this is my masterlist for the june jukebox scribbles event hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles!! music is a big part of my life and more often than not has a big influence on the fics that i write. iâm super excited (and a little nervous) to see how i get on! this masterlist will be updated each time i post đ
(lmk if you donât want to be tagged daily for this scribbles event!)
 01. Save Me A Dance âŹâ.Ë
‷ 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader
‷ Joy to the World â Three Dog Night
02. Rough Day âŹâ.Ë
‷ Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader
‷ I Wanna Be Bad â Willa Ford
03. Apologise âŹâ.Ë
‷ Mob Boss!Bucky x Reader
‷ Mack the Knife â Bobby Darin
04. Haunting Past âŹâ.Ë
‷ TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Reader
‷ Right Place, Wrong Time â Dr. John
05. Gonna Make Her Mine âŹâ.Ë
‷ 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader
‷ Hey! Baby â Bruce Channel
06. Iâll Be Seeinâ You âŹâ.Ë
‷ Mechanic!Southern!Bucky Barnes x City Girl!Reader
‷ Therefore I am â Billie Eilish
07. Youâre the One âŹâ.Ë
‷ College!Bucky x College!Reader
‷ Jump (For My Love) â Pointer Sisters
08. Girl Crush âŹâ.Ë
‷ 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader
‷ Livinâ La Vida Loca â Ricky Martin
09. Ghost Story âŹâ.Ë
‷ Winter Soldier x Avenger!Reader
‷ Somebody That I Used To Know â Gotye
summary: you and bucky are friends. period. and you aren't going past that. but the tension between the two of you is rising, and neither of you can hold it in much longer...and there's a road trip.
2k wrds.
includes: friends to lovers, LOTS of yearning, crushes, angst, forced proximity, only one bed, fluff, slow burn (kinda), female reader
cw: eventual smut, alcohol use
read on ao3
You were addicted to Bucky Barnes.
His steel blue eyes, strong jawline, and that debilitating smile. The one that hooked you the moment you set eyes on him. His normally brooding expression would widen, his lips stretching into a genuine grin. Dimples. God, those dimples. But it wasn't just how beautiful or attractive he looked when he smiled. It was the worthwhile fight you had to put up to see it there. You see, Bucky didn't just hand out his smiles freely to any stranger. His smiles were earned, just like his trust. After so many years as the Winter Soldier, he wasn't used to it.
Bucky had been brainwashed and beaten until he didn't even remember his own name, and now that he was out of it, he was still slowly relearning joy. And you were going to be there for every step of it.
Therefore, you cannot fall in love with him.
Well, you might already be failing at that last thing. Just a tiny bit. But you were determined to be a supportive pillar during his healing journey, and not go anywhere farther than best friends.
Yup. Just a couple. Of besties.
You are jumped out of your thoughts at a sudden ding from your phone. Sliding your fingers across the glass screen, you unlock it to a text.
Bucky: Hey, mind if I come over now to fix that unstable chair?
Bucky: Or whatever time works for you.
Bucky: I can't find the smiling face emoji.
You bite your lip. He was unfairly cute. You quickly type back a reply:
R: yeah i'm just at home, u can come over
Sighing, you lock your phone and set it down. Bucky and his obsession with your safety. He had discovered the chair yesterday, and had immediately decided he was going back home to grab his toolbox. You told him it was fine and it could wait, but he insisted. Finally, you whittled him down to coming back tomorrow and he relented, sulking. You managed to distract him by turning on an episode of Sex and the City, which he was oddly invested in. He insisted he was a Miranda.
You sit down on the couch. On the left side, because the right side was Bucky's. God, you couldn't stop thinking about him even when he wasn't there! What were you doing, leaving space for an imaginary man? You huff and sit in the middle.
Out of the corner of your eye, a black strap peeking out from under the couch catches your eye. You pull it out, and incredulously look at the reason you and Bucky had even met in the first place. Your misplaced gym bag! You had figured it lost. Bucky had the exact same one. Black, simple, no logos. Easy to accidentally take someone elses.
It had been two years ago. You had enrolled in a yoga class at a gym three blocks down, after a friend's recommendation. It had been enjoyable and stress-relieving, acting as a physical way you could decompress. You particularly liked the rhythm of stretching and holding. After, you went to pick up your bag from the cubbies they keep at the front. Being exhausted and sweaty, you picked up the first black bag you saw and hightailed it out of there.
In your defense, they looked exactly the same. But the contents of the bag were the opposite of what you expected. Upon opening, you discovered a copy of The Hobbit, a baseball, and a banged up black water bottle. That was it. You checked the tiny pockets in the front, but absolutely nothing. How were you supposed to identify this person and give them their bag back? You sighed. Just your luck.
After lying down in bed and mourning the loss of your brand new pink waterbottle, you decided to go through the bag one more time. You inspected the bottom of the thermos. No name. You rolled the ball around, checking them entire surface, but nothing. Finally, you picked up the book. A new edition, something that could be picked up at any random bookstore. The corners were bent and the pages were frayed, though. Clearly this copy had been well loved by its owner. You flipped to the first page, and there it was.
Barnes.
Nothing else. Just a name. You were greatly confused. Was it a last name? Or maybe they had forgotten to write & Noble? This clearly wasn't very helpful. You wondered what this person was like, to own such a small amount of items. Maybe they were some sort of minimalistic yoga person whose entire belongings can fit in a suitcase.
At least you had been smart enough to keep your phone and wallet on you. Or else, you wouldn't have gotten his text.
Unknown: I have your bag.
Unknown: Did you take mine?
You let out a slightly embarrassing squeal. Who cares if the text was creepy, your bag wasn't lost forever!
R: yeahh i did sorry lol!
R: wait
R: what's your last name?
You watched the three dots with high anticipation. Finally, a responses comes:
Unknown: Barnes
"Yes!"
R: ok perfect! just had to make sure
R: wanna meet up and trade? theres a bar on west 62nd that has 2 dollar mai tais after 7!
R: i'll buy as an apology :)))
Barnes: See you at 7.
When you walked into the bar that night, black bag slung over your shoulder, you didn't expect to see what you did. To be honest, you kind of expected a hippie. But Bucky? With his tall frame and beefy biceps? Yeah, you could deal with that. Definitely.
You walked over to him, sitting at the bar, black bag placed on the stool next to him. Tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head. Deep blue eyes trained themselves on you. You felt a slight hitch in your breath. He looked shocked. You both stared at each other in silence for a beat before you spoke.
"Barnes, right?" You were proud of how stable your voice was, despite the love-at-first-sight romcom moment you had just experienced.
"Um..yeah. Yeah, that's me." A slight blush dusted the tops of his cheeks. Maybe you weren't what he expected either.
"Sorry, can I sit?" Bucky quickly moved the bag off of the stool. You dropped his bag on the counter, and he fumbled to grab yours. When he handed it to you, your hands brushed. Just the slightest touch, but the butterflies in your stomach amplified by ten.
"Sorry about this whole thing," you began, but he started talking at the same moment. "Thank you for meeting me--" Both of you stop at the same time, and you shyly giggle. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly.
"Ok, I'll go first. I wanna apologize for stealing your bag! I mean, what are the chances that we both own the exact same bag and go to the exact same gym at the same time? By the way, I love The Hobbit too! Have you seen the movies?" You ramble on.
"No, I...haven't seen many movies."
"What?! You need to! They're so good! Anyways, back to my apology--wait, let's get Mai Tais first!"
His hint of a smile is the only response you need.
That night, you enjoy yourself way more than you ever thought you would. Supplemented by the 2 dollar Mai Tais and a sudden urge to know everything about this man's life (including his first name) you and Bucky stayed at the bar until 12 am. You discover that while he is very mysterious about his past, he eventually opens up and tells you bit by bit. In turn, he learns about your parent's divorce and your terrible dating life.
It was fun. He was smart, and funny, but also polite and genuinely kind. Bucky showed interest in what you had to say and listened attentively. He treated every word that came out of your mouth like it was the most important thing ever said.
And if he glanced at your lips for slightly too long, or you stared into his blue eyes until you got nervous, it didn't matter. Because the two of you were going to be just friends, you decided.
He didn't need another stressor added onto his life after his past trauma.
A sudden knock at the door jolts you out of your trip down memory lane. Bucky, here to fix your chair. Great.
You walk over and turn the door handle, and stare at the six-foot-tall man hulking in your doorway, toolbox in hand.
"Bucky, did you run over here?"
He chuckles. "Maybe. Just a tiny bit. A respectable jog! How did you know?"
"Because you're huffing and puffing and you got here in 3 minutes. Bucky, it's really not that big of a deal! I'm not going to break my back because my chair is a little bit wobbly!"
He stalked past you into your kitchen, approaching the offending chair like it was an enemy in combat that he was determined to strike down. "Can't have my favourite girl falling off a chair now, can I? Just gotta--" He flipped it over with ease, kneeling down to inspect the leg. The angle gave you an extremely unfair view of his broad shoulders, jutting out into his toned arms. You wanted to take a bite out of him.
While he fiddles with the wood and opens his toolbox, you open the fridge and take out a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade. Grabbing two glasses from the cabinet, you pour two cups. Bucky glances up at you from his position and smiles. Dimples. "You know me so well. Thank you, sweetheart."
You smile back. "Can't have my favourite boy dying of thirst after his run now, can I?"
A strand of hair falls from his wind-swept hair into his eye. His gaze lowers before the moment lingers for too long. He knows just as well as you do what happens then. The thoughts that race through your head. The what-ifs.
He's not interested in a relationship, you tell yourself. You know this because ever since the two of you met, you haven't even seen him ever so much as glance at another person. He didn't date. You didn't ask why, because you're not sure if you would like the response.
"Sam mentioned something about going back to Delacroix in a few days. He invited the both of us," Bucky says as he twists a screwdriver. "Would you wanna go?"
The question warms you. "I'd love to! I haven't seen Sarah in so long, her kids must be...how old?"
"Ten and twelve. Anyways, I thought you'd say that. We're gonna grab coffee tomorrow to work out the dates, I hope you'll come? Good. I can't bare Sam's teasing by myself for much longer."
Of course. Sam was determined to tease you and Bucky about the tension between you two until you get married, apparently. Just last week, he introduced the two of you as a couple to his neighbour. When you and Bucky blushed and profusely denied it, Sam (not so silently) whispered to them that it was only a matter of time.
Bucky flips the chair back over and gestures for you to sit on it. You do, and it feels as solid as a rock. You smile at Bucky. "What would I do without you?"
Date other people without feeling guilty. You don't say that out loud.
Bucky chuckles. "Break your back, clearly."
You get up, intending to give him a friendly pat on the back. Instead, at the touch of your hand on his shoulder, Bucky's strong arms pull you in for a hug. He smells like lemons and warmth. He feels like home. Your heart aches at the thought. You feel his shoulders decompress as he slowly relaxes into the hug, exhaling into the crook of your neck. His stubble gently scratches you.
You wonder how soft his dark hair would feel. Just as you reach up to run your hands through it, Bucky jolts up. His body detaches from you like two magnets from similar poles.
The grimace on his face is clear. He looks slightly ashamed, blush rushing across his face.
He manages to bite out, "Um--see you tomorrow." before practically running out the door, his lemonade completely abandoned.
And if you saw a tent in his pants, you pretend like it didn't happen.
a/n: hope you enjoyed! i hope to have the next chapter up in the next few days, ty for reading! (p.s. bucky being a miranda is 100% canon)
where all the oneshots/blurbs written for my auâs reside<3
my main masterlist is here <3 that is what i add to the most/where all the really good shit is haha
my requests/asks are always open if you have any ideas youâd like to see! just please know that it might take me awhile to actually get to writing them :)
smut đŹ angst đ„ fluff đ
âł
â° mechanic!matty
oneshots
taking up your mouth, so you breathe through your nose - đŹ
leather and lace - đŹ
lovesick - đ
the boy is mine - đŹđ
social media au - đŹđ
call me if you need me - đ
wrong end of your cigarette - đŹ
forever&more - đŹđ
pretty when you cry - đŹđ
blurbs
bathroom blurb - đŹ
meeting mattyâs mom - đ
engagement thoughts - đđŹ
pregnancy thoughts - đ
matty jealous over one of your friends - đđŹ
meeting mattys friends - đ
karaoke - đ
comfort during period - đ
car museum - đ
george with their daughter thoughts - đ
young boy flirting with you in front of matty - đŹ
washing mattyâs car - đŹ
graduation - đđŹ
t-shirt - đđŹ
you leave pictures on mattyâs phone - đŹ
college reunion - đ„đđŹ
tv - đŹ
pregnancy scare - đđ„
comfort - đ„đ
phone sex - đŹ
punishment - đŹ
back of car - đŹ
â° tattoo artist!matty
oneshots
a fever you canât sweat out - đŹ
fifteen minutes - đŹđ
blurbs
beach - đ
mattyâs convo with george after the kiss
the ring
phone call with carmen after appointment
matty going to see kian after your weekend together
helloooo, new AU wow. This is just a cutsey idea I had, idk, I hope you guys like it, I'd be happy to write more for these two. This is just a bit of an introduction to them, it's not too long, sorry!!
Fem! Reader
Contains: Teacher! Matty, secret relationship, making out, a bit of touching/grinding, nearly getting caught, SOOO much flirting and teasing good lord
At first, it was surface-level things that had drawn you to your colleague. You liked that he usually wore a button-down shirt and a tie to school, but on some days, it was just a band shirt and a blazer. And you liked that he had a pretentious leather briefcase filled with notebooks for all of his disorganized thoughts and things he needed to remember. That quickly became you realizing how genuine he was in his mission to touch as many of these kidsâ lives as possible. To him, the job wasnât just about teaching English. It was about teaching kids what he wished heâd have known at their age. He wasnât like the other teachers youâd met since getting a job at this high school. He had a restless energy to him, one that wouldnât stop until he felt satisfied with the mark heâd left on the world.Â
It was hard to pinpoint how it all started. Maybe it was the many lunch breaks youâd taken together, your shared love for literature, or the surprise coffee deliveries to your classroom in the middle of the day. If you had to pick one moment, it was probably when youâd chaperoned a school winter formal together, spending the night making eyes at each other while also ensuring that kids werenât getting drunk or too handsy under the gymnasium bleachers. You still remember the way he reacted to seeing you in that dress, how heâd delicately fixed the strap of it when it slipped down your shoulder. The way it felt when his fingertips skimmed your bare shoulder, lingering for just a moment, you might as well have been a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl yourself. It was ridiculous the number of times you relived it in your head. Over and over, the memory alone caused your skin to prick with goosebumps. You couldnât find it in you to be irritated with how distracting your colleague was.Â
After that evening, the caffeine-fueled paper grading sessions in his classroom turned into sharing glasses of red wine in his apartment and chatting over music. You didnât just talk about school or complain about which kids were giving you headaches (but he did love the occasional piece of hot work gossip, even if he pretends not to be that interested). You loved seeing a side of him that none of the other staff or the students got to see. His edges really didnât appear all that sharp when heâd giggle at your stupid jokes or insist on calling you a cab when the night was through and the reality of school the next day hit you both hard.Â
Matty told you all sorts of things when it was just the two of you, when his tie was loosened as well as his lips. You started to learn more about who he was before he became âMr. Healyâ. With how good he is at the job, you were shocked to learn that heâd never planned on being a teacher. Ever. He wanted to be a musician. A rock star, specifically, adored by thousands for his brilliant mind that was now mostly being used for catching plagiarized writing. When the band idea fell apart, along with his dreams of never having to return to school, he had to pick between wasting away delivering Chinese food or begrudgingly doing something with his life.Â
âI fucking hated school,â heâd admitted to you bluntly one night, his back to you as heâd carefully flipped a record over on his pricy turntable. And thatâs exactly what made him so good at connecting with the slackers and the trouble makers of his classroom. He knew them because he was them at one point in his life. There was no denying that Mattyâs students loved him. They loved that he treated them like adults and wasnât afraid to tell them where things were at. Sometimes, when walking down the hall, youâd linger for a few moments by his classroom door to hear him passionately lecturing, his voice carrying confidently through the room. There wasnât a peep of side conversation amongst the kids. He had everyone captivated with his theatrics, pacing in front of the chalkboard with his hands gesturing wildly. Maybe he was a born showman after all, even if it wasnât in the way heâd imagined.
You were a bit jealous of the way he could command his classroom, being a newer teacher yourself, but he was always happy to give you pointers and let you practice your lessons on him for feedback. It was nice to get tips on how not to let the kids totally trample you. According to Matty, they could sniff out a disingenuous person easier than anyone, and the best way to go about it was to just say what you mean. His wisdom was endless, and as were his rambles about the importance of the youth. You didnât mind though. It was endearing to see a teacher that wasnât burnt out and jaded yet like so many were.
The way you both felt, how close you were getting, it was risky, unprofessional, reckless, and yet felt far too right for what it was. Getting involved with a colleague that way, you both knew how badly it could go if people started to catch on. But, if anything, youâd say you were actually less productive at your job while having to constantly bite your lip and hide your urges when he was around. Maybe the danger was part of the allure, or perhaps he was just that damn attractive. It was all like an incoming, all-consuming storm that was impossible not to get swept up in. It felt like you were unraveling each other further every time you met outside of school, testing the other's restraint.
Your mind was constantly a mess of thoughts of Matty, some cleaner than others, and he wasnât faring much better. The way his gaze would rake over you during English department meetings was simply unfair, stealing glances at the way youâd fidget with your pen or twirl your hair. And suddenly, undressing each other with your eyes just wasnât enough. How much were you willing to risk to know his touch? His kiss? To feel the tattoos that were hidden under his dress shirts like thinly veiled reminders of his past?
You remember how it felt to kiss him for the first time. It was a culmination of every lingering glance, every loud laugh shared on your lunch breaks, every âaccidentalâ brush of hands. It was deep and desperate and raw with roaming hands that tugged on clothes and dug into skin. He kissed better than you could have imagined, his lips slotting against yours like he wanted to devour you. And god help you both if anyone found out what happened directly after that kissâŠ
That all leads to now, visiting him in his classroom long after the final bell had rung. It was Friday, which meant everyone was desperate to go home and unwind, but Matty was still diligently working his way through a thick stack of papers. You simply watched him from his doorframe for a moment, taking in the way his eyes squinted as he caught a grammatical error on a page. He shook his head, his unruly curls bouncing as he grumbled something to himself before scratching over the page with a red pen. It was hard not to adore him.
âYour hair looks crazy. Have you been teaching all day like that?â you say, arms crossed over your chest.
Mattyâs eyes light up just at the sound of your voice, the stress and tension of grading melting away from his features as he looks up at you with a smile. He just shrugs casually, giving a halfhearted attempt to smooth out his thick hair, only to have it bounce back in odd directions.
âHi. And, yeah, whatever. I think Iâve made it worse by nearly tearing it out over these,â he says, lifting up the stack of paper just to drop it back on his desk with a hefty thud, âIf only theyâd let me change the curriculum a bit, Iâd give them something to read that would actually blow their little minds. Iâm sick to fucking death of To Kill a Mockingbird, and so are they.â
âYou could give them an extra credit assignment? Make it whatever you want,â you suggest jokingly, causing him to snort and drop his pen in defeat. It clatters on the desk as he shakes out his hand thatâs cramped from writing.
âYeah, good one. But seriously,â he continues, motioning to the scribblings of red pen all over the pages, âThis is what you get when kids are uninspired, you know?â
You hum thoughtfully, knowing that he had big dreams of opening up kidsâ worlds, showing them what he calls âthe real shitâ. After shutting the door and locking it (something you were quite used to by now), you push off the doorframe to approach his desk, sitting on the edge of it that wasnât covered in papers. His eyes flicker over you for a moment, his gaze simmering with interest before forcing himself to look back down. His fingers rhythmically tap on his lap like he was visualizing this new, better syllabus in his mind.
âWhat would you rather them be reading? Kafka?â you tease.Â
Matty rolls his eyes, reaching out to lightly smack your knee for being a smartass.Â
âGod, no, not Kafka,â he says, âWhatâre you fidgeting with over there?â
You raise your eyebrows slightly as he easily notices the way your hand is fiddling with something in the pocket of your cardigan. You pull out a small, folded-up piece of paper that was tucked inside, smoothing it out for him to read.
âThis was inside the sleeve of my coffee today. Any idea how it got in there?â you ask casually, smiling as he pretends not to recognize his own handwriting. This was not the first little note heâd left for you with your coffee delivery, and it certainly wouldnât be the last.
ââYour arse looks great in that skirtâ. Hm. Some horny baristas out there, huh?â he says before unabashedly looking at your backside, biting his lip, âTheyâre not wrong though, are they?â
âClassy,â you quip, âWhereâd you get it? It was really good today.â
He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair comfortably. How did he always look so effortlessly cool?Â
âIâm not telling you that.â
âWhy?âÂ
âBecause then you wouldnât need me to get you coffee anymore, would you?â
You shake your head softly with a huff, crossing one leg over the other as the slightly crude note sat on his desk, signed âWestleyâ with a heart. It was a silly, secret code youâd come up with while tipsy and bonding over a childhood love for the book, The Princess Bride. Of course, you were Buttercup. Youâd both started doing it as a joke, but maybe youâd grown more attached to it than you wanted to admit.
âWhy would I fire my favorite delivery boy?â
âIâm your only delivery boy, thank you very much,â Matty states proudly, placing his hand on your thigh as he looks over his mess of a desk. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs back and forth over your skin, awakening some familiar, warm feelings in you.
âI need a break,â he admits with a sigh, running his free hand over his weary face while his leg bounces relentlessly under his desk, âMy brain is melting out my ears.â
You watch as he glances around the room and towards the door, making sure itâs closed and locked before his restless gaze lands on you again. His expression is a bit wild. He got like that when heâd been doing the same thing for too long.
âCâmere,â he whispers, beckoning you with a pat of his lap. He needs you close, your presence like a much-needed reset for his overworked mind. You quieted the noise for him like nothing else did.Â
You didnât have to be asked twice. You slowly slid off the desk and onto his lap, sitting sideways across his legs. His hands guided you by your waist to sit comfortably. Matty sighed deeply, letting out a prolonged breath of relief through his nose. He allowed himself to slump forward slightly, his shoulders sagging as he rested his forehead against your neck. The scent of you, mixed with your perfume, somehow always lulled him into a state of surrender. A shiver crawls down his spine as he remains that way, breathing you in with his hands firmly at your waist.Â
âWorking too hard?â you murmur, reaching to gently rub one of his temples, listening to the sound of his slow breathing.
A grumbled âMmâŠâ is all you get in response. Matty begins to leave a series of tender kisses along your neck, gently pushing your hair out of the way to make more room for his lips to trail over your skin. Your lashes flutter for a moment with pleasure, enjoying how naturally sensual he could be.
âTell me about your day. Iâve just been complaininâ,â he says softly, his voice low and gravelly near your ear as he rubs small circles over your hip bones with his thumbs.
âMm. Was alright. I still feel like I donât have my stern teacher voice down yet,â you smile sheepishly, closing your eyes as your head slowly lolls to the side.
He huffs out a laugh that tickles the sensitive skin of your neck. It makes your chin dip down, a grin breaking out on your face.
âI dunno what you mean. You can be very scary, babe.â
You werenât so sure. Maybe it was just in your head, but you felt like whenever you used a harsher tone, it came across as false, too forced. Your dislike for conflict always seemed to seep through in the waver of your voice. If you didnât believe that you could be in charge, how would your students?
âLet me hear yours.â
âWhat, now?â he chuckles, his lips pulling into a smirk.
You nod, letting your fingers run through his dark curls. Matty clears his throat dramatically, as if preparing to deliver a rousing speech. His voice drops an octave when he speaks, coming out cold and authoritative in your ear in a way that makes your heart stutter and your face feel hot.Â
âDetention. Now.â
He played the part well, but just as quickly ruined the image by grinning like an idiot and kissing the side of your head. You canât help but laugh as he turned from Mr. Healy to your dork boyfriend Matty right before your eyes.
âOhh, wow,â you tease, playing up your reaction with a hand over your heart, âIâm scared.â
âYeah, you should be, miss,â he says, reaching to grab a handful of your ass through your skirt. When you were alone this way, he couldnât seem to stand not touching you. But, there was even the rare occasion where youâd feel a hand on your leg under the table at a department meeting.Â
Mattyâs eyebrow quirks as he notices a sparkle in your eyes, knowing that youâre about to suggest something less than school-appropriate. He narrows his eyes at you, a smirk playing at his lips.Â
âYou should tell me to get on your desk next,â you request coyly, fluttering your lashes at him.
âOh, should I?â he chuckles lowly, smiling as he leans in to briefly kiss you, the second of contact making butterflies erupt in your stomach.
He just looks at you for a moment, his eyes soft and fond as they flicker over your face. It always feels like time has slowed down entirely when he looks at you that way, each second dragging on longer than the last. He cocks his head towards his desk.
âGo on then, hop up. Or, ermâŠâ he pauses, clearing his throat to attempt his stern teacher voice again, âGet on the desk, you delinquent.â Itâs not as effective when heâs trying to stifle a smile, and his voice quavers with amusement.Â
âStop!â you chuckle as he leans in to nip your jaw with his teeth playfully.
With a light smack to your backside, you were up off his lap and onto his desk, a few items rattling as you quickly settled in. Matty shoves the pile of unmarked papers aside, caging you in with his arms as he stands up from his chair. Thereâs a wickedness in his expression that peeks through the exhaustion, a gleam in his dark eyes that wasnât entirely stifled by the stacks of lackluster writing. You hum softly as he begins to lean in, closer and closer, until his warm breath fans across your lips. Your hands knot into his hair, feeling the dark, soft tresses between your fingers. He just smiles, knowing the effect he has on you.
âQuit drooling,â he mutters, his eyes darting over your face restlessly as he drags the tip of his index finger down your lips.
âIâm not,â you whisper, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, âTease.â
Matty lets out a raspy chuckle before grasping your jaw, tilting his head to press his lips to yours. Instantly, youâre drawing him closer by putting your legs around his waist, drawing his lanky body in until heâs flush against you. One of his hands stays on your jaw while the other moves to your hip. You inhale him deeply as your lips slot together, the woody scent of his cologne only dizzying you further. A warm, tingling sensation floods through you as his fingertips just barely break the barrier of the hem on your shirt. God, what a thrill.Â
âYour hands are cold,â you complain, jumping slightly as his icy fingers spread out against your side.Â
âYeah? Warm them up then,â Matty replies huskily against your lips, his hand only sliding further up your shirt, grazing over your ribs now.
He relishes the shiver that skitters through you, bringing you impossibly closer as he kisses you senseless. By the time he breaks the lip lock to press hasty kisses to your neck, youâre both panting softly. Your head lolls backward, your hair spilling over your shoulders as Matty lovingly assaults your skin with a barrage of kisses. You canât help but laugh breathlessly at how determined he seems to cover every inch of your neck and jawline. Now, his hand is warm again under your shirt, the inviting temperature making it creep upwards towards your bra.Â
âGod,â he whispers, sounding almost pained by how good your lace-covered breast feels when itâs cupped in his hand. Mattyâs head was spinning with all the thoughts of things he could do while you were perched on his desk this way.Â
In a split second, heâs hiking your shirt over your bra and helping you shrug off your cardigan, fueled by what can only be described as unfiltered need. He mutters something that sounds like a string of swears under his breath as he glances down, shifting slightly to adjust the growing bulge in his slacks. You lean back on your hands, your chest heaving as Matty takes in the view. You like it when he does that. No matter how many times heâs seen you with your shirt off, he reacts like itâs a privilege, like youâre the most angelic thing heâs ever been allowed to behold. He wasnât spiritual by any means, but he honestly believed that you, touching you, loving you as his most prized secret, brings him closer to something divine than anything else.Â
Starving, you pulled him in by his tie for more, your skirt hiking further up your thighs. It was hot, too hot to describe when his tongue was in your mouth and his hips were rolling against yours. You make a soft sound of pleasure, only for it to be instantly echoed by Matty in a low groan against your mouth. A lot of your jobs were spent reeling in teenagers, but really, you were no better than them when you got your hands on each other. Your wandering hands and friction-seeking hips were no better than those of a 17-year-old experiencing touch for the first time. It was exactly the same with Matty. Once youâd gotten just a taste of something forbidden, you could only think of the next time you could have it.
âFuck,â you whisper, your eyelashes fluttering as Mattyâs thumbs swipe over your nipples through your bra, the stiffness in his trousers pressing against your panties just right. So right, that you felt a throb between your legs like a pang of pure need.Â
It was normal for you to get lost in him, especially with his hands setting simmering fires all beneath your skin. However, today, youâd gotten lost enough not to hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. It was only when the sound of keys jingling echoed right outside the door that you both froze. You swore you felt your stomach drop right to your feet as your eyes snapped open, pushing Matty back with a hand to his chest. His lips are wet and shining when you part, his eyebrows raised in shock. His expression is much like that of a deer in headlights.Â
âFucking hell, janitor coming for the trash,â he mutters, his breath trembling slightly. He nervously runs a hand through his hair, knowing they only have about two seconds before theyâll be exposed. âUnder the desk, under the desk,â he says, motioning hurriedly for you to get down.Â
You nearly hit your head against the arm of his chair as you scramble to huddle under his desk, your heart pounding in your chest. Matty sits back down just as fast, sliding his chair in with his legs spread wide to give you enough space. Well, as much space as you can get crouched down under a desk. You can barely take a full breath before the door is swung open, followed by the janitorâs raspy but warm voice.
âOh, youâre here late!â
Matty clears his throat, forcing himself to display a somewhat normal smile as he talks, praying that his make-out mussed hair doesnât look that different from his usual messy curls. Luckily, the trash can was near the door. Neither of you needed the man to be any closer to this ticking time bomb of a disaster that was hidden only about ten feet away.
âAh, yeah. Papers,â he says lamely, motioning to the disaster on the surface of his desk.
You bite your lip to stifle a smile at how uncomfortable he looks. Poor guy. It definitely doesnât help that youâre eye level with hisâ
âIâll just be taking this and heading out, then!â the janitor exclaims, having no idea what heâd just interrupted. You can hear the sound of the garbage bag rustling as he gathers it up in his gloved hands.Â
âThank you,â Matty responds, his voice strained. He nervously clears his throat again, pretending to return to his work. âUm, and youâve been well?â
âOh, yes, canât complain.â
Gingerly, you reach up to place your hands on Mattyâs knees, which jerk the moment you touch them. He visibly locks up in his chair, glancing down at you with a look as his spine goes rigid. It was a warning look. He places one hand over yours that rests on his left knee, pressing it down hard to ensure that you wouldnât let it wander any higher. In stark contrast to the disciplining pressure, he gently rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. Your heart jumped in your chest at the sensation, still racing as the tension in the room ran high. He mouths your name, followed by âStop it. Be goodâ. Fuck. You watched him from under the desk as he now read the same sentence on one of the pages over and over again, too distracted to even think about absorbing any of the content.Â
âGood night,â you hear, those two words undoing the vice around your lungs.
âNight,â Matty answers curtly, refusing to look down at you until the door is clicked shut again.Â
The moment heâs fully gone, Matty raises both of his trembling hands, raking them down his face with an uneasy sigh. Relief could hardly describe the feeling you were experiencing. Neither of you could have ever lived down you being caught under his desk with your shirt shoved over your tits. The whole experience was only about a minute, but it might as well have lasted ten.
âJesus fucking christ. That was like three years off my life,â he mutters, shaking his head wearily before his voice comes out again with a revived sense of vigor, âAnd you! What the fuck are you doing touchinâ me down there?!â
âIt was for balance!â you defend, raising your hands up to show your innocence.
Okay, maybe it was three-quarters balance-related, one-quarter just wanting to see him squirm. Or⊠maybe more like half and half. Matty scoffs, staring at your disheveled form incredulously. He crosses his arms over his chest, simply radiating with skepticism. The intensity of the moment lingered on like an unshakable sense of unease.
ââFor balanceâ, my arse, love. Câmon,â he says, reaching out a hand while his eyes bored into you, âTrying to get us both sacked.â
You rise from the floor slowly, placing one hand on his chest as you stand between his legs. A slight pout was on your lips, as if you hadnât almost caused a disaster. Matty exhales gruffly, trying to stifle the soft spot that ached for you in his heart, no matter what you did.
âIâm sorry, wasnât thinking.â
âAh, no,â he says, wagging a finger at you, âIâm serious, youâll be sitting on your hands next. And you never do think when it comes to this shit, do you? Itâs always just fuck me on your desk, Matty! I canât control myself!â
âI donât sound like that!â you respond, faux exasperated at his terrible impression of your voice.
âMm. Yeah, you do.â
You lean against his desk, then slowly pull your shirt back down and smooth it out over your torso. Just as quickly as the mood of desperation for each other had swept over you, it had been forcefully extinguished.Â
âNo more touching until weâre back to my place. Maybe by then Iâll have recovered from the fuckinâ heart attack you gave me.â
âFine,â you sigh. You were too ramped up with leftover anxiety to think about kissing right now anyway.
You werenât entirely sure when this would become a funny moment to laugh about, but you were sure that when you got to his flat, all would be forgotten the second his hands were on your hips again.
âWeâre not doing this again in here,â he says with a point of his finger, his eyes intense with conviction.
You will probably be doing this in here again soon.
People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'you're safe with me'- that's intimacy.
Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evenly Hugo.
