. That is just a fact. It shouldn't be hurting as much as it does.

"Hey," Steve whispers, his steps coming to a halt. One hand tilts your chin up, gentle and patient. When you finally meet his eyes, he smiles. "I just give him a few bucks to let me sneak beers in. That's it. I've never..." he trails off, annoyed at himself for not finding the words faster. "I've never brought anyone here. You're the first."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," you mutter, even though every part of you wants to believe that his words are more than just reassurance.

"I'm not just saying it. I mean it," He whispers, resting your forehead against his. "I had a whole speech prepared for you. But you looked at me and made me forget everything," he admits, his cheeks turning pink.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You have that effect on me," He says, pecking your lips.

"I thought... I thought you were on drugs," you say, your voice filled with guilt and amusement. Steve looks at you, mortified and embarrassed.

"Oh god, I really am a fool," he mumbles, loud enough for you to catch it and giggle.

"You might be a fool, but you're my fool."

"Damn right."

When you and Steve finally make it inside his dorm room, he kicks the door shut and pins you against it, his lips trailing down the curve of your jaw. Your head falls back against the wood as his teeth nip at your flesh, pulling a soft whimper out of you. His nervousness from earlier has vanished completely, leaving behind only his desperation.

The little noises you make are like music to his ears. Hearing them in real time feels almost unreal to him. So does the fact that you're in his room, in his arms, and he gets to touch you, he gets to feel your soft skin against his fingers.

He lays you down on his bed, his lips fixed on your neck as he sucks a mark on your collarbone. You try to whine in protest, but your complaints immediately dissolve away when his left hand travels under your dress, caressing the supple flesh of your thigh, so achingly close to the spot where you needed him the most.

The other hand slips the straps of your dress off your shoulders, placing soft kisses to every inch of your newly exposed skin.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby," he whispers against the column of your neck as he pushes your dress down until the fabric is scrunched over your hips. His kisses rain down your sternum, a hand going under you to toy with the clasp of your bra.

He pulls the garment away from your body and just takes in the sight of you laid down on his bed. The intensity in his gaze makes you want to shy away and curl into a ball but a smaller part wants to revel in the attention he's giving you.

"Stop looking at me like that," you say, a small frown forming on lips. Steve smiles, leaning back down to press another kiss against your lips. When he pulls away, he cups your face, making sure you were looking at him.

"How can I not? You're gorgeous, sweetheart. Can't even believe that you're real."

He kisses down again, this time over the curve of your exposed breast before taking a nipple in his mouth. You squeal at the sudden action and your hands thread into his hair.

Steve hisses in pleasure as you grip his locks. His other hand pushes your panties aside and toys with your clit. Your back arches off the bed but he pins you back down, his free hand gripping your hip while he continues relishing your tits like he had all the time in the world.

He pushes a digit inside and groans when it's covered in your slick. The sound vibrates through your skin and you whine, your grasp on his hair tightening.

"You're soaked, pretty girl," he whispers, and a smooth smirk spreads across his lips as he pulls away from your breast. Steve's lips trail a path down your body, hands finally discarding your dress and panties.

He stops his kisses when he reaches your pubic bone and you can feel his breath hitting your pussy. It makes your thighs clench. He looks up at you, pupils blown wide with pleasure while his hands rest on your thighs, rubbing soft circles onto the skin.

"May I?" he asks, his voice soft and desperate. As much as he wants to taste you, he won't do it unless you let him.

How can you even think of denying him when he's looking at you like that?

"Yes, please," you gasp out, cheeks turning red under his gaze.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes out, pushing your legs open so he could have a better look. When he finally presses his lips against your pussy, the sensation is like nothing you've felt before.

His nose presses against your clit and you whine, hands reaching for his hair again. His tongue is warm, exploring every inch of you like you were the most important thing in the world.

"Oh, fuck!" you squeal as his fingers join his tongue. The feeling leaves you lightheaded in the best way possible. He groans against your cunt when your thighs squeeze around his face, but he doesn't dare to push you away.

He keeps going with a single-minded focus, alternating between long licks and light suck on the spot that made you see stars. You jump everytime he hits it. Your pleasure-filled are like music to his ears, the taste of you is addictive. Steve can't help himself.

"I can do this all night," he whispers against your pussy, not even caring if you hear it. He's too far gone to worry about any of that.

When he presses his fingers against your sweet spot, you whimper and your hips buck up against his hand and face.

"Close, baby?" he asks, pulling his lips away from your pussy to look up at you. The sight of him makes your heart skip a beat. His nose and mouth are shiny from your slick, his hair are disheveled, and he's still knuckles deep inside of you.

You nod frantically, tears of pleasure welling up in your eyes. Steve's eyes shine with approval and he presses your lips on his. His fingers thrust in and out of you as you two kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you feel filthier than you ever did before.

The bubble of pleasure inside your belly finally bursts open, and with a loud cry, you come undone on his fingers.

Your head falls back against the pillow as your orgasm finally hits you. You grind yourself against his palm as the waves of pleasure spread through your bones, melting you down into a whimpering mess against his sheets.

He's spent two months imagining what it would feel like to have you like this, but not once has it compared to the real thing. You're beautiful. More beautiful than you've ever looked all those times he saw you. Your lips were swollen from his kisses, to the point where they made him want to kiss you even more. You are glowing under him, whether it's the sweat that's making your body shimmer, or it's because of him, you're a sight for sore eyes when you're under him like this.

He throws his shirt off and all you can do is stare at him. You hand reaches out to touch his chest, squeezing his left pec. He smirks, putting a hand over yours and bringing it to his lips.

"Like what you see?" he muses, pressing kisses over your knuckles.

"Who wouldn't like a view like that?" you stutter out, biting the corner of your lower lip. He snickers at your fluster and pulls away from for a moment. He sits up on his knees, unzipping his pants. You marvel at the sight, not even daring to blink.

He reaches towards the bedside table and you hear the familiar crinkle of foil. It makes your heart skip a beat.

This is actually happening.

"Open it f'me, pretty girl," he says, positioning the packet in between your lips. He smirks in satisfaction as he watches you tear the condom open with your teeth. It's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Your eyes stay fixed on him as he pulls down his boxers and rolls the latex over his length.

"Ready?" he asks, bracing his hands on either side of your head. You put your hands on his shoulder and nod.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Good. Gonna tell me if it hurts, yeah?" Steve mumbles, smiling down at you. He wishes that he could keep you in his bed like this forever.

"I will."

Steve exhales softly, steadying himself. He positions himself at your entrance, pushing himself in as slowly as he can.

"God, baby," he whispers through clenched teeth when he's fully inside. His forehead drops down to rest on your collarbone, giving you time to adjust.

You squirm against him, your hands gripping the sheets. He showers your neck and jaw in kisses to calm you down, his hands traveling down to your waist to massage the curves. You've never felt this good in your life and now you don't know what to do with it.

Your head falls against the pillow as he begins to move, the stretch of his cock burns in the best way possible. You buck your hips against him, hands leaving scratches down his back. Steve is hyper-aware of every reaction you have, it's almost as if he's studying you.

"Can I go faster, sweetheart?" he asks, one hand coming up to cup your chin. He tilts your face so you're looking up at him while his thumb massages your cheek.

"Yes, please, please go faster," you gasp out, your eyes fixed on his. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. The feeling of his lips on your skin is something that you're not used to. In fact, you're not even used to him being so close to you. It still feels like this is a dream that you'll wake up from and you'll have to go back to the cruel reality.

You wrap your arms around his waist as his pace quickens. You bury your head in his chest while he continues to drive his cock into you. Your lips trail over his skin with a desperation you didn't even know you were capable of. Steve groans at the sensation while a hand goes into your hair to pull you closer.

Your pleasured cries vibrate against his skin and his movements turn frantic. A scream spills out of your mouth when his tip nudges against your sweet spot and your nails dig into every inch of his skin you could grasp.

Your walls clench against his length as you feel the knot in your stomach starts to form once again. Your head lolls back against the pillow and your bones start to feel like jelly. You can tell that Steve's close too by the way he starts to falter. You look up at him, eyes filled with lust and adoration.

"I'm close," you warn, trying to keep your voice firm but it's hard to when he's fucking you like this.

"I'm too."

And just like that, your orgasm spreads through you, harder than the previous one. Your whole body shivers as the pleasure succumbs you. You sob in pleasure, one hand falling off his body and clutching the white bedding.

Steve's own orgasm follows right after yours and his forehead connects to yours. The two of you ride them out together as a small laugh escapes your lips.

"What's so funny?" he asks as he collapses on top of you, albeit careful to not crush you under him. You smile and shake your head, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Nothing. I just... I can't believe we're actually doing this right now," you mumble, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

"Neither can I, beautiful."

He smiles down at you, pulling himself out of you. He discards the used condom before falling back into the bed next to you. You giggle as he pulls you into his chest.

"That was..." he beings, trailing off as his chest heaves with exhaustion.

"The best sex of my life," you finish the sentence and he chuckles. He kisses you again, sweet and lazy.

"Mine too."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You better."

The two of just stay like that in silence for a few moments before he breaks it.

"So... would you like to go out with me? On a proper date?" he asks, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"I'd love to."