#tutor for c programming | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rowdydevs · 1 month ago

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+18 -> smut | after throwing you under the bus with his coach, rafe has to make it right, and you're not going to make it easy.

*spoilers* c/w: mean rafe, sub!rafe, possessiveness, dom!reader, dark!reader, swearing, name-calling, pet names, gaslighting (by the reader), walking into his room uninvited, begging, degradation, teasing, rubbing him over his jeans at the library, cum tasting, slapping, unsolicited nudes, rafe is down bad *cross-posted on my nhl account

𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝔂 𝓢𝓾𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓓𝓸𝓶𝓣𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓻!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Rafe’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

I knew I was screwed the second I walked into Coach’s office. The way he was sitting—arms crossed, jaw tight—that look usually came before a sharp whistle and a no-pucks practice. But today wasn’t about my performance on the ice. No, this was about the damn accounting test I’d bombed. Again.

And sitting beside me, looking as composed as ever, was her. Your Name. My tutor. My painfully bright, always-on-time, way-too-fuckin’-hot-for-her-own-good tutor.

She was brilliant. And yeah, okay—maybe I had a massive, inconvenient, completely unrequited crush on her. But I was also failing, and now we were both in deep shit.

“Rafe.” Coach’s voice was low and controlled, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “This is your third failed test. And it’s not just embarrassing for you—it’s embarrassing for this program.”

“I know, Coach—”

“Then why the hell am I sittin’ here havin’ this conversation? You have a tutor. A good one. One who’s never had a student fail like this. So what’s the problem?”

I glanced at Your Name—her posture stiff, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked ready to fight, but she wouldn’t. She never lost her cool.

Coach sighed, turning to her. “I don’t get it, Your Name. You’ve got a perfect track record with these boys. My players always pass. But now, suddenly, Rafe’s grades are tanking. What changed?”

She cleared her throat, sitting straighter. “Nothing, sir. I’ve been doing my job. I promise—”

“Then why isn’t it working?”

There was a beat of silence. She shot me a side-eye. I knew she wanted me to take the hit.

“Maybe she’s just not into it anymore,” I said with a shrug. “Could be personal. Or maybe she’s not working as hard as she used to.” The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d fucked up. I felt the heat of her glare without even looking.

Coach exhaled sharply. “Well, Cameron, if she’s not into this, maybe we should find you a new tutor.”

My stomach dropped. I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable—but I kept my face neutral. I didn’t want a new tutor. Not because I actually cared about passing accounting but because I liked sitting next to her during those torturous sessions. I liked the way she barely tolerated my jokes. I liked being around her. I wasn’t about to admit any of that, though.

So I just said, “I’m sure she’ll do better.”

The air in the room thickened. I didn’t dare look at her, but I could feel her anger radiating off her—controlled, contained, ready to boil over.

Coach sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fine. The accounting professor is letting you redo the test. Your Name, this is your last chance to prove yourself. If he fails again, you’re done.”

She nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. “Understood, sir.”

Coach dismissed us, and the second we stepped into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind us, she turned on me.

Whack.

My head snapped to the side as the sting seared across my cheek. I blinked, stunned.

She slapped me.

She smacked the hell out of me in the middle of the athletic department hallway… And God help me, I had never been more turned on in my life.

I stared at her—chest rising, cheek burning in the best way. She was fuming, her eyes ablaze, breath short and tight.

“Are you kidding me, Rafe?” she hissed. “You’re failing because of you. Because you don’t fucking care. And you sat there and threw me under the bus? In front of Coach? You’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

I licked my lips, heart hammering. “Yeah,” I murmured. “That was pretty messed up.”

Her eyes narrowed, clearly unamused. “Messed up? Rafe, I need this job. And if you fail that test again, I’m screwed.”

“Guess you’ll just have to make sure I pass, then.”

She let out a frustrated noise, fists clenched, and I couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at my lips. God, she was hot when she was mad.

“Fuck you,” she snapped. I lowered my bag, trying to hide the hard-on, tenting my sweats. “Library. One PM.”

I rolled my eyes and sucked my teeth before turning my attention back to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that day…

Reader’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

Fuck…

I’d never hit anyone before. But the moment he threw me under the bus in Coach’s office—like I hadn’t been bending over backward trying to drag his sorry-ass GPA above a D—something in me snapped.

And now I was doing something just as impulsive: marching up to the damn hockey house at 1:30 because he stood me up.

After all that… Rafe Cameron dared to try me.

I climbed the stairs, the heavy scent of Dior Sauvage and sweaty hockey equipment already leaking from under the door. The second I knocked, JJ answered.

He leaned into the doorframe with a lazy, cocky grin, hair still damp from a shower, towel slung over his shoulders, wearing nothing but sweats and slides.

“Well, shit,” he drawled. “How are you, tutor girl?”

“Good,” I smiled, stepping inside, feeling his eyes rake over me.

“Rafe’s upstairs, sunshine. You better not slap him again,” he laughed, half-teasing, half-genuinely impressed. “You’re never gonna get rid of him.”

“—Hey, Your Name,” Kelce met me at the steps, before I could even process the embarrassment of Rafe telling JJ.

I sighed and smiled, stepping past him on my way up. “Rafe missed our session. Again.”

“Figures,” he said through a yawn. “Are we surprised?”

I rolled my eyes, chuckling tiredly. “Nothing surprises me with him.”

“You coming to our game tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said with a soft smile.

“Good,” he called after me. “We play better when you’re watchin’.” He flirted and winked, and I shook my head, trying to hide the dizzy grin tugging at my lips. But it was useless as Pope passed by and agreed with the captain.

I walked to the end of the hallway, my footsteps soft against the worn hardwood, my heart pounding harder with each step. I stopped before Rafe’s door—faint music leaked from the other side. I knocked twice. No answer. That anger from earlier started to swell again.

Creak.

The old floorboards shifted. He was definitely in there.

“Rafe,” I snapped. “I know you’re in there. You missed your session, and this is important. I’m coming in.”

I gave him one final second, then twisted the handle and opened the door. Nothing. Then I heard it. Soft and breathless. My name? Not just whispered—but whined.

The room was dim, the curtains mostly drawn. I stepped forward, slow, trying to process what I’d just heard. My name again. Quieter this time, but unmistakable. And just as unmistakable—his deep, fucked-out moans.

I froze, fingers grazing the edge of the half-open door. His voice was hoarse and low, spilling from his lips like he was talking to me. “Fuck, Your Name, always lookin’ at me like that… You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

My lips parted as I listened to the sloppy, rhythmic sounds, making it painfully clear what he was doing. His voice was thick with need and desperation. “Gonna bend you over, pretty—this perfect fuckin’ ass. This fuckin’ pussy… All for me? Mmphh… I know it is. Atta baby…”

Knock.

I smacked the door, sharp and hard. The air in the room shifted. Rafe sucked in a breath so fast it sounded like it hurt, no doubt scrambling for clothes.

“What the hell, Your Name?” His voice was weak—defensive in a way I’d never heard before. And I couldn’t help it—I smiled. Because Rafe Cameron—cocky, insufferable, wildly infuriating Rafe Cameron—was just jerking off to me. Confirmed. No more guessing. No more wondering. And maybe, just maybe… I loved it.

Rafe’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

“Fuck…” I rolled out my neck and took a deep breath. She was so angry. So righteous. So fuckin’ sexy. And I was losing my mind over it.

Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead to the door that separated us. “Your Name…” I mumbled. “I deserved it, alright,” I muttered under my breath. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that why you’re barging into my room? That fuckin’ slap—I needed it, okay.”

“What were you doing?” Her voice was soft and innocent—almost sweet. A voice I’d rarely heard her use. But it hit like a gut punch. Because laced in that tonel was her way of saying: I heard everything. Blood drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy. There was no coming back from this. “May I?”

I didn’t even think—just mumbled, “Yeah,” under my breath. Weak and defensive. Like a guy who’d just been caught doin’ precisely what I was doin’.

The handle twisted. The door creaked open. Then—she stepped inside. She smiled at me like this wasn’t the most humiliating moment of my entire fuckin’ life.

But my eyes couldn’t help it. They dropped instantly—to her glossy lips, then lower, catching the way her shirt clung to her tits. The way her jeans sat just right on her hips. She was glowing, so soft and sexy. I licked my lips before I could stop myself, the fire under my skin reigniting like she’d flipped a damn switch. “What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, voice sharper than I meant. “What—making house calls now? Gonna start poppin’ in every time one of your screw-up athletes misses a session?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She just smiled again and stepped closer, and the second she did, so did I, drawn to her like a goddamn magnet. My breath caught. She stayed quiet, and I couldn’t take the silence—the waiting. I felt like I was crawling out of my skin.

“Say somethin’,” I huffed, voice low and desperate. “Please.”

She tilted her head—all fake innocence and lethal calm. “So…” she said, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Do you wanna tell me what you were doin’ in here—” She took another step closer, eyes glinting. “Or do you want me to guess?”

My whole body was locked up. Cheeks burning. Skin on fire. Shame and heat colliding. I’d never blushed harder in my life. “Tell me,” I whispered. And I hated how needy it sounded. I didn’t even know what I was asking for. Maybe I did. I just wanted to hear her say it. I wanted the words from her mouth.

She looked up at me, that same maddening smile tugging at her lips—like she knew exactly what I needed. And she was going to make me suffer for it. “You want me to say it? Okay—” She leaned in slightly, chin tilted, voice just this side of mocking. “You were in here,” she said slowly, voice dripping with condescension, “moaning my name with your hand wrapped around your cock, thinking about how I slapped you. How I put you in your place.”

Every word hit like a blow: hot, sharp, and precise. I couldn’t even look at her. She tilted her head, eyes sweeping over me with slow, deliberate amusement. Then her lips curled, and she delivered another strike.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” she murmured. “All that discipline on the ice and none of it where it counts. You’re just a pathetic, horny mess in the bathroom over a girl who slapped the shit out of you.”

I moved before I could think. Surged forward. But she stepped back with a laugh—light, sharp—dodging me easily before she walked deeper into my room.

“What was that?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, brow arched in disgust—like the idea of me touching her was laughable. “Seriously, Rafe? After today? After that?”

It was cruel. It was perfect. She was baiting me—dangling herself just out of reach, pretending I was the one crossing a line when she was the one playing the game like a fuckin’ pro. It made me want her more. My voice cracked as I followed her. Heat crawling up my neck. “You want me to beg?” I asked, my voice stuttering in my throat.

She turned slowly, smiling like she’d already won. “Yeah,” she said sweetly. “I think that’s a good start.”

“Please…”

She laughed. Her arms folded as she looked me up and down as if I were a toy she was still deciding whether or not to play with. “Unless there’s a puck and a stick, you really don’t give a fuck, do you?” Her smile darkened. “I heard you in the bathroom, Rafe. I heard how desperate you can be.” She stepped closer, her voice turning to a blade. “Fucking beg.”

And as soon as those beautiful, brutal words left her lips—I sank. I dropped to my knees on the cold hardwood, my chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked down at me with a glint in her eyes—and I couldn’t tell if she wanted to ruin me or kiss me. I wanted both.

“Please, Your Name,” I whispered. The words barely hold together. “I’m sorry—about everything. I didn’t mean to be an asshole earlier, I just—God, I don’t even know. I can’t think straight around you. You’re so smart and pretty, and I’m such a fuckin’ mess, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I want you.” My hands rested on her thighs, my eyes locked on hers, desperate and pleading.

She was starting to melt—I saw it. In the flicker of her lips. In the shift of her stance. The way her breathing changed. I leaned in, crawling a little closer.

“Tell me what to do,” I begged again, softer now, hoarse. “Make me earn it. I’ll do a good job for you, I swear. I’ll tell Coach what’s goin’ on… I’ll take the hit I should’ve taken from the start. You can trust me. I just want to make you feel good. I want to apologize—”

“Meet me at the library at seven,” she cut me off, cool and final, brushing my hands off her thighs with a touch that shattered something inside me. “Don’t be late.”

“Your Name, wait—” I scrambled up, voice cracking, stumbling slightly as I reached out, catching her wrist before she could leave. “You’re—Shit. Uh… You’re leaving? Why? Don’t go. Please. Just—Just stay. You wanna stay, don’t you? C’mon…”

“Calm down, Rafe…” she purred. “If you’re that desperate, you can finish what you were doin’ in the bathroom… Like a good boy.”

Oh, shit.

And just like that, she walked out—leaving me hard, flushed, and aching.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that day…

I showed up at 6:30, Thirty minutes early—with flowers in hand. Not just any flowers, either. Romantic shit. Her favorite color in a desperate attempt to score a few points. The kind that said ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I want you’ all at once. Or at least that’s what JJ said. I don’t fuckin’ know. I was panicking.

I’d actually put on an outfit: a button-up that wasn’t wrinkled or my gameday attire. No sweats, no hoodie. She’d once complimented my clothes—some random day when I had a meeting and wore something halfway decent. But it had stuck with me for weeks.

Now I sat at the table pretending to read, eyes locked on the entrance like a hawk, anticipation crawling up my spine. And then she walked in. Her little skirt swayed with each step, catching the breeze from the ancient AC unit. Her hair shifted over her shoulders, phone in hand, thumb gliding across the screen, lip tucked between her teeth as she read something. My jaw clenched as jealousy surged out of nowhere. Who the hell was she texting? Fuck, I was in trouble.

She took the seat across from me without even glancing up. Set her water bottle down, popped the lid, and took a sip from the straw. And suddenly, all I could think about was her mouth. Her lips, soft and perfect, wrapping around that straw—and what it would feel like on me.

“So,” she said casually, sliding a notebook out of her bag, “after that meeting in Coach’s office, we’ve got work to do.”

Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Nothing about the slap. Nothing about the bathroom. Nothing about the begging or about her telling me to finish in the sink like a ‘good boy’. Nothing. I blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Wait—seriously?”

She glanced at me, confused. “What?” she asked, brows raised, perfectly innocent.

My heart stuttered. Was she gaslighting me? Fuck, she was. I adjusted my jeans slightly, feeling myself already starting to stiffen. “I, uh—I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Pretty flowers,” she murmured. “Thank you… It’s water under the bridge.”

And I couldn’t help it—my voice dropped, quiet like I wasn’t even sure what happened anymore. “When you stopped by my place earlier—”

“Stopped by?” Her head tilted. That same slow, devastating smile spread across her lips. “Wow,” she said lightly, feigning surprise. “That doesn’t really sound like somethin’ I’d do.”

I just stared at her speechless. Too far gone to pull myself out. I laughed, breathlessly, trying to play it cool even as my pulse pounded. “Yeah, you did,” I said, watching her closely. “You stopped by and asked why I didn’t show up for our session.”

Her expression shifted. That teasing sparkle flashed behind her eyes. But her voice dropped—sharp and precise. “Well,” she said instantly, “I don’t make house calls, Rafe.”

My eyes widened. She threw my own words back at me, twisting the knife. God, she was good. I leaned forward slightly, heat pooling in my cheeks. “You told me to meet you here at seven. How would I know if you didn't tell me?”

She shrugged, twirling her pen between her fingers. “That is a mystery,” she said, sweet and curious all at once, “but good on you, Rafe. You showed up like a…” She paused and waited for me to finish her sentence. My heart slammed in my chest, sweat beading on my neck. I knew what she wanted me to say. She knew I knew. It tumbled out before I could stop it.

“…A good boy.”

Her head snapped toward me with a look of mock disgust, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. “Well, I was gonna say good student,” she drawled. “Jesus Christ, Rafe. Calm down.” And I swore my brain short-circuited trying to survive her. “So,” she said with a bright, innocent smile, “accounting?”

She reached into her backpack like nothing had happened—like I hadn’t begged her on my knees like she hadn’t ruined my ability to think about anything but her.

She slid one of the books across the table to me and clicked her pen a few times. The sound echoed, sharp in the quiet library.

Then she crossed her legs, skirt riding up just enough to kill my last two functioning brain cells. She leaned forward slightly to turn on the little table lamp, and the way her tits shifted under her shirt made me throw my empty head back, staring at the ceiling like it could save me. I shut my eyes. Drew a deep, jagged breath.

“Page 99,” she said casually, tapping the book in front of me. I looked down at the textbook—the weathered cover. The word Accounting staring back at me like a dare. I grabbed the lid, fumbling with the book. I tried to breathe like a normal fuckin’ human—and flipped it open. Then I stopped.

Dead.

My heart slammed against my ribs because a Polaroid sat between the pages. Her. In my hockey jersey. Nothing on underneath. Sprawled across, what I could only dream was her bed—her hair was perfection, lips parted, one hand curled in the hem of the jersey like she was seconds away from showing me more.

I forgot how to blink. I forgot how to breathe. “Wait—”

“Well,” she cut off my panic with faux curiosity, reaching over and calmly plucking the photo from the pages before slipping it back into her bag like it was just another sticky note. “How did that get in there?”

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. Because all I could think about was how I’d do absolutely anything to see that picture again. So I did the only thing I could do. I sat there like a good student. I didn’t say a word. I barely breathed—I just followed her lead, turned the pages when she told me to and scribbled down notes willingly for the first time in three and a half years here, feeding off her praise like it was air. I couldn’t get enough.

I watched her closely, soaking in every detail. How her eyes lit up when she explained something. How her lips moved when she mouthed equations under her breath. How her ankle swung where her legs were crossed, skirt barely covering her thighs.

And it wasn’t just about how hot she was or how she looked in that picture that was now burned into my brain—it was everything. I could see her being mine. I could picture her in the stands, wearing my name, making her proud every fucking night. I could imagine her in my room. In my life. My everything. What the fuck is happening to me?

I was mid-sentence—trying to explain something I barely understood—when my voice caught. I stumbled over the words, and it wasn’t because the concept was hard. It was because her fingers had just brushed my thigh.

She walked them slowly over the denim of my jeans, right to the inside of my leg, making my heart race and my head spin. I tried to pretend I was okay. That I wasn’t seconds away from falling apart. I adjusted in my chair, but it was useless. Her hand moved higher.

My jaw tightened as she traced the seam of my jeans—light and teasing. I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it. I looked at her, but she wasn’t even looking at me. She was pretending to read one of my notes like she wasn’t currently turning me into a fucking mess.

Then she went further. Her hand landed on my thigh—a soft squeeze. “Good job,” she said warmly. A deep, involuntary groan left my throat. Her palm flattened over my crotch, slow and firm, cupping me through my jeans. My lips parted. Breath caught.

I flexed my thighs, trying to ground myself—trying not to jerk forward into her hand like I wanted to. She stroked me through the denim—soft, steady pressure—and I was already half-gone.

My blood was rushing low, fast. My cock pressed against the zipper so hard it ached.

I blinked down at the textbook and tried to read the words—any of them—but they were all fuzzy. I clenched my jaw to keep from moaning. I tipped my head back, eyes shut, fighting the urge to press my mouth to her skin or bury myself in her neck.

She smirked, wicked, and kept her hand moving. Slow. Unrelenting. I shifted in my seat, fingers curling against the underside of the table. My thighs trembled. My stomach tightened. Every nerve in my body was focused on her touch, the rhythm of it, and how goddamn close I was to losing it.

She leaned in, flipped a page in my notes like nothing was happening, and said— “So… what’s your final answer for number six?”

I could barely remember my own name. “A—A hundred and fuck,” I stammered, my tone nothing short of pathetic. “A hundred and five.”

She grinned, eyes flicking to my face. “Good choice… Good fucking boy.” I ran a hand through my hair, my forehead damp, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My orgasm hit me so hard I saw white.

I reached down and grabbed her wrist tight under the table as I came in my jeans—hot and heavy—every pulse dragging a deep, broken breath from my lungs. My head bowed. My mouth stayed open, panting, still locked in her grasp.

She didn’t move. Let me ride it out. Then, like it was nothing, she brushed her fingers over the wet patch on my thigh—spreading it slightly. I shuddered, completely overstimulated.

She pulled her hand back and, eyes still locked on mine, sucked the tip of her middle and pointer fingers clean. My fists clenched, and my jaw locked. My cock still twitched in the mess she’d made.

Then she reached over and closed the book like she hadn’t just ruined me. “Good job tonight,” she said casually, standing, her smile warm. Easy. Like she didn’t just blow my mind in the middle of the fuckin’ library. My breathing was still heavy, my hands still gripping the table.

I looked down at my stained jeans, still trying to catch up and understand what had just happened—when she walked away. I stared after her, paralyzed. The second she disappeared from view, I fumbled for my phone—my heart still hammering—and it buzzed just as I got it out.

Tutor Girl: My place. 10 PM. Don’t be late.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that night…

I stepped out of my car, adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was 9:57. I wasn’t about to be late.

I jogged to the door of the college house and knocked once—sharp and quick.

One of her roommates answered, giving me an uncertain smile.

“Hi,” she said hesitantly.

“I, uh… Is Your Name here?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, slightly confused. “She went to bed an hour ago—”

“She’s expecting me,” I cut her off before she could even finish. Your Name was fuckin’ with me. Again. And fuck… she was perfect. “Up the hall, to the left, yeah?” I asked, already stepping inside.

She nodded, and I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding harder with every step. Her door was closed. A thin sliver of light crept out from beneath it.

I knocked once. Then, I pressed my ear to the wood.

Silence.

Then I heard it. “Fuck, Rafe…” She whimpered. My cock twitched instantly at the sound. It was soft. Desperate. Like she’d been waiting all day to say it.

“Just like that—” She praised me, her tone so needy that I couldn’t help but push the door open, and then my heart stopped.

There she was, in the center of her bed: skin glowing, dewy, lips parted, eyes shut, that same satisfied little smile tugging at her mouth. She was wearing my jersey and nothing else.

Her fingers were buried deep inside herself. Her head tipped back against the pillow. Chest rising and falling in slow, heavy waves.

Her eyes met mine with a wicked sparkle that told me this was all for me. Unlike me, she wanted to get caught, and she wanted me to finish it.

#rafe #Rafe smut #Rafe Cameron x reader #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#hockey!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #hockey!rafe #my library ᝰ.ᐟ

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pellucid-constellations · 2 years ago

Text

Are You Bored Yet?

Pairing: College!Bucky x Tutor!Reader

Summary: God, you hated Bucky. Bucky probably hated you, too. Maybe. It was hard to tell when he was drunk and calling you pretty at a party you shouldn't have gone to.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Alcohol, annoyance to lovers, a bit of angst, a scary man in a parking lot, frat!bucky c:

a/n: I am so excited to finally post something!! It only took me four months 😅 If you enjoy it please please let me know ❤️❤️

Masterlist

12:59 pm.

The birchwood table nestled in the back of the library was long but otherwise empty, the only thing occupying it being your laptop and quite a few books. He wasn’t late. Yet. You weren’t going to hold onto that hope, however.

Tutoring Bucky Barnes was not what you had in mind when you volunteered for the peer assistance program at your university. It was true you were only using the club to boost your resume, but you had assumed the only people reaching out for help would be those that actually wanted it. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Sure, Bucky wanted help. Just not with anything that actually warranted the word. He wanted help sweet talking the cops so they wouldn't shut down his parties. He wanted help recruiting girls to show up to his parties. And—the one thing you could actually do—he wanted help passing his classes with the minimum GPA required to not get kicked out of his frat. So he could continue to throw parties.

Everything in his life revolved around his fraternity, which made you very important to him. When he wanted you to be.

With your apparently astounding knowledge of biology (you took notes during lectures), you became the star in Bucky’s life every Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm (give or take ten minutes) to 2:00 pm. He was also very attentive during the thirty minute phone calls he initiated prior to tests, and always looked happy to see you when he passed you devouring a bagel at the crack of dawn in the dining hall.

Every situation in which you had come in contact with Bucky was isolated and purposeful (minus the bagel). You didn’t hang out or invite each other places, and you were almost positive that if you were to see him in his natural habitat, you would want to tutor him even less than you did now, and that was saying something. So you were important to Bucky during the times you were supposed to be important, and he was important to you in the sense that he was a job.

But as your laptop blinked the numbers 1:22 pm back at your unimpressed expression, Bucky became much less important today. You took in a long, tortured breath before sending your gaze up to the ceiling, giving it another three minutes before you truly gave up on him for the day.

One minute.

Two minutes.

The library really needed new ceiling tiles.

1:25 pm and you snapped your laptop shut. Your fingers itched to send yet another complaint about this whole ordeal Natasha’s way, but you stopped yourself. She had already heard plenty about Barnes at this point, plus she always gave you a weird look every time you came stomping into the apartment, grumbling about something else he had done.

You hated her weird looks, all raised eyebrows and stiff lips.

With your backpack heaved onto the table and your things slowly funneling in, you figured a nap was the best reward for sitting in the library for an unnecessary twenty-five minutes. Your last prickle of irritation was stifled at the prospect of a warm bed as you stood, only to find that irritation had returned to you tenfold. In the form of Bucky Barnes.

“You going somewhere?” he seemed to taunt, his bag slung casually over one shoulder.

Your jaw ticked. “Home.”

His mouth turned up at one side, an expression you had learned meant he found you amusing. He never seemed to outright laugh at your annoyance, but apparently, it was hard to tamp down all of the joy he got out of it. Bucky took two long strides to meet the table you were attempting to abandon.

“But I still got about—” he checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes? And an arsenal of questions about amino acids. Help a guy out.”

“And I still got—” you checked the nonexistent watch on your wrist “—no patience for this today. You’re over twenty minutes late, Barnes. Use that watch to set an alarm on Wednesday and I’ll tell you everything you’ll inevitably forget about amino acids then.”

He groaned, rounding the table to set firm hands on your shoulders as he hovered behind you. “Sit. I’ll buy you a coffee and I promise I won’t be late on Wednesday, okay? I was dealing with something before this and lost track of time.”

“Were you dealing with another sorority girl in your bed? Who was it last week? Amber? No, Michelle?”

“It’s a Monday, y/n. Cut me some slack.”

“You came to me on a Wednesday with a hangover,” you deadpanned.

Bucky grimaced, the expression visible to you as he managed to guide you back into your chair. “Oat milk, right? A double?”

You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he tossed his bag by your feet and jogged over to the coffee cart just outside the library. He fumbled with his wallet when he went to pay, and you watched him point to the carton of oat milk the barista had yet to reach for. His greek letters were printed on the gray hoodie he had haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and you held the reprimand on your tongue when you saw the matching sweatpants he donned.

The last time he had shown up in his pajamas—late—you’d had some choice words for him. Bucky turned around with your coffee then, poking the straw through the lid and sending you a sheepish smile through the window.

He was lucky you accepted bribes.

“Please,” the boy across from you continued to beg, a pen held loosely between pliant fingers. “Just ask her, that’s all I want. You can even come too.”

“Oh, wow, the great frat president letting me come to his stupid toga party? How could I ever thank you enough?”

It was Wednesday now, and Bucky was surprisingly on time to the tutoring session. You’d gotten through about half of the last bio lecture before he started asking you ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with the content. Today, he was dead set on getting your lab partner from chemistry to go to his party this weekend.

“Okay, yeah, you could come to whatever party you want, you know? I put you on the list—but this one will be even better if you’d just do this one thing for me.”

You finally tore your eyes from your laptop, glancing lazily at him. “And what would make this one so—wait, what list?”

He waved you off. “The one at the door. Did it like… the second week we started this? Anyways, Wanda?”

You let this new information settle and tried to ignore whatever implications came with being on some frat list thanks to Bucky. He had never explicitly invited you to any of his parties over the past few months and you had never asked to come. Apparently, you could have shown up whenever you wanted to and had a grand old time.

Not that that sounded the least bit grand.

Bucky was looking at you still, all pleading features and a soft, infuriating smile on his lips. When he wasn’t talking to random girls in the library or taking annoying phone calls in the middle of your sessions, he was sort of endearing. In a terrible, awful sense.

You groaned, throwing yourself back against your chair in begrudging defeat. “I don’t even talk to her outside of chem. Don’t you think it’d be a little weird to invite her to a party that I’m not even going to?”

“So come,” he answered simply, as if that was in the realm of possibilities.

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Sure, I’ll come to your party, Barnes.”

“Great,” he grinned. “Vision’s gonna be so hyped.”

You watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket and kept your lie to yourself. He wouldn’t notice that you didn’t show up on Friday, and likely wouldn’t even bring it up the following Monday. He always had such vibrant, headache-inducing stories that you were sure your absence would be nothing more than a fleeting footnote.

“You have a toga, right?” he mumbled, face still screwed up in concentration as he continued his text.

“Isn’t it just a sheet all twisted up?” you asked, shutting your computer. Tutoring was obviously over.

Bucky pocketed his phone again, brows raised in amusement. “Depends on your motives for the night.”

“And my motives wouldn’t be to… wear a toga?”

He chuckled and huffed out your name, resting an arm along the back of the chair to his right—your chair. “Other motives. Like if you’re trying to get someone’s attention.”

You blinked at the warmth along your back. “Oh, of course. Then I would twist up a pillowcase instead, right?”

“Something like that.”

He smelled like coconut. Like a day at the beach but afterwards, when the sunscreen still lingered in the air but fresh clothes covered skin that had been warmed by the sun. You could usually ignore whatever expensive combination he had on his skin, but when he got close like this it was almost impossible.

Part of you always wanted to chuck his arm away when he leaned over you, but another part of you liked that he kept it there. It was a strange part of you, the same one that relished the looks you got from sorority girls in the library and harbored a sense of pride each time he made a blatant attempt to touch you.

You had spent fleeting moments analyzing these emotions and chalked them up to some internalized desire for validation. Nothing else. Bucky was a hot guy and everyone knew that, so having his attention—in any capacity—felt nice. Sometimes. Meaning right now it was nice that he was looking at you with his arm practically glued to your back, but next week when he showed up late with a hangover and tried to steal the jacket off your body it would be not so nice.

The duality of man.

It helped your partial insanity that Bucky would never actually be interested in you. You weren’t in a sorority or interested to his parent’s money, and, worst of all, you didn’t know how to maneuver a sheet into a toga. When he put his arm around you or moved your hair from your eyes as you leaned over a book, it was probably out of habit. It felt nice, but you knew reality. This was a passing phase, and by the summer you wouldn’t even speak to him anymore.

“I’ll text you more info about everything,” Bucky called, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can come early and I’ll help you with that pillowcase.”

You froze, the book you were shoving into your bag pausing in your hands. “Uh, maybe.”

“No, seriously, it’d be better if you came early. I was kidding about the pillowcase but if you come on time it’ll be too crazy for me to show you around.”

“You don’t have to show me around, Bucky. I’ve been to a house party before.”

“Y/n, are you not coming to this thing?” Bucky accused, swiping the book from your hands and softly tossing it on the table. It still made a loud thud that had a few bitter looks thrown your way.

“Dude!” you whispered, meeting each mean gaze with your apologetic one. “Why does it matter if I come? You just wanted Wanda anyway.”

He knocked your hand away when you went to reach for the book again, encircling your wrist with his fingers. “You just lied to me. Straight to my face. You said you’d come and now you gotta.”

You gave his fingers an experimental tug, but he was unrelenting in his soft grip. You glared at him through your lashes, meeting his uncharacteristically stern gaze that contrasted the humor on his lips.

“You ever hear of sarcasm?” you whispered with a half-hearted bite.

“Unfortunately, that’s about all I hear outta you,” he smirked back.

You rolled your eyes, finally yanking hard enough to free yourself from him. “Then you should have known I wasn’t going to come. No matter what ‘list’ you put me on.”

“What else could you possibly have going on on a Friday night?”

Ouch. You felt your brows furrow even though you didn’t will them to, and even worse, you felt a rash defensiveness lodge itself in your throat. You hated the heat that now prickled along the skin of your neck, and you hated even more how it extinguished all of the good warmth you had felt from him earlier.

This was humiliation, surely—the kind that only came from feeling small.

“You don’t have to be a dick,” you seethed, snapping up the remainder of your belongings. “Just because I don’t want to go to your stupid frat doesn't mean I have nothing to do. I don’t spend all of my time hoping to get invited to ridiculous parties.”

Bucky shifted up in his seat, eyes blown just a fraction wider. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—hey, stop a sec, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever, Bucky,” you droned, as a new temperature seeped into the skin of your palms and made them clammy. Any semblance of delusion you’d fallen into earlier was long gone now, but you knew to expect that. He wasn’t interested in you and you weren’t interested in him. But embarrassment wasn’t a good feeling, regardless of a multitude of reality checks.

Bucky got up when you did, his clothes looking creased and lived in. “We still have time in our session,” he defended, arm jutting out to the table. “C’mon, I didn’t mean you don’t have friends.”

Your glare sharpened. “Great, another insinuation.”

Bucky sputtered out incoherent words as you continued your trek outside, resorting to grabbing your wrist again, this time with more urgency. You felt the heat in you simmer down to a dull throb as he made contact, mostly out of respect for your future self. If you made this a huge deal it would only embarrass you more.

“Look, it doesn’t even matter, okay?” you huffed, but he just tugged you forward. It was then that you realized you were in the doorway of the library, effectively blocking it off from anyone trying to leave. Bucky pulled you close enough to his chest that you weren’t in the way anymore. His cologne was back with a vengeance, your nose just inches from his collar.

You took a steadying breath, blinking away the remnants of shame. “It doesn’t matter, I overreacted.”

He clicked his tongue. “I’m still apologizing. I didn’t mean any of that stuff you were talking about.”

Of course he did. You were sure he thought it all the time. He just didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“It’s fine,” you rushed. “I have to go, anyway. Office hours.”

“Okay,” he nodded, soft and low, like he just remembered he was in a library. “You’ll still come this weekend, right? Even if Wanda can’t?”

“You have some kind of girl quota you need to meet?” you pressed.

Bucky smiled, still so close to you that you could feel the small breath that accompanied the expression. “And she’s back.”

You left without promising anything, and Bucky left feeling like you had.

Sometime between Wednesday and Friday, your detestment for frat parties had snowballed into determination. You were going to go and you were going to look like you were having so much fun it was ridiculous. Then, on Monday, when Bucky would usually poke and prod about what you’d gotten up to over the past few days, you were going to pretend that it was nothing for you. That you did that every weekend.

Of course, you didn’t. Your weekends typically consisted of calm nights with friends or dinners near campus. You’d been to a party before, sure, but you didn’t exactly frequent those kinds of scenes.

Bucky had continued to make it clear that you were invited. He had texted you a few times, prompting you to come and thanking you for getting Wanda to agree. The messages looked strange under the plethora of biology related questions, but that just spurred you further into action. You weren’t just a tutor with no social life, and Bucky was going to see that tonight. You couldn’t remember doing something out of pure spite before, but you figured having fun to prove a point wasn’t the worst thing.

Wanda pulled you out of your thoughts as the Uber rounded the last dark corner and revealed an overcrowded house with too many lights on. She rambled on about some guy she couldn’t wait to see and confirmed that she would likely be spending the night. You expected as much; it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to come. If this night resulted in anything good it was apparently the blossoming relationship between your new friend and a man you’d never met.

Wanda continued to chat as she yanked you out of the car and past the yard littered with sparse grass. The music was loud already—the type of loud that you needed to be at least a little drunk to enjoy. And that was the plan.

“Okay, if I start dancing on a table you pull me down. And if you start dancing on a table I support you, right?” Wanda giggled, her voice now raised as you walked past the threshold of the house.

“Exactly,” you yelled back. A guy nodded to you as he leaned against the front door, his eyes glancing up from his phone and then returning. It seemed Bucky’s ‘list’ was a page on some guy’s notes app. How luxurious. “Let’s drink.”

The next hour was a blur. You tried your hardest to get as drunk as possible and Wanda tried her hardest to find the British man she was enamored with. You hadn’t seen Bucky, but you figured he wasn’t looking for you too hard since you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Not out of anger, but because you didn’t know what to say. Somehow, with alcohol warming your blood and music vibrating your skin, none of that mattered anymore.

You: Your house is soooo dirty

Your phone jostled in your grip, people bumping into you from every side. When he didn’t answer in the thirty seconds you spent staring at the screen, you locked it and continued on with your mission.

After a few too many shots of hard liquor, you switched to beer. Gross, but decidedly less likely to make you pass out on the staircase of this house. Because you weren’t lying in your text—it was slightly disgusting. You figured you should clarify that with Bucky. You reached for your phone once again, knocking your head against the wall in the process and giggling to yourself. You had no idea where Wanda went.

The device was snatched from your hands just as quickly as the screen had lit up your face.

“You ever answer this thing?” an accusing voice called out. “Or do you just insult people and put it on do not disturb?”

The look on Bucky’s face would have made you roll your eyes in any other circumstance. Right now, however, it had a startled laugh bursting past your lips. You clutched at your stomach as the laugh grew and you found yourself tipping forward until your forehead met his chest. You felt delirious, almost silly. A hand came around to rest on the back of your neck.

“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s words rumbled against your face. “I get it, this is hilarious.”

“Your… your face,” you breathed out, catching your breath enough to part from him. “It was all—” you mimicked the straight line of his eyebrows, voice raising in a mocking tone. “—You don’t ever answer your phone. You’re so boring, y/n, answer your phone.”

“I didn’t call you boring. Hey—hey,” Bucky stressed, reaching for you as you leaned too far to the side, a smile still lingering on your face. “Jesus, y/n, how much did you have to drink?”

You went to mock him again, but his fingers on your jaw stopped you. He tilted your head up and to the left, and although he was much more composed than you were, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. You scrunched up your nose as he continued his inspection.

“Why’re you being so uptight?” you slurred, trying and failing to push away from him. “I thought you were all like, ‘I’m Bucky and I party and get drunk and have sex with girls.’”

Bucky pulled you forward as you laughed at your impression of him, his shaking head making you blink away a bout of dizziness. You toppled over a set of stairs as he threaded his fingers through yours, and then you stumbled through a doorway and onto carpeted floors. Being pressed into an uncomfortable chair was the most jarring action, the world still spinning as you sat.

“You’re even more mean when you're drunk,” you heard Bucky mumble. You couldn’t quite catch him as he moved around whatever room you were in. “And I don’t talk like that.”

You let out a careless sigh and leaned back. “You soooo talk like that.”

Something cold pressed to your hand, followed by another touch to the back of your neck. You gazed down at the water bottle being guided up to your lips and couldn’t find it in you to fight against it, despite the small spark of defiance on the tip of your tongue. After about four large swallows, Bucky was satisfied.

He asked again how much you’d had to drink.

You answered that you didn’t know—that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t your dad and you were having fun like you always did. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything for the next few moments.

And then, “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.”

You hummed, rolling your head against the chair to look up at his standing form. “Of course I was going to come. I love parties. Love drinking alcohol.”

His expression twisted into something you couldn’t recognize. “God, you’re so drunk.”

“M’not even that drunk!”

“You’re willingly in my room right now. You’re plastered.”

“Maybe I want to be in your room.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

You chuckled breathily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pretty flush of Bucky’s face. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t know much about me though. Or biology.”

Bucky kneeled down to the height of the chair. “And what do I not know about you?”

“So much.”

“How much?”

You bit into your lip and cracked an eye open, catching the amusement that had slipped past the strange mask of his emotions. With blissful ignorance, you heaved yourself forward on the chair, your nose a few inches from Bucky’s. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as you swayed.

“You don’t know that I’m the most interesting person on Earth,” you boasted, fingers gripping the upholstery of your seat.

“That right?” Bucky probed, his voice a melodic hum.

“Yup, I’m always really busy and even though you think I’m some boring biology tutor I’m actually super cool and, like, go to raves and stuff.”

His brow twitched but his mouth stayed soft. “I’ve never said you were boring. And I don’t think you’ve ever been to a rave.”

You groaned loudly and flopped against the backrest of the chair. “See! I’m telling you I do all this cool stuff and I’m so drunk my fingers are buzzing and you still don’t believe me.”

You crossed your arms with a huff, a small pout forming on your lips. In any other context, this behavior would probably embarrass you to no end. In the dim light of Bucky’s room where you felt the feeling leave your fingers and the care leave your mind, you were just disgruntled, not embarrassed. If you remembered this tomorrow the latter would surely catch up to you.

Bucky stared at you from his spot on the ground, his gaze a bit foggy and unfocused. He was clearly intoxicated, as you deduced earlier, and it made him look more wild. Mused hair and pink cheeks, he looked like he’d been having plenty of fun before he found you. It was distracting. He was distracting you from proving that you were having a blast.

“What?” you snapped, the tone a testament to the drunken fit you were throwing.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

He must be really, really drunk. Despite your clouded mind, you knew that, but the words affected you just the same. Your lips parted as a new lightness both lit up and compressed your chest, and Bucky watched the movement.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, but it was hardly a scoff. “Sure, Bucky. How much did you have to drink—”

“I’m not lying. I’ve thought about you in my room for weeks and now you’re here and you’re so pretty. Even when you’re yelling at me.”

“You’ve… thought about me in your room?”

Bucky shuffled forward and you subconsciously parted your legs to allow the space for him. “I think about you everywhere.”

This was crazy. It was certifiably insane. A voice in the back of your head—Natasha’s voice, it sounded like—was screaming at you to stop and think about the situation at hand. He was drunk, you were even more drunk, and he was far too close to you. He had ushered you in here with good intentions and had sobered you up a fraction, but things had taken a turn and this was a sensitive situation. The kind of sensitive that altered your reality and his and probably a bunch of other people’s you’d never met.

Or it could be nothing and you were over exaggerating.

But then Bucky’s hand was warming your thigh. You’d felt the press of it on your back and your shoulder and your head before, but it had never been on your thigh. It felt heavy there, hot. His other hand moved to touch your face and he propped himself up on one knee. His thumb brushed your cheek. Words tumbled from your mouth before you registered that you were speaking.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Why would you ask that? Who asks Bucky Barnes if he’s going to kiss them?

“Would you let me?” he responds.

“Yes.”

He didn’t waste any time, his mouth hot against yours. He tasted like mint and vodka and his lips moved so slowly it ached. You had expected a fervor behind his lips, but instead you got a build up, an orchestra reaching its crescendo. He was kissing you like you were important, like this wasn’t some random hookup in his bedroom at 1 o’clock in the morning, and you had to catch your breath when he parted from you.

But he moved back in so quickly after your brief respite, and you were eager to give him more. This was crazy, insane. This was the best kiss you’d ever have and also the worst. This was months of staring at his stupid lips when he tried explaining concepts back to you, but this was also weeks of feeling small in his presence. Bucky slid his hand back to press against your hair and you didn’t feel small anymore.

A loud thud from the hallway interrupted the silence you’d created, and Bucky pulled back, keeping his hands on you as he craned his neck around to stare at the door. He waited a beat, and then two, and then he turned back to you. The moment was gone, but he was still touching you. You weren’t sure what you wanted—if you wanted him to kiss you again or run out the door—but when he slid his hands from your body and rubbed them down his jeans, it became clear that was not what you wanted.

A knot formed in your stomach when he met your gaze again, and you tried blinking the feeling away. It didn’t work.

“Um,” Bucky began, his voice sounding more clear, his tone not holding the weight it had.

Your plan had backfired. Severely. This was a mess and you needed to save yourself before you ended this night even more humiliated.

You were still drunk. Pretend you were still plastered.

You giggled airily, the sound burning your throat. “That was loud.”

Bucky blinked at you in what you assumed was disbelief. “Probably just someone trying to find the bathroom,” he clarified.

You shrugged, nudging him back with your knee as you stood from the chair. “I’m bored now.” You took fast steps to the door, your words foreign to you. “Thanks for the water,” you all but gritted out.

You expected him to get up. Not to run after you or proclaim his love or even say anything. But you expected him to get up.

He didn’t, and you couldn’t understand how the knot in your stomach had moved to your throat. Or how it made tears spring to your eyes when your feet hit the sidewalk outside. Your Uber came and you couldn’t understand how you felt hot and cold at the same time. How it was freezing outside but you were sweating.

You couldn’t understand why you were crying over a boy that so often infuriated you, or why he kissed you in his bedroom. The reasonable side of you sent gentle reminders that he was in a frat and kissing people is just what he did. All the time. But the unreasonable side of you won out tonight, and it was telling you that this felt different.

That you should be different, somehow.

Bucky: You’re here???

Bucky: Where are you?

Bucky: Y/n answer your damn phone

Bucky: This place is fucking packed tonight I thought you weren’t coming

You stared at the text messages you hadn’t read last night, the bright light of your phone burning into your retinas. You had a brutal hangover, and the memory of the disaster in Bucky’s room felt like an even bigger one.

You’d gone through a myriad of emotions the night before, tossing around excuses and speeches in your head until you were so exhausted you let the alcohol in your system lull you to sleep. With all of that delirious thinking, you’d landed on blacking out. You were going to tell Bucky you blacked out last night and couldn’t remember a thing. He obviously wouldn’t care and would probably appreciate it.

Saturday was slow-moving. Reruns of television shows and bags of popcorn and overthinking. Natasha was at her parent’s house in the city, so you had no one to bounce your racing thoughts off of. You certainly weren’t going to text her about it.

When the evening finally rolled around and your attempts at distracting yourself with mind-numbing movies failed, you checked your email. You always tried not to on the weekends, but doing anything else sounded much less appealing.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get past the first one.

From: University Peer Assistance Program

Dear Y/n Y/l/n,

This is an automated message from the campus peer assistance program. We thank you for your continued devotion to the betterment of students at this school. At this time, your tutoring placement with James Barnes has ended. We will search for a new placement to fill your current hours.

Thank you,

University Peer Assistance

You blinked at the email, then blinked again. The breath left your chest and the muscles on your face twitched, but you were otherwise frozen.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be free from the haughty frat boy that didn’t even listen to you when you tried to help him raise his grades. You wanted someone nice, someone that had the same goals as you and appreciated the color-coded notes you took for them. Bucky only tried to get a rise out of you. He sat too close and made fun of you and put you on lists you didn’t ask to be on.

But he had kissed you. He had kissed you and then tutor-dumped you.

You knew you weren’t his type, but were you really that bad? Was the kiss so terrible?

Every inferiority complex you had developed exploded. You over-analyzed things that had already happened, things you had said. Not just at the party, but in the library, the coffee shops, the lecture halls.

Was he really willing to risk his position in the frat just to avoid you?

The strangle tickle of tears itched to be released from your eyes again, but you pressed it down. No, this wasn’t on you. He had kissed you. He had dragged you into his room and stumbled on pretty words. If he didn’t want you to tutor him anymore because of his stupid mistake, fine.

His mistake.

That word felt wrong.

You tossed your phone on the couch with vigor. The clock above the television read out 10 pm, but that meant little to you as you slid on your shoes at the front door. You were wearing sweatpants and a jacket that was far too big on you, sadness and frustration and raw confusion propelling you down your apartment stairs.

Ice cream would fix this.

The only place open at this time was the gas station at the edge of campus. It wasn’t university affiliated and was usually overrun with belligerent greek life trying to buy alcohol, but the decision-making part of your brain was currently shut off.

Ice cream, anger, probably watching tiktoks until your eyes were too heavy to keep open—those were the only things rattling in your head.

You yanked open the gas station door after your short walk, the glass smudged and fogged from the cold night. The fluorescent lights aggravated the headache you’d been sporting all day and the floor made sticking noises with each step you took. To add insult to injury, there were only three cartons of ice cream left, and they weren’t even the good flavors. Grabbing the least offensive one, you made your way to the small line of people by the register.

“Nice outfit.”

Too enthralled by the disappointing ingredient list on the side of your ice cream, you had missed the tall man now looming at your shoulder. You whipped your head around with a start, taking a step back, smelling menthol and asphalt and nothing good.

“Thanks,” you quietly replied.

He waited until you turned back around to continue. “You go to school over here?”

You kept your gaze forward. “Um, yeah.”

“Nice. I graduated a few years back. Marketing.”

“Cool,” you replied. What had compelled you to leave your phone on the couch? This night sucked.

You found reprieve in the line moving, the employee calling you over to check out. As soon as you paid—a few dollar bills funneled out of your pocket with shaky hands—you booked it. Your ice cream burned in your palm but you didn’t care, feet carrying you out the door and into the dimly lit parking lot. You fisted your keys in your fingers; pointless, you knew, but a small comfort.

The man’s voice returned with the chime of the bell over the gas station door. “Wait! Wait, I’m Beck. I own a business nearby.”

You should have kept walking, but one of your fatal flaws was, apparently, people pleasing. You turned to him. He smiled at you but it made your stomach twist.

“Oh, nice,” you responded, rocking back on your heels.

“We should connect. Maybe go for coffee or something?” He took a step forward. You fought the urge to take one back. His beard was unkempt and he held a six pack in his white-knuckled grip.

“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with finals coming up. Plus, I’m not really in the business field.”

“Not for business then,” he smiled again, teeth dull in the streetlight.

Just agree. If you agreed you could block him soon after and everything would be fine.

You took too long to answer. He took the final step forward to arrive in your space and wrapped his fingers around your bicep. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.”

Frozen by fear, you let out a weak laugh. The pint in your hand was sticking to your skin now in a way that would be painful when you tried to let go of it later. Your breath rattled in your chest when you laughed again.

“Sure, okay.” But he didn’t let go of your arm, instead sliding it down to the bone of your wrist.

“What about now?” he posed. “You don’t look too busy. I can make you something at my place.”

He was at least ten years older than you. You attempted to pull yourself from his grasp to no avail. Maybe reasoning would work.

“My roommate's waiting for me,” you lied. “Could you let go? I sprained my wrist at the gym last week,” you lied again.

He refused with a shake of his head. You took a panicked glance inside the gas station to your right. No one was looking.

“Please let go of me.”

The call of your name from the other side of the parking lot initially sent more unbearable fear down your spine. But then the owner of that voice registered in your brain, and although it had been the cause of your recent internal strife, you couldn't be more grateful to hear it.

He said your name again, closer now and questioning. Bucky jogged up to the pair of you, saw your wrist and the man holding it hostage, and looked back up at you with confused, wild eyes.

“You know this guy?” he asked, jutting his thumb out at Beck.

“No,” you whispered. The word was short but the syllable still trembled.

Bucky didn’t look confused anymore. He looked pissed. “Wanna take your fucking hands off her?”

Beck was tall, but Bucky was taller. And angry. Beck released your wrist and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, man, no need for the theatrics. I’m guessing you’re here to stock up for a party? I used to be in Sigma Nu.”

When Bucky’s silent glare failed to dampen, Beck continued with, “We were just planning a night at my place, right?”

His nod in your direction made your breath catch. Bucky took his piercing gaze off of Beck and softened it as it fell on you. You wanted to respond, but words were gone. They were impossible. Your ice cream was melting.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Bucky scoffed, placing his arm around your shoulder. He guided you past the wall of a man, making sure to drive his shoulder into his chest as he went. Beck went to say more, to protest or whine, but Bucky shot him such a scathing look it almost made you wither.

The smell of coconut and spices and a hint of whisky met your nose, and it was familiar. It was safe. You fumbled with the keys in your hands as your feet guided you wherever Bucky was going, and then you fumbled even more, soft jingling disrupting the softness of footfall. God, why wouldn’t you stop shaking?

A hand fell atop yours, crunching the keys to a halt. You stared down at them, unsteady breath hitting the tanned fingers that served as your current anchor.

“Look at me, y/n.”

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything.

“Sweetheart, eyes up. All you gotta do.” Bucky’s voice was as soft as it was last night. That was the only reason you were able to follow his request. “There she is,” he hummed.

He removed his arm from your shoulders and shifted in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek. You ignored that it felt the same as it had last night. You ignored that you wanted it to feel the same for him, too.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his neck down to better see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye. “He hurt you?”

You shook your head, whispering no, whispering that you were fine.

Bucky nodded to himself, eyes tracking down to your toes and then back up again. He must have mistaken your shaking for coldness because the next thing he did was guide you into the car behind him. You didn’t know it was his.

He blasted the heat the second he got in. He had shuffled you into your seat with his hands before that, smoothed your hair down and closed the door after you were settled and not shaking as hard. The heat dried out your eyes. It distracted you enough to let words form.

“Thank you,” you said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I should’ve.”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence. The relief you had felt earlier had been muddled down to an awkward pit in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if Bucky felt it too or if he was still riding a testosterone-fueled adrenaline high.

You wanted to go home now; this was uncomfortable and you had felt Bucky’s lips on yours less than twenty-four hours ago with no closure. He obviously didn’t want to be around you. This was probably a responsibility thing for him.

“I can… I can walk home now. The guy left. I’m just a quarter mile away and you probably have to stock up or whatever.”

He looked at you with a pinched expression. “I’m not letting you walk home after that. You kiddin’ me?”

“I’ll be fine, really. I walk over here all the time.”

“You get harassed all the time too?”

“No…”

“Exactly. So you’re not walking home.”

“Bucky—”

“Look I’m not gonna kiss you again, alright? So you don’t have to turn down a ride because of that.”

Your ice cream was soup at this point. You let it roll into your lap as you clamped your mouth shut just to open it again. Bucky ran a rough hand through his hair before dropping it on the steering wheel, clutching at it with no place to go.

“I’m not following,” you finally relented.

A loud sigh released from his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing you again. I just want to make sure you get home safe and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Worry about—you’re the one trying to avoid me,” you snapped, frozen fingers pointing to your chest. “You tutor-dumped me.”

“Tutor-dumped? How do you…” he trailed off.

“I get an email when you make a change request, Bucky.”

He stared at you for a moment, lips parted and unmoving. He clenched his jaw a moment later, a red tint adorning his cheeks.

“Well, you—you—look, I know you don’t like me, y/n. You’ve made that clear,” he stuttered, words getting louder as he moved his hands around with each one. “But I like you. I like when you get mad at me and when you yell at me for not listening and when you get all embarrassed when I play with your hair. And I’ve been trying to get you to come to one of my parties since we started this whole thing, but every time I talk about them you seem to like me even less.

“If I had known insulting you would get your attention, I woulda done that week one,” he exasperated. You sat up in your seat but he continued. “I didn’t mean any of that shit you thought I did. You’re not boring. And I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you looked—well, I already told you.”

“So you don’t want me to be your tutor anymore because you like me?” You spoke slowly, each word careful.

“No,” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t be around you because I kissed you and you didn’t care. Because I’ll want to kiss you all the time and you didn’t even wanna kiss me once. I know we were drunk, I get that, but I’ve wanted that for a long time and I need to move on. It’s nothing against your… tutoring skills. If that’s what you’re worried about”

“But you talk about hooking up with other girls all the time, Bucky. To me.”

“You ever hear of lying?”

“Why would you—”

“You really gonna make me live out all of my failures with you?”

You’d read so many things wrong. Taken so many things the wrong way. You figured the email earlier was the final nail in the coffin, but this was something else entirely. This was Bucky, sitting next to you in his car looking distressed and frazzled with his hair six different directions, telling you that he’s been trying to get your attention since he met you. That you weren’t small or insignificant or boring.

It was probably a terrible idea to follow through with your next thought. You’d probably get hurt in the long run. But you did it anyway.

“I wanted you to kiss me.” Bucky’s head whipped towards you. You bit the inside of your cheek and said, “I want you to kiss me all the time.”

He whispered your name. It sounded like the air had left every corner of his body. But he didn’t move, and you needed to rectify that.

“You’re infuriating,” you began. Bucky cringed, but you needed to explain as he had. “You’re like the antithesis of everything I want out of college. You don’t care about classes. You’re always late. You talk too loud in the library.”

You took a deep breath, fiddling with the loose thread of your pants. You couldn’t make eye contact with anything but the ground.

“But then you know my coffee order when I’ve never told it to you. You save me from losers in parking lots and make sure I’m not drunk out of my mind at your obscene party. You make me feel… you make me feel stupid sometimes. And I thought it was because you’re everything I’m not, but I really think it’s because you’re everything I told myself I should stay away from. But I don’t want to.

“I wanted you to kiss me at that party and I want you to kiss me now.”

“Then get over here. I’m not kissing you over some bullshit center console.”

You twisted to follow his directions, gasping as his hands clasped around your waist to tug you into his lap. It wasn’t seamless—there was laughing and your head briefly connected with the roof of the car—but Bucky’s touch was everywhere, soothing the uncertainty and fear and slight headache.

His forehead connected with yours when you felt secure in his arms. His fingers slid down from your waist over the material of your sweatpants and when he spoke next you felt the words on your own lips.

“You’re wearing sweatpants. You get so mad when I wear sweatpants.”

You laughed. “I get mad because it usually means you just rolled out of bed, and you’re usually. late.”

“I got a secret,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’m never late. And I only wear those sweatpants around you. You get cute when you’re pissed at me.”

“Well, I’m about to be really cute—”

He kissed you. You’d have plenty of time to argue later.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #college!bucky #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #college AU #frat!bucky #marvel imagine

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rowdydevs-nhl · 1 month ago

Note

more sub jack?

Of course!!! 💕 Thank you for your ask

+18 -> smut | after throwing you under the bus with his coach, jack has to make it right, and you're not going to make it easy.

*spoilers* c/w: dom!reader, dark!reader, mean jack, sub!jack, possessiveness, swearing, name-calling, pet names, gaslighting (by the reader), walking into his room uninvited, begging, degradation, teasing, rubbing him over his jeans at the library, cum tasting, slapping, unsolicited nudes, jack is down bad

𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝔂 𝓢𝓾𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓓𝓸𝓶𝓣𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓻!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Jack’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

And sitting beside me, looking as composed as ever, was her. Your Name. My tutor. My painfully bright, always-on-time, way-too-fuckin’-hot-for-her-own-good tutor.

She was brilliant. And yeah, okay—maybe I had a massive, inconvenient, completely unrequited crush on her. But I was also failing, and now we were both in deep shit.

“Jack.” Coach’s voice was low and controlled, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “This is your third failed test. And it’s not just embarrassing for you—it’s embarrassing for this whole program.”

“I know, Coach—”

“Then why the hell am I sittin’ here havin’ this conversation? You have a tutor. A good one. One who’s never had a student fail like this. So what’s the problem?”

I glanced at Your Name—her posture stiff, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked ready to fight, but she wouldn’t. She never lost her cool.

Coach sighed, turning to her. “I don’t get it, Your Name. You’ve got a perfect track record with these boys. My players always pass. But now, suddenly, Jack’s grades are tanking. What changed?”

She cleared her throat, sitting straighter. “Nothing, sir. I’ve been doing my job. I promise—”

“Then why isn’t it working?”

There was a beat of silence. She shot me a side-eye. I knew she wanted me to take the hit.

“Maybe she’s just not into it anymore,” I said with a shrug. “Could be personal. Or maybe she’s not working as hard as she used to.” The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d fucked up yet again. I felt the heat of her glare without even looking as Coach exhaled sharply.

“Well, Hughes, if she’s not into this, maybe we should find you a new tutor.”

So I just said, “I’m sure she’ll do better.”

The air in the room thickened. I didn’t dare look at her, but I could feel her anger radiating off her—controlled, contained, ready to boil over.

Coach sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fine. The accounting professor is letting you redo the test. Your Name, this is your last chance to prove yourself. If he fails again, you’re done.”

She nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. “Understood, sir.”

Coach dismissed us, and the second we stepped into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind us, she turned on me.

Whack.

My head snapped to the side as the sting seared across my cheek. I blinked, stunned.

She slapped me.

She smacked the hell out of me in the middle of the athletic department hallway… And God help me, I had never been more turned on in my life.

I stared at her—chest rising, cheek burning in the best way. She was fuming, her eyes ablaze, breath short and tight.

“Are you kidding me, Jack?” she hissed. “You’re failing because of you. Because you don’t fucking care. And you sat there and threw me under the bus? In front of Coach? You’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

I licked my lips, heart hammering. “Yeah,” I murmured. “That was pretty messed up.”

Her eyes narrowed, clearly unamused. “Messed up? Jack, I need this job. And if you fail that test again, I’m screwed.”

“Guess you’ll just have to make sure I pass, then.”

She let out a frustrated noise, fists clenched, and I couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at my lips. God, she was hot when she was mad.

“Fuck you,” she snapped. I lowered my bag, trying to hide the hard-on, tenting out my sweats. “Library. One PM.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes before sucking my teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that day…

Reader’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

Fuck…

And now I was doing something just as impulsive: marching up to the damn hockey house at 1:30 because he stood me up.

After all that… Jack Hughes dared to try me.

I climbed the stairs, the heavy scent of Dior Sauvage and sweaty hockey equipment already leaking from under the door. The second I knocked, Trevor answered.

He leaned into the doorframe with a lazy, cocky grin, hair still damp from a shower, towel slung over his shoulders, wearing nothing but sweats and slides.

“Well, shit,” he drawled. “How are you, tutor girl?”

“Good,” I smiled, stepping inside, feeling his eyes rake over me.

“Jack’s upstairs, sunshine. You better not slap him again,” he laughed, half-teasing, half-genuinely impressed. “Or, you’re never gonna get rid of him.”

“—Hey, Your Name,” Quinn greeted me at the steps, before I could even process the embarrassment of Jack telling Trevor.

I sighed and smiled, stepping past him on my way up. “Jack missed our session. Again.”

“Figures,” Quinn said through a yawn. “Are we surprised?”

I rolled my eyes, chuckling tiredly. “Nothing surprises me with him.”

“You coming to our game tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said with a soft smile.

“Good,” he called after me. “We play better when you’re watchin’.” He flirted and winked, and I shook my head, trying to hide the dizzy grin tugging at my lips. But it was useless as Nico passed by and agreed with the captain.

I walked to the end of the hallway, my footsteps soft against the worn hardwood, my heart pounding harder with each step. I stopped before Jack’s door—faint music trickled from the other side. I knocked twice. No answer. That anger from earlier started to swell again.

Creak.

The old floorboards shifted. He was definitely in there.

“Jack,” I snapped. “I know you’re in there. You missed your session, and this is important. I’m coming in.”

I gave him one final second, then twisted the handle and opened the door. Nothing. Then I heard it. Soft and breathless. My name? Not just whispered—but whined.

The room was dim, the curtains mostly drawn. I stepped forward, slow, trying to process what I’d just heard. And then, my name again... Quieter this time, but unmistakable. And just as unmistakable—his deep, fucked-out moans.

I froze, fingers grazing the edge of the half-open door. His voice was hoarse and low, spilling from his lips like he was talking to me.

“Fuck, Your Name, always lookin’ at me like that… You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

My lips parted as I caught the sloppy, rhythmic sounds making it painfully clear what he was doing. His voice was thick with need and desperation. “Gonna bend you over, pretty—this perfect fuckin’ ass. This fuckin’ pussy… All for me? Mmphh… I know it is. Atta baby…”

Knock.

I smacked the door, loud and hard. The air in the room shifted. Jack sucked in a breath so fast it sounded like it hurt, no doubt scrambling for his clothes.

“What the hell, Your Name?” His voice was weak—defensive in a way I’d never heard before. And I couldn’t help it—I smiled. Because Jack Hughes—cocky, insufferable, wildly infuriating Jack Hughes—was just jerking off to me. Confirmed. No more guessing. No more wondering. And maybe, just maybe… I loved it.

Jack’s POV 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

Fuck…

I rolled out my neck and took a deep breath. She was so angry. So righteous. So fuckin’ sexy. And I was losing my mind over it.

Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead to the door that separated us. “Your Name…” I mumbled. “I deserved it, alright… Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that why you’re barging into my room? That fuckin’ slap—I needed it, okay—”

“What were you doing?” Her voice was soft and innocent—almost sweet. A voice I’d rarely heard her use. But it hit like a gut punch. Because laced in that tone… That tone that let me know she heard everything. Blood drained from my face so fast I felt dizzy. There was no coming back from this. “May I?”

I didn’t even think—just mumbled, “Yeah,” under my breath. Weak and defensive. Like a guy who’d just been caught doin’ precisely what I was doin’.

The handle twisted. The door creaked open. Then—she stepped inside. She smiled at me as if this wasn’t the most humiliating moment of my entire fuckin’ life.

But my eyes couldn’t help it. They dropped instantly—to her glossy lips, then lower, catching the way her shirt clung to her tits; the way her jeans sat just right on her hips. She was glowing. Soft. Sexy. I licked my lips before I could stop myself, the fire under my skin reigniting like she’d flipped a damn switch. Focus. “What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, voice sharper than I meant. “What—making house calls now? Gonna start poppin’ in every time one of your screw-up athletes misses a session?”

“Say somethin’,” I huffed, voice low and desperate. “Please.”

My whole body locked up. Cheeks burning. Skin on fire. Shame and heat colliding. I’d never blushed harder in my life. “Tell me,” I whispered. And I hated how needy it sounded. I didn’t even know what I was asking for. Maybe I did. I just wanted to hear her say it. I wanted the words from her mouth.

She looked up at me, that same maddening smile tugging at her lips—like she knew exactly what I needed. And she was going to make me suffer for it. “You want me to say it? Okay—” She leaned in slightly, chin tilted up, voice just this side of mocking. “You were in here,” she said slowly, voice dripping with condescension, “moaning my name with your hand wrapped around your cock, thinking about how I slapped you. How I put you in your place.”

Every word hit like a blow. Hot. Sharp. Precise. I couldn’t even look at her. She tilted her head, eyes sweeping over me with slow, deliberate amusement. Then her lips curled, and she delivered another strike.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” She murmured. “All that discipline on the ice and none of it where it counts. You’re just a pathetic, horny mess in the bathroom over a girl who slapped the shit out of you.”

I moved before I could think. Surged forward. But she stepped back with a laugh—light, sharp—dodging me easily before she walked deeper into my room.

“What was that?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, brow arched in disgust—like the idea of me touching her was laughable. “Seriously, Jack? After today? After that?”

She turned slowly, smiling like she’d already won. “Yeah,” she said sweetly. “I think that’s a good start.”

“Please…”

She laughed. Her arms folded as she looked me up and down as if I were a toy she was still deciding whether or not to play with. “Unless there’s a puck and a stick, you really don’t give a fuck, do you?” Her smile darkened. “I heard you in the bathroom, Jack. I heard how desperate you can be.” She stepped closer, her voice turning to a blade. “Fucking beg.”

She was starting to melt—I saw it. In the flicker of her lips. In the shift of her stance. The way her breathing changed. I leaned in, crawling a little closer.

“Meet me at the library at seven,” she cut me off, cool and final, brushing my hands off her thighs with a touch that shattered something inside me. “Don’t be late.”

“Calm down, Jack…” she purred. “If you’re that desperate, you can finish what you were doin’ in the bathroom. Like a good boy.”

Oh, shit.

And just like that, she walked out—leaving me hard, flushed, and aching.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that night…

I showed up at 6:30, Thirty minutes early—with flowers in hand. Not just any flowers, either. Romantic shit. Her favorite color in a desperate attempt to score a few points. The kind that said ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I want you’ all at once. Or at least that’s what Trevor said. I don’t fuckin’ know. I was panicking.

Now I sat at the table pretending to read, eyes locked on the entrance like a hawk, anticipation crawling up my spine.

And then, she walked in. Her little skirt swayed with each step, catching the breeze from the ancient AC unit. Her hair shifted over her shoulders, phone in hand, thumb gliding across the screen, lip tucked between her teeth as she read something. My jaw clenched as jealousy surged out of nowhere. Who the hell was she texting? Fuck, I was in trouble.

“So,” she said casually, sliding a notebook out of her bag, “after that meeting in Coach’s office, we’ve got work to do.”

Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Nothing about the slap. Nothing about the bathroom. Nothing about the begging or her telling me to finish in the sink like a ‘good boy’. Nothing. I blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Wait—seriously?”

She glanced at me, confused. “What?” she asked, brows raised, perfectly innocent.

My heart stuttered. Was she gaslighting me? Fuck, she was. I adjusted my jeans slightly, feeling myself already starting to stiffen. “I, uh—I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Pretty flowers,” she murmured. “Thank you… It’s water under the bridge.”

And I couldn’t help it—my voice dropped, quiet like I wasn’t even sure what happened anymore. “When you stopped by my place earlier—”

“Stopped by?” Her head tilted. That same slow, devastating smile spread across her lips from earlier. “Wow,” she said lightly, feigning surprise. “That doesn’t really sound like somethin’ I’d do.”

I just stared at her, speechless. Too far gone to pull myself out. I laughed breathlessly, trying to play it cool even as my pulse pounded. “Yeah, you did,” I said, watching her closely. “You stopped by and asked why I didn’t show up for our session.”

Her expression shifted. That teasing sparkle flashed behind her eyes. But her voice dropped—sharp and precise. “Well,” she said instantly, “I don’t make house calls, Jack.”

My eyes widened as she threw my own words back at me, twisting the knife. God, she was good. I leaned forward slightly, heat pooling in my cheeks. “You told me to meet you here at seven. How else would I know that if you didn't tell me?”

She nodded slowly, twirling her pen between her fingers. “That is a mystery,” she said, sweet and curious all at once, “but good on you, Jack. You showed up like a…” She paused, prompting me to finish the sentence. My heart slammed in my chest, sweat beading on my neck. I knew what she wanted me to say. She knew I knew. It tumbled out before I could stop it. “…A good boy.”

Her head snapped toward me with a look of mock disgust, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. “Well, I was gonna say good student,” she drawled. “Jesus Christ, Jack. Calm down.” And I swore my brain short-circuited trying to survive her. “So,” she said with a bright, innocent smile, “accounting?”

She reached into her backpack like nothing had happened—like I hadn’t begged her on my knees like she hadn’t ruined my ability to think about anything but her.

She slid one of the books across the table to me and clicked her pen a few times. The sound echoed, sharp in the quiet library.

“Page 99,” she said casually, tapping the book in front of me.

I looked down at the textbook and the worn cover. The word Accounting staring back at me like a dare. I grabbed the lid, fumbling with the book. I tried to breathe like a normal fuckin’ human—and thumbed it open.

Then stopped.

Dead.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Tucked between the pages: a Polaroid. Her. In my hockey jersey. Nothing underneath. Sprawled across what I could only dream was her bed—hair perfection, lips parted, one hand curled in the hem of the jersey like she was seconds away from showing me more.

I forgot how to blink. I forgot how to breathe. “Wait—”

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. Because all I could think about was how I’d do absolutely anything to see that picture again.

So I did the only thing I could do. I sat there like a good student. I didn’t say a word. I barely breathed—I just followed her lead, turned the pages when she told me to and scribbled down notes willingly for the first time in three and a half years here, feeding off her praise like it was air. I couldn’t get enough.

I was mid-sentence—trying to explain something I barely understood—when my voice caught. I stumbled over the words and it wasn’t because the concept was hard. It was because her fingers had just brushed my thigh.

My jaw tightened as she traced the seam of my jeans—light, teasing, electric. I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it. I looked at her, but she wasn’t even looking at me. She was pretending to read one of my notes like she wasn’t currently turning me into a fucking mess.

I flexed my thighs, trying to ground myself—trying not to jerk forward into her hand like I wanted to. She stroked me through the denim—soft, steady pressure—and I was already half-gone.

My blood was rushing low, fast. My cock pressed against the zipper so hard it ached.

She leaned in, flipped a page in my notes like nothing was happening, and said— “So… what’s your final answer for number six?”

I could barely remember my own name. “A—A hundred and fuckk,” I groaned, my tone nothing short of pathetic. “A hundred and five.”

She grinned, eyes flicking to my face. “Good choice… Good fucking boy.” I ran a hand through my hair, my forehead damp, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My orgasm hit me so hard I saw white.

She didn’t move. She let me ride it out. Then, like it was nothing, she brushed her fingers over the wet patch on my thigh—spreading it slightly. I shuddered, completely overstimulated.

She pulled her hand back and, eyes still locked on mine, sucked the tip of her middle and pointer fingers clean. My fists clenched, and my jaw locked. My cock still twitched in the mess she’d made.

Then she reached over and closed the book like she hadn’t just ruined me. “Good job tonight,” she said casually, standing, her smile warm like she didn’t just blow my mind in the middle of the fucking library. My breathing was still heavy, my hands still gripping the table.

Tutor Girl: My place. 10 PM. Don’t be late.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴⋆. Later that night…

I stepped out of my car, adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was 9:57. I wasn’t about to be late.

I jogged to the door of the college house and knocked once—sharp and quick. One of her roommates answered, giving me an uncertain smile.

“Hi,” she said hesitantly.

“I, uh… Is Your Name here?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, slightly confused. “She went to bed an hour ago—”

“She’s expecting me,” I cut her off before she could even finish. Your Name was fuckin’ with me. Again. And fuck… she was perfect.

“Up the hall, to the left, yeah?” I asked, already stepping inside.

She nodded, and I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding harder with every step. Her door was closed. A thin sliver of light crept out from beneath it.

I knocked once. Then, I pressed my ear to the wood.

Silence.

Then I heard it. “Fuck, Jack…” She whimpered. My cock twitched instantly at the sound. It was soft. Desperate. Like she’d been waiting all day to say it.

“Just like that—” She praised me, her tone so needy that I couldn’t help but push the door open, and then my heart stopped.

There she was, in the center of her bed: skin glowing and dewy, lips parted, eyes shut, that same satisfied little smile tugging at her mouth. She was wearing my jersey and nothing else.

Her fingers were buried deep inside herself. Her head tipped back against the pillow. Chest rising and falling in slow, heavy waves.

Her eyes met mine with a wicked sparkle that told me this was all for me. Unlike me, she wanted to get caught, and she wanted me to finish it.

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

#jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x female reader #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes blurb #one shots *ੈ✩‧₊˚#nhl smut

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dreamdolldeveloper · 1 year ago

Text

back to basics

mostly free resources to help you learn the basics that i've gathered for myself so far that i think are cool

everyday

gcfglobal - about the internet, online safety and for kids, life skills like applying for jobs, career planning, resume writing, online learning, today's skills like 3d printing, photoshop, smartphone basics, microsoft office apps, and mac friendly. they have core skills like reading, math, science, language learning - some topics are sparse so hopefully they keep adding things on. great site to start off on learning.

handsonbanking - learn about finances. after highschool, credit, banking, investing, money management, debt, goal setting, loans, cars, small businesses, military, insurance, retirement, etc.

bbc - learning for all ages. primary to adult. arts, history, science, math, reading, english, french, all the way to functional and vocational skills for adults as well, great site!

education.ket - workplace essential skills

general education

mathsgenie - GCSE revision, grade 1-9, math stages 1-14, provides more resources! completely free.

khan academy - pre-k to college, life skills, test prep (sats, mcat, etc), get ready courses, AP, partner courses like NASA, etc. so much more!

aleks - k-12 + higher ed learning program. adapts to each student.

biology4kids - learn biology

cosmos4kids - learn astronomy basics

chem4kids - learn chemistry

physics4kids - learn physics

numbernut - math basics (arithmetic, fractions and decimals, roots and exponents, prealgebra)

education.ket - primary to adult. includes highschool equivalent test prep, the core skills. they have a free resource library and they sell workbooks. they have one on work-life essentials (high demand career sectors + soft skills)

youtube channels

the organic chemistry tutor

khanacademy

crashcourse

tabletclassmath

2minmaths

kevinmathscience

professor leonard

greenemath

mathantics

3blue1brown

literacy

readworks - reading comprehension, build background knowledge, grow your vocabulary, strengthen strategic reading

chompchomp - grammar knowledge

tutors

not the "free resource" part of this post but sometimes we forget we can be tutored especially as an adult. just because we don't have formal education does not mean we can't get 1:1 teaching! please do you research and don't be afraid to try out different tutors. and remember you're not dumb just because someone's teaching style doesn't match up with your learning style.

cambridge coaching - medical school, mba and business, law school, graduate, college academics, high school and college process, middle school and high school admissions

preply - language tutoring. affordable!

revolutionprep - math, science, english, history, computer science (ap, html/css, java, python c++), foreign languages (german, korean, french, italian, spanish, japanese, chinese, esl)

varsity tutors - k-5 subjects, ap, test prep, languages, math, science & engineering, coding, homeschool, college essays, essay editing, etc

chegg - biology, business, engineering/computer science, math, homework help, textbook support, rent and buying books

learn to be - k-12 subjects

for languages

lingq - app. created by steve kaufmann, a polygot (fluent in 20+ languages) an amazing language learning platform that compiles content in 20+ languages like podcasts, graded readers, story times, vlogs, radio, books, the feature to put in your own books! immersion, comprehensible input.

flexiclasses - option to study abroad, resources to learn, mandarin, cantonese, japanese, vietnamese, korean, italian, russian, taiwanese hokkien, shanghainese.

fluentin3months - bootcamp, consultation available, languages: spanish, french, korean, german, chinese, japanese, russian, italian.

fluenz - spanish immersion both online and in person - intensive.

pimsleur - not tutoring** online learning using apps and their method. up to 50 languages, free trial available.

incase time has passed since i last posted this, check on the original post (not the reblogs) to see if i updated link or added new resources. i think i want to add laguage resources at some point too but until then, happy learning!!

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mixtapedoh · 11 months ago

Text

and it was all yellow | y.j.

welcome back to SVTU ! lost your way? refer to our campus map for directions.

pairing: yoon jeonghan x gn!reader with guest appearances from c. seungcheol, h. joshua, w. junhui, and more !

word count: ~5.9k genre: neighbors to friends to lovers warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™ (i have to kick us off into svtu somehow), jeonghan is a little shit, light suggestive themes (heavily lampshaded and perhaps only occuring twice?)

☄. *. ⋆

olive's notes: these individual headcanon sets are going to be very ~stream of consciousness~, so bear with me, here. second, cheol and jeonghan are brothers (and there's a secret third brother i'll introduce eventually, don't you worry), also, thank you for stopping by <3. now here's the content you signed up for.

☄. *. ⋆

now playing... ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ... ⌜ angel baby — troye sivan ⌟

AND IT WAS ALL YELLOW ☄. *. ⋆

— it all started when jeonghan realized that jun was loaded.

now, don't get him wrong. it wasn't as though he had befriended jun because jeonghan had been looking for someone rich and easily persuaded. it's not like jeonghan used his ineffable charm to win over the quasi-cryptid that was wen junhui because of jun's apparent legacy funds.

not that jeonghan couldn't have done — he clearly had the persuasion and cunning to do it — he just didn't. jeonghan wasn't in need of someone else's money. please. he was very capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much, he was just also, however, very good at knowing things.

especially those things that could be used to his advantage.

— and well... wen junhui was loaded. wealthy as shit. a classic trust fund baby. a walking dollar sign that just so happened to share classes with jeonghan every year since he started SVTU as a political science major (of arts, of course. he hadn't taken latin in high school to not absolutely crush the romance languages in uni).

— you see, SVTU had this fun little program for long-suffering students interested in the government and manipulating it to their will wherein if you took merger courses — lectures that ate up a hell of a lot of your time and money but gave substantial credit hours that counted for both applied and allied course credit — you could get a jump start on your degree, be offered more opportunities for internship, and explore a subject's "many facets" through "multiple lenses."

to jeonghan, it meant working faster and harder so that he might graduate early and get into the actual politics of pol sci quicker — at a more “genius” and “revolutionary” age.

(half of politics, after all, was being appealing enough to make headlines. there wasn’t time to waste, in the long run.)

to wen junhui it had to mean something different — after all, jun was a pre-law student with a completely different career path from the other party involved (though jeonghan had considered law at one point in time — something he’s not above admitting though certainly not pining after). merger courses for him likely meant an expedited process to law school. but that was truly beside the point. an aside.

— what mattered in the end, was that jeonghan and jun had more than enough shared merger courses to go around, and in the process of things, had gone from strangers to acquaintances, then study partners (blame it on the fact that jun — the altruistic leaning bastard he was — actually tutored in his free time. willingly. as in, not a joke.) to committed group project members, and eventually to that nebulous thing called friendship.

ask them both when that final stage commenced and you’d get varying responses — jeonghan always far more generous than jun in such regards, but almost annoyingly so, like he wanted to be the one leaning more on the ridiculous.

— yes, it was quite a ways into their friendship when jeonghan learned that wen junhui, his sweet jun, was loaded. like, living alone off of campus in his own two bedroom apartment on the wealthy side of the city that prospered from the University Living Aesthetic™, loaded. as in, so loaded he could have easily found more than enough willing bodies to become roommates with him and help pay for the exorbitant expenses but simply decided against it because he hadn’t, and i quote “thought about it before.”

“never thought about it? jun. how much does this place cost?”

and jun had to think for a minute. genuinely think about how much he paid in monthly rent. “i suppose for a month’s rent i pay around… [REDACTED].”

and jeonghan was no stranger to dramatics, to be sure, but anyone else would have gaped the same as him. “[REDACTED]??”

"[REDACTED]."

"...shit."

— yes, jeonghan finding out that jun was loaded, living in a (rather well kept) apartment with an empty room, no roommates, and an assortment of (dying) houseplants that needed care, was truly the beginning of it all.

— after all, while the chaos settled in a year after the fact when he and joshua would finally move in with jun because of circumstances that aren't truly relevant to the here and now, all true origins start a little before dramatic changes. there's always a gentle precursor, something soft that sets the stage. rumblings of change are necessary forefathers to the strength of revolution; jeonghan learning that jun was a walking line of credit with property to his name and a work ethic that would make any professor blush was necessary groundwork for the events that would follow.

and goddamn, if things didn't follow.

— but i suppose, if we're back tracking all the way to jeonghan and shua moving in with jun on one very ill timed sunday (jun had an exam in his special topics in deviance, crime, & the law course the next day), we are also brushing up against jeonghan meeting you.

another precursor to the chaos that would follow. another tremor that would shake the ground and cause things to tumble.

— you also lived in the terraces on 17th and attended svtu. you lived on the same floor as jun — two apartments down from his, no less — and his first week there, you showed jeonghan the campus shuttle routes that passed right outside the complex (he'd come to learn that the domino route was the one you took most often, as it led right to the heart of the university, but the pinwheel route was also a convenient option for evening courses).

— you and jeonghan weren't friends right away. no, you were always a friendly face around the complex and a decent conversationalist when stuck in the elevator together, but it wasn't as though you and jeonghan became fast friends. you were just neighbors for a while; just another person grabbing mail on monday afternoons, stopping at the in-residence coffee shop on bleak wednesday mornings, ordering pizza on saturday evenings and giving joshua a slice after he weaponizes his big, brown eyes.

— and then came The Series of Fire Alarm Mishaps.

— you see, at some point in the middle of the semester, someone new moved into the apartment building, in the same hall as you and jeonghan. at first, you barely even noticed the change, and then they started cooking.

— which wouldn't have been a problem. if they had been good at it.

the first few times the (incredibly loud and not unreasonably sensitive) fire alarms from down the hall had gone off, it had been unfortunate - a mild nuisance that disrupted what jeonghan had been doing, and nothing more. but then, the first few times became multiple, and from multiple, came a pattern. every other day, at least twice, the fire alarm next door would go off. and it would always be at different times - breakfast, the afternoon, early evening, even sometimes at 1:28 in the morning. the fire alarm would sound, and while it would mostly be no longer than a minute or two, it was still enough to be irritating.

you and jeonghan talked about it every time you saw each other in passing, or just so happened to be taking the same shuttle to campus (which happened quite often, anymore, since jeonghan enrolled in an extra course to help him graduate all the sooner). your neighbor and that damn fire alarm. your neighbor and their inability to cook, yet unnecessary dedication to the craft. you both joked about the inevitability of them actually burning the apartment down.

— and then, one day, the fire alarm went off at 2:19, waking jeonghan up out of a dead sleep (he hadn't meant to fall asleep at his desk, and his neck would pay for it all the next day). he heard it, and immediately decided to ignore it, knowing it would stop soon.

but then it didn't.

at about 3.5 minutes of non-stop alarms, jeonghan was annoyed enough that he left his room and staggered into the kitchen for some water, where shua and jun were already waiting around, likely with the same idea (though it was clear that shua hadn't ever fallen asleep, and perhaps jun was in the same boat, though he'd changed into sweats and a light t-shirt).

at about 6 minutes, jeonghan opened the door to see if anyone else was, well... concerned.

and at 13 minutes, he was standing outside in the brisk autumn air, agreeing with jun as he whispered that if there wasn't an actual fire but just their talentless neighbor attempting to cook in the middle of the night, he was going to kill the bastard himself.

— and there, in the middle of all this stupidity — sleepily rocking back and forth from one foot to another — and on the other side of him, was you.

— and, well, when you offered to buy him and the rest of his roommates coffee at the convenience store that was just down the street, not far, he couldn't do much beyond say yes. what was he going to do? decline your offer?

and so all four of you walked to the convenience store and aimlessly wound your way through the almost neon colored aisles. jeonghan used the opportunity to stick to you like glue and get you to open up — about yourself and your roommates, both of whom had gone home for two weeks for (separate) family vacations (not that you were jealous. clearly the superior option was to stay at the apartment, embroiled in course work and standing outside at 2:00 am because of some loser neighbor who can't cook a singular meal without burning the building to the ground, and yet refuses to have anything delivered).

— in the end, the fire hadn't been bigger than something contained in the pan ("thank god," you had said, shaking your hands in lackluster triumph, "i have a physics exam next week. i need those notes more than you know"), but at only 4 months of having a new neighbor, someone new moved in within 2 weeks at most. and, after being neighbors for almost 7 months, you and jeonghan were decidedly friends.

after all, you bought him a triangular gimbap, ice cream, and convenience store coffee. jun had slipped away with just a banana milk (which he promptly paid back the next day), and shua nearly bought out the whole store once the two of you got to talking about the best midnight (and hours after) snacks lining the walls. at the least, he was indebted to you, which could only be solved by more trips to the convenience store with more mindless conversation, and more time for the both of you to endear yourself to the other.

and the way jeonghan saw it, friendship at that point was inevitable. especially when, at the start of the next semester, you and jeonghan both had an early morning class and used the domino route to get to class via campus shuttle.

(and sure, jun had an early class, too, and drove himself to campus everyday, meaning jeonghan could have easily just gotten a ride, but he didn't. for no particular reason, really, he just never did; but one frost bitten morning after a snowstorm, when jeonghan was waiting at the shuttle stop and you stood beside him, bundled up in a thick winter coat and rubbing the tips of your fingers to keep them warm, you turned to him, the cord of the wired headphones the both of you always shared swaying from the movement (a streak of yellow against all this white, the sun in the middle of stark winter), and smiled, "i'm glad you're here with me." and maybe — just maybe — that was reason enough.)

— and thus, for reasons above explained, in the end, it all started with jeonghan learning jun was loaded. if it weren't for that simple knowledge, he wouldn't be anywhere near where he currently stood.

— which was the open doorway of jun's apartment, garbage in hand, falling in love with you.

"what?"

and you at least had the presence of mind to be flustered by it.

jeonghan could laugh, really. "is that my jacket?"

it totally was, and perhaps the way you fiddled with the sleeve of it and scoffed awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes, was the true giveaway that you knew it most certainly was. "i don't know, is it?"

you were met with smug silence, so of course, you'd elaborate.

"i thought it belonged to my ex. i just chose what looked the warmest. it's storming out there — you might want something more than a sweatshirt if you're taking that all the way to cans." you gestured to the garbage bag — a detail jeonghan had almost forgotten at the sight of you in his clothing.

"you think your ex would have bought that?"

of course he wasn't going to take your bait in changing the subject. that would make things easy. you rolled your eyes, spinning your key ring and making it jingle. "hoseok has great style. it's just different from yours."

"and that jacket is more my style than his."

"it is," you conceded. under jeonghan's gaze you stuck one half of the jacket out, towards him. "do you want it now? you'll need it out there."

"i don't think i will. not when i'll have your sunny presence to warm me."

and for a split second your eyes narrowed. you had just come in from the storm — that much was plain to see from the wet of the jacket to the reusable grocery bag in your hand, full of pantry odds and ends. there was no need to go back out, and you and jeonghan both knew it. and not to mention that the invitation (thinly veiled) was unattractive — stay inside where it was warm or brave the stormy weather once more, all for a garbage run?

"race you to the elevator."

— and see, the truth of the fact was, it wasn't as though you made it difficult to fall in love with you (though even if you had, jeonghan would have liked the challenge, perhaps. there's fun in plenty of things). you were generous, a good conversationalist, you bitched about people with jeonghan but still tried to see the best in them, you were knowledgeable about the most random yet oddly applicable things, and for all of his teasing, you put up with him. perhaps enjoyed him.

— it certainly confused seungcheol, to say the least (but don't such things always confuse brothers).

"as someone who's had a lifetime to cherish your personality, there has to be something wrong with this y/n if they're willingly spending time with you. i'm trying to save my soul, putting up with you on the daily. they have no excuse."

"if i'm going to respond to that, you'll have to give me five minutes to run first."

and it ended with jeonghan quickly pushing away from the table, trying to duck out of seungcheol's grasp; but of course, the older brother and president of the boxing club would get him anyway, and through laughter, attempt to knock some humility into jeonghan (it wouldn't stick).

— but no need to focus on all of that, now. after all, this deep into the semester, jeonghan was busy enough without Crippling Thoughts of Romance.

— the worst damage you wrought thus far was making him choke that day you wandered into karaoke club and he was in the middle of a duet joshuji had managed to cajole him into doing on the spot (you swore up and down that you didn't know he was even in the club to begin with, but something about your flustered behavior and shua's glee at the whole affair made him consider otherwise); while it had been a (minor, he claimed) blow to his pride, it was easily pushed aside. jihoon, the bastard, might bring it up on occasion — the one (1) time angel voice yoon jeonghan chokes, and it's all on camera — but other than that, jeonghan? cool as a cucumber.

the last thing he'd do is be awkward around a crush. jeonghan was cool; jeonghan was suave; jeonghan was speaking in the third person because joshuji had been on a self-love bender a few months back and had said daily affirmations into the mirror every morning, and after finding out and teasing him relentlessly for it, jeonghan unfortunately picked up the habit.

AND IT WAS ALL YELLOW (CONT.) ☄. *. ⋆

— and now that we've gotten this far, i suppose it's time we bring up Jeonghan Habits™ because there were many, the closer you and jeonghan got to each other, strings of fate drawing you ever nearer, joining you at the hip.

— for one, it seemed that ever since that first unfortunately timed run to the convenience store at hours after-midnight, jeonghan felt comfortable just showing up at all odd hours of the evening, all messy hair and too-big hooded sweatshirts (most stolen from seungcheol, he'd reveal to you one day when you were confused as to just when jeonghan had picked up a love of coton de tulear puppy conventions — enough to get a commemoriative sweatshirt, no less), with the oh-so-enticing offer of going to grab a snack.

he even called it a date, once, when you were wrapped up in three blankets and your fuzzy house slippers, weakly try to convince him to just rummage through you're cupboards instead

"you're so cold you're going to cancel our date? and here i thought we had something real."

(you'd been so flustered by the whole exchange you simply ended up going to the with him, hoping that the act of Just Doing It would buy you time against his rapid fire machine gun comebacks — probably exactly what the fucker had planned in his 4d chessboard of a brain — and jeonghan took the opportunity to file away in his mind the cute expression that crossed your face in the split second that the words hit you fully in the chest and you floundered, wide-eyed into recovery)

— another, of course, was his habit of casually leaving things at your place whenever the two of you hung out; the first few times he left something — his jacket, a pair of sunglasses, necklaces that you don't ever quite recall him taking off to begin with — you promptly returned it with the naive belief that it was a one-off mistake not like to happen again. but it just kept happening, and so eventually, you just stopped returning.

if it were important, jeonghan would have texted you about it — he texted you about all kinds of random things, anyway, his lost socks would be no more strange than texts of ootds or how particularly sparkly his eyes looked that day.

and he never did...

until you started to wear the things he left, of course.

'should i get two of these?' the text came in while you were walking to your next class, taking your sweet time since the weather had cleared up nicely and the campus shuttles were running smoothly — not a single one hand been late all week, a sure change from usual. a moment later your phone chimed again, and jeonghan had sent a picture of a silver ring with a greek key styling. it was cool enough, and fit in nicely with jeonghan's usual style of accessory (not that you were particularly knowledgeable of such things... haha.)

'sure, but why 2?'

'so you can have one of your own instead of stealing it.'

'???!?'

'look at your outfit right now. you're wearing MY necklace. it's been missing for weeks.'

'YOU LEFT IT AT *MY* APARTMENT??????'

'you still have necklaces of your own; didn't have to be mine.'

'😑'

'so what's your ring size?'

'stfu'

— in your defense, you didn't think it was an issue, borrowing the things he'd randomly leave at your apartment. it had started off innocuously enough — seonghwa and momo (your roommates, bless them) needed you to go grab a few last minute ingredients for dinner (they were the ones cooking, so charitably you offered to do the grunt work) and when you couldn't find your own sunglasses, there were jeonghan's, just sitting on your dresser and waiting to be used.

and after that, well... jeonghan had nice style, okay? you were not immune to convenient and accessible clothing. if jeonghan wasn't so forgetful of his own articles of clothing, it wouldn't be the case that you steal his favorite sunglasses and borrow his usual rings and get a little too caught up in the way his cologne lingers on his jackets and night shirts, a smell all-too comforting and somehow tempting...

— you attempted to give the necklace back later that week when you and jeonghan met up to take the domino route to university, but he just shrugged it off and told you that you might as well keep it. he already bought himself another.

and besides. it looked good on you.

— and as for the last of Jeonghan's Habits™ (certified and trademarked, of course, everything jeonghan did was protected by common law)... well... the discovery of this one came later, at a time you weren't expecting it, and so perhaps that explains why it makes you as flustered as it does.

— see, it's of no surprise that yoon jeonghan is clingy in a very positive sense.

being friends with jeonghan is always being kept in the loop, having an ongoing dialogue about most everything, doing lot of Things together and always knowing that if there's something you're even thinking of doing, jeonghan has already cleared his schedule in anticipation of going to do said thing alongside you.

— what surprised you, but really shouldn't have (so perhaps the right word is simply astonished, flustered, made giddy by the realization of), was that he was also very cuddly. and very hard to be talked out of, no less.

— and like, okay, sure, it was kind of hypocritical of you to be taken aback when you'd been indulging jeonghan of his affinity for physical touch for quite some time, now.

the surprise hugs whenever he caught you waiting for the campus shuttle or simply Minding Your Own Business, his inclination towards taking your hand to make you walk a little faster when the two of you were going convenience store diving (yes, again), the quite literal poking and prodding whenever he was attempting to get you to change your mind and agree with his worst impulses... it was all pretty damning, in retrospect. but it never really fazed you: jeonghan's cuddly sort of behavior.

though you had gotten a smug kind of glee whenever you initiated contact and jeonghan's cheeks would warm to a beautiful shade of pink before he'd counter his own seeming embarrassment with a comment like "aaahhhh y/n, you're so familiar, what would others think if they saw you?"

randomly touch jeonghan's forearm, whether to pull him closer for some reason or another or just to softly massage the skin while you absentmindedly scrolled on your phone (instagram scrolling was sacred time you and jeonghan shared — then you didn't have to send him the reel with your comments, you could just tap him on the shoulder and show him). they way jeonghan would get all shy at the touch — like maybe he felt some of those butterflies that perpetually fluttered about in your stomach whenever he was around — was all the satisfaction you could ever need.

— so yes, you were quite used to clingy jeonghan. but cuddly? you had never quite strayed into full cuddle territory... until you did.

— that fateful night, you had lovingly been given notice via a very abrupt group text that you would not be able to return to your apartment for the evening (someone was going to have company over, doing... things that familiar company do) and when you had told jeonghan of your plans to join seonghwa in his trip to the computer rooms at crescent hub (they were open 24 hours and while it was based on reservation, you were almost always able to get a seat), he offered you come to his apartment instead.

either that, or i guess you could spend your time watching the gaming club host whatever tournament they had going on — apparently jun was planning to be gone for Quite Some Time (as a senior member of the club) and shua was there... for moral support? that part was unclear, to be quite honest, but it wasn't as though shua ever needed a reason to be Busy and Outgoing, so it didn't quite matter much, in the end.

"why aren't you at crescent hub with your roommates, then?"

"and encourage them? ah... don't make me look soft."

and you're sure that the way you roll your eyes can be heard through the phone.

"i had an assignment to finish." / "you had work to finish."

"but! it's all been submitted now."

"then i'll meet you."

— after all, it's not like you were a stranger to jun's apartment — you'd hung out there plenty of times as your bond with jeonghan deepened and your friendship to shua and jun grew — and they did have a rather comfy couch... you were almost certain jeonghan's offer implied and unspoken 'you can at least get some comfortable sleep on our vertiable cloud of a couch when i'm done prying at the finer details as to just who momo decided to bring home.'

you both, after all, had a deep-seeded delight for gossip.

— and when you got there, it was exactly what you expected: jeonghan had seemingly raided the pantry finding ingredients so the two of you could make dakdoritang — excepting the carrot, of course.

despite his seeming love for convenience store runs and general lazy attitude toward preparing his own meals, cooking together seemed to be something jeonghan enjoyed lately — or at least, that's what you surmised. to you, it seemed that one day jeonghan woke up and chose cooking as a new hobby.

if you were to ask jeonghan, he would brush it off, of course, probably saying something about his mom visiting and praising jun's affinity for cooking and there was no way jeonghan could let the bastard win — but really all it had taken was one (1) absentminded hand on his chest from you and a "hannie, can you pass me the garlic cloves?" for him to make cooking with you a new personality trait of his. go figure.

— and so the two of you made your stew while debating which movie you should watch when you were done. you ended up compromising on some drama that you'd seen people claim was so bad it was good, and it really was. the cringe,,,, the mutual yelling at the tv,,,,,,, threatening the lives of fictional characters,,,,,,, talking over whole dialogue scenes because you had a brilliant rewrite in mind and jeonghan simply couldn't resist the way you looked when there was an earnestness in your eyes and an opinion on your lips,,,,

it was quite late, indeed, before you even knew it. and when you switched the tv to a music video you really wanted to show jeonghan, the autoplay sort of took over, and your mind sort of shut down... drifted off to sleep.

— you woke up at some point in the early morning; the sound of the lock clicking and the door opening wasn't the sound you were used to, in your apartment two doors down, and it was just enough to snap you awake momentarily, still half in dream yet with one foot in reality.

it was just shua and jun, and they whispered an apology before padding off to their respective rooms (jun his own, shua his shared room with hannie), clearly worn out from their gaming activities.

— but that little push to semi-wakefulness was just enough for you to take stock of where you were, and you noticed belatedly that jeonghan had never left to go back to his room. you were both sleeping on the couch, legs intertwined; jeonghan was resting his head on your shoulder and your hands were reaching out, as if almost to give him a subconscious hug.

— the embarrassment ran through your nervous system almost instantly, and when you made to slowly and gently move your limbs so you were less... interwoven, jeonghan stirred and, still sleeping, pulled you back towards him. perhaps even closer than before.

you couldn't help yourself. a giggle escaped you; perhaps half nerves, mostly endearment. jeonghan stirred again and the sound and you covered your mouth, not wanting to wake him.

he stilled soon enough, and before drifting off again, you kissed him on the forehead.

— when you fully woke up the next morning, jeonghan had already began his day, but he didn't even try to hide the fact that the both of you had unwittingly unlocked a new feature in this friendship of yours. he sort of just... took the night prior as a confirmation that cuddling was on the list of approved actions and refused to let go of you, after.

not that it bothered you, of course.

it just seemed that the butterflies in your stomach were given wild energy at this new development; all your strategies for calming them suddenly ineffective.

AND IT WAS ALL YELLOW (CONT.) ☄. *. ⋆

— so.

if you had asked jeonghan at any point in his life if he were good at manipulating, his answer would be an unequivocable yes.

deceit? of course.

scheming? obviously.

lying? naturally.

blackmailing? most assuredly.

gaslighting, gatekeeping, girlbossing? undoubtedly.

changing criteria? yes.

moving goalposts? clearly.

hiding the apparent? well...

— see, the thing is... you get so good at the others that concealing the obvious isn't exactly necessary. everyone might know to be wary of the scheming, cheating, self-serving yoon jeonghan, but it didn't change the fact that he was so astute at the rest of it, image didn't exactly matter.

and besides, why save face when it was so fun to see people accuse him of what they were all very aware?

— so yes, jeonghan was quite skilled at all manner of deception. the one facet he was not so adept in was hiding his feelings toward the matter.

— thus, it should be no surprise that everyone and their mother knew jeonghan had a crush.

and it was only getting worse.

— don't ask jun when he put the dots together — he was more emotionally intellectual than he let on most of the time — and don't ask joshuji when either — that fucker had this quirk where he joked about something before it had real honest basis, but in some way only attributed to the gift of clairvoyance, he always seemed to be right. if you were to ask joshua, he'd likely recall the first time he had looked at jeonghan and wiggled his eyebrows and call that he knew then (he didn't; at least, not really).

— as for s.coups... well, don't ever ask cheol anything about jeonghan. he'd rather die than give it to you straight.

please. when he could embarrass jeonghan? seungcheol lives for that shit.

after all, what else are older brothers for?

— so yes, it was obvious to those close to him that jeonghan was in the long-suffering limbo of Having A Thing For Your Best Friend But Not Acting On It, and it had been apparent for months.

— after all, it felt like centuries ago that joshua had offered to play matchmaker for jeonghan and you — the veritable apple of his eye — and set the two of you up on a date.

it had been some lazy morning and jun nearly spit out his breakfast.

"you'd both love it! i'd get jihoon to play something romantic on the violin; well, maybe recorder—"

cue jun choking once more.

"and you could be there waiting in full suit and tie."

"with couples rings waiting in the bread basket." and joshua's eyes went comically and maniacally wide at jun's inclusion.

"ah, cheol would crash any date like that."

"but then y/n could get his blessing!"

— at some point, jun was at his wits end.

in his defense, it was him who had to see the two of you be all sweet and love-struck all the time, giggling and teasing each other on his couch in his apartment while all he's trying to do is eat a sorry excuse of a subway sandwich (eat fresh.) before jetting off to his internship again.

if you had to see that shit while eating soggy bread you'd be annoyed, too.

one more "aigoooo" while jeonghan squishes your cheeks, and you bat him away with a roll of your eyes and jun would take a knife out of the block behind him.

— especially when jeonghan started calling you "angel" at every chance he got. had jun's eye twitching, it did. never had he regretted getting roommates until jeonghan fell in love.

one day jun learned that the phrase "get a room" made at least one of you self conscious enough to at least tone it down, and he never stopped weaponizing it, since.

— of course, overtime jun's protests became background noise, but once, when your roommates and jeonghan's all went to the museum of fine arts together to celebrate the end of finals week (it was free admission so long as you had your svtu activities card), jun had deadpanned his new favorite phrase in the middle of the outdoor conversation area. jeonghan had turned to you grinning, like it was the excuse he'd been waiting for all day, and after a lighthearted "shall we?" you grabbed his hand and the two of you pranced off to explore the sculpture terrace.

jeonghan had raised an eyebrow at your choice of exhibit, but you pulled him over to a sculpture of a human figure with black wings and flashed a smile: “it’s not a private room, but i think it works.”

“if you’d prefer it, i’m sure there’s a custodial closet we could go to instead. i bet there's one right outside, even.”

you snorted. “and if i did kiss you? what would you do then?"

— you stunned him into silence. him. yoon jeonghan.

— right as he was about to recover and shoot back some smartass comment, you laughed — the sound clear and playful, bright and radiating with warmth — and then you wandered to where they showcased student work.

— umm... uhhh... WHATTHEFUCKWEREYOUDOING WHATTHEFUCKWASGOINGONNNNNN

“angel.”

you hummed absentmindedly, only half hearing jeonghan through the internal screaming reverberating in your skull.

“y/nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn…”

he was closer now, if you focused, you were sure you could feel him, inching closer, right behind you, just to your right…

— he kissed your cheek: half on the corner of your lips, half on the soft of your skin.

— you couldn’t help yourself. you turned.

“if you were bold enough to kiss me here, i’d kiss you back. then i’d be scandalized, ‘how forward!’”

your mouth opened: in shock, in delight, in laughter, in a heavenly mix of the three. jeonghan just stood there, all self-satisfied grin.

“you could waste your time finding a comeback, or you could be forward.”

“i think i have time for both.”

☄. *. ⋆

end of file .

SVT (sophrosyne; virtù; truth) University hopes you've enjoyed your stay !

#writing.svtu #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen x you #svt x you #svt imagine #svt x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #jeonghan imagine #yoon jeonghan x reader #still in that limbo of not knowing how to tag things but fuck it we ball ✌︎#if you want more svtu!jeonghan feel free to send in asks!!!!#honestly svtu has been eating at my brain for so long i have NOTES for this universe i'm so full of this story you could ask me any minute #detail and i probably have Reasons and Thoughts for it #all at once i had more planned for this headcanon set and yet nothing to add so we'll see what i end up doing with this headcanon set #also i think this reader deserves to have poodle jeonghan too that hairstyle lives rent free

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goodmode · 13 days ago

Text

scholarly bug digifake! pulling together several of my favourite themes and tropes to hopefully settle on a digimon partner after all these years :^) info + name origins below the cut!

LARMON

Level: In-Training/Baby II | Attribute: Vaccine | Field: Virus Busters | Type: Larva

A Larva Digimon that hides in its cloth-like outer garment, using its long antennae to listen to the world around it. This Digimon's movement is limited, so it hitches rides by quietly attaching itself to the backs of larger creatures, which can cause an ominous feeling to come over the host as they mistake it for a haunting. This effect seems completely accidental, however, as Larmon themselves tend to be quite sweet-natured and encouraging if they can overcome their shy nature. Overwhelming situations can cause them to give a nasty bite.

Attacks

Phantom Nip - Gives a nasty pinch from its small mandibles.

Night Light - Produces a soft golden glow from its marking and tail that gently repels those of violent spirit.

Namesake

larva(n.) - 1630s, "a ghost, specter, disembodied spirit" (earlier as larve, c. 1600), from Latin larva (plural larvae), earlier larua "ghost, evil spirit, demon," also "mask," a word from Roman mythology, of unknown origin; de Vaan finds a possible derivation from Lar "tutelary god" (see Lares) "quite attractive semantically." Crowded out in its original sense by the zoological use (1768) which began with Linnaeus, who applied the word to immature forms of animals that do not resemble, and thus "mask," the adult forms. [source]

Lares(n.) - Roman tutelary gods and household deities, worshipped in primitive cult rites, Latin, plural of Lar, a word of unknown origin. Infernal, protective of the state and the family, they could be potently evil if offended. Their shrine in the home was a lararium. [source]

---

PUERMON

Level: Rookie/Child | Attribute: Vaccine | Field: Virus Busters | Type: Insect

An Insect Digimon with the self-imposed task of infiltrating Virus type groups and strongholds, and using its unique undercover position to learn everything it can, training itself to be able to restore peace and defend the just. In this way, Puermon is sometimes considered a "pest" infesting the networks of Virus Digimon. Highly industrious, Puermon takes its work very seriously, and can lose its temper with anyone who interferes or risks blowing its cover. Its crystalline sceptre is made of all the data Puermon has absorbed, its helix shape slowly building towards Evolution.

Attacks

Lucidate - Holds its staff high, casting a bright golden light that makes evil Digimon lose their fighting spirit and want to move away, and gives focus and sharpness of mind to those with good intentions. The light from this staff can also help make sense of such things as computer code and Digimoji. Puermon may also call out the name of this attack before simply giving someone a punishing bop on the head.

Namesake

pupil(n.1) [student], late 14c., "orphan child, ward, person under the care of a guardian," from Old French pupille (14c.) and directly from Latin pupillus (fem. pupilla) "orphan child, ward, minor," diminutive of pupus "boy" (fem. pupa "girl"), probably related to puer "child" (and thus probably from a suffixed form of PIE root *pau- (1) "few, little"). Meaning "disciple, student youth or any person of either sex under the care of an instructor or tutor" is recorded by 1560s. [source]

puerile(adj.) 1660s, "youthful, boyish," a back-formation from puerility (q.v.), or else from French puéril (15c.), from Latin puerilis "boyish; childish," from puer "boy, child." The depreciative sense of "merely juvenile, immature, lacking intellectual force" is from 1680s. [source]

---

AXLAMON

Level: Champion/Adult | Attribute: Vaccine | Field: Virus Busters/Wind Guardians | Type: Insect

An advanced Insect Digimon that has picked up some high-level programming language. Though lacking the formal training of Witchelny, it reached this level of sorcery through necessity and instinct. Because of this, its reflexes and quick thinking put it almost equivalent with the likes of its Witchelny peers, and it spun itself a similar outfit to lend itself credibility as a sorcerer and to hide its true face beneath its cloak.

Its staff has hardened into the shape of an insect's horns, the light of its gathered knowledge kept between them and giving it strength. This staff can be ridden like a broomstick, letting Axlamon hide its new wings inside the sleeves of its cloak.

Despite its outwardly solitary and ascetic temperament, it appears this is simply a mask over the same shyness it had as a Child-level Digimon, and its secretly-passionate heart can be counted on to uplift others and balance the odds at any cost when things look grim.

Attacks

Kindle - Raises its staff to shine a brilliant light. Allies find their best strengths amplified and their wounds healed, and blackhearted foes are weakened and driven back from the holy beacon. This attack can also make sense of computer code, Digimoji, and sometimes things spoken or written in code.

Sacrosanctuary - Stands its ground and casts an illuminated shield of immutable truths and promises around itself and its allies. Its commitment is equal to the strength of its shield.

Opine Flare - Burns off some of its absorbed information data, converting it to a missile of pure energy to strike with. Some data is lost in the conversion, making direct attacks costly.

Namesake

In entomology, "alate" usually refers to the winged form of a social insect, especially ants[2] [source]

alate(adj.) "having wings, winged," 1660s, from Latin alatus, from ala "wing, armpit, wing of an army," from *axla, originally "joint of the wing or arm;" from PIE *aks- "axis" (see axis). [source]

axis (plural axes or (rare) axiis) - (geometry) An imaginary line around which an object spins (an axis of rotation) or is symmetrically arranged (an axis of symmetry). / The centre of attention within a process (e.g. the axis of investigation). [source]

---

uhhh if you read this far thank you for the interest! maybe someday i'll do their Perfect/Ultimate form or beyond but for now i ran out of steam so this lil guy's future is mysterious...

please don't use this fakie without permission, but if you do wanna borrow him for a roleplay or something please don't be shy of asking at least, i'm pretty chill

#digifake #digimon #goodmodeart

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itmaster · 6 months ago

Text

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#online C language tutor #tutor for c programming

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puma-riki · 6 months ago

Text

No One Noticed...

Synopsis: You've never seemed to make friends well. Sure, you had people you knew and were well acquainted with, but no one ever seemed to get closer to you or want to. You think that no one notices you and you'll continue the rest of your college years alone like all the years before. Except Ni-ki notices just about everything you do.

Pairing: Nishimura Riki x Fem! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor (or attempts at), slight angst, smau + written parts, idiots to lovers, university au

Warnings: consistent cursing, kms/kys jokes [Subject to change every chapter]

Characters: Enhypen (all), Eunchae (lesserafim),Keeho, Soul, (P1Harmony)

Status: Ongoing (Start: 092124)

Taglist: bee-the-loser iaintseggsy channieismylove yangjungwonnie luluvhs nikiswifiee kingofthekards skepvids sammie217 sh0dor1 sirens-dreams starfallia polarisjisung minhosimthings @mochiwonz @jiiyen @strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @stvrriki | Comment on any chapter from No One Noticed... saying you want to be added to the taglist!! or send me an ask !! | bold could not be tagged :c

------------------------------------------------------------

Masterlist | Previous | Next

04. HAPPY WEDNESDAY GUYS‼️‼️ + written

Campus Library 1:54pm

Ni-ki checked his phone for what had to be the 100th time since he took his spot leaning against the wall next to the library stairs. He hadn’t misread your texts, had he? Were you late? Or worse—were you already inside waiting while he was stuck out here, making him look like the kind of guy who didn’t care enough about his grades to show up for a tutoring session he asked for? That thought didn’t sit well, even if it wasn’t possible. Ni-ki had shown up 30 minutes early, too anxious to risk being late.

He opened his phone again, kicking at the small pebbles scattered across the pavement, He was about to send an SOS text to his friends' group chat when he heard a voice

"Are you out here waiting for me?" oh god it was you, he almost broke his neck, turning towards you.

You shifted the worn bag hanging on your shoulder, arms crossed against the breeze carrying the first hints of autumn. Ni-ki locked his phone and shoved his hands into the pockets of his green bomber jacket.

"Uh, yeah." He stood up from against the wall and shuffled his feet awkwardly, "I wasn't sure which study room we were using so, I just thought I'd wait for you to show up" His voice was quiet, and he felt it. This was the first real conversation you two had ever had—and the first time you’d ever looked directly at him.

"Oh, really?" You pouted slightly, your brow furrowing in confusion. Cute, he thought. "I thought I texted you the number. My bad." You walked past him, gesturing toward the stairs. "I’ll make sure I tell you next time, okay?" You smiled softly, tilting your head toward the stairs, signaling for him to follow.

You had only shown up ten seconds ago, and already, Ni-ki's heart was pounding.

He cleared his throat. "Kay," he mumbled, falling into step behind you as you made your way inside the library.

His nerves stayed with him as he climbed the stairs, especially knowing he would soon have to admit he was completely lost in biology—something you excelled at. He didn’t want you to think he was stupid.

After venturing into the library and ascending another flight of stairs, you pulled a keycard from the back pocket of your jeans and tapped it against the door to one of the study rooms.

“This room is reserved for the tutoring program specifically,” you explained, holding the door open for him with a smile. "So, we'll meet here for future sessions too."

Ni-ki felt like he was stepping into a padded cell. He was going to be alone with you in this room for 2 hours, how was he supposed to keep his cool and actually pay attention to the material instead of admiring you. He felt his hands start to sweat in his pockets as he took a seat at the long table sitting horizontally in front of the door after mumbling a shy thanks to you for holding the door for him. He sat his backpack down on the chair next to him as you did the same in the seat across from him.

"So," here came the embarrassment, "What exactly are you struggling with in bio." You gave him a quick glance as you dug in your bag for a notebook and pen.

Ni-ki wiped his hands on his jeans. “Well,” he started, feeling the familiar weight of self-disappointment in his chest, “pretty much everything, honestly.” His voice was quiet, the words almost painful to admit.

"That's okay! Biology is one of the harder classes, plus our professor is kind of a hard ass so it looks harder than it actually is." Your reassurance made his shoulders relax a little, and he let out a breathy laugh, your playful tone helping to ease his tension. You couldn't help but find him a bit cute.

“And it’s still early in the semester,” you continued, smoothing out your notebook page. “I’ll help you catch up.” Your encouraging smile sent a warmth through him. He nodded, wishing he could find his voice.

"Do you have any past quizzes and tests with you?"

“Yeah.” He quickly fumbled through his bag, nerves and the weight of your gaze making his hands clumsy as he pulled out a stack of papers littered with red marks. He felt a pang of embarrassment as he handed them over, watching you flip through his messy work. Red ink stained nearly every page, a reminder of how lost he’d been. He watched as you flipped through them, analyzing where he went wrong and where he had managed to get something right.

“Okay,” you said, setting the papers aside. “We’ll start from chapter one and work through it together. I’ll explain things differently from the professor and see if that helps.” You were already jotting down diagrams and definitions without needing to reference anything, working from memory.

"Okay, cool" he mumbled, trying to not make it obvious that he was taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

You smiled at his shyness, finding it endearing, "Okay so," You finished writing and turned your notebook towards him. As you began explaining biology’s chemical basis, Ni-ki found himself slowly relaxing, nodding along as the confusion in his mind started to unravel. Maybe tutoring wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

Until you asked him a question.

Ni-kis mind went completely blank when his eyes met yours for the first time in the past hour. He felt heat creep up his neck and to his ears, luckily his hair had been long enough to cover it. he defeatedly admitted that he had no clue how to answer. his eyes downcast at the notebook and your hands instead of your face.

"That's okay! That's why I'm here to help you, you'll get better at it." The warmth in your voice surprised him. He was used to strict teachers, but you were different—gentler. he had partially expected you to be as uptight as some of his professors who would've grown impatient with his hesitation and wouldn't have responded so kindly.

You asked a few more questions throughout the session, and though he got most of the first ones wrong, you explained patiently each time, your soft smiles easing his nerves. When he did manage to get a few answers right, you brightened, praising him and diving deeper into the material. He felt his heart soar and warmth spread through his chest when you did so. With each moment, he felt himself relax, though he stayed shy, mumbling his responses and avoiding eye contact. You didn’t seem to mind, even though it was kind of hard to hear him, but you kept it professional and didn't say anything, not wanting him to feel more embarrassed.

"Okay, its 4:03. We can stop here." You say checking your watch. "Do you have any questions about anything from this chapter?" Your eyes meet his for a split second before he's averting his gaze from you and to a random corner in the room.

Ni-ki shook his head, "Not that I can think of,"

"Alright, then. Don't hate me for what I'm about to do" You tease, taking the notebook you both worked in for 2 hours and scribbling something down on a clean page.

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. "What are you doing?" He tilted his head to try and get a glimpse of what you were writing. after a minute you slide the notebook back towards him.

"Before Friday, try answering these questions so we can see if things are making more sense." You say, clicking your pen closed and putting it back into your bag. "You can keep the notebook, by the way."

"You're giving me homework?" He jokes, a pout forming on his lips, as he picks up the notebook and scans the questions you wrote down, there were only 5.

"I said don’t hate me!" you laughed. “Text me if you have any questions, okay?" you laughed lightly as you stood up and slung your satchel-like bag over your shoulder. You watched him nod, beginning to put the notebook in his bag with the rest of his stuff.

"Okay, I will, Thank you [name]" he gave you a friendly smile as you began pushing in your chair and made your way to the door.

"Of course, see you Friday Ni-ki!" you gave him a small wave and opened the door.

"See you Friday" he echoed after you. The door clicked shut and then you were gone, leaving him to sit with the fluttering in his chest.

#No One Noticed 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 #enhypen fluff #enhypen smau #enha fluff #enha smau #nishimura riki fluff #nishimura riki fake texts #nishimura riki smau #nishimura riki x reader #ni ki fake texts #ni ki smau #ni ki x reader #ni ki fluff #riki nishimura x reader #enhypen x reader

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magic-shop-stories · 2 months ago

Note

Bts father headcannon where their child wants to become an actor/ actress and how they would react to their child being in the public eye

💌 Reply:

Hey there, THANK YOU SO MUCH for your request, I'm a bit late but I hope you dont mind and can still enjoy these headcanaons... hoping it's what you imagined and wanted. I was in the theater today and got a bit inspired (tho the play wasn't too good ...content-wise xD) Feel free to reach out again and have fun reading XO -c-

NAMJOON

HOW HIS CHILD TELLS HIM

Setting

after their high school’s production of Hamlet

his child plays Ophelia/Horatio with chilling vulnerability

he sits in the front row

clutching a dog-eared copy of Shakespeare (he’s annotated since years)

post-show, his child meets him backstage

still in costume, face flushed under stage makeup

Confession

they hand him a handwritten letter

tucked inside a vintage copy of King Lear

note reads: “Appa, You taught me words have weight. Now I want to give them wings. Let me act. Love, Your Hamlet (Not Tragic)”

INITIAL REACTION

First 10 Seconds

freezes

eyes scanning the letter twice

his grip tightens on the book

knuckles whitening

voice low, almost a whisper:

“This… this is your truth?"

Next Minute

sinks into a backstage folding chair

gesturing for them to sit

“Explain. Why acting? Why now?”

leans forward, elbows on knees

debate mode activated

After an Hour

paces the empty theater aisle

muttering quotes:

“‘All the world’s a stage’… but the audience can be cruel.”

stops abruptly

“You’re sure? Unshakably sure?”

EMOTIONS

Pride

texts Jin at 2 AM:

“Hyung. They’re… brilliant. Like, Shakespearean brilliant.”

sneaks into their room to watch their old play recordings

smiling at their Prince Hal monologue

Fear

wakes from nightmares of tabloid headlines:

“BTS Leader’s Child: Nepo Baby or Genius?”

journals: “How do I armor their heart without crushing their spirit?”

WHAT HE SAYS & DOES

Immediate Response

Verbal

“Talent is a gift. But this industry… it’s Sisyphus with a spotlight. Can you carry that boulder?”

Action

buys out a small indie theater for a private workshop

hires a Tony Award-winning coach

specialized in mentoring LGBTQ+ youth

“Learn here first. Safely.”

Two Weeks Later

creates a ”Artistic Integrity” contract with them over banana milk

“Never apologize for your craft.”

“If a director dims your light, walk. I’ll handle the fallout.”

“Grades stay up. Philosophy minors make better actors.”

LONG-TERM SUPPORT

Education & Art

enrolls them in a hybrid Ivy League/acting conservatory program.

“You’ll need both to dissect Ibsen and survive TMZ.”

hosts Saturday Seminars

they analyze A Doll’s House

he connects it to Marxist theory

Creative Safe Spaces

builds a new home studio with soundproof walls

adds a library of plays

door plaque: “Rehearsal Room / Existential Crisis Zone.”

co-writes a modern adaptation of The Tempest

but Prospero is a K-pop idol

“Hyungs will cameo. No pressure.”

PROTECTION FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Media Strategy

insists their debut is a stage play

not a Netflix show !!!

“Theater audiences respect boundaries. Mostly.”

leaks fake scripts

to Dispatch about them playing ”a time-traveling barista”

diverting attention

Paparazzi Protocol

teaches them ”The Kim Namjoon Evasion”:

= wear oversized scarves (distracts cameras)

= quote Foucault (confuses reporters)

= summon ARMY (via a secret Social Media code)

hires a bodyguard disguised as a ”philosophy tutor”

“Sunbae will quiz you on Kant and karate.”

EASTER EGGS

Lyrical Nod

sneaks “you showed me I have reasons I should love myself” into their opening night card

Bookmark Gift

golden bookmark engraved with their childhood nickname: ”My Little Army-Princess”

Secret Cameo

appears in their student film as ”Disapproving Librarian #3”

blinks Morse code: “P-R-O-U-D.”

JIN

HOW HIS CHILD TELLS HIM

Setting

years of “living room Broadway” performances

(starring Jin as the unwilling villain and his child as the dramatic hero)

his child ambushes him during his Saturday skincare routine

they toss a crumpled acceptance letter from a prestigious acting conservatory into his lap

along with a plastic Oscar they stole from his “Dad Joke Trophy Shelf.”

Confession

Jin pauses mid-sheet mask application

“Appa. I’m doing it. For real this time. And you’re gonna cry at my Oscar speech.”

“Yah! My Oscar speech is already written! Fine… let’s hear your draft.”

INITIAL REACTION

First 10 Seconds

gasps

sheet mask slipping off his face

“Finally! I’ve been waiting to say, ‘My kid’s the star!’ since you were three!”

flexes in the mirror

“But I’m still the lead in this household.”

Next Minute

scrolls through the conservatory’s alumni list

“Hmm. This one did a toothpaste commercial. You’re already better.

After an Hour

forces the family to reenact “Goblin”

dish towels as capes

casts himself as the handsome deity

“Method acting, baby! Cry like you’re chopping onions!”

EMOTIONS

Pride

updates his Instagram bio to “Proud Appa of Korea’s Next IT Actor” within 5 minutes

texts his last TV show co-star Gong Yoo:

“Hyung. My kid’s stealing your roles. Sorry not sorry.”

Fear

secretly watches child star burnout documentaries

mutters, “Not my baby.”

buys 17 self-help books titled “Raising a Nepo Baby (But Make It Humble)”

Nostalgia

digs up old photos of himself in college theater

(pre-debut Romeo with tragic eyeliner)

“See? You get this from me.”

WHAT HE SAYS & DOES

Immediate Response

Verbal

“You want to act? Great! First lesson: Always angle your left side to the camera. This side.”

points to his cheekbone

Action

hosts a “Debut BBQ” with all HYBE staff

forces Bang PD to watch their student film

“Invest in this face. Future CF king!”

Two Weeks Later

creates a “Jin-Approved” survival kit

portable steamer “Wrinkles are the enemy”

script highlighters with ARMY bomb sketches

emergency Snacks labeled “For When Co-Stars Are Rude.”

LONG-TERM SUPPORT

Coaching & Connections

co-stars in their college thesis film as a washed-up idol (typecasting himself)

“I’ll be your tragic comic relief. Again.”

drags them to celebrity golf tournaments to network

“That’s Director Bong. Laugh at his jokes. Even the bad ones.”

Public Advocacy

wears a “Proud Appa” button to their premieres

interviews himself on the red carpet:

“Yes, they’re talented. Yes, I’m jealous.”

starts a YouTube series: “Appa’s Acting Academy”

where he “trains” them in over-the-top melodrama

episode 1: “Crying on Cue (While Eating Spicy Noodles).”

PROTECTION FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Media Strategy

leaks fake scandals about himself to divert paparazzi

(“Jin Spotted Buying 100 Melons”)

teaches them the “Dad Joke Defense”

when reporters ask invasive questions, respond with:

“Why did the actor cross the road? To avoid you!”

Paparazzi Protocol

hires a decoy child (a lookalike cousin) to attend fake auditions

“Let them chase the wrong Kim.”

parks a pink Lamborghini outside tabloid offices daily

“Distract them with my beauty. Classic misdirection.”

EASTER EGGS

Signature Sass

sneaks his catchphrase “Worldwide Handsome” into their character’s dialogue

“It’s method acting. My method.”

MV Nostalgia

recreates their childhood “No More Dream” parody video for their 18th birthday

“You’ve always been main character energy.”

Dad Joke Legacy

stuffs their script margins with pun annotations

“Hamlet’s ghost? More like Hamlet’s host… of issues!”

*two GIFS for Yoongi bc I just couldn't resist the first one lol

YOONGI

HOW HIS CHILD TELLS HIM

Setting

his child has secretly joined an avant-garde theater troupe

reimagining classics like Medea as dystopian tech tragedies

they win a regional competition for their role as a cyborg Medea

channeling rage through glitchy, mechanical monologues

they arrive home late one night

trophy in hand

places it on Yoongi’s studio desk beside his unreleased mixtape drafts

Confession

no words

just a playbill tucked into his notebook with their role circled in red

Yoongi finds it at 4 AM

coffee cold

stares at the stark graphic design: “MEDEA 2.0: Humanity Optional.”

INITIAL REACTION

First 10 Seconds

eyes narrow at the trophy

flicks to their shadow in the doorway

“You’re back late. This why?”

voice flat

tho fingers trace the trophy’s edges

Next Minute

watches their performance clip on his phone

jaw tight

“Hm. Intense. You cried here..."

pauses the video

“Real tears or glycerin?”

After an Hour

sits at the piano

improvising a somber melody

“Medea’s a heavy first role. You understand her… or just memorized lines?”

EMOTIONS

Pride

texts BTS group chat:

“Got a kid who’s better at angst than me. Unrelated.”

saves their performance video as “track_idea_97.mp4” for future sampling

Fear

researches the troupe’s director

grilling them over coffee

“You let minors play suicidal androids? Cool. Let’s discuss boundaries.”

nightly ritual

checks their phone for burner accounts

tracking toxic fan forums

WHAT HE SAYS & DOES

Immediate Response

Verbal

“Acting’s a contract. You give pieces of yourself away. Sure you wanna sign?”

Action

buys the troupe’s script rights to prevent exploitation

“Now you own Medea. Fix the ending.”

Two Weeks Later

builds a home recording booth rigged with acting software

“Practice here. No audience.”

leaves a therapist’s card on their pillow

“For when the role… sticks.”

LONG-TERM SUPPORT

Artistic Integrity

funds a short film they co-write

a meta-commentary on celebrity culture

directs the soundtrack himself

“No autotune. Raw.”

connects them with indie auteurs who value anonymity

“Art’s not a brand. Remember that.”

Practical Safeguards

sets up a shell company to manage their projects

“Stage name: Min (name). No ties to me.”

teaches them to encrypt scripts and emails

“Paranoia’s a tool. Use it.”

PROTECTION FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Media Strategy

insists their debut is a voice role in an animated film

“No face, no gossip. Just talent.”

they flood the internet with AI-generated deepfakes of their “public outings” to confuse paparazzi

Paparazzi Protocol

loans them his black face mask collection

“Wear these. And hoodies. Always.”

hires a cybersecurity team to scrub their digital footprint weekly

“You exist offline. Period.”

EASTER EGGS

Lyrical Nod

samples their Medea monologue in a BTS intro track

lyrics: “Burn the script / Rewrite your own fire.”

Studio Secret

names a synth preset “(name) Fury” after their performance

uses it in Agust D’s next album

Hidden Message

etches “민 (name)” (their stage name) into his mic stand

“For luck. Don’t tell.”

J-HOPE

HOW HIS CHILD TELLS HIM

Setting

his child auditions for a modern retelling of "Romeo and Juliet" as a dancer

tho lands the role of Mercutio

after the director spots their raw emotionality during a sword-fighting rehearsal

they send J-Hope a vague text:

“Appa, come to the Seoul Arts Center at 7 PM! Surprise! Wear something sparkly.)

Confession

J-Hope arrives in a sequined bomber jacket

expecting a dance showcase

lights are dim

his child appears onstage

delivering Mercutio’s death scene with a ferocity that leaves the audience breathless

post-curtain call, they find him backstage

frozen mid-clap

glitter tears streaking his cheeks

INITIAL REACTION

First 10 Seconds

stares, mouth agape

“Wait... you?! Since when do you act?! I thought this was a dance thing!”

voice rises an octave

Next Minute

laugh-cries

shaking their shoulders

“YAH! You lied to me! Genius! But also grounded!”

After an Hour

replays their monologue on his phone

zooming in on their face

“You got Mom’s angry eyebrows. Perfect for tragedy.”

EMOTIONS

Pride

texts the members: “MY BABY’S A STAR!!!!”

spams 50 heart emojis

Jungkook replies: “Hyung. Chill.”

buys a custom neon marquee sign for their bedroom:

“Future Oscar Winner Sleeps Here.”

Guilt

replays old videos of them dancing together

“Did I push too hard? Was it my dream?”

Protectiveness

memorizes every cast member’s Instagram

“That Tybalt guy better not be a fuckboy.”

WHAT HE SAYS & DOES

Immediate Response

Verbal

“You’re amazing. But why hide it? I’d have choreographed your sword fights!”

Action

drags them to a 24-hour diner

ordering pancakes shaped like Oscars

“Eat. We’re celebrating.”

Two Weeks Later

surprises them with a collab

rechoreographs the play’s fight scenes into hip-hop battles

“Mercutio b-boys into the afterlife. Yes.”

hosts a “Dance-Acting Bootcamp”

teaches them to “cry while popping” for emotional auditions

LONG-TERM SUPPORT

Creative Coaching

convinces Bangtan to cameo in their student film as background K-pop idols

“Just act natural. Which is… unnatural.”

designs their red carpet debut outfit

a sequined jumpsuit with light-up sneakers

“They’ll see you coming. Literally.”

Public Cheerleading

starts a TikTok series: “Appa’s Backstage Diaries”

filming their rehearsals

trendy hashtag: #HobiRaisingHollywood

sneaks into their Zoom auditions as a “technical assistant”

mouthing “YOU GOT THIS” behind the camera

PROTECTION FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Media Strategy

organizes flash mobs outside paparazzi hubs

“Distract them with my moves. Classic Hobi.”

teaches them the “Hope on the Street Evasion”

a dance combo that doubles as a crowd escape route

Paparazzi Protocol

parks a neon-green convertible outside their auditions

blasting “Chicken Noodle Soup”

“No one hears your lines over this beat!”

hires a bodyguard who moonlights as a dance instructor

“Learn the running man and self-defense in one lesson!”

EASTER EGGS

Lyrical Nod

whispers “I’m your hope, you’re my hope” before their auditions

Legacy Accessory

gifts them his iconic rainbow Gucci sweater

“For luck. And branding.”

Secret Project

drops a remix of their Mercutio monologue over a J-Hope beat

SoundCloud title: “Hope World Meets Shakespeare.”

JIMIN

HOW HIS CHILD TELLS HIM

Setting

months of rehearsing alone in their room

his child auditions for a modern adaptation of "A Midsummer Night’s Dream"

set in a K-pop training academy

they land the lead role of "Hermia"

a trainee torn between love and ambition

the night before rehearsals begin, they leave a script on Jimin’s pillow

highlighted lines marked

“I fear my passion will eat me alive… but I’ll let it.”

Confession

Jimin finds it after a late-night shower

hair damp, wearing his ratty BT21 Chimmy pajamas

he sits on the edge of the bed

tracing the highlighted words

his child tiptoes in

he pats the space beside him

“Come here. Let’s read your lines together.”

INITIAL REACTION

First 10 Seconds

eyes widen, lips parting

“You’re… Hermia? My baby?”

voice cracks

pulls them into a hug so tight they squeak

Next Minute

recites their lines back to them

improvising exaggerated gestures

“No, like this... passion, jagiya! Throw the script!”

After an Hour

sits cross-legged on the floor

dissecting the character’s motives

“Hermia’s scared? So are we all. But you… you’re braver.”

EMOTIONS

Pride

texts Taehyung:

“They’re better than me at 16. Cursed genes.”

attaches a blurry screenshot of their audition tape

buys front-row tickets for all BTS members

“You’re our idol now.”

Anxiety

stares at their rehearsal schedule

circling scenes with intimacy coordinators

“If anyone touches them...”

wakes at 3 AM to watch documentaries about child actors

muttering: “Not my baby. Never my baby.”

WHAT HE SAYS & DOES

Immediate Response

Verbal

“You’re made for this. But if it hurts… we stop. Promise me.”

Action

rearranges his world tour schedule to attend every rehearsal

brings thermoses of honey tea for the cast

“Hydrate. Or I’ll cry.”

Two Weeks Later

hosts a “Confidence Bootcamp” in their living room

mirror work:

“Tell yourself you’re enough. Louder.”

breathing exercises stolen from his idol days:

“Inhale courage, exhale doubt.”

improv games where he plays an overly critical director

“Now roast me. Harder!”

LONG-TERM SUPPORT

Creative Coaching

coaches their emotional scenes by sharing his own struggles

“I threw up before debut. Twice. Now… look at me.”

connects them with BTS’s vocal coach for projection lessons

“Sing your lines. Own the room.”

Public Advocacy

wears a custom “Proud Appa” silk robe to their premiere

paparazzi swarm:

“Yes, they’re mine. Yes, I’m sobbing.”

starts a YouTube series: “Behind the Curtain with Y/N and Jimin”

showcasing their rehearsals

Ep. 1: “How to Cry on Cue (Without Ruining Your Eyeliner)”

PROTECTION FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Media Strategy

leaks old baby photos of himself to overshadow their debut articles

“Let them laugh at my chubby cheeks. Not your talent.”

teaches them the “Jimin Evasion”:

smile brightly, wave, then bolt

“Works every GDA.”

Paparazzi Protocol

hires a former MMA fighter as their “personal stylist”

“She does wings and roundhouse kicks.”

parks his car outside tabloid offices with a sign:

“Park here and I’ll serenade you. Warning: Off-key.”

EASTER EGGS

Serendipity Symbolism

gifts them a butterfly bracelet

“For when you need magic.”

Lyrical Comfort

whispers “You never walk alone” before their curtain call

Secret Cameo

appears in their play as ”Mysterious Dance Mentor”

credits list: “Special Thanks to Dad"

TAEHYUNG

HOW HIS CHILD TELLS HIM

Setting

it's their high school graduation project

his child writes and stars in a self-written play

titled “The Melody of Lost Things”

a surrealist story about memory, identity, and a jazz musician who communicates with ghosts

Taehyung is dressed in a beret and silk scarf

he sits in the front row with a vintage film camera

post-show, his child finds him backstage

they're clutching a folded program stained with tear smudges

Confession

they hand him a script annotated with doodles and a note:

“Appa, You taught me stories are spells. Now I’m casting mine. Let me act. P.S. The jazz ghost is totally you.”

INITIAL REACTION

First 10 Seconds

smirks, eyes glinting

“Knew it. Knew you’d steal my artistic angst.”

tugs them into a hug, beret askew

Next Minute

examines the script like a rare vinyl

“This line...‘ghosts hum in minor keys’...chef’s kiss. But page 32 needs more… saxophone.”

After an Hour

drags them to a 24-hour jazz bar

reciting their lines over live music

“Feel the rhythm. Now you’re living it.”

EMOTIONS

Pride

texts Park Seo-joon:

“Hyung. My kid’s writing better scripts than us. Adopt them.”

buys a theater marquee replica for their bedroom

lights it up nightly: “TAE JR. TONIGHT!”

Protectiveness

sits in on rehearsals

glaring at any castmate who flubs a line

“Yah. Respect the art.”

creates a secret scrapbook of their reviews

labels it: “Proof the World is Wrong Sometimes.”

WHAT HE SAYS & DOES

Immediate Response

Verbal

“You’re a storm. But storms need direction. Let’s chase the lightning.”

Action

gifts them a 1930s microphone and a Gucci/Celine trench coat

“Wear this to auditions. Confuse them into hiring you.”

Two Weeks Later

co-writes a short film with them:

asilent movie about a time-traveling painter

casts himself as the mysterious art dealer

“No pay. Just exposure.”

hosts a “Vante Film Fest” in their backyard

screens their play on a projector

serving champagne in mason jars

LONG-TERM SUPPORT

Creative Collaborations

connects them with indie directors who specialize in magical realism

“Tell stories that hurt and heal. Like us.”

turns their play into a graphic novel

illustrating it himself

dedication page: “For my ghost, who taught me to sing.”

Public Advocacy

wears a custom suit to their premieres

their play’s title embroidered in gold thread

“Subtle? Never!”

starts a YouTube channel critiquing their performances

“Scene 3: Flawless. Scene 4: More eyeliner.”

PROTECTION FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Media Strategy

invites paparazzi to fake art exhibits

featuring AI-generated photos of their “new projects”

“Chase this masterpiece.”

teaches them the “Vante Vanish”:

disappear into crowds by wearing head-to-toe prints

humming “Singularity”

Paparazzi Protocol

loans them his vintage sunglasses collection

“Hide your eyes. Keep your soul.”

hires a mime troupe to follow them in public

“Distract the press with silent chaos.”

EASTER EGGS

Jazz Soul

samples their play’s dialogue in a SoundCloud track

titled “Winter Bear: Remixed”

Legacy Accessory

gifts them an iconic blue silk scarf

“For when you need drama… or a tissue.”

Secret Nod

names a stray cat in their play “Tata”

“BT21 cameo. Shhh.”

JUNGKOOK

HOW HIS CHILD TELLS HIM

Setting

Jungkook’s child stars in a viral school play parody of “Dynamite”

he mistakes it for a "fun project"

months later, Namjoon visits

he spots a local theater flyer for “Macbeth: K-Hip-Hop Edition” with JK's child’s name

bolded as Lady Macbeth

he corners Jungkook mid-workout:

“You do know your kid’s the next Lee Byung-hun, right?”

Confession

child drags Jungkook to their dress rehearsal

he sits in the back row

snacking on gimbap, until Lady Macbeth’s soliloquy

“Out, damned Spotify streams!”

= blasts through the speakers

Jungkook drops his rice ball

“…That’s you? Since when?!”

INITIAL REACTION

First 10 Seconds

stares blankly

squints at the stage

“Wait...you’re acting? I thought this was… dance practice?”

Next Minute

leans forward, eyes widening

“You’re good. Like, really good. Why didn’t I notice?!”

After an Hour

texts the BTS group chat:

“Hyungs. My kid’s a genius. Am I… failing as a dad?”

Jin replies:

“Yes. Buy them lamb skewers.”

EMOTIONS

Guilt

rewatches every school play recording he’d archived as “cute hobbies”

“How did I miss this? Idiot!”

buys parenting books titled “How to Not Be Oblivious 101”

Pride

forces Bangtan to watch their play via Zoom

“Hyungs, clap louder! They’re my DNA!”

sneaks backstage after shows

leaves golden star stickers on their script

WHAT HE SAYS & DOES

Immediate Response

Verbal

“You’re… amazing. But why hide it? I’d have built you a Hollywood set!”

Action

turns his gaming room into a mini-theater

complete with spotlights

“Rehearse here. I’ll be your audience.”

Two Weeks Later

challenges them to a ”Act-Off”:

he performs Hamlet while bench-pressing

“Multitasking! You try!”

hires a dialect coach to perfect their English for international roles

“You’ll slay Hollywood and Korea.”

LONG-TERM SUPPORT

Hands-On Coaching

learns stage combat to spar with them

“Mercutio’s death scene needs more flips.”

records their monologues for his late-night gym playlist

“Motivation and pride!”

Creative Collaboration

directs their college film project

a meta-drama about idol families

casts himself as the “overprotective appa”

“Just… act natural.”

samples their Lady Macbeth laugh in his solo track

credits: “Feat. My Kid’s Evil Genius”

PROTECTION FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

Media Strategy

posts thirst traps timed with their premieres to hijack headlines

“Let them thirst over me, not you.”

teaches them to ”VLive Distract”:

go live eating ramen if paparazzi swarm

“Fans love noodle ASMR.”

Paparazzi Protocol

gifts them a black face mask with ”Golden Child” embroidered inside

“Wear it. Always.”

parks his Mercedes G Class outside auditions

engine roaring

“No one stalks you through this noise!”

EASTER EGGS

Golden Touch

swaps their silver trophy for a custom gold-plated one

“Only gold for my kid.”

Lyrical Nod

whispers “You’re my golden hour” before their curtain calls

Secret Signal

develops a finger heart code for crowded events

“Two hearts = I’m here.”

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