#Do My Cheap Assignment

[snowshinobi]

nothing gets me like a character with overt flower symbolism ESPECIALLY self-inflicted

[nerdie-faerie]

Me: *still hasn't started my assignment that's due at noon tomorrow*

Spotify: hey did you know there's a concert being held nearby for an artist you like on your birthday next year :)

Me, doesn't even like celebrating my birthday but needs no prompting to be distracted: oh really? Well I need to know more right this second

[pasta-n00dles]

I hate teachers… you’d think them teaching would mean brain cells are present but NOPE.

[muntitled]

Rabid

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've figured if you paid him, then your debts would be settled and maybe... just maybe he'd let you go

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Angst, Neglect, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Absent Parents, Violence, Smut +18 (mdni), Sadomasochism, Sadist!Seongje, Fingering, Dark fic, Dubious consent, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: Comissioned by @tojii11 ... as always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Since you've known him as of late, lying has become almost as voluntary as breathing. It should scare you, how fluidly a lie slips past the confines of your lips. Making you more and unrecognizable to even your own self.

"I'm tutoring late tonight."

"I’m studying at the library,"

“I'm having dinner with a friend.”

You didn't have many of those. Had your parents been the caring type they might have known that friends were a luxury you could not afford.

Still, it bothered you that you were making excuses for him. You were helping yourself get extorted everytime you stole for him and everytime you didn't let a living soul know.

The first few times were as difficult as it ever got. But the more you were forced to work for him, the more he corrupted you-the more that infection spread until it became all you were.

"What do you need that much money for anyway?" You squeeze your phone tighter with one hand while the other sits in your blazer pocket. You maintain a calm, controlled gait as you walk out of the school gates, surrounded by your peers dressed in the same uniform walking in clumps of groups- little ecosystems that they formed to help manage their anxieties. You wish you had their problems: Boys. Makeup. Parties.

You wish you had your own little ecosystem. A group who'd be more concerned with strengthening your mental health, not deteriorating it.

"You think school trips to Bali are gonna be cheap?" It was always easier to lie to her over the phone or through text. There was something biting in your mother's eyes that you couldn't always face. Something that would eat you alive if she found out you've been working for the kind of people you're working for.

"Backtrack on the attitude," her words snipe you through the receiver like barbed wire, "It's just strange that they're organizing a field trip in the height of your assignments like this..."

"It's an incentive I guess. They're telling us about it now for extra motivation to see this exam season through.." lies lies and more lies. Your mouth is full of them.

"I don't know if I want you to be thinking about a trip to Bali during all this work... have you been improving?"

There was no improvement with her. Only perfection. She tried your whole life to wipe you squeaky clean until you were spotless. If only she knew that over the past year you've acquired a spot almost impossible to scrub away. He's irremovable. Or at least you thought he was...

"When did you say your field trip was? Perhaps your father and I will tag along, make a family vacation out of it. We never see you anymore because you're always studying and Bali is lovely all-year round-" while your mother talks, your heart sinks and panic festers. You try to focus your steps on making it across the road, down a path you've walked all year.

"Mom, please don't be embarrassing."

"How am I being embarrassing?"

"You'll be the only parent there." Above you, the afternoon sun sits snugly against the horizon, guiding you down a decrepit lane. Stray cats and empty soju bottles litter the street the farther you walk from the safety of the school grounds. You're getting closer and you needed her to send the money.

"It's my money. I can do with it as I please."

You scramble your brain, searching furiously for a lifeline.

"It's just..." More and more lies, "This trip is actually just Geo-camp. Our teachers planned a few cave explorations. We're gonna check out the different stalactites and stalagmites-your presence might hinder my concentration-"

In the distance, the warehouse looms and your fist in your blazer pocket begins to coil.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place instead of wasting my time?” Your mother tsks, “I've sent the money to your account."

"Thank you ma'am..."

The call ends abruptly, void of any warmth. Void of any love. You pull your phone away from your ear and your nerves settle as you see the money reflecting. You suddenly feel bigger than this warehouse- bigger than life itself- like you're armed and ready to take on anything this rabid dog might throw at you.

You tilt your head back to watch the clouds disappear behind the iron roof and you steal your nerves. Word on the street is that this place once belonged to Baek Jin before his untimely disappearance. Until, naturally, a wolf came in and marked it as his own...

The nearer you get to the slightly opened door, the clearer the sound becomes: You hear the sound of a broken man groaning and your body has a visceral reaction. By now you recognize the sound of a fist slamming against human flesh and bone. You know what that sounds like and it haunts you through those quiet moments at night when it was just you and your memories. You fight the urge to stop walking, something in you tugging and begging to just walk away. It's either this or remain a slave for the rest of your foreseeable future.

That thought is enough to have you sucking in one final breath of air before waltzing into the warehouse. It's dark, the air damp and stuffy with little to no circulation. Despite the location, the interior is somewhat tidy and were it not for the man kneeling and bleeding on the floor, you might have thought the place fitting for any dignified bachelor.

“I didn't expect to see you today,” Seongje addresses you the moment you step in. His fist is paused in mid air and it's pulled back as if you'd just saved the man on the floor from experiencing one final blow.

He smiles at you, as if he didn't have blood on his knuckles. As if he didn't have a man on his knees, pleading for his life. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Seongje asks, before digging his fingers into the boys scalp. You hide your trembling hands in the pockets of your blazer and you appear as unaffected as you possibly can when Seongje tilts the man's face to look up at you. “This is Eungmin. He's very cute, very small.” Seongje smiles. “Eungmin is getting beat unconscious because he's been stealing some of my money for himself, isn't that right, Eungmin-a?”

The man’s left ise completely disappeared under a swollen mass of flesh. His skin is broken in several places- all is red and yet he still tries… “P-please-” his words are slurred. You can tell he's getting closer and closer to blacking out. His brain can't comprehend the words leaving his mouth and it's far too painful to watch. “My grandfather's sick and- I needed the money-”

“Sob, sob, sob, stories, Eungmin-a,” Seongje lets go of the man's head before tucking his hands into his pockets. Eungmin sways from side to side as Seongje rounds his bruised and battered body, tsking lightly like a scolding parent.

Before you're made witness to any more bloodshed, possibly even a murder, you grab your phone out of blazer pocket and with trembling hands you press a few buttons on your screen.

Seongje's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pockets. He taps away at the device with bloodied fingers, his orange windbreaker stained with the same blood and for a moment, all is quiet.

Seongje stares blankly at his screen.

“What's this?” He asks without looking up.

Something in you tells you that you have the upper hand. Power has shifted, even minutely and it gives you the courage to reply back, “It's an incentive.”

Seongje's dark eyes finally flit up to you and you're arrested by that wolfish grin. “Big words.” He smirks. “You want a promotion or something?”

You ready your voice. “Actually, Seongje, I’m looking for a way out.”

More silence but this time, it's fucking suffocating. Even the man on the floor, the man who's experienced the very worst of Seongje's wrath has his mouth slightly open from shock.

“I never want to steal for you again. I never want to do anything for you again.” You find your voice in the rubble of your pain and all your anxieties that have gone unnoticed by the adults around you. “I never wanna see you again.”

He nods slowly. “I hear you.” Seongje's voice is calm. So calm it births a sliver of hope inside you: Maybe he'll just accept the money and you might actually be free. You could go back to being a girl forgotten by the rest of the world but this time, it'd be on your own terms. You'd love to be invisible again. Invisible girls don't get extorted like this.

“It's just… I'm really sensitive-”

The very moment those words leave his mouth, the moment a glimmer of a smile flits onto your lips, Seongje delivers a bone-cracking punch to the man's jaw.

You gasp and cup your mouth with both hands. Shocked.

The man slumps over, face hitting the floor. Knocked out cold.

“This is interesting.” Seongje says but you can't look away at the man laying on the ground. His body twitches periodically until there's barely any movement at all. Were you looking at someone passed out or were you staring at a corpse?

Soengje doesn't care about either outcome because he's already lighting a cigarette, standing as if pondering something else entirely.

“Where'd you get this money from?”

“D-Does-” you swallow thickly, “-it matter?”

He nods his head slightly before sticking the cigarette on the tip of his lips, “I could buy a million cig packs with this. The good kind too,” he chuckles, “Fuck, I could buy a fucking factory-”

“It's not that much-”

“Are you rich?” He asks suddenly, ramping up your nerves as he tucks his hands in his pockets to stalk closer towards you. “Have I been extorting a princess this whole time and I didn't know it?” You make your body an iron rod- your face cold. Something like him can't sense discomfort or he'll play with it.

“Not rich,” you say, “Just desperate…”

His feet stop directly in front of you and you keep your gaze there. Not daring to look up at him until he brings his own index finger under your chin, tilting it up.

“I like that word… Desperate.” He blows out a plume of smoke but not in your face. The small, gentlemanly act is almost laughable.

“Seongje, at this rate I'll be working for you for the rest of my life-”

“The rest of your life…” he nods slowly, looking away in a pensive manner before looking back at you, “That sounds fun, doesn't it?”

“Seongje- please just accept the money…”

“Are you calling me poor?”

“That's not what I'm saying at all and honestly, I feel like you know that's not what I'm saying-” your brows are furrowed, voice rising.

“So I'm delusional then?” He asks with a smile.

“Why do you get off on making yourself a victi-” his hand contracts around your throat and it tightens.

“Lemme stop you from saying what you wanna say because you really won't like the outcome.”

He squeezes one more time in warning before letting you go

“Why would I let you go? You're so perfect for me. We work well together.”

“Seongje, Please-”

“Shh… shh… shh…” he lets the cigarette hang off the side of his mouth before cupping both of your cheeks with both hands. He pushes back a stray braid and you tremble under the weight of not only his hands, but his gaze. His eyes are two endlessly cold voids. You don't wonder what's behind those eyes because you bet there's nothing there.

So focused, you've become, with Seongje's eyes, you barely notice his hand slithering down your neck. He feels you, touches you like he's just discovered something new…

“You've just made me more money than any of these useless scumbags ever have…” He stands closer and you watch as he opens his mouth to let the cigarette fall to the floor. You hear his foot stomp on it but your eyes are hazy with tears.

“I pride myself on being a good businessman… Letting you go?” He tsks, “That's not very good business.”

“Please, Seongje-”

“I do believe in rewards though so…” he lets his hand roam lower and lower. On its way down, he squeezes you tit through your shirt, causing a small gasp to slip through.

“Is it okay?” He asks in a low voice, “That im touching you like this?”

He waits patiently for a response that never comes. Truth is, you're completely and utterly overwhelmed. Caught in a web of feeling good and fucking terrible.

A tear falls.

“Shh,” he pats down your hair while all too slyly inching his hand up your skirt. “Seongje will make you feel better-”

You could tell him to stop, but your mind is clouded with all sorts of contradictions. You can't lie some more and say you don't find him even a little bit attractive. Isn't it fucking terrible how that works? This man has tormented you and yet-

“You're so wet, Princess,” you open your legs wider, only flinching when his fingers rub against your clothed cunt. You don't have the energy to look up at him, but you notice the visceral reaction his body is having from all this.

Over his shoulder, you notice the bloodied man unconscious on the floor.

“You just became wetter-” he whispers into your ear before cursing ever so lightly as his finger pushes aside your panties. You notice his movements becoming less controlled, far more hungry and you begin to pull away.

“Say it.” He urges, before fisting your neck in one tight grip. “I need you to say it.”

In a moment that feels unreal, Seongje pushes you backwards, forcing your feet into motion until he has you firmly pressed against a wall. “Say we work well together- tell me-”

You can't very well say much of anything because he's already sinking his index and middle finger into your cunt. Your mouth flies open and you're caught in a silent cry.

“Fuck- Look at how well we work together…” he says, bringing his fingers up to the light. He watches your slick coat, his fingers and something in you coils with disgust and immense pleasure.

His eyes immediately snap to you the second a small moan croaks out.

“F-Fuck-” you gulp in all the air you possibly can when his grip around your throat loosens. There's absolutely no space between you as he crowds you against the wall, staring down at you with the bad fluorescents reflecting against his glasses.

“You don't get to do that… You don't quit on me. I quit on you.” He's forcing his hand between your legs, this time he fucks you properly. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and a tear falls.

“Say sorry.” He taunts with another manic smile flitting across his face, “I want you to take my fingers and tell me how sorry you are-”

“F-Fuck Seongje-” your hips snap awards and you stare up at him with watery eyes- watery eyes that havr his cocktail straining against his pants. He brings you in close by the nape of your neck while he forces you down until your clit meets the palm of his hand.

“You keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna cum. And I hate cumming first.”

“Shit…” your eyes roll to the back of your head as you force yourself to grind down on his fingers. His hand around your throat is the only thing keeping you somewhat upright. You've slipped into that mental soace where you'll embarrass yourself to achieve orgasm. You needed this.

And him.

“What a greedy slut, huh? Tell me you're done with me. I want you to say it again-”

You can't say much of anything because you grab ahold of his wrist, keeping his fingers inside you as your orgasm crests and breaks.

You're screaming wildly, devoid of all rational thought, unprepared by the fact that a bleeding man still lays forgotten on the cold floor. All you feel is him. Jts all him and its suffocating.

You've quite literally found yourself in the clutches of a sadist and he's guiding You gently through your orgasm… patting your head down lightly like you were a delicate baby bird.

"Why would I ever let you go?"

[essaywritinghelp]

[helaintoloki]

Hiii! First of all, I really like the way you write, hope you're doing so good.

Have you ever think about Bucky meeting reader and like, is the cliché thing of "he fell first and hard"? but reader was never aware of it. She never pursued anything. Not that she didn't find Bucky handsome, charming or anything but she thought he wouldn't want a relationship after everything he went through.

a/n: i am such a sucker for bucky pining over oblivious reader you have no idea anon. i hope you like how this came out!

warnings: pining, fluff, bucky is a bit insecure, subtle angst

summery: Bucky has loved you for as long as he’s known you, but he’s not willing to risk your friendship by telling you that. thankfully, you take matters into your own hands

Bucky Barnes could recall the exact moment he realized he had feelings for you.

You’d only been an Avenger for a month and had just completed your first mission. Beaten down and sore beyond relief, the team had gathered around the common room to indulge in cheap takeout and rehash the events of the assignment. You mostly remained quiet, blending into the background while avidly gathering wisdom from the veteran members and taking note of the pointers they gave each other.

Then Sam cracked such an absurdly stupid joke you found yourself laughing so hard water shot out of your nose and straight onto a horrified Tony. All eyes were suddenly on you, and while most would have cracked from the pressure of such an embarrassing moment so early on in your career, it only served to make you laugh harder. Soon the whole room was filled with laughter and aching smiles, and you found yourself settling comfortably amongst your new teammates.

Your unabashed confidence and the ability to make yourself right at home with the team caught his attention immediately, and he spent the rest of the night trying to catch another glimpse of your smile or hear you laugh at Sam’s terrible jokes. Though he wasn’t one to buy into the whole notion of “love at first sight,” Bucky knew he was smitten, and he knew there was no going back.

Of course, Bucky never dared to speak these thoughts aloud, and despite his very strong feelings for you he remained stoic and professional around you, or at least as professional as he could be given your playful and alluring nature. Despite initially trying to keep his distance in an attempt to extinguish his feelings, you never seemed to leave him alone. You clung to Bucky the most out of all your teammates, and after a while he eventually gave up trying to stay away. However, becoming your closest friend and confidant only made his feelings worse, and every day that passed by your side only made his feelings grow stronger.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed you were none the wiser to his feelings, and Bucky felt there was no chance you’d ever reciprocate them, so he kept quiet and convinced himself he was fine with just being your friend.

Even if being your friend involved late night slumber party activities the evening before a mission.

“Wouldn’t Natasha or Wanda have been better suited for this?” Bucky grumbles while you gently comb a brush through his hair, your legs dangling over the edge of your mattress and resting on his shoulders as he sits on your plush throw rug beneath you.

“Natasha spends the night before a mission alone to clear her head, and Wanda likes to meditate with Vision,” you state plainly before setting aside your brush so you can begin to section his hair.

“And how is this supposed to help you prepare?” Bucky questions skeptically, putting on an annoyed front despite the fact that he very much likes the feel of your fingers gently raking against his scalp. No matter how often he pretended to be inconvenienced by your shenanigans, he’d never say no to anything you asked him. You had the man wrapped around your finger, and the worst part was you didn’t even know it.

“It helps me take my mind off of things so I’m not so nervous going into it,” you explain with a sheepish shrug. “It relaxes me. And… it also makes me fight harder to make sure I come home alive.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky prompts more seriously now, tone devoid of his previous combativeness. Your hands falter for a moment, causing the braid you’d worked so meticulously on to slowly fall apart until his hair falls back against his shoulders, but you don’t seem to mind.

“I mean… I don’t want this to be the last time I braid your hair or make you watch my movie recommendations with me. You’re important to me, Bucky. You know that, right?”

Your confession shoots straight to his heart, and Bucky finds himself harshly swallowing down the butterflies that begin to flutter obnoxiously in his stomach. You’ll never how much your words mean to him or how badly he wants to profess that he would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe. You are everything to him, but he doesn’t dare tell you this.

Instead, Bucky gently gives your calf a squeeze and lets his flesh hand rest upon your ankle.

“I know.”

You smile faintly and resume braiding his hair. You know Bucky isn’t one to be mushy or overly affectionate, so you don’t push the conversation any longer. You’re happy to sit in the quiet of your room away from the others, to enjoy this moment of peace before being thrust into chaos, and you know he feels the same.

“After this, do you want to watch a movie? I think it’s time you finally experience Napoleon Dynamite.”

“If it’ll keep you from bugging me about it for the next few weeks then yes,” Bucky responds sarcastically despite the grin that desperately fights to play itself upon his lips.

He knows you both should be getting to bed early for a night of rest, but he can’t find it in himself to protest.

Whatever it takes to make you happy.

~~~

You throw yourself back against the side of an abandoned car and fumble through your pack for another round of ammunition while Bucky covers your flank. You have no idea where the rest of the team is, but you hope they’re fairing better than the two of you are right now.

You’d been sent to rescue a group of hostages from a human trafficking ring intending to supply unwilling test subjects to scientists for illegal human experimentation. Corrupt people around the world would pay a fortune for their own genetically engineered super hero, and you were here to stop that from happening. You and Bucky were assigned to assist in the evacuation efforts, transporting people to a secondary location where a rescue team would later arrive to deliver them to a hospital. Though you’d been able to clear the area, you’d been ambushed by a group of soldiers and forced to take cover.

“Would you kill me if I told you I grabbed the wrong bag?” You implore guiltily after coming up empty handed. Your pack was full of medical supplies and rations, but not a single ounce of ammo could be found.

“I think these guys would probably get to you first before I could anyway,” Bucky replies humorlessly while ducking down to reload his gun. He’s running out of clips and you both know it.

Groaning, you let your head fall back against the car and pinch your eyes shut as you try to think of a new plan.

“I might have something, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Anything is better than dying,” he grits through his teeth as a bullet pierces the tire next to him. He watches as you reach into your bag and produce a speciality made grenade. Bucky’s eyes widen in disbelief when he looks from the bomb then to you. “Where the hell did you get that?!”

“I might have swiped it from Tony’s work desk,” you offer with a sheepish shrug before cautiously handing it over to him. “I thought it looked cool, but I have no idea if it works. It could at least buy us some time to make an escape if it doesn’t manage to blow us up first.”

“We’ll just have to test our luck,” Bucky says before turning to you with a serious look on his face. His tone of voice is more stern now, signaling for you to fall in line and heed his every word without question. You sometimes forget he was once a Sargent, but you can see now why people had an easy time trusting him as a leader. You never doubted Bucky’s ability to keep you safe, and this time was no different. “I’m going to pull the pin, and I need you to get down on the ground as soon as possible. I’m going to throw it, and then I’m going to cover you. Do you understand?”

“But what if you-“

“Y/n,” Bucky says sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument. You nod in reluctance and follow his orders as he pulls the pin. Bucky uses all of his strength to launch it across the way at your attackers before immediately dropping down to the ground and draping his body over yours. Curled into a ball, you let him pull you against his chest and shield your head with his metal arm to prevent you from getting hit with any shrapnel.

You can feel the rapid beating of his heart against your cheek as the ground rumbles beneath you from the blast. Your eyes squeeze shut while your hand grips tightly onto his leather vest for support, and you can feel Bucky tighten his hold on you in response. A beat passes before your surroundings still, and you slowly pry your eyes open just as he pulls himself away to look down at you.

“You okay?” He murmurs breathlessly, still coming down from his adrenaline rush. His wide pupils starkly contrast the blue of his irises, and you find yourself getting caught up in his stare as you swallow down your nerves.

“Fine,” you manage to get out. He looks down at you with uncertainty as you slowly reach out and brush his hair back from his face. “You have a cut on your forehead.”

“That’s okay,” he assures you with a faint smile before reluctantly pulling himself off of you and sitting back on his knees. He misses the closeness, but he knows you can’t afford to waste any time right now. The gunfire has stopped and your window to escape will only be open for a short time before the gunmen recover. “Can you run?”

You offer him a single nod before quickly scrambling onto your feet and booking it into the cover of the woods towards the secondary location where the rescued civilians should be waiting for you both. To your luck, the grenade had managed to help you clear a path to escape without disintegrating you both in the process. You run until your legs ache and your lungs burn, until Bucky is sure they aren’t coming after you, and you finally let yourself collapse against a tree to catch your breath.

“I need to start stealing from Tony more often,” you joke despite being out of breath, getting a rare laugh out of Bucky.

“Yeah, thanks to your sticky fingers we’re alive.”

“Why did you do that?” You ask suddenly, eyes meeting Bucky’s with uncertainty as you rest your hands on your knees.

“Do what?”

“Make yourself a human shield for me. You could have been hurt worse than just a cut on the forehead.”

Bucky sighs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to come up with an answer that doesn’t reveal his unwavering love for you. You look to him expectantly as he moves towards you and rests a firm hand on your shoulder.

“It’s like you said,” he explains with a faint smile, “I didn’t want that to be the last time I let you braid my hair or force me into watching a movie with you.”

You stare up at him in quiet surprise and watch as he begins to make his way towards the secondary location. You hadn’t been expecting that, not even sure he’d remember your conversation from the night before, but here you were being proven wrong. You feel your heart flutter in your chest with longing but quickly shake the feeling away. You and Bucky are friends, always have been, and there’s no way he felt anything but platonic admiration for you as a teammate and confidant. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have made a move already? Besides, for all you knew Bucky didn’t do relationships, and you knew better than to push that boundary.

The rest of the team arrives an hour later, battered and bruised from a grueling fight against the leaders of the trafficking ring. The mission was a success, and now all that was left to do was wait for the rescue team to arrive for the civilians now that the area was cleared as safe.

Bucky keeps to himself while the others rest and chat amongst themselves to pass the time. Leaned against a tree with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, he watches on warmly as you sit crouched a few fit away with a handful of children around you. Your smile is kind and your voice full of light as you keep them entertained while waiting for the medics to arrive, handing out the stickers you keep in your pack for moments like these. They don’t have parents or an adult to cling to for reassurance, so you’ve taken it upon yourself be that comfort for them. Natasha always says you tend to get too attached to civilians you’ll never see again, but you don’t seem to care in the slightest.

“You love her,” Sam’s voice sounds from beside Bucky, startling him out of his moment of peace. It takes him a moment to regain composure, but he’s still quick to put on a hard front for the Falcon.

“Of course I do,” he attempts to brush off, “she’s my teammate.”

“I’m your teammate and you never look at me like that,” Sam quips with a raised brow much to the soldier’s chagrin.

“Whatever you’re trying to say just say it,” Bucky huffs vexedly.

“You’ve been pining after that girl like a lost puppy ever since she joined the team and not once have you had the balls to do anything about it. Why do you insist on torturing yourself like this?”

“You really think someone like me deserves to be with someone like her?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief, clearly believing such a notion to be impossible and outlandish. “I’ve done terrible, awful things. I’ve destroyed relationships and families, so why should I get to have one of my own?”

“That’s not who you are anymore,” Sam attempts to assuage him in vein. “That wasn’t you in the first place. That was Hydra, and you’re not under their control anymore.”

“When I think about what I’ve done- the blood on my hands… how could I dare taint her with my touch? Y/n deserves a good man with his head screwed on right, and that’s not me.”

“You’re wrong,” Sam avows solemnly, “and the sooner you realize that the better.”

Bucky is left to stew with his inner turmoil when Sam departs to check on Natasha. He could never understand just how much Bucky loved you, how his chest ached with longing every time he was around you, how his feelings for you seemed to grow stronger every day without you noticing. He would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant keeping you safe from himself.

“Bucky!” Your voice calls cheerfully from across the way, a stark contrast to his brooding demeanor. You wave him over with glee, and how can he deny you when you smile at him like that?

“What do you need?” He asks while crouching down beside you, the children reacting to his presence with muffled giggles and shy smiles.

“The kids and I were trying to figure out where to put their new stickers, and we thought maybe they might look nice on your metal arm,” you inform him with a hopeful gleam in your eyes. A huff of amusement falls past his nostrils in response, but he gifts you a single nod before fully seating himself down on the ground.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees to the children’s delight. They immediately gather around the soldier as he extends his arm out and allows them access to their desired canvas. The activity should be able to tide them over until the medics arrive within the next half hour, and Bucky doesn’t mind being their entertainment.

You meet his eyes and mouth a quiet thank you to the man, and it makes it all the more worth it to see you smile at him.

~~~

Bucky lays in bed with his hands folded neatly on his stomach and his eyes focused on the ceiling as he decompresses from the grueling mission. His sore muscles remain tense despite being back at the tower, and a dull ache persists from the gash on his forehead. He wants nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep, but rest evades him. Today’s mission had hit particularly close to home for him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the faces of the people he’d saved.

They had almost ended up like him.

A knock on the door saves him from the suffocation of his mental turmoil. He gets out of bed with a groan and pads over to his door only to find you waiting on the other side once it’s opened.

Equipped with a blanket in one hand and a pillow in the other, you look up at the man innocently and ask, “Can I crash here tonight?”

“What’s wrong with your own room?” Bucky asks with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“It’s too quiet in there.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky opens the door wider and allows you to take refuge in his room. You immediately make yourself comfortable in his bed, choosing to set your things up on the side closest to the wall while still leaving enough room for the super soldier. Once you’re still, he climbs back into bed and lies stiffly beside you, ensuring all of his limbs are kept to himself.

“I can’t stop thinking about those kids,” you voice your thoughts aloud, shifting onto your side to face him.

“We did our job,” Bucky reminds you gently. “We got them out before they could be sold off for human experimentation, and now they have a chance at freedom.”

“I know, I know,” you relent with a quiet sigh. “It’s just… we never get to know what happens to them after. I know we’re supposed to detach and not get too close to civilians during missions like these, but I can’t sleep not knowing if they were returned to their families or if they even had a family to go back to. I can’t deal with the not knowing.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with caring,” he assures you with a careful smile. “You’re the most empathetic person I know, and it’s one of the things I adore about you, but you have to trust that those kids are going to be okay. If anything, you probably helped them smile for the first time since they were captured. That’s a win.”

You smile faintly and offer him a quiet nod in agreement. He has a point, and it alleviates some of the guilt you’ve been carrying since getting on the quinjet and leaving them behind in the care of the rescue team.

“Do you ever think about having any?” You prompt suddenly, clearly taking Bucky off guard.

“Any what?”

“Kids,” you state plainly. The question causes him to shift uncomfortably beside you, and it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts before he can find his answer.

“During the war, I’d see the other soldiers get letters from their wives or hear them share stories about the babies waiting for them at home, and I wanted that,” Bucky admits quietly while absently fidgeting with his fingers. “I told myself once it ended I’d finally try to settle down and start a family of my own.”

The thought brings up unpleasant memories of a distant past and a longing ache for what could have been if things had turned out differently for him. He tries not to let this show, but you know him well enough to see the turmoil brewing within his troubled blue eyes.

“What about now?” you press quietly, almost afraid to rupture the stillness of the room by raising your voice any higher.

“It’s not completely out of the question,” he professes truthfully in spite of his obvious discomfort at speaking so vulnerably. “I don’t know if I’d be a good dad, or if I could even be a good partner after everything I’ve been through, but for the right person I would try.”

He wants to tell you that the right person is you, that he’d get down on one knee and give you a hundred kids if you asked him, but he holds his tongue and instead keeps his gaze firmly planted to the ceiling. It would be too much too soon, and he didn’t want to risk scaring away the only woman he’d ever truly loved. The dream of family and stability would always be out of reach so long as you remained platonic in your feelings towards him, but he was okay with that. He’d rather have you as a friend than not have you at all, even if it meant you might someday fall in love with someone else.

“Do… you ever think about it?” Bucky asks to break the silence and shift some of the focus off of himself.

“All the time,” you whisper with a dreamy smile. “I know our line of work isn’t the most conducive for family planning or stability, but one day I’d like to follow in Clint’s footsteps and retire so I can live a life of my own. Maybe get a cottage somewhere quiet and grow old with the perfect partner if I ever find one.”

“Seems like that’s always the missing piece,” Bucky huffs humorlessly, heartstrings tugging at the wistful look clear in your eyes when you shift your gaze back towards him.

“Yeah, perfect partners are scarce for people like us,” you hum dolefully. “But I came to close to it once."

“What?” He breathes out tensely, heart immediately dropping to his stomach at your proclamation. A sense of dread overcomes him despite his best efforts to push the feeling down, and it takes all of his efforts to keep his reaction neutral in spite of the anguish he feels at hearing you confess your heart is set on another.

“I found a man I thought I could build a future with, but I don’t think he’s the relationship type. He never gave me any signs that he was interested, and after a while I realized it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Who was it?” Bucky asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Someone you know,” you answer vaguely, now avoiding his scrutinizing gaze. The pit of dread in his stomach only grows, and he isn’t sure he can handle knowing who the mystery person is.

An awful thought dawns upon him then, and he blurts it out before he can stop himself. “Is it Steve?”

A pregnant pause hovers over you both as Bucky’s words sink in, your silence unnerving him to no end. However, the quiet is immediately broken when you burst into laughter that you unsuccessfully try to muffle with your hand.

“Steve?” You retort incredulously. A deep frown settles across Bucky’s features and he’s immediately defensive.

“What’s so funny?” He prompts. It isn’t so ridiculous to believe your heart could belong to Captain America of all people, and he’s not sure why you’re not taking it seriously.

“You think Steve is the guy? The same Steve that watches I Love Lucy reruns with me and puts extra vegetables on my plate at dinner?”

“Well if not Steve then who?”

“You, Bucky,” you finally blurt with a nervous laugh. His defenses immediately go down while his brain goes into overdrive to process your confession, and your features slowly lose the humor in them as they become more serious. With a sheepish smile, you turn away and reaffirm, “you’re the guy.”

“I’m- you mean me?” He repeats again like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and he doesn’t. Surely he must have misheard you, or maybe you misspoke.

“Yes, you,” you reiterate in exasperation, clearly embarrassed at having revealed your feelings for your closest friend. “I thought it was obvious. Why else do you think I come into your room like this or spend all of my free time hanging out with you?”

“I thought it was because you saw me as a friend the way you do everyone else.”

“Oh, boy,” you breathe out before sitting yourself up from the bed. “Clearly I shouldn’t have said anything so I’m just going to go back to my own room now-“

“No, wait,” Bucky protests, quickly sitting up and resting a hand on your shoulder to keep you in place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… it’s kind of hard to believe the woman I’ve been in love with for ages actually feels the same.”

“Wait… you love me?” You repeat softly, hand coming to cover your mouth in quiet shock as you look to him for any sign of insincerity. Instead, you find his blue eyes looking down at you with tender adoration while his lips curl into a careful smile.

“Always have,” he replies gently.

“But you never seemed like the relationship type of guy. You’re always so broody and closed off I figured you like being alone.”

“I’d be any type of guy for you,” Bucky avows while lovingly brushing his metal fingers across your cheek. “You’re everything to me, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life with you if you gave me the chance.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you coo gently, eyes beginning to well with tears as you happily throw your arms around him in a bone crushing embrace. “I can’t believe you, why didn’t you ever tell me?! I love you!”

Bucky wraps his flesh arm around your waist while his metal hand tenderly cradles your head. He laughs off your scolding and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, heart nearly leaping out of his chest from the euphoria he feels at finally being able to tell you the truth. He never once thought this could be possible for him, but having you here in his arms just felt right, like this was the way things were always supposed to be.

“I love you, y/n,” Bucky professes gently, prompting you to pull yourself from the hug to meet his loving gaze. Impulsively, you smash your lips onto his own in a searing kiss, and Bucky is quick to match your pace by pulling you fully into his lap as he melts into your touch. All inhibitions are thrown out the window, and in that moment the only thing Bucky cares to think about is the feel of your lips on his own while your fingers curl into his hair. If he knew it would be like this, he would have confessed a lot sooner.

But you have forever to make up for lost time, and Bucky is okay with that if it means spending the rest of his life being your perfect partner.

[abbotjack]

Whatever You Say, Fruitcake

pairing : Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader (established marriage)

summary: Myrna’s being Myrna. Somewhere between the chaos, you and Robby manage to come up for air.

warnings/content: Fluff, Hospital setting, strong language, married intimacy, mild sexual tension(?), bodily fluids (mentioned), chaotic workplace dynamics, Myrna.

word count: 1,767, not beta read.

a/n: I’ve written so much smut and angst lately… felt like I needed a fluff filler. Honestly, with everything Robby’s been through too—he deserves one just as much as I do.

Someone left the remains of a hoagie in the trauma fridge again, and now the back hallway reeks of vinegar, cold cuts, and poor life choices.

The smell hits you as soon as you clear the curtain bay—sharp, sour, unmistakably fermented. You pause mid-step. Behind you, Dana makes a strangled noise in her throat and immediately starts waving a clipboard in the air like it’s going to do something other than stir it up.

“If this is Whitaker’s doing,” Dana says, already pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’m pulling him from patients and assigning him to mop duty and moral reflection.”

You snort. “Pretty sure that’s not in the union handbook.”

She’s already striding ahead. “Then I’ll write my own damn handbook.”

Just ahead, Robby moves through the corridor like a man who’s been paged three times too many. Hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, coffee in one hand, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a look that says he’s thirty seconds from announcing his retirement.

Whitaker’s hustling to keep up, slightly flushed and fumbling with a stack of blank admission forms and a clipboard clearly marked for peds. He’s also holding an empty emesis basin and a bag of saltine crackers.

“I dropped the kid off in Pediatrics like you told me to,” he says, catching his breath. “Then someone threw up on my shoes, I handed over some crackers as a peace offering, and I think I accidentally took this chart on my way out while trying to avoid a loud debate about Paw Patrol and screen time.”

Robby doesn’t even look at him. “Why are you holding a puke tray?”

“Someone in Peds handed it to me. I panicked and said thank you.”

“You don’t work there, Whitaker. You work in emergency.”

“Yeah, well, try telling that to the four-year-old who called me Doctor Crackers and wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

Dana watches Whitaker veer off toward supply, jaw tightening just slightly. “If he volunteers himself into another department’s meltdown, I’m having his badge color-coded for liability.”

You raise a brow. “Is that a charge nurse threat?”

“It’s preventative management.”

Before you can reply, the air shifts—like it always does when Myrna materializes. The low squeak of her wheelchair wheels, the jingle of cheap bracelets, and then—

“Hey, fruitcake.”

Robby slows when he sees her. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Just—ready, in that way he gets when Myrna’s name is involved in a trauma note or a psych hold request.

He hesitates, jaw clenched, clipboard tucked tighter under his arm as he steps in behind the wheelchair—slow and deliberate, one hand on the back like he's guiding a live grenade disguised in costume jewelry.

Myrna is cuffed, of course—standard protocol—but she’s sitting tall like she’s holding court. Her walker is bungee-corded to the back of the chair, and there’s a half-empty Styrofoam cup in the side pocket that no one remembers giving her. She smells like menthols and peach Schnapps. Her lipstick is smeared. Her eyes are sharp.

She cranes her head slightly to look up at Robby and grins with all the self-satisfaction of someone who knows exactly how to ruin your day and plans to do it slowly.

Robby exhales. “Myrna. What brings you in today?”

“I murdered my husband.”

“How’d you do it this time?”

“Meat grinder.”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting the tilt of her chair. When he stops, she immediately starts wheeling herself toward the empty staff breakroom like she owns the place—completely ignoring the Employees Only sign.

“Where do you think you’re going, Myrna?”

“Oh, none of your business, fruitcake.”

His jaw ticks. The clipboard drops half an inch.

“Actually, everything that happens in this department is my business. And you know what? I put up with a lot around here. I take very good care of you. So you can call me Dr. Robinavitch, or Dr. Robby, or you can use my first name, Michael. But I do not appreciate being called fruitcake.”

Dana leans toward you. “He’s two years and one more nickname away from tossing his pager in the East River and moving into a cabin with no electricity.”

You snort. “He can move to the woods if he wants, but I’m not following him into a life of compost toilets and mosquito nets. He’ll be back the second he realizes I’m not coming with.”

Back in the hall, Myrna shrugs.

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings, cocksucker?”

Dana snorts. You press your fingers to your mouth.

Robby takes a breath. “That said, it has a certain whimsical quality I can probably learn to live with.”

“Whatever you say, fruitcake.”

Without missing a beat, she pivots her wheelchair and rolls with precision toward the ambulance bay doors. The automatic sensor doesn’t catch her on the first pass, so she backs up, then rams the base of the door with enough force to jolt the frame—and nearly set off the motion alarm. A “Wet Floor” sign topples in her wake.

Then, slowly, she lifts her cuffed wrists and waves them at the security camera like she’s on parade.

Robby doesn’t move. Just watches her, unreadable.

She pauses at the edge of the exit, half-turned in her chair, chin tilted up like she’s daring someone to try and stop her.

A nurse nearby mutters, “Do we stop her… or let natural selection take it from here?”

You find him later in the breakroom, elbows braced on the table, fingers pressed into his brow like he’s trying to force the day out through his skull. His coffee sits untouched beside a chart he’s clearly given up pretending to read. The overhead light is flickering, unresolved, adding to the static hum that no one has the energy to report anymore.

You slide your coffee beside his and drop into the seat next to him. No words, not yet. Just your knee brushing his under the table—light, intentional, familiar. He doesn’t look at you, but he exhales like you just gave him permission to breathe.

After a beat: “I’m fine.”

You sip your coffee. “Mmm. Then why have you been brooding like a cursed Victorian husband.”

He drags his hands down his face and groans. “She called me a cocksucker in front of the whole emergency department.”

“And you didn’t throw anything,” you say. “Which, frankly, is a win.”

You nudge your foot against his. “Do you want me to fight her?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Outside. Ambulance bay. High noon.”

That earns the smallest crack of a smile.

“I’m serious,” you add. “I’m fully within my spousal rights to go feral.”

“Pretty sure that’s not in the HR manual.”

“Pretty sure it’s in the vows.”

He huffs out a reluctant laugh, and you feel the air between you shift. Lighter. Less taut. The corner of his mouth tilts in that way you’ve learned to love—subtle, fleeting, like warmth in a place that rarely allows it.

“Dana probably already has a memo drafted,” he mutters. “Something official—‘Effective immediately, all consults will refer to Dr. Robinavitch as Fruitcake.’”

You grin. “She has. It’s laminated. I signed off on it.”

He shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’m married to you. I take my entertainment where I can get it.”

He finally leans back, posture loosening. “One of these days, I’m torching this whole department.”

“You won’t,” you say. “You love this place too much.”

“I love you. Everything else is negotiable.”

You fall quiet at that, the kind of quiet that makes room for a hand to reach across the table. Yours. His. You’re not even sure. But they find each other easily, like always.

“You were good today,” you say. “The way you handled her. All of it. You didn’t give her the chaos she wanted.”

“She got under my skin.”

“But she didn’t get a reaction. That’s power. That’s control. I'm proud of you.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a moment, it’s quiet in a way this place rarely is.

“You’re always proud of me,” he says, voice softer now.

You smile, just a little. “Not always. Just when you deserve it.”

A pause. He huffs, but it’s fond. “You should put that on a sticker.”

“Already did.” You nudge his elbow. “Slapped it on your locker right under the one that says ‘Fruitcake of the Month.’”

He groans. “I married a menace.”

“You married smart.”

“You tricked me.”

You squeeze his hand. “And I’d do it again.”

The silence that settles next isn’t heavy. It’s married silence. Full of the things you don’t need to say because you’ve already said them a hundred different ways over coffee cups and night shifts and shared exhaustion.

You glance toward the hallway, then back to him, voice lower now. “Sometimes I wonder how we’re still standing in all this. You, me. This place.”

He watches you for a long moment, then says, “Because you make it worth it.”

A pause.

Then—

“I’m not kissing you in the breakroom,” he says eventually, eyes still on yours.

“I know.”

“But I want to.”

“I know that too.”

Another small smile. “You’re trouble.”

“And you’re mine.”

The moment hangs there—warm and quiet and stupidly rare. It's the kind of silence that only happens when two people know each other too well to need more words.

His pager buzzes on the table. You both glance at it but don’t move right away. Then, like muscle memory, he stands and grabs his clipboard. You collect the two half-finished coffees and toss them without comment.

When you step toward the door, your hand brushes his—not by accident. He doesn’t take it, not here, not with the door just about to swing open. But he squeezes your fingers once, fast and familiar. It’s not affection, exactly. It’s reassurance. A habit. A promise.

You exit the breakroom together.

The hallway feels colder by comparison. Brighter. Louder. Someone’s calling out discharge instructions. A gurney wheel shrieks as it sticks on the threshold. The ER is alive again, like it never paused.

He walks ahead of you, falling back into his role like pulling on a second skin—focused, efficient, slightly intimidating. But you know that look. You know the weight he’s carrying.

When his hand grazes yours again at the hallway bend, he doesn’t pull away right away.

You don’t hold hands. You don’t need to.

But the warmth lingers.

That’s the thing about marriage in a place like this : there’s never time. So you take the seconds. And when you find each other in them, you hold on.

[artficlly]

read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary. 

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again. 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

[bowtiepasta]

HEAVEN IS A BEDROOM “sleeping naked tonight, open door at your own risk!” are the sort of notes you find taped to your door when gojo satoru is your roommate. of course, there are many pros and cons. but either way — ‘roommates’ doesn’t really cut it for what you two are. ❤︎

WORD COUNT: 1,245

INDULGING: sfw and suggestive at worst, modern/college au, petnames ‘princess’ + ‘sweetheart’, touchy, banter, domesticity over plot, he’s got a fat crush on you, f!reader, some language

ROMY’S NOTE: art in header is by mongsanghwa on twitter, divider by strangergraphics. this one’s been marinating in the drafts for way too long omfg. written for marley hehe ! love you

the only reason you live with gojo satoru is a clerical error. some system glitch paired you two as roommates even though mixed gender dorms weren’t an option (in 2009 japan? absolutely not).

you argued, demanded a reassignment, but the university was already overbooked. all remaining single dorms were full and, no, there were no other available options unless you wanted to couch surf for the rest of the semester. the housing office’s compensation? a rent discount. a big one.

a financial miracle, honestly. living near campus for dirt cheap was a deal you couldn’t refuse, even if it meant putting up with him: a loud, arrogant, 6’3 headache.

which is how you ended up here — standing between the beds in your mismatched socks, coffee mug in hand, digging in his ‘pile’ to see if you can find this week’s language arts assignment.

he leaves his cups in the sink unwashed, clothes strewn over every empty surface, cologne bottles all over the (shared) bathroom counter, and sunglasses in every drawer despite owning only one pair of eyes.

sure, there are benefits. he pays for takeout more often than not, usually without asking for reimbursement. he’s weirdly quiet when he knows you’re studying. he’s clearly very popular, yet weirdly never brings anyone home. and even though he’s a shameless flirt, never crosses any real boundaries with you.

still. he’s annoying. which is why you don’t feel particularly bad when you steal his clothes.

“princess, do you know where my hoodie is? I- oh.”

you look up mid-yawn to find gojo standing in your doorway, hair damp from the shower, towel hanging loosely around his neck. shirt on, thankfully.

he’s blinking at you, lips quirking into a grin that you don’t trust in the slightest.

“well, well, well..” he drawls, crossing his arms. “we’ve got a thief in the house. should I call housing?”

“it was on the couch,” you defend, mirroring him. his hoodies are big, practically swallowing you whole, sleeves covering your hands completely.

“huh. that’s funny,” he says, tapping at his chin theatrically. “because last tuesday, when I simply touched your blanket, you threatened to kill me.”

“that’s different.”

“sure.”

a beat, then a knowing hum from him.

“looks better on you anyway,” he says, not without a certain smugness. “you smell like me.”

you toss a pillow in his direction, rolling your eyes. he dodges it with ease, laughing.

eventually, he stops leaning against the doorframe and stretches, shirt riding up just slightly as he yawns too — a not so subtle trail of white hair peeking out.

“..wait,” he tilts his head, “is that my stuff?”

your mouth opens, then closes. you’re caught.

“I-” you clear your throat, trying to recover. “I was looking for the homework.”

“in my laundry?” he walks over.

“yes,” you say, scoffing as you back away. “because someone likes to throw things around.”

gojo hums, stepping into your space like he’s seriously considering the accusation. then he grins at eye level with you. “could’ve just asked, y’know.”

“yeah, because that always goes well. ‘hey gojo, have you seen my-’”

“nope!” he interrupts, mimicking you. “I am but a humble, devastatingly handsome man. how could I-”

“oh my god, do you ever shut up?”

he laughs, grabbing your wrists when you swat at him. before you can retaliate, he plucks the very notebook you were searching for out of the pile, casually flipping through the pages like it was never lost to begin with.

“wow,” he muses, dragging out each syllable. “can’t believe you doubted me.”

you deadpan. “you’re the one who put it in there.”

“ah-ah,” he wags a finger, stepping backward towards the door. “don’t forget I have what you want.”

“gojo,” you warn.

he hums innocently.

“..give it back.”

“admit I’m handsome.”

you groan, throwing your head back as you plop onto your bed. “I would literally rather die.”

“okay, princess,” he says, clicking his tongue as he tucks your notebook into his elbow, lays down next to you. “guess you don’t need it that bad, then.”

you lunge for him, but he’s faster. not by much, yet enough to be annoying. he holds it over his head.

“gojo,” you warn again, narrowing your eyes.

“hmm? what, sweetheart?”

“give it.”

he pretends to think. “I don’t know, this new arrangement is growing on me. maybe I should hold onto it. for.. safekeeping.”

you glare. “safekeeping? oh, you mean like how you ‘safekept’ my charger for a week? or my textb-”

“that’s unfair.” he pouts, “those were borrowed with a hundred percent full intent to return.”

you huff. “they were in your bag. at school. for a week.”

gojo waves a hand dismissively. “semantics.”

you take advantage of his distraction and jump. it’s a desperate move — probably one you should’ve thought through, but you can’t turn back now.

what you don’t anticipate is how instead of letting you take the notebook like a normal person would, gojo decides to catch you. one arm easily wraps around your waist, and suddenly, you’re way too aware of how close his face is to yours.

“oh?” he says, smug as ever. “if you wanted to be in my arms that bad, you really could’ve asked. I think we need to work on our communication methods.”

there are no words in the japanese, english, nor any language in the world to be exact, to describe how pissed you are at him right now. “let go.”

“but we’re having a moment,” he says, hand to his chest. “the tension is unreal.”

“g-”

“what do they call this in books?” he pulls you closer. “an almost kiss?”

you scowl. “it’s called me pistol-whipping your ass with this straightener if you don’t let go now.”

gojo laughs, but he does let you go — gently, even. but then, the notebook gets tucked back under his arm. “what was that about my ass?”

you glare, holding out a hand., growing impatient. “satoru.”

he whistles, considering. “I think I’d be more inclined to give it back if you ditched class with me.”

you reach for your phone to check the time, but it slides right off the nightstand, sending a small pile of papers tumbling. he picks it up for you, fingers brushing yours when he does.

you take a deep breath, trying to remain composed, but you know you’re about to cave. “..to where?”

his eyes light up like a kid at christmas. who, to be fair, would probably have a higher mental age than he currently does. he slides the notebook out from behind his back, still not handing it over. “just here.”

you sigh, unimpressed. “just here?”

gojo smirks, arms casually folded over his chest. “yep. just here. way better than whatever you're about to do.”

you raise an eyebrow, “you mean go to class.”

he shrugs like it's no big deal. “potato potato.”

you make a face as you look over at him. before you can answer, he careens over, a quick, soft kiss landing on your cheek. you freeze, brain taking a second to catch up.

“stay here with handsome, yeah?” he says, his voice dipping as he waits for a green light.

you blink, staring at him, face heating up. “god, you’re ridiculous — you know that?” you mutter, heart racing in spite of your efforts.

he nuzzles into your shoulder, not giving you a chance to protest, “come on, princess. don’t make me beg.”

romy 🐰 is typing… college aus are probably among my favorite settings? scenarios? tropes? of all time. they always hit. and I eat them up every. single. time. lmk if you want to see it with anyone else (obv not dorms again. probably sports?). rugby boyfriend kuna is calling to me. brb making a draft

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[steddiealltheway]

Steve's not really sure when it became a thing.

Maybe it was while Eddie was in the hospital recovering from his injuries, and the kids had forced Steve onto the visiting schedule. Maybe it was after Eddie got out of the hospital, and the kids insisted they continue to honor the schedule. Maybe it had nothing to do with the schedule and everything to do with the fact that Steve and Eddie had become... friends.

This is also a big maybe in Steve's head because he's pretty sure Eddie just hangs out with him from time to time because he's allowed to drink and smoke around or with him - and he's found that Eddie doesn't like to be alone for extended periods of time.

Steve can't blame him. But with his parents' seemingly permanent absence, he's kind of grown used to it whenever the kids and Robin are forced to go back to school.

But right now, Steve is grateful that Eddie has continued their "thing" in which he shows up at Steve's house at 9pm every Thursday - the same time as one of Steve's assigned "Eddie shifts" - with a six-pack in hand.

Only, this week, Eddie shows up with two bottles of wine.

Steve raises his eyebrows at him as he lets him into the house, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold air out.

"I just thought you'd like to change it up today," Eddie comments nonchalantly as he heads to the living room. Steve wonders for a moment if he knows the secret he's been keeping from everyone, but he figures he doesn't especially when he blabs on, "So, what movie are you blessing me with this week?"

Steve rolls his eyes as he goes to grab the tape and put it in the VCR, but he hesitates for a moment, straightening up to point at Eddie. "You will absolutely tell no one about this, got it? Also, I'm expecting a phone call, but you're not allowed to listen in on it."

"Got it. Scout's honor," Eddie replies with a wink and a salute.

"You were not a boy scout," Steve huffs as he decides to bite the bullet and put the tape in.

Eddie frowns and puts a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Steve. How could you say that?"

"Because I was a boy scout, and we would've been in the same troop."

Once Steve sits on the couch, Eddie leans in and nudges his shoulder. "What I wouldn't give to go back in time and meet a young Steve Harrington. I could've corrupted you sooner."

"I'm afraid Dustin beat you to the corrupting. He's the one who made me watch Star Wars."

"I can always corrupt you in other ways, Steve," Eddie comments, obnoxiously batting his eyelashes.

Steve laughs, used to the blatant flirting during the trailers at this point. "Is that why you brought the wine? To set the mood?"

"Something like that," Eddie says with a soft smile before switching back to his dramatics. "But I'll have you know, I'm a gentleman. Plus, I would like you to remember the first time I blow your mind."

"Blow my mind?" Steve asks, reaching over to grab the bottles. "How would you do that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Eddie says with a wink before uncapping his wine.

Steve glances at his own bottle for a moment, distracted. "It's a screw top."

"It's cheap," Eddie explains. He raises his bottle and tilts it Steve's way. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Steve answers, screwing off the top and taking a swig. Tastes like wine. And it also tastes like... a bad idea.

"So, what movie are we watching that has you so defensive?" Eddie asks, throwing his arm along the back of the couch.

To that, Steve takes a longer drink. "One of my mom's favorite movies. We used to watch it together whenever my dad went out of town for his business trips. But then my mom started getting more suspicious of him staying at the office late, and then she started to go on those business trips with him. Which now seem to... never end." Steve sighs and settles back onto the couch a bit more, head resting right on Eddie's hand. He quickly gets the hint and starts gently playing with his hair.

Steve's not sure when that became a thing either.

After another sip of wine, Steve finally confesses, "It's The Sound of Music."

A few expressions pass over Eddie's face before he quietly says, "That was one of my mom's favorites, too."

The two of them share a similar look of understanding and painful longing for a time they'll neither get back. They both drink at the same time as the opening notes of "The Sound of Music" ring out.

As the movie plays, the two of them drift closer - as they always do - and Steve notices that he's slowly but surely getting a bit wine-drunk. Which is what Robin calls the "worst type of drunk Steve." Maybe he should've taken her up on her offer to stay the full day.

As the last scene plays, Steve finds himself glancing toward the phone more than the screen.

"You okay?" Eddie asks gently, the hand in his hair moving to cup his face.

Steve can feel the way the wine flushes his cheeks and sits heavy on his stomach when he asks, "When do you realize your parents have given up on you?"

Eddie swallows heavily before grabbing Steve's nearly empty bottle and putting it on the coffee table. He sits back and fully turns to him. "For me, I fully realized a month after I stayed with Wayne. I still hadn't unpacked the cardboard box my things were in, hoping that maybe since my dad had dropped me off my mom would pick me up. But I hadn't seen her in years." He looks back at the TV where the end credits are rolling. "She left promising me she would come back and make a better life for the two of us eventually. I thought with my dad out of the picture, she'd be back. But as soon as I unpacked that box, I gave up on the idea."

Steve shifts closer and grabs Eddie's hand. "I'm sorry."

Eddie looks at him and tilts his head down so he's looking him right in the eye. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. And..." he hesitates for a moment before resting his forehead against Steve's and whispering, "Happy birthday."

Steve's eyes close tightly. It's the words he had been waiting for all day but in hopes that they'd be coming out the mouths of at least one of his parents. Preferably his mom.

There's pressure behind his eyes, and Steve reaches out to squeeze Eddie's hand gently, warning him in his own way that he might fall apart. But Eddie stays where he is.

"This is the first year they haven't called," Steve whispers, feeling one tear fall down his face. "I know they're assholes but... I didn't think they'd be this much of an asshole. God," he breathes out, breaking away from Eddie to lean back against the couch, hands covering his face as more tears fall.

A familiar arm drapes itself around Steve's shoulders tugging gently until he winds up with his head buried in Eddie's neck.

They sit there for a while, Eddie holding him and running a soothing hand through his hair that reminds Steve of the first time Eddie had opened up to him about the nightmares that never went away, and they had ended up in a similar but swapped position.

Maybe that's when this became a thing.

It's a while before Steve speaks up to ask, "Hey, how do you even know when my birthday is? The last person I told was probably Tommy Hagan in the eighth grade. And Robin, of course, but I swore her to secrecy."

"Oh god," Eddie says in a way that makes Steve pull back to look at him fully. Eddie's head lulls to the side as he looks at him with an adorably embarrassed and caught expression. "So... don't hate me for this, but this happened a few years ago. And... do I really have to tell you?"

"It's my birthday, you have to tell me," Steve replies.

Eddie huffs, ever so dramatically, and grabs Steve's hands before confessing, "So, I stole your wallet a few times."

Steve can't help but laugh at the absurd confession. "When?"

"It was back in your sophomore year probably. We had some horrible science class together, and you sat right in front of me, and well... My friends and I made this hypothesis, very scientific, that some rich kids, including you, wouldn't notice if a dollar or two went missing from their wallets." Steve snorts, and Eddie smiles. "And you had this horrible habit of leaving the front pocket of your backpack open so..."

"Occasionally you would steal anywhere from one to five dollars from my wallet? And one time you managed to swipe ten," Steve fills in for him, vividly remembering something he hadn't thought about in years.

Eddie's eyes widen. "So, my hypothesis was wrong."

"No, you're just less subtle than you think you are."

There's a moment where Eddie just stares at him incredulously. "You're telling me, you let me steal from you? And you didn't beat me up for it?"

Steve shrugs, thinking about the first time it had happened, and he had truly considered it, but he realized. "I knew you needed it more than I did. But that's not what we're talking about. How did this lead you to finding out about my birthday?"

"It was on your driver's license, and I ended up memorizing it in case you had a big party that I could sell at. But then it just... stuck." Eddie looks down at their hands for a moment before he looks up and states, "And we're not about to breeze past this. I must've stolen at least thirty dollars from you!" He lets go of one of Steve's hands to grab his wallet off the coffee table. "For your birthday, let me pay you back."

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "You are not giving me thirty dollars for my birthday. And don't fight me on this, or I'll end up telling Dustin you gave me money without hesitation."

Eddie frowns at him and reluctantly puts his wallet back down. He leans over to Steve and cups his face as he plants a kiss onto his forehead. "You're never who I think you are, Steve Harrington."

"Is that a good thing?" Steve asks as his eyes glance down at his lips.

"A very good thing. It means I'll never give up on you," Eddie says with a teasing lilt but Steve knows that he means it.

"Same to you."

Eddie's teasing smile falters as he looks at Steve. One of his thumbs swipes at a remaining tear trail.

Steve's heart beats a little harder and he can't stop staring at Eddie's lips. He wonders when that became a thing.

"There's one thing you could do for me for my birthday," Steve breaths out.

"And what's that?" Eddie asks quietly.

Steve doesn't answer him, he just leans in slowly, closing his eyes when his nose brushes against Eddie's. But then he feels Eddie gently pull away.

"Earlier, I said I wanted you to remember when I blow your mind, Steve."

Steve's eyes flutter open. "I'm not that far gone."

Eddie sighs and mumbles, "I can't believe I'm doing this," and raises his voice to say, "I'll kiss you when I can't smell wine on your breath, deal?"

"Deal," Steve says, holding out his hand.

Eddie laughs as he shakes it, then grabs it to pull them both up.

"Bedtime?" Steve asks. Eddie nods, turning off the TV before leading the way to the kitchen to get two glasses of water before heading to Steve's room.

Steve knows exactly when that became a thing - the second time Eddie was over at his house, and he had a nightmare in the guest room. Steve now insists that he sleeps with him anytime he's over.

When they get into bed on their by-now-established sides, Steve can't help but say, "I think this is the best birthday I've had in a long time." He sighs and reaches out to grab Eddie's hand laying between them. "Maybe next year I'll tell everyone."

"Or we can make up a fake birthday for you that happens to fall sometime next week, and next year we'll pretend that everyone remembered the wrong date."

Steve laughs and squeezes Eddie's hand. "Or next week, I can take you on a date."

"Shh," Eddie quickly shushes him, "This definitely means it's time for you to go to bed."

"I can't wait for you to blow my mind in the morning," Steve says instead of trying and failing to fight Eddie on the fact that he's more coherent than he thinks he is. Besides, the faster he falls asleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.

"Goodnight, Steve," Eddie says, slightly amused.

"Goodnight, Eds."

Much to Eddie's surprise, he wakes up to Steve asking for a kiss. And he very much blows his mind.

[ozzgin]

I'm the anon who asked if your requests are open and i got busy assignments + presentations that i almost forgot about the request but now i remembered and it's based on my dream i saw that night..

How about a vampire who lost his relic (presumably a ring) and reader happens find it and tries it on, now the vampire is all panicking because guess what? That was a betrothal relic and it has binded the vampire's soul with the one of reader. They can't pull it out/take it of.. oh well, now they are stuck and obviously the vampire hates the idea of being stuck with a pesky human but hey they are kinda stupid..? How tf they tripped on thin air? Or how they are still alive even after being food poisoned 5 times a month? Vampire is now babysitter for his human *sighs * what has he gotten himself in..

(Please add yandere elements later on, my brain stoopid but i want a hot Victorian era vampire being obsessed with me ^^ muah!)

(I'm sorry this is so lengthy TT)

Yandere! Vampire x Reader

Featuring a ridiculously lucky Reader who constantly manages to escape a Vampire's assassination attempts. Did someone order a supernatural edition of enemies to lovers?

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, romcom

[Monster masterlist] [Original works masterlist]

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" your friends gasp in unison, eyes fixated on the fallen ceramic pot that scarcely missed you, now laying shattered at your feet. You laugh reassuringly and wave your hand in dismissal. "It's the fifth time it happens today. Maybe there's a storm coming?"

From within the shadows, menacing eyes glowing red follow your movements. "Damn it!" The mysterious man curses under his breath. He stares enviously at the bulky ring on your finger. The ring bearing his Family signet, where part of his very soul resides. It has stayed with him for centuries, and somehow, to his utmost shame, he lost it. By the time he rushed back to retrieve it, you were carelessly sliding it down your finger. He wanted to strangle the life out of you right then and there, but he felt it: the immediate surge of contractual power, dominating his will and holding him back from breaking your bones. "It's a little tacky, isn't it?" your friend remarked. You nodded in agreement and tried to remove it, but the metal band tightened around your skin, painfully constricting your digit. It was stuck. It was too late.

Now he has to rely on cheap trickeries like this one. Sure, he may not be able to directly plunge his fangs into your neck, but the bonding curse does not shield you from "accidents", you see. It would be a real shame if that flower pot was to land straight into your head, ending you instantly and thus breaking the connection with him. Except you simply refuse to die. A mystery, a paradox, one that enrages him to no end. It's almost as if the ring is bringing you fortune at the cost of his misery.

"Have you had any luck removing that ugly thing?" the person standing next to you mentions. The vampire lord grits his teeth at the blasphemous words. This is what's become of him: a deceitful buffoon, having to sit and listen to his inheritance being mocked relentlessly. He holds back the urge of shouting that thousands have bled to death in order to forge that magnificence. "Not at all", you respond idly. "I tried taking it to a jeweler, and she said she could try to cut it, but she ended up having a heart attack right in the middle of it. She didn't even look that old, maybe it runs in her family?"

Unbelievable. The thought of reclaiming his relic haunts every second of his day, to the point he's become your shadow. Stalking your every move, your every breath, observing his prey and waiting for an opportunity to strike. He can already picture that pathetic face of yours, twisting in pain, begging for-...huh. Well, look at that, you're reading one of his favorite books. Perhaps you do have a little taste, after all. It won't save you from your terrible fate, but he might skip the prolonged torture.

There's plenty of quotes out there about knowing your enemy in order to guarantee your victory, though one might wonder where the limit of such knowledge resides. Or what counts as useful to begin with. The vampire lord is presently wondering about this very aspect, as he mouths your coffee order from a distance. Less sugar, huh? You did mention losing your sweet tooth. He shakes his head indignantly. Absolutely not! The throb of his heart is fueled by raw hatred and nothing else. One of days he will savour your demise.

Your ridiculous luck might just end today. You've taken a shortcut on your way back home, and didn't expect a shady, burly man to block your exit. A perverted grin stains his face as he approaches you, twiddling with his pocket knife. "Alone at this hour?" You frown and try to find a way out, but the man suddenly begins to heave and convulse before your eyes, grasping at his chest as the skin shrivels and dries. He collapses at your feet, body wilted as if it's been emptied of its vitality. The Vampire Lord clicks his tongue.

To think he'd rush to rescue his sworn enemy, a pitiful mortal like you. He didn't even get the chance to consider the aftermath. You stare at the stranger, confused but observant. Pale skin, crimson eyes, unnaturally sharp canines...and the fact he just drained a living being into a bloodless corpse: everything hints to one possibility. "Are you by any chance a vampire?" you find yourself mumbling. "You must've graduated from Harvard with those deduction skills", he responds sarcastically.

Everything else unfolds in a haze. Wasn't he planning to kill you and retrieve his ring? When the hell did he offer to walk you home to avoid more creeps? Why is he twirling his hair sheepishly whenever you praise his demonic powers? Oh, but it gets worse: why did he suddenly feel the urge to kiss you before returning to his cursed lair? Why did he accept your invitation to spend the night at your place instead? One moment ago, he was doing his best to curse you off this Earth. Now he's tugging stray strands of hair away from your blushing, whining face, asking you if it hurts. Damned human.

"How did you know I like this? Have you been stalking me?" you joke, nudging your undead boyfriend and setting the gift aside. "More or less", he confesses with a yawn. He recalls all that time spent dutifully spying on your oblivious self. "You know, a human like you shouldn't be able to dodge death like that." He turns to you and scans your features. Then, abruptly embarrassed, he ruffles your hair to block you from noticing his blush. "I suppose my failure was the better outcome. It's not too bad, having you around."

[jinxvex]

heyy! if u take requests i was wondering if you would make an enemy sevika x reader, where they treat each other like shit until sevika has enough and fucks the shit out of reader 💪😊

♱ enemy. (enemy!sevika x reader) ♱

enemies to lovers is lowkey my fave trope so, let’s go!!

also sorry i haven’t posted! finals week… 🫠😓

cw: nsfw, kink city LOL!! sevika is v rough + punishes reader, possessiveness, BDSM elements, BREEDING KINK (oops), name-calling (slut, whore, bitch, etc), degradation/praise, cursing, arguing, a tiny bit angsty, spanking, she slaps your cunt once, choking, hair-pulling, doggy position, she eats you out!! it's sweet towards the end dw!

there's def more but OOP-

wc: 4.2K! (oops)

sevika hates you.

1. she hates the way your hips sway when you walk.

she’s definitely ALWAYS looking at your ass.

2. she hates how you talk and how you giggle under your breath when you laugh at something you shouldn’t. your voice sounds like music, like wind chimes in the spring that cause her vision to blur.

3. she hates the way your skin glows in the sunlight—as rare as it is in the gloomy grey atmosphere of zaun.

4. she hates how you dress and style your hair. you stand out. you personally customize your clothing, adding your own detailing on platform boots, jeans, jewelry, belts, accessories, tops, and jackets. your uniqueness annoys her beyond belief.

“what a fuckin’ show-off! this isn’t a fashion show,” she mutters under her breath to get a rise out of you.

5. she hates the way you talk back to her, even when she starts an argument first.

“well maybe you could learn something, you wear the same shit like… every day,” you respond briskly, already sick of her berating you as you’ve just walked through the doors of silco’s office.

she’s older than you, you should show some respect! you act so high and mighty like nobody can crack that tough persona you put on to protect yourself from the dark and dangerous streets of zaun.

she scoffs. her thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of her nose to alleviate the stress you’ve subjected her to. she cannot believe this.

“see? this… child is so incompetent! fuckin’ impossible to work with! she’s probably late to this meeting because she’s too busy playing dress up to actually do her job.” she directs towards you although not looking at you, opting to look at the tall chair covering silco’s body as she sits in the chair across from his.

silco sighs, clearly annoyed at both of your antics. he swivels around in his chair to face you both.

“actually, she was doing something i assigned her to. last minute, but she always gets the job done.”

sevika’s eyes flicker to you, and you smirk at her assumption that you were accidentally late.

she scoffs again and drags her grey-ish eyes back to silco as she leans to the left, almost trying to get away from you standing at her right with your arms crossed.

“you see… you two are my best. i cannot afford to have you both acting like children when doing business. it could threaten everything i’ve—we’ve built. one wrong move could tarnish this.”

you and sevika stay quiet as you avoid eye contact with each other, you taking a newfound interest in the bookshelf as sevika’s eyes burn holes into the ground. you knew deep down that silco was right.

“it's time you’ve both gotten along, for all of our sakes. don’t disappoint me again.”

…

you haven’t seen sevika since silco’s ‘lecture’ he gave you two a couple of days ago.

it's evening in zaun, streets and bars filling with people as the night threatens to begin.

you sat on the couch in the living room of your tiny yet, surprisingly homey apartment. your legs resting on the coffee table and you busy munching on cheap snacks, reflecting on the conversation that took place not too long ago. you were livid.

i mean, what else more did he want from you!

sevika was impossible. you tried to get along with her in the beginning but no matter what, she hated you!

she constantly finds new ways to poke fun at you, belittle you, and insult your intelligence. she obviously thinks you aren’t worthy of being a part of silco’s inner circle and that offends you.

and yes, she’s incredibly hot, but all of that was overshadowed the moment she decided you were a piece of gum on her boot!

you sigh incredulously, “damn… i need a drink.”

…

a few minutes later, you’re walking into the last drop and making a beeline for the bar.

as you sit down, your hands graze the edges of the countertop and you close your eyes briefly to let out a breath you’ve held in your throat for…

who knows how long?

that garners the attention of thieram, the kind bartender whom you’d had polite conversation with in the past. you’d taken quite a liking to his kind personality in the past.

“what would you like tonight, miss?” he smiles at you.

as you rummage through your mind for something to order, there isn’t much.

you aren’t a big drinker so it was hard to decipher what was good and what wasn’t because you simply don’t know.

“she’ll have the whiskey, best you've got.” you hear a gruff voice come from behind you. you hear the person’s rough steps come to a stop beside you and they sit.

“ugh.” you scoff out loud and roll your eyes dramatically as you avoid looking in her direction to your right.

sevika.

“coming right up…” thieram, not even wanting to know, swiftly walks off to make your drink.

“what do you want?!” you huff out in annoyance as you finally bring your head up to make eye contact with her.

“nothin’… just enjoying you strugglin’ to order. jus’ was painful to watch, doll.”

your eyebrows raise as your mouth opens and closes, you not exactly knowing how to respond. especially to "doll".

although her tone indicates that she was merely joking, you retaliate against her anyway for the way she’s treated you in the past.

“i- you know what?! if you’ve just come to gloat and make me feel like an idiot just go right ahead and fuck off!” you state. causing a vein to pop out of your forehead and your left eye to twitch in pure anger.

“i’m not in the mood for your shit” you restate your previous point.

“y’know? you’re such a pain in my ass. always bitching and complaining about everything, always in the way, you’re unbelievable.”

you pause your movements, surprised at the lengths she’s going to make you feel terrible.

“i think you look weak.” she finishes, smirking as your eyes threaten to spill with tears out of rage.

“you’re such. a. fucking. bitch.” you emphasize the b in the word bitch as you leap off your chair and stomp out of the bar, trudging back to the comfort of your own home.

thieram walks back over to the side of the bar you were just at and his face scrunches in confusion.

“uh… where’d she go?” he questions as he raises his hands, one hand occupied with your drink.

sevika is still sitting with her mech hand pressing into a tight fist on the counter and her human hand tightly squeezing the bridge of her nose.

she makes up her mind as she stands up and makes her way to your apartment, already having memorized where you lay your head at night.

tonight, you’ll learn respect. obedience.

…

you’ve just made it back to your apartment and you’re slamming the door shut. as you pace back and forth from your kitchen to your living room you’re met with complete and utter silence that taunts you.

“how do i let her get to me? every. single. time.” you’re thinking, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid. for letting her see you upset.

you hear a loud knock at the door and you pause all moments, as you make your way to answer it, your thoughts race with ideas of who may be at your doorstep at this time of night.

you open the door and you’re met with none other than the sight of sevika. both of her hands clench into fists at her sides as she gazes at you darkly.

it’s almost eerie, her silence. you sense something in her demeanor that is different than usual. it feels… scary.

you both say nothing as she pushes her way into your home, back turned to you as she stops in her tracks.

“wha- what the fuck? g-get out!” you scream out.

her head cocks over her shoulder, one eye looking back at you in a silent warning.

you slowly back up against the door as she turns her full body around to corner you against it. her stare pierces deep into your soul, you feel as though a knife has been jabbed into your gut.

sevika is a scary woman. you know you stand no chance against her strength. that frightens you slightly but you hold your head up high and maintain eye contact with her to stand your ground.

her hands are placed on either side of your head, pressing into the rough, wooden texture of the door. you hear the wood creaking when she leans in, nose brushing against yours. the silence is deafening.

"hmm..." she cocks her head to the right, still looking deep into your irises.

"sevika, l-let me go. what are you doing?!" you try to reason with her but she is unwavering as she takes her mech hand and trails it dangerously slowly up your body from your thigh to your bare stomach, then your arms.

it lands on your neck and wraps around it loosely as a scare tactic. it works as your eyes widen and your shaky hands come up to move the machine off you.

your legs start to weaken and your eyebrows furrow as your underwear pools with your desire.

"so fuckin' pathetic, you are..." she growls, tightening around your neck, not too tight. but tight enough to where your breath hitches in your throat and you're slightly gasping for air.

"y'know, was gonna try and get along with you tonight, doll."

the pet name makes the wetness in your panties become unbearable.

she continues, "ordered you a drink, cracked a joke 'n everything..."

"but, you're a brat to your core, aren't you? should make you apologize..."

an idea pops into your head, another way to disrespect her. you ponder in your head about how you shouldn't. against your better judgment, you say it anyway.

"make me, then,” your eyes flicker down to her lips.

her cocky expression falters slightly—her eyes threatening to look down at yours as well. and if looks could kill, you would die instantly.

"show me your fuckin' bedroom. now."

you're then peeling yourself off of the door. she takes her hand off your neck and backs up to let you pass. you drag your feet, walking slowly to irritate her further. she doesn't like that one bit.

you feel a hand brush the back of your head and she's harshly pulling you up against her chest by your hair. you feel her warm breath tickling your ear, getting ready to humiliate you even more.

"f-fuck! ow!" you yelp out in pain.

"nuh-uh. hurry the fuck up. move." she whispers into your ear.

sevika lets you go, roughly pushing your head forward to emphasize her point. you decide not to push her as you speed up.

as you enter your room, you let out a shaky breath, scared yet excited about the events about to take place. you're not facing her when you hear your bedroom door slam shut. you stop dead in your tracks.

"what-uhm, what's gonna happen?" you question.

you gasp out in surprise as she spins you around to face her and pushes you onto the bed. your ass rests on the edge of it and you're sitting up straight. sevika towers over you, way taller than usual. she looks like she could devour you as she's undressing you with her eyes.

"gonna hurt you, sweetheart. gonna punish you for being such a mean little brat." she smushes your cheeks together with one hand, causing your saliva to pool from your mouth and wet your lips.

"should've done this ages ago... maybe you'd be better behaved by now."

"p-please. i-'m sorry."

it kills you inside, that you secretly love this. you secretly love the idea of her touching you. punishing you, hurting you until you’re utterly ruined.

you’ve dreamt about this moment in light of all the arguments, yelling, and fighting.

in one swift movement, she stands you back up and takes your place on the bed looking up at you hungrily.

“bend over my knee,” she demands.

you feign disgust, and fear, “wh-what?! n-no i-”

“lay the fuck down, and bend over my knee before i spank your ass raw.”

you obey. she scoots back further on your bed so you can maneuver your way to lay your stomach across her thighs. your upper body and legs rest on the bed as your ass is slightly positioned in the air.

you can’t see her face, but you know sevika’s smirking as she’s finally got you where she wants you.

she coos at you, tugging slightly at the loose shorts you threw on after you got home from the bar, “look at you in these little fuckin’ shorts, so slutty.”

she slides her hand up your outer thigh, moving closer to your ass.

all of a sudden, she pauses her movements.

she leans down, her mouth next to your ear, “we can stop at any time. jus’ let me know, doll.”

your heart clenches at her words, feeling the intense emotion behind them and now knowing deep down that she doesn’t want to actually hurt you.

it turns you on even more.

“want it vika, p-please.”

she lets out a sound that’s of a groan and a growl, “fuck yeah, baby. gonna punish you—gonna make it hurt,”

“gonna take it? gonna be a good girl for me?”

“ye-yes! yes!”

sevika hooks the fingers of her human and mechanical hand under the waist of your shorts and roughly tugs them to the floor.

“fuck… no panties too? my god,” she admires you.

you say nothing as her hand finds its way back to moving up your thigh and finally grips your ass, kneading the plush flesh.

“gonna actually do anything or?…” you get cocky, too impatient to feel her hands on you.

a loud ��SMACK!’ sounds throughout the ambient space of your bedroom, the pain searing into the skin of your right asscheek, making you scream out into the bedspread.

“fuckin’ brat, like i said.”

you’re met with another ‘SMACK!’ in the same spot. you scream out again except this time, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a moan.

“can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. bein' my little painslut…”

she hits you again, “you like when i hurt you? don’t you, baby?”

“yes!” you’re repeating, face still smushed into the blankets.

“what was that?” she presses further as she tangles her hand into your hair and yanks it upwards.

“f-fuck! yes, yes!”

she spanks you again and again, alternating between each cheek until you’re sobbing.

although she hadn’t spanked you more than 15 times, you felt as though it was 10 times that much.

she’s soon rubbing a soothing hand over the expanse of your ass, attempting to calm the ache in your ass while neglecting the one in your cunt.

“my girl. did so good for me, baby. so, so good.”

she sits you up and props you up next to her. you wince as your ass meets the surface of your bed.

“we’re not done. gonna make this pussy feel so good, i’ve been neglecting her haven’t i?”

“mhm…touch me please.” you’re out of it, eyes lazily gazing into hers.

“suppose i should reward you?”

her hands caress the sides of your neck and she captures your lips in a gentle and passionate kiss.

as her lips meet yours, the world is silent, all you can think of is sevika.

the kiss soon turns sloppier, needier. your tongues clash against one another causing saliva to drip down both of your chins.

it’s disgusting really, the definition of swapping spit.

neither of you seems to care though. you both moan through the kisses, gripping at each other.

she breaks the kiss to tear your shirt off your body.

“such pretty tits… so beautiful.”

you lean in and peck her lips, “want you bad, vika. please just fuck me already,” you beg.

“you’re beggin’ me?”

“yeah,” you respond.

“fuckin’ beggin’ me, huh?”

“fuck yeah, baby,” you respond another time, your bedroom eyes never leaving hers.

this back-and-forth dirty talk makes the both of you so wet, that the need between you increases with each exchange.

“you don’t even realize how much of a whore you sound like when you say that shit, baby."

oh, you know.

“i love it,” she doubles back.

“gonna eat you first, get you ready for my cock.”

you pause.

‘she didn’t… did she?!’ you exclaim in your head, incredibly surprised she brought an entire strap-on to your house.

“mm… back the fuck up, lean up against the headboard.”

you do as she says, spreading your legs for her in the process.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

she kisses down your neck, stomach, and thighs—her mouth now dangerously close to your naked cunt.

“perfect pussy… so pretty and wet.” she blows cold air on it, admiring the way you clench as she does so.

she laughs out loud, “you’re clenching around nothing, baby… you need this dick in you.”

you don’t even notice you’re looking up at the ceiling, you then look down at her between your thighs—you notice her pants are pulled off. her mech hand is gripping her black plastic cock through her boy shorts.

it’s huge. you’re not sure if it can even fit inside you and that makes you crave it more.

you moan at the sight, “mhm! yes! need it in my pussy. wanna cum on it.” you manage out. your brain is mush!

“soon,” she promises.

she suddenly delves into your pussy, tongue experimentally licking around your folds, then your hole, and your clit.

you’re on cloud 9. your cunt twitches with need because you can feel every detail of her mouth dragging along your heat.

your moans are uncontrollable as she’s practically making out with your cunt, her spit drips onto your clean bed as she’s sloppily eating your pussy out.

she’s nasty with it, spitting on it, getting it dripping wet for you to take her.

“fuck! please!! gonna cum!” you yell out.

all of a sudden, you’re met with cold air. and your cunt is met with a thought to be forgotten ‘SMACK!’

you yelp out in pain and pleasure, the mix too overwhelming for your poor pussy to handle.

“you cum when i fuckin’ tell you to. ask me if you can come next time.”

“‘m sorry vika! promise i won't do it a-again.”

“yeah, yeah. turn around.”

you whine at the loss of her mouth on you; it just feels so good. but you listen anyway.

you’re in doggy facing the headband with your back slightly arched as you look back at her behind you.

she lifts her shirt over her head; she has nothing on underneath, giving you a full view of her sculpted abs. you graze them with your fingertips, amazed at how beautiful she is.

“beautiful, gorgeous…” you state to her and your eyes meet hers once again, showing her you mean what you’re saying.

she huffs out in…shyness? she looks down at the bedspread below you two and she tugs down her boy shorts, throwing them next to all of the other clothes that are splayed out on the floor.

“gonna put it inside, alright? gonna make you feel it.”

you look forward and your eyes trace the design of your headboard, anticipating her cock pushing inside of you, anticipating the delicious pain.

she eventually does push the toy inside of you, bottoming out quickly.

she gives you a moment to adjust. you both are breathing heavily and your nimble fingers grip at the sheets, mouth forming into the shape of an o because she’s so fucking deep.

one of her hands comes up to force your face into the pillows. she starts to move her hips slowly.

“fuuuuck, doll. arch that back,” she can feel the slow grind of your hips on her clit as you press back into her and arch slightly.

it’s not enough for her. she presses her other hand into the small of your back to truly get it so she’s as deep as she possibly can go in this position.

“oh my f-fucking god!” you’re moaning into the pillows, still as loud as if you were screaming.

she’s sped up now, her plastic cock digging into you swiftly yet deliberately.

“yeah…arch that shit, gimme that pussy, baby.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re still moaning into the pillow. you can feel every ridge, every detail of her.

your pussy twitches with need, your slick dripping down your thighs, cunt squelching and eyes rolling to the back of your head because of the rough way she’s handling you.

“can feel you around me, i swear. you’re so tight, baby, s-shit…”

she’s bullying your cunt relentlessly and her dirty talk is making you so unbelievably wet.

“you love this dick, don’t you? you love when i fuck this pussy, huh?”

“yes, vika! yes! just like that! love it!”

“say you’re sorry. say you’re sorry for being such a bratty little bitch.”

“hmmph!” you defy her, for fun perhaps.

she slows down tremendously compared to the pace she set before, giving you shallow thrusts to match your attitude.

“say you’re fuckin’ sorry or I’ll make sure this pussy never cums again. you’re only cumming from me, so you’ll do what the fuck i say.”

whew.

“c’mon, baby say you’re sorry so i can give you this dick. gonna make you cream on it so good if you just let go,”

she continues, “i know you want it… know you want it in your guts. know you want my cum in you," she's delirious.

gripping your hip with her free hand and your hair with the other, she lifts your head out of the pillow so she can hear you better.

you cave.

“i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, baby. i promise i’ll be good! pleeease just fuck me! need you. need your cum…”

she leans down and kisses the small of your back, “see, now how hard was that?!”

she moves her hips at a faster pace than before, seemingly deeper as well. your face has found its way back down, voice muffled into the sheets.

“yeah, baby, take this shit—take it aaaaalll in this fuckin’ pussy. pussy’s so good for me.”

“oh f-fuck, ‘s so deep!” you look back at her once again. her teeth are biting into her bottom lip, hips snapping against your ass as she stares down at you wildly, watching the toy disappear inside of you.

you then meet her eyes, completely cockdrunk. you beg her again, “please v-vika… need your cum in my pussy. need you to knock me up.”

“give it to me, give me your cum! want it deep in me, wan’ it!”

she growls out, “f-fuck shit’s gonna make me cum.”

“fuckin’ pussy is sucking me in, gonna make me get you pregnant, baby,”

her hips are still pistoning into you, the room filling with sloppy wet noises and smacking skin.

“i’m b-begging you to let me cum, p-please!” you’re still looking into her eyes, kindly asking her for permission to soak her faux dick.

“who’s fucking you then? say my name, doll.”

“you, sevika! you!! you’re the only one,”

“fuck yeah, you whore. ‘m the only one that’s gonna be in this shit from now on. that’s right…”

“plea-”

“cum. i want you to cum on this cock, make it yours. cum all over it,” she’s thrusting against your g-spot as deep as she can with one of her legs on the bed and her hands on your hips. you have no choice but to just, take it.

her words cause the coil in your tummy to snap, your orgasm crashing down on you like a brick to your head. like if a large rock were to crush you and kill you instantly. it’s rough, it’s overwhelming.

“fuck!!” you scream through it.

“i’m cummin’ too!! not gonna pull out. i’m gonna put a baby in you, get you nice and full,”

“mhm!! yes!”

the combination of you urging her on and the pressure of her hips and your ass fucking back onto them causes her movements to stutter, “s-shit!”

her orgasm washes over her much like yours, both her hands on your hips making it easier for her cock to kiss your cervix and for her clit to feel it.

you both eventually come down from your highs. sevika pulls out of you and quickly yanks the toy off.

you’re still in the same position so she presses down on your back to get you to rest your body on the comfortable and soft surface of your bed. you’re expecting her to tug her clothes back on and leave, but she doesn’t.

she praises you for the rest of the night, rubs aloe gel on your ass to soothe the welts, and loves on you as if she’d never hated you in the first place.

“you did so good, baby.”

“i’m so proud of you, you’re amazing.”

“you’re so pretty… you’re mine now.”

…

needless to say… she’s ruined you for everyone else. your petty rivalry long forgotten and replaced with the feelings that you’ve both been hiding. and as you’re both waltzing into silco’s office for a second meeting, he’s hoping for but not expecting for there to be a change in your relationship.

he is stunned when he’s met with no more eye rolls, scoffs, and bickering.

‘wonder what’s gotten into the two of them…’ he wonders.

well, something has definitely gotten into you.

…

I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED!! finals are over so i am free from the shackles of college! (for now…)

hope you guys like it! tbh this took me forever because i couldn’t figure out the plot LMFAKOW😭😭

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[mw00nie]

extra credit

you first see him on a tuesday.

10 a.m. political science. long, cold, fluorescent-lit misery. you only took it because the professor was rumored to be easy. except, twist, he now isn’t, and your attendance is locked in for the semester. brutal.

you always sit in the back. fake typing on your laptop, tabs full of shit you’ll never afford, pretending you’re gonna relisten to the lectures on your phone. spoiler: you won’t.

so, naturally, you start people-watching. it becomes your sport.

guy in front of you sexting someone at 10 a.m. on a tuesday? disturbing. girl next to you writing color-coded notes on an ipad that costs more than your rent? pretentious. two girls giggling over tinder and ranking guys like they’re judging cattle at a state fair? iconic.

then you see him.

front row. every single class. white hair, slightly too long, messy like he cut it himself or forgot to. hoodie with a bleach stain on the sleeve. glasses he keeps pushing up with his middle finger. backpack covered in pins that look suspiciously like anime.

the kind of guy who probably owns a sword. the kind of guy who turns in essays early and apologizes for formatting mistakes. the kind of guy who definitely gets hard when girls yell at him.

you watch him answer a question once, voice so quiet, you can barely hear it from your seat, and it hits you like a truck:

this guy is such a loser. i want him in my bed immediately.

you don’t do anything about it at first. just move closer, row by row, like a predator slowly circling.

he doesn’t notice. he’s too busy actually doing the readings.

every class, he types with those long fingers, hunched over his laptop like he’s coding the next great american novel. he frowns when the professor gets something wrong. he wears wired headphones. wired, for god’s sake.

you can feel it building in you every time he pushes his glasses up. every time he mutters a “yeah, i think that’s actually covered in the assigned paper by—” before trailing off, embarrassed.

you want to climb into his lap and ruin his academic career. you want to know if he’s as nervous with his hands as he is with his voice. you want to see how red his ears can get.

three weeks in, you finally snap.

you catch him right after lecture, halfway to the vending machines, headphones still hanging around his neck. his fingers are tangled in his hoodie strings, backpack slung over one shoulder, like he barely remembered to exist outside of class.

he stops in his tracks when you say his name.

“satoru gojo, right?”

he blinks. once. twice. like you’ve just pulled the fire alarm in his brain.

“…yeah?”

he’s taller than you expected. awkwardly so. broad shoulders slouched like he’s trying to make himself smaller. glasses sliding down his nose. messy white hair that looks like he towel-dried it and called it a day. he smells faintly like clean laundry and caffeine. you hate how much that does to you.

you lean in a little. tilt your head. smile like you know something he doesn’t.

“you’re smart,” you say. “painfully. the kind of smart that corrects the professor mid-lecture and then apologizes for it.”

he flushes, stammers. “i– only if they’re, like, wrong? sometimes?”

adorable.

you step closer. just enough to watch his pupils blow out a little. he’s blinking at you like he’s buffering.

“i need help studying,” you say sweetly. “and you seem.. helpful.”

his mouth opens. closes. “uh– sure?”

“great.” you tilt your head. “library at seven?”

he nods, slow and stunned.

you smile wider. “and if you’re good,” you say, voice low enough to make him swallow, “i might let you kiss me.”

you don’t wait for a response. just turn and walk off, backpack slung lazily over your shoulder.

when you glance back, he’s still standing there. frozen, mouth slightly open, entire brain fried like a cheap motherboard.

you laugh to yourself.

this is going to be so much fun.

he shows up to the library that night. you weren’t sure he would. he seemed like the type to overthink it until he got hives. but there he is 6:57, laptop in hand, adorned in what looked like a bunch of different stickers. the etsy type.

“hey,” you say, flashing a smile as he slides into the seat next to you.

he nearly fumbles his bag off the table. “hey,” he replies, voice quiet. “so… what’re you stuck on?”

you don’t even bother pretending to know. just hand him your notes with a shrug and start watching him instead.

he’s so earnest. brows furrowed. lips pressed together. squinting at your writing like it personally offended him.

you’re supposed to be learning about political theory, but all you can think about is what his mouth would feel like on your neck. how red his ears would get if you sat in his lap right now and pulled on his hoodie strings.

by the end of the night, he’s explained two chapters, drawn a chart, and unconsciously flexed his hands at least a dozen times.

you lean back, stretch, and smile at him sweetly. “you’re a really good teacher.”

he turns a little pink. scratches the back of his neck.

“…thanks?”

���don’t thank me yet,” you murmur. “you’ve got office hours again tomorrow.”

he swallows.

you don’t kiss him. not yet. you let him walk home in a daze, probably questioning whether he imagined the whole thing.

you make him wait.

over the next two weeks, you meet him three more times.

once in the library, once at a coffee shop, and once after class in an empty study room.

every time, he gets a little bolder. not much. just enough for you to notice.

his knees brush yours under the table and he doesn’t pull back. he teases you when you mess up a definition. he looks you in the eye a little longer than he did before, until you’re the one who has to look away.

“you’re learning,” you hum one night.

he just shrugs, smirking softly.

“you said if i was good, i’d get to kiss you.”

his voice is low. deeper now. like he’s starting to realize he has some kind of effect on you.

you smile, sweet and lethal.

“maybe next time.”

you invite him over on a thursday night.

you claim it’s for a “final review session” before the quiz. you text him your address, and tell him to wear something comfortable.

he shows up in another hoodie and sweatpants. his glasses are clean for once. his hair still a mess, but in a way that almost looks intentional.

you pretend to study for fifteen minutes.

fifteen.

after that, you crawl into his lap, straddle his legs, and tilt his chin up.

“still wanna kiss me?”

he doesn’t answer. just leans in and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it for weeks.

and god, he’s so warm. so eager. he kisses like he means it, messy and deep, hands hovering just shy of your waist like he’s scared to hold on too tightly.

you grind down once and he chokes on a moan.

“shit– wait–”

you pull back and grin.

“don’t tell me this is your first time.”

he goes red, but his eyes are sharp now, glinting under the low light of your room.

“…why would you think that?”

you laugh, breathless. “because you’re a loser. you raise your hand in lectures. you wear anime pins. you fumble your phone when i look at you.”

“so?” he murmurs, licking into your mouth, voice rough. “i can still make you cum.”

you blink. stunned.

he grins, slow and devastating. glasses slipping again, hands sliding up your thighs.

“wanna bet?”

you don’t even make it five minutes into the “study” session before he’s got you pinned to the couch.

your laptop’s open on some political science quizlet. long forgotten.

your panties are shoved halfway down your thighs, hoodie thrown on the floor somewhere, one of his hands gripping your jaw while the other is buried deep inside you.

“what happened to all that attitude?” he mutters against your mouth, voice low, breath warm. “thought you said i was a loser.”

you gasp, try to buck your hips, but he holds you still. his fingers curl just right and your entire spine arches.

“fuck– satoru–”

“say it again,” he growls, licking into your mouth like he’s starving. “say i’m a loser.”

you whimper. “you’re– fuck, you’re not–”

“hmm?” his thumb circles your clit, lazy and cruel. “what was that?”

you choke on a moan. it’s disgusting how wet you are. slick dripping down his knuckles, pooling under your ass on the cushions.

he’s still got his glasses on. slightly fogged. his hair’s messier than usual, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. he looks deranged. brilliant. completely in control.

and all you want is more.

“please,” you breathe. “just– fuck me– please–”

he pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth like he’s tasting you.

“you ask so nicely,” he hums, grinning like the devil. “but i think you need a little warm-up first.”

you expect him to drop to his knees.

you don’t expect him to pull you by the hips and throw you over his face.

he lays back on the couch, one arm hooked under your thigh, and drags you down onto his mouth.

“oh– fuck–”

his tongue is obscene. messy. insistent. his nose brushes your clit every time he moves, and he groans like he’s the one getting off.

you’re gasping, grinding against his face, grabbing fistfuls of his hair like a girl possessed.

he pulls back once to breathe and licks his lips, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked.

“sweetest i’ve ever had in my life,” he mutters. “could stay here all night.”

you cum on his tongue twice.

by the time he lets you down, your legs are jelly. your voice is half-gone. and he’s hard. painfully hard. under his sweatpants.

“c’mere,” he mutters, voice rough. “you owe me something.”

you drop to your knees without hesitation.

he’s thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, and way too big for the loser nerd image he gives off in class.

“god,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around it. “you’ve been hiding this from me?”

“was waiting for you to find out,” he says, pushing his glasses up, totally smug.

you stroke him slow, spit-slick and teasing, then lean in and drag your tongue up the underside.

his breath stutters. “f-fuck–”

you take him in deep, hollow your cheeks. he groans and grabs the back of your head.

“god, you’re good,” he mutters, hips twitching. “knew you’d suck cock like a slut.”

you whimper around him, moan at the taste, the weight, the way his thigh tenses under your hand.

he fucks your mouth slowly. not too deep, not yet.  just enough to make your eyes water.

when he pulls you off, you’re panting, spit dripping down your chin.

“get on the couch,” he says, voice dark. “hands and knees.”

you scramble up, bend over, and he groans.

“fuck– look at that.”

he presses himself up behind you, drags the head of his dick through your folds, and leans forward to whisper against your ear.

“you’re gonna let the virgin loser fuck you like this?” he murmurs, kissing your neck.

“yes,” you whine. “please– satoru, i need it–”

he thrusts in all at once.

you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

he’s so deep it makes your stomach flip, one hand digging into your hip while the other presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down.

he starts fucking you like he’s been waiting years. filthy, relentless, fast and hard and deep enough you can barely think.

“not such a brat now, huh?” he pants. “still think i’m just some nerd?”

you’re moaning, crying out, face smushed into a pillow as he hits your g-spot with every thrust like a bullseye

he leans down, wraps a hand around your throat, and groans when you clench around him.

“tight little pussy,” he mutters. “knew you’d be like this. couldn’t stop thinking about it. mmph– gonna ruin you–”

he pulls out and flips you over ignoring your whine of protest. pushes your legs up to your chest, and drills into you.

you cum again, shaking, sobbing into his mouth as he kisses you through it.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, sweat on his brow, pupils blown.

“you want it inside?” he grunts, hips stuttering. “want me to fill you up?”

“yesyes– fuck, please–”

“god, you’re filthy,” he groans. 

he cums hard. deep, slow thrusts, hips grinding into yours, breath hot against your throat as he empties inside you.

you’re both panting. ruined. bodies tangled on your shitty dorm couch.

he pulls out slow, watches his cum leak out of you, and smirks.

“extra credit,” he says, breathless. “you definitely passed.”

[anglbunny]

credit completion ♡ Fratboy!Gojo satoru

cw: smut mdni, frat boy!gojo, teacher!reader, dub-con

୨୧

You should’ve known Satoru Gojo wouldn’t take you seriously.

Leaning back in the stiff chair across from your desk, legs spread obnoxiously wide, eyes hidden behind those stupid sunglasses, he didn’t even try to act like he was listening. You droned on about his attendance, the assignments he hasn’t turned in, the grades that were circling the drain. He looked at the ceiling, the clock, his phone, until finally your voice snapped sharp—stern, professional, done.

“Gojo, if you don’t pull your grades up, you’re going to have to repeat this class. That’s not a warning anymore—it’s a fact.”

That finally made his attention flick lazily toward you, lips curling into that cocky, frat boy smirk. “Damn, teach, you sound so serious… makes me think you want me to stick around longer.”

You clenched your jaw, ready to throw him out, but he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something sinfully low.

“Or maybe… I could raise my grade another way?”

You blinked. “…Excuse me?”

Gojo’s grin widened, tongue flicking over his teeth. “C’mon, now. Don’t play dumb. Bet you get off on being in control, huh? All that authority. But when’s the last time someone made you beg?”

You stood to dismiss him, heart pounding, but before you could speak, he was already around the desk, crowding you, caging you in. He smelled like expensive cologne, bad decisions, and frat party smoke. And despite every fiber of your professional brain screaming no—your body melted when he pressed you down onto your own desk, his palm splayed over the small of your back.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Bent over like a cheap slut on campus, skirt bunched around your hips, his cock slamming deep into you, stretching you until your vision blurred. The sound of skin slapping filled the empty lecture hall, along with your helpless moans, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you clawed at the polished wood.

“See, Ms.l/n,” Gojo groaned behind you, fucking into you like he owned your body, “bet you never got ruined on your own fuckin’ desk, huh? Look at you—fuckin’ drooling. S’this the face of a professional? Yeah? You like when the student teaches you a lesson?”

You couldn’t answer—not when his hand was around your throat, making you dizzy, high off the filthy way he stretched you out. All you could do was take it, sobbing his name into the varnish while he pounded into you like he wanted you to fail him.

And Gojo?

Gojo was grinning, knowing he’d just found his new favorite after-class activity.

Taglist:@samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt

A/N: i tried

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[masterlist]

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or rafe drunk messaging reader.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another,, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ since y'all wanted it; i'm making this into a series! i'm gonna get at least one part out per week, trying to do it more often but i've been a busy woman lately. next part is gonna be more narration-heavy! warning; purposeful typos ahead.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

most friday nights, you usually ended up sitting in front of your laptop and studying, and this friday was no different. your head was hurting, and you could almost feel your eyes starting to blur from all the assignments you'd been working on. letting out a small sigh, your eyes wandered to the bookmark on the corner of the screen titled 'kildareuchats'.

"let's take a little break, shall we?" you mumbled at angel, the white cat purring in her sleep. letting out a small chuckle, you clicked the bookmark, leading you to the website.

CLICK HERE TO LOG IN TO KILDAREUCHATS

you clicked the link once again and were led to the home page, biting down on your lower lip as you read the text on it. this time, instead of just the option to chat with a stranger, you were also able to chat with... the stranger.

WELCOME BACK AnnabelLee! FRIENDS: 1 ONLINE: 1 CLICK HERE TO CHAT WITH MalachiConstant! CLICK HERE TO CHAT WITH A RANDOM STRANGER!

"should we do it?" you mumbled quietly to angel, pursing your lips. "fuck it." you chuckle, clicking the button to chat with the stranger you'd connected with a week before.

KILDAREUCHATS IS REQUESTING MalachiConstant TO CHAT...

KILDAREUCHATS HAS CONNECTED YOU to MalachiConstant!REMEMBER TO TREAT OTHERS THE WAY YOU WANT TO BE TREATED <3 SAY HI!

you honestly didn't know what to say to him. maybe it wouldn't feel as natural as it felt last time? maybe he forgot who you were? maybe he'd just decided that you weren't really worth to know? clenching your jaw and taking a deep breath, you typed a message to him, regretting it the moment you hit 'enter', feeling like it was the most awkward thing you could've ever sent, but just as you were about to start hitting your head against the wall, he wrote back.

YOU: hey there!

MalachiConstant: ayeeee itss poe grl!!!! MalachiConstant: how are you

YOU: i'm good! i went out to eat with a few of my friends and now i'm doing psych homework. :) it's kind of kicking my ass.

MalachiConstant: r u psyched MalachiConstant: to be doing psych honework?

YOU: geez, man... your puns are LAME.

MalachiConstant: sry sry MalachiConstant: whatd u est?

YOU: we went for sushi! YOU: the buffet's really cheap before 6pm.

MalachiConstant: siunds goos

YOU: are you okay?

MalachiConstant: sure MalachiConstant: can you tell me wha t youre cat looks like?

YOU: sure. she's white, fluffy and has one blue eye and one green eye. she's also a pain in the ass, but i still love her. YOU: are you sure you're okay?

MalachiConstant: yrs,

it was as if a lightbulb was lit up over your head, making you realize what was up with the sudden typos in the boy's texts, a small snort leaving your lips. angel lifted her head up on the bed, looking at you with her green-blue eyes and what definitely looked like a grimace on her furry face.

"sorry, stinky." you whispered softly, stroking her fur for a short moment before turning back to the computer, "go back to sleep."

YOU: are you drunk?

MalachiConstant: no??? MalachiConstant: why do yoy think that

YOU: because the way you type reminds me of popeye if his thing was a pint and not spinach. YOU: be honest.

MalachiConstant: ok MalachiConstant: im just a bit tipsy

YOU: if you're 'just a bit tipsy' then i'm sasquatch.

MalachiConstant: thought we establishwd tgat!!

YOU: so, was there a 'hot party' you actually managed to attend tonight?

MalachiConstant: yes MalachiConstant: we hada party

YOU: your fraternity?

MalachiConstant: u know its okay to call it a frat right MalachiConstant: no need to use the goverbnent name

YOU: okay frat god! YOU: my friends actually went to one tonight. YOU: they asked me to come, but i think we both know parties aren't my thing at this point.

MalachiConstant: whatttttt MalachiConstant: you shouldve MalachiConstant: it mightve been our partu

YOU: and that would've been the worst thing on planet earth.

MalachiConstant: what do you meaaaan :((( MalachiConstant: we mightve locked eyes across the room MalachiConstant: and instantky recognize each other

YOU: you definitely would've recognized me within seconds. YOU: my personal style is really close to 'librarian chic' and i doubt that's very common at frat(ernity) parties. YOU: i would've stuck out like a sore thumb, meanwhile, you were probably one of the hundred-something guys wearing a backwards cap.

MalachiConstant: wow youre soo different MalachiConstant: sorry i said that bc the cap thigng hit home

YOU: i'm not saying that to be different! i love girls that are confident in their own style. YOU: i just feel the most confident when i wear something my grandma would wear.

MalachiConstant: understabdanle MalachiConstant: how was ur chem test=??

YOU: you remembered that?

MalachiConstant: of course MalachiConstant: its you!!

you tried to bite down the smile that was threatening to take over your lips, bringing your hand to your warmening cheek before shaking your head and rolling your eyes as if you were trying to shake away the thoughts running through your head.

YOU: it went well. i aced it. :)

MalachiConstant: way to go!!! kbew u woud MalachiConstant: thats my girl!!

YOU: frat god, be honest, are you still drinking? YOU: because you're starting to seem even drunker.

MalachiConstant: jssst a lil bit MalachiConstant: i havw this weurd convoction nect to me MalachiConstant: n im getting soeepy

YOU: go to sleep!!! and stop drinking. YOU: you're gonna wake up with the worst hangover ever.

MalachiConstant: nuh uh MalachiConstant: my worsy hangovwr was waking up in a rsndom state 4 hrs away MalachiConstant: at least im in bed rn MalachiConstant: and talkinf to u is more fun

YOU: jesus. YOU: a random state??? four hours away??? YOU: human wreck much?

MalachiConstant: yolo!

YOU: pretty sure no one has said that since 2016. YOU: go to sleep, human wreck!!!

MalachiConstant: make me...

YOU: goodnight, weird vonnegut frat boy

MalachiConstant: eyeroll MalachiConstant: goodnght weird poe gorl

YOU HAVE LOGGED OUT OF KILDAREUCHATS

your head hit the pillow, the yellow lights of the fairy lights you'd hung up reflecting in your eyes. "he's such a weirdo." you chuckled softly and shook your head.

meanwhile rafe was laying in his bed, still able to feel the boom of the bass on the floorboards, music still blaring downstairs. he downed the mysterious liquid he'd poured into his cup and grinned, his muscular arms behind his head.

"she's such a weirdo."

TAGLIST:

@yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey