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hockey!boyfriend!bucky x reader. bucky's team wins a game and throws a party to celebrate. 800 words drabble. making out, suggestive words, mentions of intimacy.
a/n: watching off campus has fully turned me a lover of the hockey boys. stay tuned 'cause there will be more fics for them.
Bucky felt like he was floating. Half dazed from the alcohol and still elated from the win. His fingers barely held the red solo cup, which was moments away from sliding past his fingertips. Bucky's ears buzzed with the music and with his teammates' loud chants.
The game had been their best game of the season. The team had won three-to-one, having performed better than ever. Bucky was the star of the night even if he hadn't asked for it. He was handsome, with those eyes and that smile that sparkled from miles away. He was smooth with his words and easy with his charm.
Interviewers swooned, girls screamed, and rivals shivered.
'Barnes', number seventeen, was still written across your back. He had given you his jersey only a day after you confirmed that you were dating. You had used your sewing machine to make it fit you just right. The shoulders were too broad and the waistline not nearly as tight as you wanted it to be.
The first time Bucky saw you with his your adjusted jersey, he nearly lost his mind.
You cheered in the first row, just like he had asked you to and just like you did every time Bucky played. It was cheesy, maybe, but a good luck kiss was all he needed. It was his ritual, and he would not let anyone get in the way.
The song playing through the speakers changed. Even in his state, Bucky recognised it. You loved that song; it was your song. And just as he had predicted, when he made his way to the dance floor, he saw you.
You danced without a care in the world. Next to you was Peggy, who held your hand as you danced and sang the lyrics back to her in a slightly off-tune manner.
Bucky's heart tripped over itself.
Your hair was loose and you had glitter sticking to your cheeks. The jersey was slipping from one of your shoulders, revealing skin and the baby blue lace of your bra. There was his girl. The woman with degree-level knowledge of musical theatre and who once nearly fell off the bed after laughing at biology jokes.
You were able to get any new concept through his skill and also look ridiculously good while doing it. Study sessions didn't include much studying, that was for sure.
With ease—in that Barnes manner that only saw itself magnified with the alcohol—he slid next to you. He placed one hand over your waist and moved alongside you. Peggy took this as her sign and quietly walked off. Steve must've been looking for her, too.
"Bucky!" You blurted out, turning your head around.
His eyes were bright like diamonds, and it was all because of you. "In the flesh, baby."
You danced and Bucky just stared. His heart thrummed against his chest and in his ears. For a moment, he almost forgot who he was. He spun you around and pulled you flush against him. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. Your hand reached out to brush his jaw. He let out a groan, lazy and in love.
"You did really well today, Buck. I'm proud of you," you murmured against his lips.
He smiled in return, meeting you for another kiss. The more time you spent kissing, the less aware of himself Bucky became. He was flowing with what his body told him to do and following your lead.
The kiss deepened, and Bucky readjusted his grip on your waist. He breathed you in: vanilla and some flowers. It was your pulse points and the spots behind your ears—which he also kissed. He had asked you once, while you lay on his bed, what your secret to smelling so heavenly at all times was. Vaseline and perfume on the pulse points on your neck, behind your ears and of the back of your knees.
Bucky pulled away, but you tugged him by the shirt, bringing him right back against your lips. He tried to say something, but your mouth swallowed the words. One of his hands slid under your shirt; it was warmer than it had any right to be. In return, you nipped at his bottom lip.
Bucky was one step away from carrying you up the stairs of the house where the party was being held and—
You pulled away before his mind had the chance to continue with his very, very pleasant thoughts. His baby blue eyes snapped open and stared at you like a deer caught in the headlights. "Why'd you stop?"
"We're drunk, baby." Your hand brushed against his chest, right over his heart in the same way it always did when you felt he was nervous.
"True…" Bucky was tall and looked down at you with squinted eyes. "Sleeping with you is much better sober, anyway."
"Glad we're on the same page, then," you murmured, entranced once again by him and only him.
⟡ summary: a young lawliet meets a new addition to wammy’s orphanage—an unusually quiet girl who he will soon find to be a precious part of his life.
⟡ content warnings: non-verbal!reader, reader is 8 years old along with lawliet!, fluff, teensy bit angsty, reader is described as an orphan/lost her parents + an unstable childhood, timeskip @ the end (pre-kira case) ᢉ𐭩 word count: 2480-ish
(explanation for some details in this fic @ the end!)
⟡ illi’s notez; everyone when user illumoria actually locks in on a fic and doesn’t just spew out blurbs: yoyoyo no way omgg 👀 layout credz!; @kittens4kitty, art credz!; @/_imm0ral_ on tiktok!
⟡ masterlist
Snow gracefully fell from the cloudy, grey England skies, coating the gravelly pavement like white icing adorning a cake. It was Christmas time in England, and everywhere you looked there were Reindeer hats, ornaments, green and red candies—but what you saw the most of there, were…families.
Nothing could replicate a family. You could dress up in a Santa costume and eat all of the Christmas cookies you’d only dream of having, but it would still be artificial. Fake. Having someone that took care of you, that laughed and squealed when you said your first word or took your first step—that was irreplaceable. It was real.
All around you Mothers and daughters walked side by side, holding shopping bags of presents to be opened and fawned over when received, while Fathers held their little boys upon their shoulders, daring them to see how many snowflakes they could catch on their tongue.
You deserved that too. You did.
Just the sight of what could’ve been—of a life you could’ve had made you feel uneasy. It made your stomach churn and throat close up—both either side effects of your emotions or the unsatisfied hunger in your stomach—you didn’t know, but what you did know is that your skin—even beneath your coat felt cold to the touch, and that walking around sulking, jealous of the children that didn’t have to suffer the way you did wasn’t going to make your own life any better.
You needed to accept your fate.
A soft sigh left your lips as your walking pace began to slow, a wisp of cold air puffing out from your lips. The weather wasn’t helping with your symptoms of fatigue, but luck had suddenly seemed to be on your side.
With a simple tilt of your head, you saw where you had stopped—the sign just below your head—almost teasing you.
“Miya’s Sweets!”
You couldn’t help but swallow as your eyes gazed over the pastries in display. Warm croissants,cookies—you read names of foods you’d never even heard of before.
With an eager appetite and triumphant feeling to forget about your past, you walked into the bakery. Immediately you were hit with the smell of fresh dough and sweet chocolate, a scent so mesmerizing it made you shudder. It was warm as well, so cozy… The establishment was relatively empty to your initial surprise, but maybe it was due to it being just a few days before Christmas. Everyone was inside. Together.
Stop thinking about that. Stop. Stop. Stop—
“Oh my! Hello there, sweetheart! Are…are your parents with you?”
Your head instantly shot up at the soft voice, a beautiful face matching it. You slowly walked up to the front of the cash register, your chin barely touching the top—before locking eyes with the cashier and simply shaking your head.
She stared down blankly at you for a moment, a puzzled look etching her features. “Ahh…well—are they just shopping around?” Was she trying to convince herself that you weren’t alone…or you?
It’s better to play it safe.
You nodded your head.
The cashier—who’s name you learned was Mona from her name tag—then let out a noise of relief, instantly alleviated of her worry that you were here alone. A sad kid.
She wasn’t wrong, unfortunately.
“Anything I can get for you today, hon? Maybe you just want to sit down and wait for your mom—“
Without missing a beat you trotted on over to the display case, pointing at a sandwich with a small pink cake pop accompanying it in the meal.
Mona smiled at your antics, brushing your silence off as “just being a child.”
“Coming right up!”
You nodded your head once more before plopping down in one of the free seats, noticing a few of the other adults sitting by watching you. Was it truly that much of a spectacle for a kid to walk alone..?
Maybe for them.
Just ignore it.
You busy yourself with the salt and pepper shakers, napkins, and utensils on top of the table—fiddling with them as if they were toys.
Shake shake shake. Even that got boring after a while…so you just sat there in your own silence, comfortable in your quiet.
“She seems off, Miya..I..I think she was lying about her parents earlier. She wouldn’t say a thing to me either…” Mona mumbled, facing the much older lady—the owner of the shop, with guilt written all over her face.
The grey-haired woman took one glance at you, and suddenly—your fate had changed.
“I’ll call someone.”
Just a few moments later, your bubble was popped by Mona’s voice, food in hand. Pride pushed aside—as much as an 8 year old could have—you instantly began to eat. You weren’t messy or desperate, you still had manners…but just from watching you, you could tell Mona knew you hadn’t eaten.
You were smart in that way. You always had been.
She smiled at you as you ate, her eyes occasionally darting towards the door. You didn’t think much of it as first as you took bites of your sandwich, but then she began to ask questions.
“You…your parents aren’t really with you..are they?”
Without hesitation you shook your head, continuing to chew slowly.
You should’ve said yea. Were you in trouble now..?
“Ah, well..Most kids who don’t have parents, we have a special place for them. Orphanages. They can help you there! Miya—the owner, she has friends there. They’ll be so nice and treat you well.” She smiled softly, the corners of her mouth weakening as she examined your face. An empty husk.
“You can have all the cake pops you want there.” She whispered, gently patting your head right before the door opened.
Right then and there did the puzzles finally begin to start sliding into place. Orphanage..? She was sending you away?
Wait. I don’t want to go.
Why weren’t the words coming out? Why were you still quiet?
You felt your eyes begin to burn with the weight of your tears, the stinging sensation and feeling of your throat slowly closing in on itself far too familiar.
“L-look..I..” Mona stammered, seeing your soft, chubby cheeks puff out as you tried to contain your tears. “I’m sorry, but I was just worried—You’ll be taken care of there. It hurt my heart to see you sitting there in silence…”
But i’m fine. I’m fine can’t you hear me?
Slow, heavy footsteps approached behind you before you could register them—the musk of woody cologne infiltrating your senses. It smelt nostalgic while simultaneously sickening.
“H-h—“ hiccup. That was all you could get out. All you had a chance to really, before you were escorted out, placed into a car far too big and far too extravagant.
You didn’t protest when you were walked out of the establishment. Didn’t make a scene or cause a mess, you simply followed them outside, but just a second before you were gone, you caught her eye. Miya. The elderly woman. The owner.
People like her were mandated reporters weren’t they? Even if she wasn’t, it’s hard not to call someone for help when they see a child alone.
You already missed the warmth of the bakery. You missed Mona, and the kindness she displayed even though she’d just assumed you were another orphan. You were, weren’t you?
Maybe it was for the best to be somewhere else. A place you’d at least have a bed to sleep on and rest your head, food in your stomach, and cake pops. Mona promised cake pops.
Pink, sprinkled…cake pops.
When you arrived at the orphanage, you first took a moment to dust off your coat before examining the architecture. It was a huge building, sharp detailing carved into the front. It was pretty to look at.
“Come here, sweetheart. Follow me.”
She’d driven the vehicle here—the only person in the car. She seemed kind, and yet hesitance lingered in your heart.
She noticed your nervousness, simply smiling when you stood still. “I don’t bite. C’mon, you don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to.”
Maybe it was her saccharine voice or inviting smile, but you followed her, your tiny feet leaving imprints in the snow.
“Is that her? Miya sent me a phone call about a…lost girl.”
Those were the first few words you heard as you entered “Wammy’s.” The woman beside you nodded her head, folding her hands in front of her. “Yes, it’s her. Do…do you think she’s fit for Wammy’s..?”
The old man who’d spoken previously smiled in response. “We always have room for her if not.” He suddenly stooped down to your level, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“What’s your name..?”
Silence. You stare back at the man bent down in front of you, your eyes still slightly red from held back tears.
“Watari—“
“It’s alright, let her…let her explore for a bit while I gather the materials for an IQ test. It’s best to start there.”
The woman nodded her head, leading you into another hallway of the building. It wasn’t exactly quiet—muffled chatter spread around the halls, but it still seemed…dull. Boring. Lifeless.
“There are other children in these few rooms just further down the hall, they’ll keep you company for now while we…sort things out for you.”
You nodded your head, watching her walk back down the hallway before disappearing behind a corner, leaving you alone the same as before.
You let out a slow sigh, tentatively tip-toeing towards one of the doors. It was left slightly ajar, light flooding through the crack—allowing you just a peek of the boy inside, playing with blocks. Carefully, you wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, gently pushing it open…
“…”
You both didn’t speak a peep when you encountered each other, the two of you as quiet as mice. You just…looked at each other. Observing as if you were each other’s science experiments.
He had dark black hair, it was a bit shaggy and fell just below his ears. For someone living in such a prestigious place, you’d assume they’d be more…well-groomed, but you weren’t there to judge.
You didn’t know why you were there, truly.
“Hello.”
A small spark of shock hit you, slightly stunned he’d broke the silence, but it was bound to happen eventually..
With a few steps forward you moved closer to him, a neutral expression on your face.
Say something. Say something…
You waved back at the boy, the tiniest hint of emotion briefly contorting his features.
“..How old are you?”
You raised your hands once more, sticking up your fingers in response.
“You’re eight too?”
A pause.
“I don’t get to see a lot of people my age. They’re usually younger. Infants, mainly.”
You allow yourself to sit down beside him, eyes wandering over to the toys in his lap. Blocks were stacked on top of each other, color coordinated and organized neatly.
Without a word he cautiously shoved them towards you, giving yourself a chance to play with something—but you still remained unmoving.
Your gaze drifted from the blocks back to the window covered in snow. Something about the snowflakes falling from the sky—so free and beautiful made you want to go back outside, experience the cold once more—experience that cafe…
Suddenly, you took the blocks—using the letters engraved in them to spell out: C A K E.
The boy let out a small smirk, staring down at the blocks.
“Cake.”
You nodded your head, smiling ever so slightly as you looked back up at him.
The boy quickly stood up, standing slightly hunched over as he walked over and out of the door—Not saying a word.
Silence was your own personal language you presumed, it was the best kind of communication. Nobody said anything, and you were left to just decipher their faces.
For the few minutes that you were left alone, it reminded yourself of the isolation you felt before today. Perhaps being transported to an orphanage wasn’t the best experience to gain social interaction, but this time…this time nobody had ignored you. They spoke to you like you were someone, not just a robot, and for the first time in a long time it felt that you had made a friend.
“Strawberry..” The boy walked back in, two pieces of strawberry shortcake in his hands. It wasn’t what you wanted, but perhaps the miscommunication of it all was the most beautiful thing about the interaction.
You smiled at him—really smiled, before accepting the plate, the syrupy strawberry on top sliding off slightly to the side.
“That’s the best part.”
You nodded your head, greedily nibbling on the berry, simultaneously keeping an eye on him. Just as he raised his fork, opening his mouth to take a bite—a bit of frosting caught on his nose.
“Hahaha!” You giggled, a genuine sound of excitement leaving your lips. It would’ve been something big to anyone else, but to him? To the strange little boy you bonded with over cake? He thought it was just as amusing…
“Amusing..” You whispered into the night, eyes slowly blinking awake as you felt familiar hands slide beneath your shirt.
“What’s so amusing?” L murmured, lithe fingers gently scratching your naval as he pressed himself against your back, his lips just below your ear.
You let out a sleepy sigh, smiling weakly as you reminisced upon the memory. “Do you remember when I first saw you, and we shared cake together..?”
“I do.”
“I was dreaming about that..thinking about how much of an awkward girl I was.” You chuckled, sliding your own hand over his under your night top.
“Children are often deemed awkward by others. They are judged too harshly, but sometimes we forget they truly are just children.”
“Are you saying I’m judging my past self too harshly..?”
“Precisely.”
You slowly shifted in L’s hold, twisting yourself so you could face your boyfriend—while he himself adjusted his hands on your waist.
“..Are you always this sweet, or is it the sugar on your tongue talking?”
“Questions like these are better answered with actions rather than words..”
“What are you suggesting—“
L’s lips answered for himself before you could even finish your sentence, soft mouth swallowing up those noises that threatened to escape you. It was truly ironic how vocal you were being now.
His hands gradually slid up to your cheek, his thumb rubbing against the soft skin.
“Sometimes I forget you’re just as big a pain now as you were back then.” You whispered against his lips, only pulling away for a breath of air.
“Will you still say that to me 20 years from now..?”
You pause for a minute, smiling as you lean back in. “L Lawliet, If i’m not poking fun at you 20 years from now then something has happened to me.” You laughed, watching L’s neutral expression melt into one of pure fondness.
“I…I hope to be the object of your ribbing then.”
🏷️: @daystarpoet @rengoatku @1cckedheart
the character “miya” knows watari, and is well aware of his many orphanages around the world so when she meets reader she feels a certain obligation to help her, and from there calls watari to aid in her care.
“will she fit in at wammys?” this question is asked by the driver, and it’s because even though watari owns many orphanages—wammy’s specifically is the only one curated for molding successors of L. asking if she will fit in at wammys is simply asking if reader will be one of L’s successors (aka the IQ test, etc…spoila alert: reader is! :3)
I just wanted to clear these two details up so the story would flow better and make more sense without any confusion!! :3
kitty boy!lawliet who totally only kissed you for an experiment
rain pitter-pattered against the windows as you laid in bed, a soft light radiating from the bed side lamp, illuminating your features in the dark. it was just a few minutes past twelve yet you were still up, wrapped in fuzzy blankets and pillows while you flipped through the pages of one of L’s old books.
said owner of the novel you were reading laid comfortably beside you, his lips against your shoulder. not kissing you—just resting. his hand took place upon your chest, directly on your breast—not in a dirty or perverse way, that was far from it. the true reason—the plain yet romantic truth was that he simply just liked listening to your heart.
“your heart is beating faster than it was previously. approximately 120 beats per minute. without looking at your face..i’d say you’re flustered or nervous.”
his hand slowly slid down from your chest to your wrist, lithe fingers tightening their hold around you. you stayed perfectly still as his lips inched closer to the side of your neck, your focus completely skewed.
“is it because of me?”
you yanked your hand away from his grip, dropping the book before turning to your side in hopes of distinguishing his curiosity of how you felt—because in all honesty—you were flustered. and nervous. and it was all his fault. you’d tried to ignore his quiet, sneaky little advances—advances he probably didn’t even know were internally killing you, but it was impossible..
“no. it isn’t.” you mumbled, your entire face warmer than a freshly baked cookie—melty and gooey.
“you’re lying.” he stated, silently moving closer, before finally ducking his head completely into the crook of your neck.
“mmh” an involuntary, tiny whisper of a noise left your lips when L’s brushed against your skin—your embarrassment skyrocketing when you felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
“you’re skin has increased in its warmth…shedding a few layers should help.” he whispered, his greedy arm already twisting itself around your waist—and as if it couldn’t get any worse, you felt his tail drag against your ankles before locking around the top of your foot.
“I..” you could barely speak. it was as if your throat was so dry you couldn’t get anything out except for small noises of protest.
one kiss. then two. then three. L’s mouth was hot and soft over your neck, his tongue occasionally darting out to kitten lick at the sensitive skin. you tried to wriggle around, but his tail just kept you in place—one foot free and one caught.
“L, s-stop.” you whimpered, biting your own lip so you could stifle the sounds that threatened to escape you.
at first, it really did surprise you when his kisses stopped, when his mouth pulled away, and his tail loosened its grip.
you immediately looked back at up—hair slightly disheveled, your skin burning with embarrassment.
L stared at you blankly, his ears perked up and alert. “you’re an…interesting test subject.”
“i’m..i’m a what!? this was a test!?” you exclaimed, jaw slightly ajar as you examined his facial expression. the tiniest of smiles on his lips.
“correct.”
“but—why!?”
L looked down to the side for a moment, his kitten ears drooping as he did so. “a personal hypothesis.”
you let out a loud groan, flopping back onto your side. “you’re an idiot, Lawliet.”
“statistically, you’re incorrect..”
a moment of silence passed before he spoke again.
“did you not want my actions to be the cause of a test..?”
“i could care less…” you huffed, smooshing your face into a pillow.
“does that mean you still care, even slightly?”
“…don’t you know curiosity killed the cat!? you should quit with your experiments..they’ll come back bite you!” you quipped in hopes of changing the subject.
suddenly, he was back to his previous position—wrapped around you like a big spoon.
“i don’t believe in such, but if you’re the cause of my death…i wouldn’t mind dying.”
illi’s notez; this is lowkeh chopped cheese, but frick it we bawlllllll + he def just wanted to tuch up on ya wink wink, but when you said stop he respected it…but he was too embarrassed to reveal his true intentions :3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
⟡ summary — you’re a middle school assistant principal, he’s a science teacher and a hidden helpless romantic. ryland put his love life to the side to show up for his students, that is, until you showed up for him.
⟡ author’s note — i’m so glad i can finally talk about ryan gosling. i’ve ended up missing my chances with characters before (anyone want a remmick fic…) and i’ve finally gotten this one out of the drafts!! he’s so fine amaze amaze amaze ⤷ set the mood.
Too many sounds for him to think straight. The tick of the Saturn-shaped clock above his whiteboard, 6:13 p.m. The birds outside of his window, nestling comfortably—but not so quietly—in the tree that had grown tall enough to bear thick, sturdy branches since one of his classes planted it a few years ago. Biology. Its leaves rustle in the wind of the evening, the amateur scary sound for a child actually frightening him more than he’d like to admit. The click of his pen cap, which he supposes is self-inflicted, but what else are you supposed to do when in deep thought?
The deep thought of planning lessons for a bunch of young teenagers, that is. He wouldn’t exactly consider himself the cool teacher, but he’s a better than those stuck-up old guys he had to work with as a kid, or so he hopes. All this thinking, but nothing useful to put on his paper. The lone three bullet points on his planner sheet really encouraged him towards the door of his classroom. It’s getting late anyways, and there’s no harm in a little improv sesh for his students. Makes it more fun. A learning experience for all, per se.
But another noise starts from down the hall, and finally stops the presses of his pen. Heels. Not just any heels, your heels. And they’re heading towards his door.
Two knocks, and he freezes. He’s stayed past school hours before, but it’s a little embarrassing for someone to walk in on him and those sad, sad three bullet points. Especially when that someone was you, the new assistant principal. You’d been here for a couple of weeks, and he nearly blushed like he was a boy again seeing your smile for the first time you visited his classroom. You were so kind with everyone around campus, and the missing ring on your finger could mean he might have a shot.
“Dr. Grace?”
Damnit. Open the door, Grace!
“Thank you. I was just checking around before I locked up the building. Didn’t want to leave anyone behind.” you stand right at the entrance, not wanting to disturb him.
“Sorry about that.. I was just about to head out, actually—” he looks around after letting you in, the classroom still dirty, his materials all over his desk. Just about to head out? In an hour. “I just needed to pick up those papers. And the trash.. and the notebooks on the desks… kids, y’know, you try and tell ‘em!” he laughs awkwardly. Nobody warned him he was getting a pretty visitor, and the sheepish expression on his face clearly said so.
“Oh, that’s no trouble. You should see the state of my office.” you laugh to ease the mood, a practiced one you use around colleagues. There was silence soon after, and you two stumble over each other’s words when trying to break it.
“Well, I’ll leave you be—”
“Come in!” his eyes meet yours, another round of laughs as you finally decide to step fully through the door to avoid any further scene in the hallway. Your laugh is looser this time, a rather non-scary sound he’d much rather listen to in the bore of evenings like these.
“I can help you clean, if you’d like.” you give him one of those gorgeous smiles, holding your folders and spiral books close to your chest. “I’m sure you have people waiting for you at home.”
“I don’t, actually.” he starts gathering stray pencils, placing them in a little cup on his desk. “Quite the lone wolf, myself.”
What on Earth are you saying?
“I meant—I live alone. I’m usually here ‘till I think I’ve juiced enough out of the coffee machine.”
While that secret is possibly worthy of a firing, it charms you in a way. You let out a breath of a laugh, setting your things down on a student’s desk while you help him out.
“I’m sure I speak for many when I say I’ve done that before..” you stock the student’s notebooks in one of his drawers, finding the small space stickers placed in every corner endearing. “I doubt it’ll be long before someone comes to admire your persistence, Dr. Grace. It’s inspiring to see, truly. Your efforts to give your students the best learning experience possible is something we really appreciate at Grover.”
“I try my best. The kids seem to like it enough.” he’s just about finished around the classroom, sitting down in his desk chair to organize his workplace. He didn’t quite know how to respond to compliments.
“More than enough.” you take a seat where he had pulled out a chair for you earlier, right across from where he was. “I had one of your students talking about a space project your class had done while they were getting picked up with the flu!”
“Pfft. You’re quite a hit around here, yourself.”
Explain yourself before it sounds weird!
“I’ve never had a class more excited for assistant principal visits in all of my years of teaching.” No, he’s never been more excited to get assistant principal visits in his class after years of teaching.
“The teachers and the students are what give us a purpose, after all.”
“People like you help so I don’t lose my marbles, then..” he responds quietly, “not really going for a mad scientist type of thing.”
When he speaks, it’s clear you’re no longer holding up the roles you two had stepping into the classroom.
You’re being too sweet. He’s not used to the sincere stuff. You should’ve seen the shock on his face just this morning when he said the number of Homlium on the periodic table in front of his students. Not sincere at all.
You’re careful with the items on his desk, switching between helping him clean and pausing for conversation. From stories in your wild detention sessions to the latest prank Ryland’s students played on him, you had somehow ended up completely ditching the initial task…
“Gosh, I’m starving! I didn’t even have a chance to eat my lunch today. Chicken soup and everything..”
“I love chicken soup.”
“It’s my mom’s recipe,” you beam, “I’ll bring some for the teachers next week, and maybe pack an extra thermos for you.”
Score.
You shared more chats in between enjoying your soup, something he insisted on despite you feeling like it was slightly impolite. He taught you about the differences between silver and steel thermoses, how heat convection works, and his latest research on a microbe that could be eating the sun. You were almost flattered by it all, watching him talk about things so passionately and explain things you were never even aware of.
“I can’t stress this enough.. you have a brilliant mind, Dr. Grace.”
“I’m nothing short of an average guy.” he can’t tell if the feeling in his stomach is from butterflies or his fifth cup of coffee. “Our world is full of curiosities and beings who just live in it. Who am I to be a guy to solve it all, you know? I’m definitely not cut out for any of the big stuff. But I can at least try.”
“That’s what makes people like you so special. I’d say you have quite the gift.” you’re suddenly shy to speak, wondering if your statement was too bold.
“It takes a special person to listen to me talk my head off. I’ve never really done that before.” he finishes organizing his papers, not realizing which one he placed on top. His lesson planning sheet.
“I’m honored to be your first.” you smile again, and there are so many things going on in that “brilliant” mind of his. In all the potential universes where you could be his first for anything, it’s a shame it had to be done through words.
No, man. Take things slow. Sloww and steady wins the race..
“Are these your lesson plans?” he watches your finger point to the paper on top of his stack. Your hands are perfectly manicured, nails painted the perfect color.
“That? Yeah. Just some small little ideas. We’re working on the water cycle next. Thought I’d come up with some cool things the kids would enjoy.” he’s talking, but not really paying attention to the paper you grabbed. He watches you instead, the rings on your fingers, the scrunch of your brows, the small pout your lips form as you read.
As you read.. his three bullet points.
“Does that say ‘puppets?’” you raise a playful brow, watching him go still.
“I had put it on there as a joke.. its—yeah.” he sighs, whatever that was on the paper coming back to him now. A sketch. He drew a sketch of the puppet he was intending to make.
“He’s a cute little guy.” you tease, tilting your head slightly to observe the drawing. It was a raincloud with googly eyes, a tiny smile to match his charm. “What materials did you need for it?”
You wanted to help him make it.
“I.. I was gonna knit it.” he admits, hiding a bit of his face in his hand.
“It’s really not a bad idea,” you trace over the paper again, “some teachers are just so boring now. Written report this, same experiment that.. you know, we should bring these into every classroom.”
Score. Again.
“What are all of these?” you point along the paper next to those stupid 3 bullet points, where there looks to be a whole bunch of numbers and letters in every corner.
“Those are my science equations. I like to keep ‘em handy to memorize.” he answers proudly. Your validation of his ideas made him feel a bit more relaxed, and he has another. “Give me one, I can tell you what it is.”
“Are you sure?”
“Come on, hit me.” he urges, and you look down to start reading from the doodles of formulas.
“F = ma.”
“Newton’s Second Law of Motion. Give me another.”
You smile at his response, going for something else. “D = m/v.”
“Formula of Density. That one was easy!”
“Try this..” you shoot him a daring look, hiding the paper from his sight just in case, “6CO2 + 6H—”
“Photosynthesis!” he points at you when he answers.
“I didn’t even finish!” you slide the paper back on his desk.
“Told you I wanted to memorize them. I could help you with them sometime, then we can really battle it out. It’ll put my 1,000 flashcards to use.” he shakes his head, guiding your vision over to the comical stack of blank cards in the corner of his classroom.
Your gaze reverts back to the way his hand moves to fix his ashy blonde hair, then his glasses. He’s wearing a sweater you can only assume he knit himself. He looks back at you, and you nearly go flush. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely wrecked with nerves just being in his presence all night.
“I’m free Wednesday after class.” you blurt out softly. The statement made you sound like you two were teenagers, sneaking around after school hours to meet up behind bleachers or something. It’s stupid. He probably just meant that for laughs.
“Then it’s a date.” he nods. Wait.
No!
What happened to slow and steady?
“I mean—it’s… we’ve made a date. On the calendar. Next week, Wednesday, is the date.” he’s about to pass out, surely.
Now you can’t tell if the warmth in your cheeks is from him or the chicken soup resting quietly in your stomach.
“Right. Okay.” you let out a breath, slowly reaching out to grab your things. You’re about to head out the door, but you turn back around. “I have room visits on Monday. Just.. in case you and the class wanted to prepare.”
“Roger that. Thank you.” he flashes you a gentle smile.
“Thank you, Dr. Grace. For tonight, I mean. I had a lot of fun.” you’re left shuffling on your heels, never having admitted something like that in a while.
“I did too. A lot of fun. Nothing beats a clean classroom.” you can tell the organized materials are far out of his mind with the way his eyes never leave you when he speaks. He stands up quickly, too carried away to remember his manners. “Let me get that for you.”
You mutter another “thank you” before stepping out of the doorway.
“Ryland!” he says right as you’ve walked half the distance. “Ryland Grace.”
You turn on your heel, and he watches your mouth lift in another one of those cute smiles. You call your name back, leaving without giving him time to say anything. He saw your name on the bulletin your first day here, but hearing you say it made it ten times better.
His classroom is silent again, and the clock ticks once more. 8:02 p.m. It’s late, and it smells like your perfume with a hint of chicken soup—just enough to make a man like him happy.
He has the whole weekend to repeat your name in his head, and he just knows his students are going to pester him for acting jittery the morning of Monday. He’s not sure how long he can use the excuse of coffee until he has to admit he’s head over heels for the new girl down the hall.
⟡ taglist — @illumoria @lovesweeti @amiratheangel @daystarpoet . . . click here to join!
⟡ extra yap — such a fun write and i don’t care if its cheeks. mind you this was supposed to be a blurb… have fun while i go semi-inactive because of finals !! love u <3
THIRD EP OF DEATHNOTEEE EEEEKK KITTY JM SO EXCITED 4 YUUU
i was 5 episodes in last night.. we are locked in. there’s an indescribable feeling of watching or reading or doing something new that’s literally just so much fun !!! i’m not a huge anime watcher butttt i think maybe i’ve changed…
toji who rubs his girlfriend’s tummy after she eats a filling meal :3
toji fushiguro wasn’t someone who could be easily convinced to go out—a.k.a—he was broke. he usually stayed at home with you, enjoying your home cooked meals or 99¢ ramen whenever you were at work. he didn’t really pay any mind to the kinds of food he put into his body. if it kept him energized and tasted yummy, well then who cared?
well…you did. you disliked—no—hated his habit of just shoving whatever he could get his hands on into his mouth, not even bothering to glance at the nutritional information on the back of the packs of snacks he ate…it was insanity! as a secretary who worked at a law firm, you weren’t exactly bringing home six figures to spend on luxurious dinners and five star restaurants, but you still took your health into concern! eating nothing but clean, home cooked food—sometimes the occasional olive garden!
you guess it was time for toji to experience just that! maybe then he’d finally decide to take care of himself…
“toji!” you sighed, flipping off your work shoes as you entered your shared apartment, coat and purse in hand as you walked in. your tights allowed you to pad around the place quietly, feet floating while you made your way to your bedroom.
the door was already cracked open when you approached, the slight sliver allowing you to peek in on your boyfriend sitting in bed, munching on—you guessed it—cheap noodles in your dainty pink bowl.
another soft sigh left your lips as you opened the door, your body deflating as you watched toji’s eyes slowly pan over from the tv to your exhausted form.
“mmph—hey, baby.” he smirked, slurping the last bits of noodles before setting the bowl down onto your bedside table. at least he didn’t leave it directly on your polka dot mattress…
“hey…noodles again?” you mumbled, dropping your things onto the floor before instantly falling into his arms. a groan of relief escaped your throat at the sensation of toji’s warm, calloused hands gripping onto your sides, all sense and rationality suddenly exiting your brain.
he smiled as soon as you touched him, his finger tips gently massaging your skin through your shirt. “mmm, are you worried about me..?”
“i am.” you grumbled, voice muffled against his shoulder.
he could only let out a gruff laugh in response, deep voice sending pleasurable vibrations through your body.
“y’know i can survive—food doesn’t matter to me. it’s you i can’t live without.”
“don’t sweet talk me. i’m concerned about you. god only knows how you haven’t gotten sick from eating all this junk.” you pressed your cheek against his shoulder, adjusting the position of your head so your lips were just a whisper away from his ear. “why don’t we get some takeout today? my treat.”
“i don’t…i don’t want you doin’ that. we’re both broke as is—“
“hey!!!”
“lower your voice, woman…you’re right by my ear.” he grumbled, a smug little smirk adorning his face—one that he was glad you couldn’t see.
“just this one time please? i was gonna get takeout anyway!” you piped up, finally pulling away to stand up again. toji looked you up and down before yanking you back into him, hands squeezing your waist.
you yelped in response, your own arms flopping over his back. “toji!—“
“fine.”
you shut yourself up, breaking into a smile almost instantly. completely forgetting about how you were 3 seconds away from yelling at him.
“yay! i can get you to try some of this salad that i love from this local spot! they carmelize onions, it’s sooo yummy!”
he let out a soft chuckle beneath his breath, fingers smoothly sliding down your lower back as you rambled on.
“you’re like a puppy. yip yip yip in my ear.” he murmured, sending one sharp, sudden smack to your ass.
“toji!?!?” you groan in response, shimmying in his told to try and escape—
“go on, say my name louder.”
“you—you pervert!!”
“shh, just order the food…”
and order you did. you’d gotten two large salads, grilled chicken, chopped potatoes, guacamole and chips, and the cherry on top—2 brownies.
“don’t ya think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew..?” toji murmured, scooting closer to you on the sofa. you completely ignored him, focusing on the yumminess in-front of you. “shh..i just ordered more for you! you need it anywho…this—this is real food!” you giggled, allowing him to place one hand on your thigh while you began to unpack the food from their containers.
“mhm..whatever you wanna tell yourself, doll.”
you quickly grabbed a plastic fork, stabbing a couple pieces of salad before bringing it to your boyfriend’s mouth. “mm, say “ahhh”.
“you’re kidding.” he deadpanned.
“toji!”
“….ahhh.”
you smiled as he chomped down on the greens, watching his eyes wander skeptically. was he really thinking this hard over his rating?
“so…?”
“it’s alright…”
“c’mon!! it’s way yummier—and healthier than your noodles and chips!”
he paused for a moment, carefully squishing your thigh.
“does it make you feel better that i’m eating well..?”
“super better. like ten times better.” you beamed, already picking up some potatoes to shove into his mouth.
“then…it doesn’t taste so bad...” he replied, taking the opportunity to kiss you before you could turn back around to face him.
you almost dropped your fork—but he quickly held your wrist, simultaneously moving his mouth against your soft lips. you tasted like the coffee you had before you left for the morning and mint gum, probably chewed throughout the day… he loved the taste of you, loved the leftover essence of the things you had consumed knowing he’d be the last thing on your tongue. it brought him satisfaction, a feeling of peace.
“mmh—stop, we’re in the middle of dinner.” you whimpered, your fingers beginning to shake—desperately clutching to the plastic utensil.
“but i want dessert now.” he groaned, nipping at your lower lip. with much resistance you pull away, your lips now swollen. “and you call me the puppy.” you huff, “you’re the one more like a dirty mutt.”
“woof.” he snorted, laughing even harder when you shoved him before turning away—a feeble attempt to hide your warm and flustered face.
“eat your food…”
“just for you i will, “my highness.”
half empty containers and a few bitten into brownies later, you were convinced you were pregnant. with a food baby.
“tojiiiiiiiii, why’d you let me eat that muuuchh.” you whined, leaning against his body while he looked like he’d barely even taken a sip of water—completely fine. and definitely not bloated…it wasn’t fair! maybe it was his abs…could they be used as a protective layer from looking like a baby-baring male..?
“i told you from the beginning, sweetheart. you’re just so stubborn.” he chuckled, pulling you impossibly closer—until your head was on his chest.
“so full…” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut as you got comfortable against his warm-blooded body. always hot like your own instant heater. you thought you could peacefully lay down on him until suddenly—he placed his bare hand right against your stomach, caressing the soft, pudgy skin like you were a small animal. never in his life had he ever done that—so why’d it feel so…good? and why’d it make your heart beat so fast, and—
“my poor puppy, overstuffed yourself, hm?”
oh my god…
his palm continued to warm your skin, rubbing against you. “thing is…i’m not full yet, and i was promised dessert earlier..” he sighed, his fingers suddenly dipping lower, fidgeting with your waistband.
“toji…’m sleepy.”
“just one kiss then..?” he smirked, looking down at you as if you were a piece of meat. then and only then did you realize—you were never even going to reach the bed.
illi’s notez; yes he’s ooc, bite me >:( … also reader 100% works as higuruma’s assitant :33
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*peeks head in mischievously heheheheheheh (˶>⩊<˶)* did someone order a fawna delivery…?
no but seriously HI KITTYYYYYYY!!!! how are you my love?? did you eat? sleep well? how school??? are we ready for summaaaa????? 😛😛
FAWNAA !! my delivery came in right on time !
i’m doing quite fantastic.. i have a 3-day weekend and then it’s time for finals 😞 it’s the last 2 week push and i’m a little scared… but everything will be okay !! i did just eat a very yummy sandwich and got a good nights rest <3 i am SO ready for summer ! i have so many things planned and can’t wait to spend more time on here with the sweetest people on the planet.. like you…
how are you angel?? i hope you’re taking care of yourself just as much and if not more <33
Masterlist — I do not consent to my work being re-uploaded, translated or fed into AI. Taglist
Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x reader.
Tags: AU where Bucky doesn't fall from that train. Fluff. Strangers to lovers. Mild fake-dating. Rain confessions. Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers play cupids. 4k words. This was suggested by @j3susforlif3 <3
Warnings: canon divergences. Possible grammar or spelling mistakes. Kissing, confessions, making out. Very brief mentions of period-typical misogyny (not from any of our lovely characters). A few uses of the word Y/N
Synopsis: After a chance encounter makes Bucky Barnes aware of your existence, he becomes determined to take you out on a date. The group of old ladies at church has been asking where your boyfriend was for months. What's your deal? If Bucky can pretend to be your loving boyfriend for one afternoon, he earns himself an actual date.
Wind wrapped around the buildings of the city. Old newspapers and fallen leaves danced through the streets. People clutched their hats and jackets, shielding themselves with their arms or briefcases. November was taking a step to the side, and so was the autumn, saying goodbye with one of the windiest days one had seen in years.
Your day had been a mess all around. During the hours of the night, your cat had kicked your alarm clock off your nightstand, shattering the glass against your floor. You had only found out about it that morning, when your mother had practically stormed into your room, reminding you that you were half an hour late to work.
Peggy—God bless her soul—had managed to cover up for you. A woman in a rank as yours walked a thin line: one tiny mistake, a drop of coffee on the afternoon reports or a misspelt surname on somebody's forms and you were as good as gone.
The SSR headquarters were bursting with employees walking from one room to the other when you arrived. That was the kind of chaos you had always known was there but had never noticed. Usually, by the time most of the workers arrived at the place, you were long since buried in work. Arriving early was a comfortable routine.
Not today, though.
Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. Your desk was clogged with enough files to last you an entire week. For the sake of maintaining a calm mind, you had chosen to ignore the five men who had given you disapproving glances. On top of that, Peggy had arrived with two new transcriptions of intercepted transmissions for you two to decode.
After a full day stuck at your desk, you were at your wits' end. So when the cold afternoon wind hit your face, you had little energy in you to care. You had only one goal in mind: go to your favourite bar. It was small and usually not busy. The owner was a friend of your family's who always received you with open arms and a drink.
The bell over the door rang when you walked in. The shelter of four walls and a rooftop allowed you to sigh in relief. You sat down by the bar, on the same seat you had occupied since you could remember.
Mr Davis was the owner of the place. "Y/N!" he exclaimed with joy, whipping his hands with a cloth before making his way towards you. "My dear! How are you? Do you want the usual?"
"I'm good enough." You smiled and brushed your hair back into place with your hands. "Not today. Coffee will do."
"Coffee? At this hour?" he asked, surprised, and got working on your order nonetheless.
"Long day at work. And I still have some files to go over when I get home. I need the boost."
Mr Davis clicked his tongue. "You've been working too hard. You need to take a break. Hilda told me to invite you and your folks to dinner the next time you show up 'round here. Consider this my formal invitation."
You laughed. The Davises had never had any children, and growing up, you had been like a niece to them.
Mr Davis served you your coffee and then paused. His eyes looked ahead, at one of the tables near the back of the shop. Two men sat there. One with blonde hair, sitting upright, and the other one with blue eyes and a lazy smirk.
"There are two fellas looking your way." He grumbled like a protective father. "Should I say anything to them?"
"What?" You turned around to see what he was talking about. He was right; one of the boys was looking directly at you with no remorse whatsoever.
"It's all right. Nothing that hasn't happened before," you brushed off with a wave of your hand. Mr Davis shrugged his shoulders.
Over at the table by the window, a whole other conversation was unravelling. James 'Bucky' Barnes had his chin rested on the palm of his hand as his elbow supported his weight on the table. His pink lips were curled into the kind of smirk he played whenever he got his eyes on something that she wanted.
"Huh, and she's friends with the owner." Bucky drawled out. His eyes were glued on you. On the way, you sipped your coffee, taking pauses not to burn your tongue. On how beautiful your face looked framed by the few hairs that the wind had blown astray.
"I know her." Steve commented, taking a sip of his drink. That caught Bucky's attention.
"And you're only mentioning that now?" His eyes widened, almost baffled that his friend hadn't revealed that information sooner.
Steve shrugged. "I thought you had recognised her, too. She works at the SSR. Same department as Peggy—a friend of hers, actually."
"Huh," Bucky chuckled to himself. "Now this just makes everything better."
—
The days that followed, you were a staple in James Barnes' mind. He hadn't expected you to be. Bucky was always one to notice pretty ladies and was definitely not short on charm. Usually, he asked girls out to dance only to forget their names by the second week that followed. It's not that he meant to be a skirt chaser; he just hadn't yet found anyone who managed to charm him enough.
Until you came along.
Bucky went from never having recognised you around the building to seeing you everywhere, every single day. You lingered a lot by the coffee machine, Bucky had first noticed. You wore mainly blue dresses and the same heels every day. On Wednesdays, your hair was usually tied, and you had the habit of tilting your head whenever you laughed. Adorable.
One morning, Bucky stood with a forgotten glass of water in his hand, watching you as you took a few leather folders off the shelves before sliding them back in, but into a different spot.
"You're staring, pal," Steve commented, hands on the pockets of his trousers.
"Every time somebody stacks a file in the wrong folder, she personally rearranges it. Can you believe that?" Bucky's voice came out quiet and admiring.
Steve patted him on the shoulder before shaking his head in amusement and walking away. Bucky barely looked away from your figure when he did.
"I think it's working. At least it's definitely working on his side." Steve mumbled once he reached Peggy.
She dropped the book she had been holding and smiled. "Only on his side?"
"They haven't exactly talked yet. Bucky saw her at the bar you told us to go to and has been looking for her everywhere since. He's observing and not acting—which, honestly, is unusual for him."
Peggy hummed. "I'll take care of it."
—
That same afternoon, Peggy found you at your desk. You were yawning and rubbing your eyes to try to keep yourself awake. One of your cheeks was reddened for having rested it against your knuckles for too long.
"Hello, busy lady," she said softly as she walked in. "Can't have you sleeping at work."
"You're right, Peg. I'm so sorry, I—"
She cut you off before you could continue. You didn't have to apologise to her, ever. She knew exactly how hard you worked and how much your job mattered to you.
"I have something that might wake you up. If you could be so kind, please find Sergeant James Barnes and have him fill these out." She placed yet another stack of paper on your desk.
She walked out, almost biting her lip. A nudge in the right direction, that was all. Bucky Barnes would certainly be capable of waking you up and hopefully even charm you enough to agree to go on a date with him.
You would get on like a house on fire. Bucky was all easy charm but also had a big heart. You were more than witty enough to keep up with him and grounded and welcoming in a way that would accept his hopes and fears.
For months you had complained about men who only talked about their accounting jobs and didn't bother holding doors open. Men who would cut dates short because they wanted to catch something specific on the radio, or men who would step on your feet when dancing.
During one of their dates, Peggy had told Steve how upset she was that she could always go out with him but had to leave you behind. She had fallen in love with a truly amazing man, and she wanted the same for you. Ergo, plan Bucky.
—
Bucky looked bored out of his mind. He was slumped on his chair by the time you found him. His pen had been set aside. A choice he had made to fight against the urge to scribble over the table like a schoolboy.
The cuffs of his shirt were wrinkled, certainly not the way he wanted to look when you shared your first conversation. He had it all planned out. He would comb his hair using that expensive hair gel he had bought for his sister's wedding and wear that tie with the red lines that his mother always insisted made him look more handsome.
Bucky had a whole suave speech rehearsed in his head. He would brush his arm against yours when walking towards the coffee machine and drop the witty comment that better suited the day. Something about a co-worker, or the news, or the weather, or music and literature if he had the luck to find out what you were interested in.
But fate works in interesting ways. "Sergeant Barnes?"
Bucky's gaze lifted from the wooden table. The moment he realised just who was standing in front of him, he stopped like a deer caught in the headlights. Your earrings were shaped like two flowers, and your lips were coloured red like a rose—would you like it if he gave you roses? Did you prefer some other flower? Or would that perhaps be too bold? Bucky didn't know you, after all. But, oh, he wanted to.
You cleared your throat, calling his name a second time. "Mr Barnes?"
Bucky shook his head as the embarrassment struck him back to reality. "Hello…ma'am… yes, yes, that would be me. Just 'Bucky', please."
"Right, Bucky." You paused, smiling through the briefly awkward moment. You opened the folder that held the files and dropped them on his desk. James Buchanan Barnes. Twenty-seven. Unmarried. Fought in World War Two. Former Howling Commando.
"Howling Commandos, huh? I think I've heard about you," you murmured, hands clasped together over your lap.
Bucky's heartbeat tripped. You had heard about him—even if just a glimpse of his name, you knew who he was. "Well, thank you. I'd like to think we did some good."
You hummed to yourself. "So do I."
A beat of silence followed as Bucky filled out the various blank spaces. You looked at him. The way he almost pouted when he focused and how he almost seemed to whisper the words he was reading to himself.
"You work here awhile?" said Bucky after a few more moments.
"Me? Yeah, for a couple of years already. Joined a few months after Peggy."
"Huh. It's odd we haven't crossed paths before. I would certainly remember if I had met someone as beau—interesting as you before." That Bucky Barnes smirk was starting to crawl onto his features again. The boy had his moves planned out like a chess player about to win a tournament.
"Interesting?" you laughed, just as he had intended you to do. "You barely know me. How do you know I don't live in an apartment with no furniture and have no hobbies outside of my job?"
"I'm good at reading people. As for me not knowing you well yet, there's a very easy solution to that. And you're in luck, doll, because I am very happy to oblige." He leaned back on his chair, almost too sure of himself, with his arms open and inviting.
"You're asking me out on a date, James Barnes? Right here at work?" you teased him. This man was amusing, and there was no way that you would make things easy for him.
"Our shifts end in two hours. I can ask you again by the entrance at six sharp if you'd like."
"Very well," you finally agreed. "Find me, then."
—
Time flew after that conversation. What had gotten into you? You were an independent woman, not a teenager who blushed over some pretty fella winking an eye at her and asking her to meet him after school. And there you were, with your pulse raised high due to something other than caffeine.
You couldn't explain this feeling, and neither did you want to. Bucky was a guy you had only just met but who you had been aware of for a while. He had that about himself; he was impossible not to notice.
Hanging out with him could certainly do you no damage, right? After all, almost every old lady in town had been beginning to wonder why a woman as beautiful as you had found no partner yet. Which led you to the perfect idea.
If Bucky were truly determined to show he was a good man for you, he would certainly have no trouble in going with you to the local church's event on Sunday. For the last few years, you had been attending those simply because the ladies liked having you there. You were a young woman with a lot of charm who was always interested in hearing their stories and sharing gossip.
Over time, however, the conversations shifted away from Mrs Hughes' husband and Lillian's wild teenage boyfriends and closer to your romantic life. Just when would you bring a handsome man on your arm, they wondered.
That very weekend was the answer.
When Bucky found you by the exit of the SSR building, looking a wee bit too sure of yourself, he knew trouble was coming—and he, for one, loved trouble.
"Here I was thinking I would have to convince you to let me take you out, but that face tells me you already got a plan of your own." Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
You smirked, crossed your arms and took a step closer. "If you want to play this game, we will play it for real. The ladies at church have been insisting I bring a man over to their events."
Bucky's face brightened with mischief. "I see where you're getting at. I stand by your side, on your arm, all afternoon long. I ain't against the idea of it, doll, but it's not exactly what I had in mind when I pictured us going on a date."
"That's where my deal goes," you continued. "If you successfully manage to pretend that we've been in love for months in front of the ladies—who, believe me, have the sharpest instinct for lies and terrible men that I've ever seen—you win yourself a date. For real. Just you and I."
Bucky paused, pretending to weigh out his options while knowing perfectly well what his answer would be. "Now we are speaking the same language. Don't wear your nicest dress on Sunday; save that one for our date."
If those were your terms, then so be it. Bucky would learn to play by your rules.
—
Bucky picked you up early that day. He wore a suit much better tailored than the ones you had seen him wear at work. His hair was combed back—he looked every bit the gentleman he wanted to show you that he could be.
He was smiling easily, pretending as though he hadn't been thinking of this all week long. "Well, good afternoon, sweetheart."
You laughed and closed the front door behind you. "You are getting a tad too easy on those pet names."
Bucky shrugged and offered his arm out for you to take. "Me? I'm just getting into character. Making sure I am in the right mindset if I have to pretend to be your fella all afternoon long."
Bucky's family owned an expensive car, which he had parked right in front of your house. It was New York, but the war and the previous economic crisis had made cars a rather rare sight. There was more behind James Barnes than what you had expected. The distance to Mrs Wiley—Rosie, as she always insisted that you called—was short enough to walk, but Bucky had insisted on driving you.
He opened the door for you, of course. He drove slowly and made just the right amount of small talk. You discussed what your story should be. How you met, where your first date had been, and which song you liked to dance to together the most. Bucky told you about his interests and paid particular attention when you told him yours.
Mrs Witley's house was a light colour, and the gates on the front were adorned with various types of flowers. On the back, she had an even wider garden. Every time, she insisted on hosting the meetings and events. She had the habit of serving everyone more tea than what they could actually drink.
Bucky was standing up straight and with his chin up. His arm had been laced through yours. He knocked on the door and waited for a reply.
"Are you nervous?" You asked him.
He shook his head, self-assured. "Not one bit. Too busy thinking about where I'm taking you afterwards."
Before you could bite back, the door was opened. "Y/N, darling! Finally, you're here. And Christopher Columbus, you brought a man with you."
Bucky smiled and nodded his head. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm James."
"Come in, you two. I must tell all the ladies that you have finally found yourself someone!"
The rest of the women were gathered around a table in the backyard. They were sharing stories but completely quieted when you walked in. All of their gazes turned towards you in adoration.
Rosie grabbed Bucky by the arm, affectionately pulling him in front of you. "This is James—look at him!"
All the ladies gasped, some even standing up and walking towards you. "Is it true?" Lillian asked you, "Are you truly going steady?"
You laughed and you nodded, squeezing Bucky's arm. In return, he smiled sweetly. "Yes, yes we are."
"Tell us, James, how did you meet? What do you do for a living? Are you certain you treat her fairly?" They asked all at once.
Bucky chuckled. One flash of his baby blue eyes, and he had each and every one of the ladies under his spell. Bucky Barnes was handsome and charming and knew exactly how to use that to his advantage.
He complimented their dresses and the food. He scratched whatever his ma had told him about flowers and used it to create small talk with Mrs Witley. From time to time, he kissed you on your cheek and whispered something in your ear. You leaned against him and sipped your tea.
"Let us tell you, James, we've been waiting forever for her to bring somebody for us to meet," Mrs Hughes added. "She's such a lovely young girl, and we're more than thrilled that she's found you."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm just doing what any man in his right mind would do." Bucky's hand brushed your back. His head stood high, as though he were proud of himself.
"You remind me of a boy I used to know when I was twenty-three. Oh, the old times," Lillian lamented. "I always thought I would marry him. He had the same eyes as you."
Bucky laughed. "Well, I don't make it a habit to break hearts. There's nothing for you ladies to worry about." They all cooed in return. One of them even started to whisper about wedding plans: which dress would look the best on you, if your hair should be braided, and who they were or were not inviting.
Bucky smirked and turned to look at you. He leaned down and pressed his lips against your ear. "You better have nothing to do tomorrow night, 'cause I'm claiming that date you owe me." His breath was warm, and his words made you feel giddier than they had the right to.
"I guess you've won, then," you sighed out, surrendering and not complaining.
"You ever doubt me?"
—
By the time the meeting ended, clouds had cast over the sky. The chatter had extended longer than you had intended. The ladies had been all too preoccupied with the boy in your arm.
"I didn't mean for this to drag out this long, Bucky. I'm sorry." You apologised once outside the house.
"None of that. My pleasure."
Then, hesitantly, you stepped closer. You rose on your tiptoes and placed your hand on his arm for balance. You pressed your lips against Bucky's cheek, and he nearly melted on the spot. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"You're not walking home. It's about to rain. Let me drive you, please." Bucky begged, almost, in a low murmur.
"Alright."
He drove you home quietly. Over the span of a single afternoon, you had grown comfortable with his presence. You had expected it to be hard, to struggle to hold Bucky and smile as though you were in love with him. You thought that he would stumble over his words and act like a man who was just eager to get his prized date.
You made dating look believable, and maybe you believed it, too.
When Bucky pulled over by your house, you knew exactly what to do. Rain droplets stained your hair and clothes, and he had insisted on getting rained on with you. Under the storm, Bucky looked more electrifying than ever. He opened the door of the car, stepping aside for you to get off.
"Bucky," you murmured.
He hummed in response instantly. His lips were parted and his face was too close. You had stopped breathing because there was something else you needed. "I actually enjoyed today."
"Me too. Good that you did, because I ain't letting go of you now."
You stepped closer, heart on your throat. "Don't you dare."
Before you could notice, your lips were on his. With a rush of boldness that you had no idea where it had come from, you pulled him by the shirt. Bucky Barnes wasn't a fool, so he kissed you back. He wrapped one arm around your waist; it was warm despite the rain, and it made your whole body tingle. His free hand cupped your cheek, angling your face just right.
He wouldn't let you pull away, and you could not find it in you to complain. You hooked both of your arms around his neck. Bucky kissed you deeper, and you bit his lip. He laughed and squeezed your waist to scold you.
Once he was done kissing you silly, he pulled away. You were soaking wet and breathless. "Bold," Bucky whispered.
"You bring that out," you replied. When Bucky tried to slowly strip himself away from you, you pulled him back in. "Come in," you said, nodding towards your house. "You'll catch a cold."
"I think the chatter about dating me might've got to your head. Don't your parents live there?"
"They do, yes." You looked unfazed by what you were suggesting.
"You think I should meet your ma? After I just kissed her daughter like that? How am I supposed to explain all this?" He gestured to both of you—the wet clothes, the messy hair.
"Good for you, James Barnes; you are very good at inventing stories."
just know.. the day i start watching supernatural is the day it’s over for everyone’s feed. reblogs, fanfictions, posts. everywhere. not yet, but one day.
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