"Roses are red
The sun gives off heat
If her legs are tired
She can use my face as a seat."
You grin proudly into the sea of faces that are your classmates and pick up a few horrified and a few impressed ones, but you see Steve, who recently joined your creative writing class – this week is poems, but his face is as red as a well spanked ass. You're confused.
"Alright, think we've heard enough." The professor tells you after clearing their throat.
"Wait, I have the other one ready – Whenever you're by my side, all I can think about is spreading your gorgeous legs wi-"
"You're done!" They shout over you trying to finish your kick ass poem that ends in a creamsicle style, making you hide a pout, "If I give you an A, will you spare us from the rest of your second poem?"
You gave it some thought, knowing this meant you could reuse it if they asked for more poetry in the future, plus, an A is an A and you came up with these last-minute right before class started because you had forgotten it was due so, "Yeah. I guess so."
"Wait, I wanted to hear that one!" Someone in the lecture hall shouted and you're a bit disappointed it's not your blonde friend, but what can you do.
"Please take your seat, Miss Stark."
So, you happily strolled over to plop next to Steven where you had been sitting before you presented and he let out a few grumbles before whispering, "Do you have to be so crass?"
"Do you have to be such a prude? It's just poetry." You whispered back out of the corner of your mouth as the next person got up to do their poems.
"Your rhymes weren't your best either." He muttered petulantly.
"It's a first semester creative writing class, I'm pacing myself. And having fun."
He rolled his eyes, scoffing, and when the lecture was over, the two of you went out to get food like usual, but then you got a text from Natasha saying that she was playing Fifa at the house and was wondering if you'd like to join.
"Sorry, Stevie, not to be the girl who drops everything, including her compadres, for a crush, but I've been summon and even if she doesn't know or acknowledge it yet, she's m'lady and when m'lady rings, I will answer every single time, especially since I'm unfortunately single in her eyes, so I'm-"
"Leaving. Christ. I got that part," He tried sounding annoyed, but he was smiling behind his cup, "Just go and I never want to know if those poems were about Romanoff. Leave me in the dark with all your writing from here on out."
"Oh, young, innocent, sweet Stephanie," You cooed condescendingly, gathering your stuff up then moving to kiss the top of his head, "You and I both know I'm smitten for the redheaded ki-"
"Fucking hell, don't finish that please just leave!"
"Love you too, Twinkerbell!" You shouted on your way out, waving behind you.
In reality, you'd admit – to yourself and your thoughts manager, Harold, only – that you're actually really super nervous when you're around the redhead. It's like the pressures are on. Not at all like in soccer practice when your teammates tried to help you dethrone the captain tittle from 'Brenda' when you had secretly been on a mission to get her kicked out of university and/or burned alive in the woods. No. This was much worse in thee best way. This was pressure because every time you saw this girl your thoughts manager Harold was constantly taking notes, but it was the same word over and over again. That word be wife. Sometimes soulmate. But then you'd scold him for his cheesiness. Have some decorum, Harold.
So, you took a deep breath outside the upperclassmen's house and raised your fist to knock on the door, but like a fool, the door pushed open since the last person hadn't properly closed it all the way. A fool, because you knew you shouldn't even have knocked, the door is always unlocked, and you were invited anyway. Not a date. No. Friend hang. You had barely finished taking your shoes off before,
"Stark, I'm in here!" The most angelic, slightly raspy voice calls over and you start practically floating towards it before she adds, "But if it's the wrong Stark, then fuck off, I'm expecting company."
That had you laughing at you entered the living room and even though her face was on the game for a second longer, you saw her smile before she paused it and turned towards you.
"Hope I'm the right Stark," You raised your eyebrows, shaking your head with wide eyes, "I was invited after all."
She gave you a quick once over, nearly undetectable if you weren't trying to memorize the color of green in her eyes, and then she smirked, "Yeah, definitely the right one."
She scooted over a bit, patting the cushion right next to her, and you happily plopped down, dropping your bag to the floor by your socked feet.
"How was class?" She asked as she exited her current game where she was winning and set up another controller before handing it to you.
"Fine. Boring. Made Steve blush like a schoolboy. The usual."
"Like making the football captain blush then?" She mused, but you spoke before thinking.
"Would much rather make the lacrosse captain blush, but she's much more of a challenge."
She raised her eyebrows, turning to face you fully, and smiling at you with a mix of surprise and slightly impressed that had you shrugging.
"A challenge?" She challenged (heh), "Are you up for it?"
Why were you breathless, stand up for fuck sake, you're embarrassing yourself in front of Harold of all people – people? – but you still managed to breathe out a low, "Definitely."
She smirked before turning back to the game and inching towards you a bit more so your knees to your shoulders were touching, making you realize how close you both were this whole time. You just prayed to whatever the fuck was listening that you managed to play a good game or seventeen and didn't get foolishly distracted by something like her freckles or her hands. God, her hands are – and she stole the ball, dammit.
